Page 11 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

Elizabeth stood with her back to the mantel, her hair coming loose around her ears, skirt hem showing the faintest brush of dust from the carriage. She entertained them with the skill of a born mimic and the ease of a daughter among people who already knew her worst. Her arms folded across her chest, she straightened her spine, tilted her chin, and pursed her mouth into a severe, tight line.

“‘I have no interest in a young woman who prefers the fields.’”

She held the pose: rigid as a measuring stick, voice clipped, each syllable sharpened to pierce from across a ballroom. She let the silence carry, long enough for Kitty to smother a giggle and Lydia to explode in a bark of laughter that set the dog thumping her tail against the rug.

“Oh, but Lizzy, you did not see his face.” Lydia sat up, her eyes bright with the memory. “He looked as though he had bitten a sour cherry and was pretending he liked it.”

“Mr. Darcy’s face does not change,” Kitty said. “He has but the one, and it never smiles.”

“Unlike Mr. Bingley, who smiles when he sneezes,” Jane said.

Elizabeth bowed her head, lips curving, but she did not relinquish the stance.

“Did you say that to the room, Lizzy?” Kitty asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, the wall heard it first. I believe it is the most indiscreet wall in Hertfordshire.”

Mrs. Bennet slapped her thigh. “An outrage! To come to our assembly and insult one of us within an hour. I have never heard of such conduct, not even from a London man.” She fixed Elizabeth with a look both accusing and proud. “But you answered him with a jest, as he deserved.”

“I did not answer him, Mama. I left that to the wall. By sunrise, it will have repeated the insult in every house in Meryton.”

Kitty giggled again, this time almost losing her balance and toppling from the settee.

Jane’s voice, quiet but certain, drew the focus back. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy is unaccustomed to our sort of assembly. It may be different in Town.”

“Then London has made him very particular,” Lydia said. “He told Sir William that the punch needed more spice, then did not drink it.”

“I am told he has ten thousand a year,” Mrs. Bennet mused. “I hope for his sake he spends it on better company than himself. The room grew colder when he entered.”

Elizabeth offered a mock shiver, and even her father’s mouth twitched. “Ten thousand a year,” he said. “One would think he might spare a civil word from so large an income.”

The family let the noise of laughter roll and fade. The dog, sensing the mood, thumped her tail twice more, then snuffled into the rug. For a moment the only sound was the shifting of embers and the tick of the clock on the mantel.

Elizabeth leaned against the shelf, hands behind her. Her gaze drifted to Sarah, whose chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm. She pressed her left hand to her side and straightened.

“I cannot say I am wounded,” she said, “but after judging me on sight, he might at least have said it to me.”

Mary, who had been quiet in her corner by the sideboard, closed her book and looked up. “One offense does not always reveal everything worth knowing about a man’s character.”

Elizabeth did not turn. “That is very like a proverb, Mary. Did you find it in Fordyce, or invent it on the spot?”

Mary’s lips pinched, but she did not answer.

Elizabeth turned back to the room, her expression cleared. “To be fair, the assembly offered offense enough. In his defense, Mr. Darcy delivered his with polish.”

“Mr. Bingley did not offend,” Jane said.

Lydia bounced in her seat. “Mr. Bingley was the best of them. He danced every set, and his coat was the brightest I have ever seen. He called Jane the prettiest woman in the room.”

Jane colored, but did not argue.

Mrs. Bennet’s cap now rested against her eyebrow and bobbed as she nodded. “He was all that is amiable, and I am certain he will call before the week is out.”

“Not if Mr. Darcy can prevent it,” Kitty said. “He seemed determined to keep Mr. Bingley from enjoying the assembly.”

“He cannot keep him from Jane,” Lydia said.

Elizabeth’s mouth twisted. “Not unless he controls the weather, the walking paths, and Sir William’s guest list.”