“It is Bennet,” he replied tersely.
“Ah, yes, that is right.” She chuckled derisively. “His country mouse. I have not met her yet—we arrived yesterday to learn he had entered a formal courtship! How shall we extract him this time?”
“I shall reserve judgement until I meet the lady.” He did not like the idea of being in accord with Bingley's sister.
“Oh, come now. I have never heard of her, which means she does not travel in the same circles as we. Such a lady cannot be the one for my brother.”
“Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman. She has had the management of her father’s house for…I believe your brother said five years. Her experience will be a boon if they marry.” How had he gone from urging caution to his friend earlier to now defending Bingley’s actions?
“Well, be that as it may, she cannot be worthy of my brother. No, Charles is meant for great things. The daughter of a baronet, perhaps?”
Darcy paused before the carriage and helped Miss Bingley inside, their conversation at an end. He climbed in and took a seat next to Bingley. Hurst joined them, and Mrs Hurst sat next to her sister.
The conversation on the way to the assembly was tedious. Darcy’s head ached slightly and he absently rubbed his temple, plotting a way to avoid both of the harpies sitting across from him for the rest of the evening.
The assembly room hummed with the usual din of polite laughter, music, and the rustle of silks. Though not the grandest hall Darcy had ever seen, it was well-lit and lively, filled nearly to capacity with eager dancers and observing parties alike. Couples formed and reformed as the music changed, and though the assembly lacked the polish of a London ball, there was something disarming in its simplicity. Bingley went off immediately in search of Miss Bennet.
Caroline Bingley hovered near Darcy’s side, her hand lightly resting on his arm, though the gesture was unnecessary and unwelcome. She cast her eyes over the room with practised detachment, her gaze lingering critically on the cluster of young women waiting on the outskirts of the floor.
“I declare, the room is not half so large as it ought to be,” she said with a sigh, flicking open her fan. “And yet, despite thecrowd, I count at least eight ladies standing up with their sisters. A dearth of gentlemen, would you say?”
Darcy made a vague sound of agreement and glanced towards Bingley, who stood some feet away, already engaged in lively conversation with a remarkably pretty young woman in pale blue. Her manner was modest but animated, and her smile seemed to warm the entire corner of the room.
Caroline followed his gaze and pursed her lips. “At least,” she said, leaning nearer with a coy smile, “I know I shall have one agreeable partner tonight.”
Darcy turned slightly, his expression unreadable. “I am glad you enjoy standing up with your brother.”
Caroline blinked, her smile faltering. “My brother?”
“Yes,” he replied, allowing just a hint of dryness to enter his tone. “I, too, enjoy standing up with my sister.”
The silence that followed was only a second too long. Miss Bingley had certainly missed his jest.
Then, regretting the unintended misunderstanding, Darcy inclined his head slightly. “May I have your third set? I am not otherwise engaged,” he said simply, already wishing the conversation would turn to anything else. It was his duty to dance with both his host’s sisters. She accepted with alacrity.
Her attention, however, had returned to Bingley, whose bright enthusiasm was impossible to ignore. “Charles has spoken of nothing but that woman since we arrived,” she said with a light laugh that did not reach her eyes. “I suppose I shall be introduced to her eventually—some local beauty, I imagine. Rustic and entirely without distinction.”
Darcy looked at her then. “As I stated previously, I will reserve judgement until I have met the lady.”
Caroline arched a brow. “Have you no faith in your friend’s discernment?”
“I do,” he said, “though I might ask if you do.”
She laughed—too loudly for his taste. “Charles is led easily by first impressions. You know how he is. That is why I must be cautious on his behalf. People see his good nature and mistake it for gullibility. I can scarcely be expected to welcome every country chit who catches his eye.”
Darcy said nothing at first. His gaze drifted again to Bingley, who had just offered his hand to the young lady. The two moved onto the dance floor as the music began anew. The girl’s countenance was gentle, her expression attentive. She looked, in fact, very little like a schemer or a social climber.
Finally, he said, “Perhaps you will find her worthy of his attention, after all.”
Caroline’s answering smile was thin. “I do hope so.”
But Darcy doubted she hoped for any such thing.
As the music swelled and the dance began, he turned away, no longer interested in speculations. He would form his opinion not from his friend’s praise nor his friend’s sister’s disdain—but from his own observation. And for that, he would have to meet Miss Bennet.
Mr Bingley approached with a cheerful step, Mr Bennet following behind, accompanied by two ladies. The first—the lady in pale blue—was undoubtedly Bingley’s angel. She was tall, with a willowy figure and a serene countenance. Her hair was flaxen, her manner serene, and her smile touched with warmth. The younger was livelier in countenance, her eyes keen and curious, her bearing graceful though wholly without pretension. He gave her a cursory look and then turned his attention back to Bingley’slady.
“Mr Darcy,” Bingley said, “allow me the honour of introducing Mr Bennet, and his daughters, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Ladies, my friend Mr Darcy of Pemberley.” He next introduced his sisters and Hurst.
