They both knew she would.
The dinner at Lucas Lodge was the first real neighbourhood gathering since the arrival of Mr. Bingley and his party. Mrs.Bennet had been in a state of preparation since Tuesday. Jane's hair had been arranged three times. Kitty's gown had been smoothed twice. Lydia had been threatened with confinement to her room if she said anything inappropriate, a threat so frequently issued and so rarely enforced that Lydia had not bothered to look up from her fashion plate.
Elizabeth had dressed carefully, though she would not have admitted it. Her green muslin was clean and freshly aired. Her hair was pinned neatly. She had checked her gloves for ink stains and her shoes for mud, and she had scrubbed under her fingernails with uncommon attention, because the last time she had been introduced to a gentleman she had smelled faintly of pig.
She was not doing this for Mr. Darcy. She was doing it for herself. There was a difference.
Lucas Lodge was a short walk from Longbourn, close enough that the Bennets went on foot. The evening was cool and clear, with a half-moon sitting low above the treeline. Elizabeth walked beside Jane and tried not to think about the man from Meryton. The one who had saved Truffles with such quick, certain hands and then spoken to Elizabeth as though she were a servant who had spilled something.
"Evidently," he had said. And "one hopes." Two words each, both delivered with the warmth of a solicitor's letter.
She had thanked him. She had been grateful. And he had looked at her as if she were a mild inconvenience attached to a pig.
Sir William Lucas greeted them at the door with his customary enthusiasm. Sir William had been knighted after an address to the king during his time as mayor of Meryton, and he had never quite recovered from the experience. He mentioned it at every opportunity. He was a kind man, a generous host, and he shook hands as though each guest were a visiting dignitary.
"Welcome, welcome! The Bennets! How wonderful. Miss Bennet, you look radiant. Miss Elizabeth, charming as always. Mrs. Bennet, we are honoured. Mr. Bennet — ah, is the pig with you this evening?"
"The pig is at home," Elizabeth said firmly.
"Pity," said Mr. Bennet.
The drawing room was full. The Longs were there, and the Gouldings, and several families Elizabeth knew by name and face but not well enough to claim friendship. Charlotte Lucas found Elizabeth immediately and pressed a glass of wine into her hand.
"You look as if you need it." Charlotte had heard the full account of the Meryton encounter within a day of it happening — Elizabeth had walked to Lucas Lodge the morning after and delivered the story over tea, complete with voices — and had been following the situation with the quiet interest of a woman who found other people's romantic entanglements more entertaining than her own absence of them.
"Do I look that anxious?"
"You look as if you are preparing for battle." Charlotte glanced across the room. "He is here, by the way. Near the fireplace."
Elizabeth did not need to ask who. She could see him. Mr. Darcy stood near the mantelpiece with a glass he had not drunk from, surveying the room with the fixed expression of a man enduring a toothache in public. He was tall. She had not quite registered how tall he was in Meryton, when she had been too busy retrieving her pig to catalogue the details of his person. He was broad in the shoulder, dark-haired, and handsome in the way that a very expensive piece of furniture was handsome. Impressive. Well-made. Entirely uninviting.
Bingley, by contrast, was everywhere. He moved through the room like a warm current, shaking hands, laughing, askingquestions with such apparent sincerity that Elizabeth could see half the mothers in Hertfordshire mentally drafting wedding invitations. He found Jane within three minutes and stayed within three feet of her for the rest of the evening.
Jane glowed. She could not help it. When Jane was pleased, her whole face softened into something so lovely it was almost painful to look at directly. Elizabeth watched her sister smile at something Bingley said and felt a sharp, protective tenderness.
"She admires him," Charlotte observed.
"Everyone admires Mr. Bingley. He is very amiable."
"That is not admiration, Lizzy. That is attachment. And it is entirely mutual."
Elizabeth said nothing. She had noticed.
Sir William, who could not leave a gentleman standing alone at a party without attempting to remedy it, appeared at Elizabeth's elbow and steered her toward the fireplace with the cheerful determination of a man performing a public service.
"Miss Elizabeth! You must allow me to introduce you properly to our new neighbour." They had reached Darcy before Elizabeth could object. "Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You may recall meeting her in Meryton — a rather memorable occasion, I understand." Sir William chuckled. He was the sort of man who chuckled at his own wit before delivering the punchline. "Something about a pig?"
"We have met," Elizabeth said. She curtsied. "Mr. Darcy was kind enough to save my piglet from his horse. I remain grateful."
Darcy bowed. His expression did not change. "Miss Bennet."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Sir William corrected helpfully. "Miss Bennet is the eldest. The fair one. Over there, with Mr. Bingley."
"I recall," Darcy said.
A silence opened between them like a hole in a conversation. Elizabeth waited for him to say something. He did not. Hestood with his glass and his fixed expression and his extremely expensive coat and said nothing at all.
"Are you enjoying Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy?" she tried.
