An Assembly Such as This (19 page)

“Excellent, sir. Were you making an appearance at Court, none could find fault.”

“No one, Fletcher?” He snorted, then added under his breath, “You are wrong there, my good man. There
is
one, I fear.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“What?” Darcy rounded on him, startled by the valet’s audacity.

“Shakespeare, sir.
Hamlet.
”

“I
know
it is
Hamlet,
but what do you mean by it?”

“Mean, sir? Why nothing, Mr. Darcy. One of many memorable lines from the play, don’t you agree?” Fletcher bent over and began collecting the discarded items from his master’s bath. “Although
Hamlet
is not my favorite play, sir.”

Darcy had a distinct premonition that he should not pursue where his valet teased him to follow, but he could not seem to help it. “And that would be…?”

Fletcher paused in his task and looked at him intently.
“The Comedy of Errors,
Mr. Darcy,
The Comedy of Errors.
”

The sound of tuning instruments and the rushing of servants broke upon Darcy immediately when Fletcher opened the chamber door. He took a step toward the portal but then stopped and looked back to his desk in indecision.

“Mr. Darcy?” the valet inquired.

“A moment, Fletcher.” Darcy walked over to his desk and opened the drawer for his personal correspondence, extracting a folded sheet, which he opened and began to read. A slight smile graced his features as he refolded the letter and slipped it into his inside coat pocket. Patting his breast at the letter’s resting place, he stepped determinedly to the door. “Good evening, then, Fletcher. I will ring for you around two, I expect.”

“Very good, sir. My best wishes for the evening, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy nodded his reception of his valet’s regard and turned to the steps. The musicians now fell silent, and Darcy, pausing at the top of the stairs, could almost feel the entirety of Netherfield draw in its breath, straining for the signal to begin. The sound of an approaching carriage broke the stillness, and as servants scrambled to receive the first of the guests, the musicians struck their notes. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Darcy pulled on his gloves as he slowly descended the stairs and slipped into the glittering swirl of Hertfordshire society. The ball, it seemed, was begun.

The music had been playing a full three-quarters of an hour, and still they had not come. Darcy pulled at his gloves again, smoothing them over his hands as he nodded in response to several greetings cast his way. The lateness of the Bennet family surprised him, for if he had been a wagering man, he would have laid odds that Mrs. Bennet would be among the first to arrive at a ball given virtually at the behest of her daughters. As it was, he had filled his time doing his duty by Bingley, but he took care to do so circumspectly, skirting the fringes of the ever-burgeoning company as he tensely awaited Elizabeth Bennet’s arrival.

Not all the guests were unwelcome, of course. Darcy’s greeting of Colonel Forster and several of his senior officers was returned politely if not with actual warmth. If there was any lack of that, it was well supplied by Squire Justin, whose response to Darcy’s salutation was marked by an intimate litany of sly but affectionate observations of his neighbors and punctuated with infectious chortles of laughter. Darcy did not succeed in avoiding Mrs. Long and her hopeful niece and was saved from being forced to give them a setdown only by the timely intervention of the vicar and his lady.

Excusing himself with gratitude for their rescue, Darcy retreated to the window overlooking the drive and peered into the night.
Could something have happened?
He lifted his chin and tugged discreetly at the knot of his neckcloth.
If she does not come soon…
A carriage swung into view, its lanterns bobbing madly as the horses were pulled to a stop at the torches that lit the foot of the stairs. The stable lads sprang forward and grabbed the harness of the leader while an underfootman opened the carriage door and flipped down its folding steps. Darcy leaned closer to the window, squinting against the flickering of the torches.
She has come!

He backed away from the window and plunged into the crowded room, making his way toward the hall and its receiving line of the Bingleys and Hursts. His progress was not fortunate. By the time he had gained the door, Elizabeth and her family had already been handed down the line and had dispersed into a gathering that continued to swell. He turned back, hoping to discover her in the gallery to the ballroom. His progress again was slow, and he was silently cursing the success of Bingley’s little country ball when he saw her.

She was talking to one of the officers as they made their way to the ballroom before him. He could not see her face, but her form was unmistakable to him. Her hair was caught up with delicate ribbons entwined with the daintiest of flowers, leaving three delightful curls to swing enticingly about her neck. He quickened his steps, only to be blocked by some callow youths who, looking distinctly uncomfortable in their dress uniforms, stopped and gawked about them as if they had never been in polite society before. Darcy maneuvered around them, determined to reach Elizabeth before she was once again swallowed up in the crowd. She had not gone far. She was, in fact, only a few yards away, apparently listening to the officer, a Mr. Denny, most earnestly.

The young officers he had overtaken pushed past him, all now holding the hands of females whom Darcy was able to identify as Elizabeth’s younger sisters. They encircled her and Denny and, one of them pulling on that officer, bore him away to the ballroom. Elizabeth turned, waving them off with a wistful smile. As she did, Darcy finally saw her complete. The sight utterly ravished him. It was, suddenly, painful to breathe. The roaring of the blood through his veins caused the world about him to go silent.

Where had he read that? He mused as he stood unmoving, mesmerized by the vision before him.
“Part of my soul…”
He commanded his limbs to move. He took a step toward those marvelous eyes alight with so much life.
“I seek thee…”
Another step and he thought their eyes met, but it could not have been, for she was turning away.
“My soul…”

“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy called in a voice that was at once low and carrying. She had heard him, for she stopped, and after the briefest hesitation, she turned back.

“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth made him her curtsy as he did her his bow, but the countenance she then raised to him was nothing like that which had filled his senses only moments before. The coolness he found in the tilt of her chin contrasted bewilderingly with the snap in her eyes. Miss Bennet was not best pleased, that was certain; but the cause eluded him, as did all of the little speeches he had composed in the hope of gaining her favor. In confusion, Darcy retreated to a safe inquiry after her health.

“I am quite well, sir.”

“And your sister Miss Bennet has suffered no relapse?”

“I am happy to say that Jane enjoys as good a health as myself, Mr. Darcy.”

“Ah, I am glad of it.” Darcy fell silent, the contemplation of her charming features rendering his mental faculties nigh useless. One of her delicate brows lifted at his lack of further words.

“My sister’s joy in this evening, then, will be complete.” She curtsied again. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, and left him standing in the gallery. Her cool abruptness surprised him, but the pleasure of watching her figure as she walked away was compensation enough for the present. He lightly brushed the front of his coat, listening for the rustle of paper.

Milton!
The source of the phrases came to him in a rush.
The book she had been reading in the library!
He smiled to himself as he sauntered toward the ballroom. Adam’s paean upon first seeing Eve. How fitting! He entered the ballroom and stationed himself where he could obtain the best view of the dancing. Elizabeth was to one side, already deep in conversation with her friend Miss Lucas.
“To have thee by my side…”
A sigh escaped him as he shifted his weight and clasped his gloved hands behind his back.
How fitting. How very true!

The musicians struck a chord announcing that the dancing was to begin. Bingley, Darcy observed, had already claimed the hand of Miss Bennet and was even now escorting her to the head of the line, a singular honor that would escape no one. Caroline Bingley followed on the arm of Sir William, her sister and brother-in-law in her wake. He slanted a glance at Elizabeth, who was still engaged with Miss Lucas, only to have his view of her obscured by a gentleman of vague familiarity and decidedly odd parts. Darcy frowned to himself as the man bowed over Elizabeth’s hand and the lady cast her friend a helpless look. They took their place in the set, and Darcy circled round to satisfy himself as to the man’s identity.

Ah yes. Her cousin from Kent…the clergyman. He laughed quietly to himself at the pursed lips and set chin of his fair tormentor as she struggled to acquiesce gracefully in standing up with her cousin. The music began, and in only seconds Darcy had to look away to prevent it from causing him to break into an unseemly display of mirth. The man truly was no dancer! Darcy’s less admirable self drew his eyes back to Elizabeth’s misery. At the next turn in the dance, the man went in the wrong direction, then compounded the confusion he had created by profuse apologies where only his attention to the steps was wanted. He next very nearly bowled over a large, stately dame when, head down, he launched prematurely into the weaving of the hey, causing Elizabeth to hiss him instructions while she flushed crimson in mortification. Then, possessing himself of her hands, he wheeled her about with such enthusiasm that Darcy almost feared for her safety and that of those about them.

It can only be his clerical garb,
he surmised as he watched in amused fascination,
that keeps the indulgent smiles upon the faces of the others in the set.
All, that was, save Elizabeth. Her face offered no such charity to her cousin. Humiliation suffused her being, and when Darcy unwittingly caught her eye in a turn, the force of it rocked him. His responding impulse to go to her aid was so strong that only his doubt of her welcome of his intervention prevented his taking more than one step in her direction. That step was subtly redirected, and Darcy strolled down the line of dancers, feigning a nonchalance that he rather wished he truly did feel. The emotions Elizabeth Bennet had stirred within him this night were unfamiliar and supremely unsettling in their power. Distance was called for.

He reached the other end of the room and turned round just in time to witness another faux pas of Elizabeth’s absurd relative. The dance ended, he abandoned his partner and proceeded to present his apologies to the other members of the set, leaving her without escort off the floor. The look she directed to his back would have singed his clerical collar to a ring of ash were it possible.
And you would deserve it, stupid man!

Darcy considered his plan of surprising her into accepting his hand and despite his uncertainty, still found it, the most likely to answer his objective, but not yet. He would only draw her fire. Let her recover from the clergyman. Then…One of Forster’s lieutenants brushed past him and advanced upon Elizabeth with determined strides. Darcy waited long enough to watch her accept him for the next dance before beginning a search for Bingley amid the swirling gowns, polished brass, and competing waistcoats.

“I believe you may safely rate your ball a success, Bingley,” he told him, upon finding his friend between dances. “Mayhap too successful!”

“Too successful? A
crush
is what you really mean.” Bingley laughed back at him. “To be honest, I could do with a few less officers who seem to have nothing better to do than dance attendance upon women with whom I wish to converse!”

“Women? Bingley.” Darcy swept a speaking glance about them. “From the look of it, you are well supplied with any number of women who would gladly —”

“Woman, Darcy! Confound you; do not pretend to misunderstand me!”

“Bingley, I understand too well.” Darcy dropped his voice. “You opened the ball with her and danced the entire set together. Anything more will be remarked upon to such a degree that the whole shire will expect to hear the banns announced on Sunday.”

“Well, at least I have danced — and I expect to do quite a bit more — while you have done nothing but stalk about being civil or stare at Elizabeth Bennet.” Bingley paused to nod and smile a return of a greeting from a newcomer. “And do not poker up at me, for it won’t wash. I know you too well, my friend.”

“Slings and arrows, Bingley, slings and arrows quite misflung. I do, indeed, mean to dance this evening, when the time is right.”

“When the time…Darcy!”

“Ask me no questions —”

“And you’ll tell me no lies.” Bingley shook his head despairingly. “When
will
the time be right? At the twelfth stroke of midnight? What are you planning, Darcy?”