Page 44 of Dear Friend

Elizabeth's brows rose. “Do not repeat that within Mama's hearing. She will abandon Mr. Bingley's claims before the evening is half over and station Jane beside Mr. Darcy instead.”

Charlotte smiled. “I thought Mrs. Bennet had already determined that Mr. Bingley was to fall in love with Jane.”

Before Elizabeth could answer, Lady Lucas began beckoning urgently to her daughter. Sir William, in his capacity as master of ceremonies, had undertaken the introduction of the Netherfield party to his family, and Charlotte excused herself to join them.

Elizabeth watched her go with a smile. Charlotte was right. Mrs. Bennet had spent the better part of the week predicting Mr. Bingley's inevitable surrender to Jane's beauty, not merely at Longbourn but to every neighbour unfortunate enough to enquire after Netherfield. According to her mother, a young gentleman with five thousand a year could scarcely enter Hertfordshire without choosing a wife, and Jane, being the handsomest girl in the neighbourhood, was naturally to be that wife.

Elizabeth could hardly quarrel with the latter judgement. Jane was beautiful, and her sweetness deserved every admiration it received. What Elizabeth objected to was her mother's determination to speak as though Jane's beauty and Mr. Bingley's fortune had already settled a question in which neither of the persons principally concerned had yet been consulted.

Her eyes strayed once more towards the newly arrived party.

She wondered what her father would have made of them had he troubled himself to attend. More particularly, she wondered what he would say when he learnt that Mr. Bingley's celebrated five thousand a year had entered the assembly accompanied by a gentleman possessed of twice as much.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Mama’s devotion to Mr. Bingley might be about to undergo a severe trial.

“Lizzy, do not stand there looking so solemn.”

Mrs. Bennet’s voice sounded so close upon Elizabeth’s ear that, for an instant, she almost supposed her own reflections had conjured it. She turned to discover her mother already beside her, regarding her posture with dissatisfaction.

“Mama,” Elizabeth protested as Mrs. Bennet placed one hand upon her shoulder and another briefly against her back, compelling her to stand straighter.

“Your father may choose to remain at home because he cannot be prevailed upon to enjoy anything of this sort, but that does not excuse the rest of us from making a proper appearance.” Mrs. Bennet glanced anxiously towards her other daughters wherever she could find them and beckoned them nearer. “Come, Jane, Kitty. Lydia, do stand properly. Mary, pray do not look as though you have been brought here against your will. Sir William will bring Mr. Bingley and his party this way presently.”

Her voice dropped, though not nearly enough to prevent anyone standing close by from hearing. “And Mrs. Long tells me Mr. Darcy has ten thousand a year. Ten thousand! Between him and Mr. Bingley, surely neither gentleman can be so blind as to overlook my Jane.”

Elizabeth lowered her eyes to conceal her amusement. Her prediction concerning her mother’s constancy had survived scarcely a minute.

Her sisters soon gathered around them, Jane bearing the arrangements with her customary serenity, while Lydia whispered something to Kitty which sent them both into poorly suppressed laughter. Before Mrs. Bennet could correct either of them, Sir William finished presenting the Netherfield party to the Gouldings and began conducting them across the room.

“Mrs. Bennet,” he said with a bow, evidently delighted by the importance of his office, “allow me to present Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, his sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and his particular friend, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”

At closer quarters, Elizabeth was able to form a better judgement of them. Mr. Hurst was a heavy-looking gentleman whose chief interest in the evening appeared, from the glass already in his hand, unlikely to be dancing. His wife and Miss Bingley were both handsome and exceedingly fashionable, though there was something in the manner of their surveying the room which suggested that Meryton had not yet risen very high in their estimation.

Mr. Bingley produced a more favourable impression. He was handsome, with an open countenance and an ease of manner which appeared entirely unaffected. His smile came readily as Sir William performed the introductions, and when Jane was presented, its warmth increased so perceptibly that Elizabeth needed only one glance at her mother to know the circumstance had not escaped her.

Then Sir William spoke Elizabeth’s name.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The effect upon Mr. Darcy was immediate.

Elizabeth had already thought him the handsomer of the two gentlemen, though his height and grave expression gave him a manner very different from his friend’s. Now, however, the composure of that expression altered. His eyes fixed upon her with such unmistakable surprise that Elizabeth wondered whether Sir William had somehow given the wrong name.

Darcy said nothing.

He merely stared.

Elizabeth waited, increasingly conscious of the oddity of it. Had they met before? She was certain they had not. A gentleman of his appearance would hardly have escaped her recollection, and yet he regarded her as though her face, or perhaps her name, had confirmed something he had not expected to find.

Fortunately, Bingley rescued the introduction from becoming truly awkward.

“Miss Bennet,” he said to Jane, “I hope I am not too late to solicit the honour of the first dance. Are you already engaged?”

Jane coloured slightly. “I am not, sir.”

“Then may I have that honour?”

“With pleasure.”