One
Darcy
Iloathed country assemblies.
The room was stifling—far too small for the number of people packed in there. And yet, I could not find it in myself to make an excuse and leave, though I had conjured no fewer than six in the last ten minutes. My patience had already been tested beyond its limits. The heat, the noise, the suffocating stench of roast meats and cheap perfume—it was a kind of assault on the senses that made one question why one agreed to leave London at all.
I stole a glance toward Bingley. He was entirely absorbed in some light conversation with a local family, his smile bright, his eyes alight with the easy charm that always seemed to work for him, no matter the company. Charles Bingley could findsomething to admire in the plainest of towns or the most vapid company, and somehow, he could not seem to find a single word of criticism for any of it.
This was Meryton. A provincial town with provincial people, where the height of entertainment was watching people humiliate themselves at one of these so-called “gatherings.” It was an absurd spectacle—overly bright dresses, all lace and ruffles in colors so garish it was as if the entire countryside had turned out to celebrate a jest only they found amusing.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably, the polished leather of my boots catching on the worn floorboards, and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This was beneath me. And yet, here I was.
It wouldn’t do to abandon Bingley, of course. He was far too kind for his own good, and I doubted the poor fool would know what to do with himself without a steady hand guiding him through these situations. He saw good in everything—and everyone, apparently. It was charming in its own way, but also reckless. He refused to acknowledge how deeply out of his element he truly was here.
Across the room, Caroline Bingley stood with the practiced air of someone who believed she was above it all. Which, frankly, she was—though she took every opportunity to remind others of it. She cast her icy gaze across the room, scanning it like a hawk searching for prey, while tossing yet another veiled insult toward her brother.
“These assemblies are so very… quaint, Charles. One must admire the simplicity of country life, of course. Simple amusements for simple people, wouldn’t you agree?”
I almost pitied Bingley for the way his smile faltered, but he caught himself before the comment could do any real damage. That was the way of it with Caroline. Her insults came wrapped in fine lace, soft enough to seem like compliments unless one truly listened. Bingley, as ever, did not listen.
I caught his eye, and he shot me a pleading glance—a silent request to engage with the locals or, at the very least, offer him some kind of escape from his sister’s barbs.
Not tonight.
I had had my fill of shallow conversations with people who only wished to know me for my fortune or name. I hadn’t come to Meryton to mingle with the locals—I had come because Bingley was too easily charmed by novelty and needed someone with sense to keep him grounded. Now, I wondered if it was too late.
Still, I could not leave. Not without appearing rude, though I do not know why it bothered me that I might make enemies in this town. It was not as if I would be staying long.
It was then that I noticed Bingley moving toward me, his eyes bright with excitement as he seemed to sweep through the crowd with ease. I should have known he was plotting something. Bingley was like that—he would make twenty new acquaintances in a matter of minutes and somehow remember them all the next day. I could already sense where this was going, and it filled me with dread.
“Darcy!” he called, a bit too loud for my taste, though no one else seemed to notice. “You’ve been standing here long enough. I’ve someone I want you to meet.”
I glanced around, hoping he might mean anyone other than that brunette I had spotted earlier this evening. She had been laughing with her sister—the blonde Bingley had danced with… twice. Surely nother, of all people. The last thing I wanted was to be used as a sort of fourth for some misguided double-matchmaking endeavors this evening.
But no. Bingley was already steering me through the crowd, and there was no mistaking the direction we were headed.
My stomach clenched as we approached. The lady stood near the refreshments table, her eyes sparkling with laughter as shespoke to her companions. Indeed, there was an ease about her that I could not ignore, no matter how hard I tried. She seemed utterly at home in this room full of people I could barely stand to be near.
Bingley was grinning like a schoolboy as he approached her, oblivious to the tightening of my jaw.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Bingley said cheerfully, “may I present my friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
Miss Elizabeth turned toward us, her gaze flicking to mine with an unreadable expression. If she was surprised or displeased by the introduction, she hid it well, offering a small curtsey and a polite smile.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said pleasantly, though I could detect the slightest hint of irony in her tone. “We are already acquainted.”
Her gaze settled on me, and I felt a sharpness there that was unmistakable, even as she kept her expression demure. She was judging me. Again.
I returned her polite nod. “Indeed, we are.” In fact, I was acquainted with the lady, her preposterous mother, her gossipy aunt, her uncle the solicitor, allfourof her sisters, and sadly, not her brother. Because… ah, that was right. She did not have one, which meant the daughters were scouring the landscape for loose males all the more diligently.
Bingley clapped his hands with pleasure. “I thought as much! Well, no harm in reintroducing friends, eh?”
I resisted the urge to contradict him, though I knew any attempt would fall on deaf ears. Instead, I kept my expression neutral, doing my best to ignore the increasingly satisfied look Miss Elizabeth was casting in my direction.
“I hope you are enjoying the evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said, almost as if she were preparing to dismiss me. “Assemblies such as these must be quite the novelty for you.”
Ah, there it was. The needle, subtle but unmistakable. I had known this was coming from the moment Bingley dragged me over. In fact, I had noted a glint in the lady’s eye earlier this evening when we were introduced, and my guess was right. She was the village wit.
