Sir William Lucas, who had called at Netherfield the previous day to welcome the arrivals to the neighbourhood, greeted them with effusive warmth. "Mr Bingley! Mr Darcy! What an honour, sirs, what an honour indeed! You do us great credit by attending our humble assembly."
"The pleasure is ours, Sir William," Bingley responded with matching warmth. "We are most eager to make the acquaintance of our neighbours."
Sir William beamed and immediately began a series of introductions—names and faces that blurred together in Darcy's mind with little distinction. He responded with appropriate civility, conscious of his obligation to appear amiable even as hisattention remained alert for mention of Miss Rochford's name. Bingley, true to his genial nature, was soon drawn into animated conversation with one of the local gentlemen about hunting prospects in the area, leaving Darcy to continue the circuit of introductions alone.
"Ah, and here is Miss Rochford!" Sir William exclaimed with evident pleasure, leading him towards a small group of young women near the far wall. "Miss Rochford, allow me to present Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."
A young woman turned from her companions, and Darcy recognised immediately why Lady Catherine had recommended her. At first glance, her bearing proclaimed her breeding—the elegance of her posture, the costly sheen of her gown, the measured grace of her gestures. She was handsome, undeniably so, with fair hair arranged in the latest fashion and features that might have inspired a poet to metaphor, though Darcy himself was not inclined towards such flights.
She turned, her smile practised and pleasing. "Mr Darcy. What a delight to make your acquaintance at last. Your aunt has spoken of you with great affection."
"And she of you, Miss Rochford." Darcy bowed. "I am gratified to find her praise entirely justified."
She laughed as if on cue. "You are too kind, sir. I hope Hertfordshire is treating you well? It must seem rather provincial after London."
"Every place possesses its own character," Darcy replied. "I find Netherfield agreeable, and the countryside offers a certain tranquillity one does not encounter in town."
"How diplomatic. I trust you mean to stay for some weeks? There are several families you simply must meet."
"I am at Mr Bingley's disposal, though I confess I should be honoured if you would reserve the first two dances for me this evening."
Her smile widened. "I should be delighted, Mr Darcy."
Before he could respond, another young woman appeared at Miss Rochford's elbow—smaller in stature, with darker curls and an expression of lively intelligence that immediately marked her as different from the studied composure of her companion.
"Forgive me for interrupting," the newcomer said, though her tone suggested she felt no particular need for forgiveness, "but you did promise to introduce me, Cassandra."
Miss Rochford's expression flickered with something that might have been irritation, quickly smoothed away. "Of course. Mr Darcy, may I present my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Lizzy, this is Mr Darcy, lately of London and now residing at Netherfield with Mr Bingley."
"Miss Bennet." Darcy bowed with precision.
"Mr Darcy." Her curtsey was correct but lacked the deferential quality he had come to expect. "I understand you have recently arrived in Hertfordshire. I do hope the society here does not prove too insipid for a gentleman accustomed to London's diversions."
There was something in her tone—not quite impertinence, but certainly not deference—that gave him pause. "I do not require constant diversion, Miss Bennet. A well-ordered household and rational conversation suffice."
"How fortunate for you." Her eyes—dark and far too expressive—held a glimmer of humour that he found vaguely unsettling. "Though I confess I should find such limited requirements rather dull. Does nothing ever surprise you, Mr Darcy?"
"Surprise is generally the result of poor planning or insufficient information," he replied evenly. "I prefer to avoid both."
Her laugh was sudden and unrestrained—too unrestrained for a formal assembly. "What an extraordinary philosophy! You must live a very predictable life, sir."
"I live a well-ordered one."
"Which is not at all the same thing." She tilted her head, regarding him with an openness he found disconcerting. "But perhaps you prefer order to excitement. Some people do."
"Order," Darcy said, his voice cooling slightly, "is the foundation of civilised society, Miss Bennet."
"And excitement is what makes life worth living," she countered. "But we shall have to disagree, I think."
Miss Rochford intervened with a delicate laugh. "Lizzy does so enjoy a spirited debate. You must forgive her, Mr Darcy—she cannot help herself."
"There is nothing to forgive," Darcy replied, though he found the entire exchange oddly irritating. "Miss Bennet is entitled to her opinions, however unconventional."
Miss Bennet's smile sharpened. "How generous of you to permit me my own thoughts, Mr Darcy. I shall treasure the privilege."
Before he could formulate a response, the music signalled the beginning of the first set. Miss Rochford placed her hand lightly on his offered arm, and Darcy led her in the direction of the dance floor. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Miss Bennet speaking animatedly with another lady, apparently quite recovered from their verbal sparring.
The dance was flawless in execution, though Darcy found himself wishing for conversation of slightly more substance. Miss Rochford moved with practised grace, her remarks pleasant if predictable—observations on the weather, the fineness of the assembly rooms, the fashionable style of his cravat. There was nothing objectionable in her discourse, yet neither was there anything particularly engaging.
