Sir Henry acknowledged this with polite interest, while Mr. Dashwood inclined his head, his attention already alert to the careful choreography of the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, standing beside Darcy, was drawn into the circle next.
“And this,” Lady Catherine added, “is another nephew of mine—Colonel Fitzwilliam—whose service in the late war has reflected the greatest credit upon his family.”
The Colonel bowed. “You are very kind, ma’am.”
“I am merely accurate,” she replied, before turning again.
Georgiana Darcy was then brought forward, Lady Catherine’s hand resting briefly, possessively, upon her niece’s arm. “My niece, Miss Darcy,” she said. “Her education has been conducted with great care.”
Georgiana curtsied with composed grace.
“How do you do, Sir Henry. Mr. Dashwood.”
Mr. Dashwood returned the courtesy with particular attention, though his manner remained reserved. The quartet shifted into a lighter air, the music smoothing the moment and giving space for observation.
Nearby, Mrs. Darcy remained attentive, while Darcy watched closely, noting both his aunt’s satisfaction and the measured restraint of the young baronet’s heir.
As the room settled once more, introductions continued under Lady Catherine’s direction—guests drawn together, conversations initiated and concluded at her pleasure. Sir Henry Dashwood remained the principal object of her attentions, while his son was guided with equal care, brought repeatedly into Georgiana’s vicinity without any overt command.
Throughout it all, the music flowed on—agreeable, restrained, and continuous—lending the evening a polish that discouraged haste and concealed design beneath refinement.
Lady Catherine surveyed the scene with evident satisfaction. The company was assembled, precedence established, and every person placed precisely where she wished them.
A single nod toward the musicians followed, a silent indication that observation would soon give way to display. Her right hand rose a moment later, and with that simple gesture the attention of the room was secured without a word being spoken. Conversation subsided at once; those nearest her turned instinctively, and even those farther removed became aware that the evening was about to be directed.
“Good evening, my dear guests. It gives me great satisfaction,” Lady Catherine began, her voice carrying with practiced ease, “to welcome you all to Rosings Park. I trust you will find that every arrangement has been made with due regard for comfort, propriety, and the character of the company assembled.” She paused, allowing her gaze to move slowly across the room, acknowledging each group in turn. “An assembly, when properly conducted, is not merely an amusement, but an opportunity—an opportunity for observation, for improvement, and for the strengthening of those connections upon which good society depends.”
A murmur of polite assent followed, precisely as she intended.
“The music,” she continued, inclining her head slightly toward the quartet, “has been chosen to encourage ease without excess, and I expect it will serve us well this evening. There is no reason why animation and restraint should not proceed together.”
She turned then, deliberately, toward Sir Henry and his son.
“I am particularly gratified,” she said, “that Sir Henry Dashwood, Baronet, of Kirtlington Park, has honoured us with his presence, together with his son. Families of established consequence lend distinction wherever they appear, and it is fitting that they should be received with due regard.”
Sir Henry bowed, accepting the compliment with composed ease.
Lady Catherine’s attention shifted once more, narrowing now to a single purpose.
“As it is customary,” she went on, “to commence such an evening with dancing, we shall not delay further.” Her eyes rested upon Mr. George Dashwood. “Mr. Dashwood has kindly expressed his wish to open the assembly by dancing with my niece, Miss Darcy.”
The words were delivered smoothly, without hesitation, and with no allowance for contradiction. Several heads turned at once; the quartet adjusted their instruments in quiet readiness.
Lady Catherine did not look at Georgiana as she spoke, but the pressure of expectation was unmistakable.
“Pray do not be shy,” she added, with a tone that suggested encouragement while permitting none. “The music is ready.”
For the briefest instant, Mr. Dashwood hesitated—only long enough to be noticed by those accustomed to observing suchthings—before stepping forward with the courtesy required of him.
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Darcy,” he said, bowing.
Georgiana rose with composed deliberation. If she felt the weight of the moment, it did not show in her manner. She inclined her head in acceptance, her expression calm, her voice steady.
“You are very kind, sir.”
Lady Catherine watched them take their places with evident satisfaction, her hands folded before her, her posture conveying approval rather than vigilance. To the room at large, it appeared a natural pairing: rank acknowledged, propriety observed, the evening begun exactly as intended.
