Darcy inclined his head but made no reply. He could scarcely tolerate his friend’s ostentatious sister, who believed herself the best suited to become mistress of Pemberley, a position he had decided to bestow on nobody in his present acquaintance.
The assembly room, when they finally arrived, possessed all the refined elegance Darcy had expected—which was to say, none whatsoever. The long room boasted low ceilings with exposed beams, whitewashed walls adorned with simple sconces, and a small musicians’ gallery at one end where four lackluster musicians sawed away at their instruments.
The evening was unseasonably warm, and withfifty bodies already filling the space, the air had grown stagnant. Darcy’s right temple throbbed with the stirrings of a headache.
“Oh… look at that,” Caroline observed. “Quite provincial, don’t you think? And utterly lacking in sophistication. Those flowers appear to have been gathered from someone’s garden this afternoon.”
“How charmingly rustic,” Louisa Hurst agreed, her fan working vigorously against the heat.
Their entrance caused an immediate stir. Conversations halted mid-sentence as heads turned to inspect the newcomers. Darcy straightened his shoulders and assumed the impassive expression that had served him well in countless London ballrooms.
A round gentleman with an elaborate waistcoat and expansive smile bustled toward them. “Mr. Bingley!” he called, performing a bow of such excessive depth that Darcy feared for the security of his buttons. “Sir William Lucas welcomes you to Meryton. And your distinguished guests as well.”
Bingley shook the man’s hand warmly. “Sir William, a pleasure. May I present my sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, my brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, and my dear friend, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”
“Mr. Darcy!” Sir William’s eyes widened appreciably. “Indeed, we are honored. I, myself, was knighted by His Majesty after my term as mayor of Meryton—a trifling distinction compared to your consequence, of course.”
Darcy acknowledged the introduction with the barest inclination of his head, already scanning the room for a quiet corner where he might observe without participating.
“You have arrived at the perfect moment,” Sir William continued effusively. “The first set is about to begin. I am sure several of our local young ladies would be most gratified by your attention.”
What followed was the inevitable parade of introductions. Various tradesmen masquerading as gentlemen and their wives were presented, along with a bewildering array of daughters, all presentedwith such obvious matrimonial intent that Darcy began to calculate the distance to the exit.
“Mr. Philips, our local solicitor, and Mrs. Philips,” Sir William announced, gesturing to a middle-aged couple. “And Mr. Goulding of Haye-Park, with Mrs. Goulding and their son.”
Each new introduction increased the throbbing in Darcy’s temple. The heat of the room, combined with the press of bodies and the incessant chatter, created an atmosphere that bordered on the intolerable. He caught Bingley’s eye, silently communicating his displeasure, but his friend merely smiled and continued his animated conversation with a local matron.
“You must allow me to introduce you to my dear friend, Mr. Bennet,” Sir William continued, leading them toward a lean gentleman with intelligent eyes and an expression of barely concealed amusement.
Bennet.
The name slid like ice down Darcy’s spine. His father’s words, unexamined for years, suddenly echoed with renewed clarity:Never trust a Bennet.
“Mr. Bennet,” Bingley said warmly, extending his hand. “I have heard excellent things about Longbourn. I understand you have considerable acreage under cultivation?”
“Indeed, I do.” Mr. Bennet’s voice carried a slight rasp, the tone of a man accustomed to dry observation. “Though I fear my farming methods would hardly meet with your approval. I am sadly neglectful of the latest agricultural innovations.”
Darcy studied the man closely, searching for a clue as to why his father would have warned against this family specifically. Mr. Bennet appeared unremarkable—a country gentleman of modest means and sardonic temperament. Nothing about him suggested outright danger.
“Mr. Bennet has five delightful daughters.” Sir William swept his hand toward a group of young ladies standing nearby. “May Ipresent Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia.”
Ah, so there was a different sort of danger for unmarried gentlemen of means. Darcy stiffened his posture into an impervious shield.
Five young ladies stepped forward, curtsying as Sir William presented them to Darcy, Bingley, and his sisters. Darcy’s gaze moved automatically across their faces, cataloging details with the dispassion of long practice.
The eldest, Miss Jane Bennet, possessed a serene beauty that would be much admired in any drawing room—fair hair, delicate features, and a gentle smile that spoke of kindness and goodness. The middle daughter, Miss Mary, was plain and serious, while the youngest pair appeared barely out of the schoolroom and giggled with the sort of nervous energy that suggested trouble.
Then his eyes found the second daughter, and the world shifted in a way that defied rational explanation.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet possessed what his aunt Catherine would dismiss as inferior beauty—no golden curls, no porcelain complexion, no fashionable pallor. While her sisters were fair and sturdy, Miss Elizabeth’s hair was a burnished mahogany that caught the candlelight in auburn highlights. Warm golden skin suggested time spent outdoors, and striking dark eyes that were shapely and spirited. Her figure, though slight, carried a natural grace that made the affected postures of Caroline Bingley appear stilted by comparison.
She was, he realized with something approaching alarm, completely lovely.
More disturbing still was the intelligence he glimpsed in those remarkable eyes. This was not the vacant prettiness he had learned to expect from provincial young ladies. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was clearly thinking, evaluating, and forming judgments about the company with the same critical assessment he was applying to her.
When their eyes met, she offered a slight curtsy that conveyed nothing.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he managed, his voice rougher than intended.
