Page 163 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“Which means rain and mist, and lovely colors on the trees,” Lizzy said with relish. She stood still for Jane to drape her cloak around her shoulders. “Have you an objection to Mary wedding Oscar before you marry Mr. Bingley?”

“I do not,” Jane said with a chuckle. “I think it is a grand idea. Why should she wait for me? Has she said she wishes a short engagement?”

“I have suggested February 14th to her,” Lizzy confessed. “Not so short an engagement. I consulted a calendar. It is on a Friday.”

“Why should she prefer it? And why do you?” Jane asked, tying Lizzy’s cloak closed. “Are you bringing a shawl?”

Lizzy pointed to where a gossamer-light white shawl lay folded over the back of a chair. “I think, because Mary wishes for a small wedding, that her event will not be compared to your larger wedding. Overshadowed by it, you know.”

“I understand you perfectly, and I agree.” Jane handed her the shawl. “What did Mary say to your suggestion?”

“She merely said that she must discuss it with Oscar and Mrs. Gregg.”

“Naturally,” Jane said. “Now, let us collect my outer things and go downstairs. Listen, there is the chiming of the hall clock. It is time we were off.”

Getting five ladies gowned and into a large carriage did not make for a punctual departure. Nevertheless, the carriage trundled along toward Meryton only fifteen minutes later than the planned hour. They did not even have to return home for something forgotten.

The carriage waited in line with other carriages along the front of the town hall. Balls, assemblies, feasts, and other gatherings were held on the second level in a large room graced with enormous divided-light windows and a coffered ceiling. When the ladies eventually arrived in the ante-chamber, an attendant relieved them of their cloaks. The tuning and preparations of the musicians could barely be heard over the din of those gathered.

“Good, good,” Lizzy’s mama said brightly, and over-loudly, “we have not missed a single dance. Come girls.”

Lizzy, walking beside Jane, followed their mother into the assembly room. The space already appeared more than half-full. Ladies sat on artfully arranged chairs and Grecian benches, while their escorts hovered nearby. The town musicians occupied a raised dais positioned in the middle of one long wall of the rectangular room. Three impressive chandeliers illuminated the space.

“There is Lady Lucas,” Lizzy’s mama said as she waved across the room to where Lady Lucas, Maria, and Charlotte sat in a cluster of chairs, waiting for the music to begin. “We will go to them.”

“Yes, Mama,” her daughters said as one, following in her wake.

By the time they arrived, Mr. Lucas, Charlotte’s younger brother, arrived at the group, several friends in tow. They made their bows to the ladies and asked for spots on their dance cards. Lizzy wrote down Mr. Lucas’ name for a country dance—in the third set. He was not a particularly good dancer yet, but he tried his best.

Lizzy examined her card. She had put Mr. Darcy’s name down for the first dance and the supper dance, as he had requested. I pray he does not forget. I am so looking forward to dancing with him. Dear Lord, I would be almost as happy sitting beside him against the wall somewhere, talking.

Not unexpectedly, for Lizzy was well-known, she felt someone at her shoulder and looked up, straight into the warm gaze of the man who so often occupied her thoughts. Her stomach muscles tightened.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said brightly. Lizzy opened her folded dance card to show where she had penciled in his name. “You see, I have not forgotten your request.”

“Excellent,” he murmured, showing her his card. The only name present was her own.

“You must dance with some other ladies, sir,” she admonished, keeping a teasing note in her voice. “There will not be enough gentlemen to go around, as you must know. Even if my father had come, he would not have made up the deficit.”

“I mean to dance with Lady Lucas, Miss Bingley, Miss Bennet, Mrs. Hurst—Bingley’s sister—and Miss Lucas,” he informed her in a meditative voice. “Is there some other lady whom you might suggest?”

“You could stand up with my younger sisters,” Lizzy mentioned, her eyebrows high and her mouth pressed into an amused grimace.

“I think you must hate me to point me in their direction,” Mr. Darcy mused. “My feet will be trampled.”

“Oh, you need not worry about your feet, sir. They are both excellent dancers.”

“They are rather…boisterous,” he pointed out. “Let the young men partner them in the Scottish reel. I imagine there will be great laughter and squeals of delight.”

“Not your style, Mr. Darcy?” Lizzy asked, looking up at him with a teasing light in her eyes.

“No. Definitely not my style,” he murmured softly. “You are my style, Miss Elizabeth.”

Lizzy caught her breath, feeling her cheeks warm. She did not know how to respond, so she fell back on the commonplace. “You look very fine tonight, sir, in your snowy cravat.”

Mr. Darcy leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Not so fine as you do, my dear Miss Elizabeth.”

Lizzy pressed a hand to her throat, saying, “My goodness, Mr. Darcy. What a load of falderal. I did not think of you as such a sweet talker.”