Page 14 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“Useful skills, indeed, though I am at a loss to recall anyone in need of them at present. Certainly not here, in Meryton.”

Darcy bowed his head, content he had stated his credentials effectively. “I am grateful for your counsel, sir. Perhaps if anything should arise…” He stood, ready to take his leave.

“Certainly, certainly. I shall send word to you at the inn should any opportunity present itself, but I would not hold my breath, Mr. Robinson. How long do you plan on staying in Meryton?”

“A day or two.” If his plan worked as he hoped, he would hear from Mr. Philips much sooner.

“I hold little hope of helping you find employment, but since you plan to be here tomorrow evening, then I hope you will join us at the Meryton Assembly. It is a public assembly. As our ladies outnumber the gentlemen, you would be most welcome.”

Pleased with Mr. Philips’s kindly reception and confident of the success of his plan, Darcy took his leave.

As he descended the steps and walked across the street, an older gentleman wearing spectacles and a frazzled expression rounded the corner. He knocked before allowing himself inside Mr. Philips’s house. Given his familiarity and notable state of agitation, he would wager this was Mr. Bennet.

Returning to the inn, Darcy arranged to eat his dinner in a quiet private room where he could ponder this recent turn of events. His meal had not yet been served when he heard Mr. Philips’s voice speaking urgently, growing louder until it stopped outside the door. Then a firm, insistent knock.

CHAPTER 6

Elizabeth moved through the crowded assembly, a smile pasted on her face. Why Papa had insisted she must attend when he remained at Longbourn, she did not attempt to justify. He would have an evening of peace, while she bore the burden of ensuring her mother and sisters suspected nothing and enjoyed themselves. It was an obligation designed to ensure her a wretched evening. No matter how much she resented George Darcy for imposing his will upon the trajectory of her life, it felt wrong to dance and laugh knowing he had died. Worse still was keeping such momentous news from her sisters when she treasured honesty above all virtues—especially with those she loved most deeply.

And she did love her sisters. Otherwise, she might live as she pleased and fall in love with a gentleman of her own choosing.

Seeking refuge in a quiet corner where a pair of empty chairs offered respite from observation, Elizabeth saw a flurry of movement rushing toward her a heartbeat before something solid collided with her slippered toes. “Oh!” she yelped, lifting her foot and struggling to maintain her balance.

A soft arm looped through hers, and Charlotte's familiar voice reached her ear. “You did not cry out loudly enough. You shall have to exaggerate your limp.”

Elizabeth scowled at her dearest friend. “You did that deliberately!”

“Hush! Reach down to your ankle and wince. Quickly, before they look away.”

Following Charlotte's direction, Elizabeth winced and rubbed her throbbing toes until her friend guided her toward the chairs with a satisfied smile.

“My apologies, Lizzy, but your sisters noticed you have not danced this evening, and your mother was approaching with every intention of remedying that situation.”

Elizabeth sank gratefully into her seat. “You are indeed a true friend.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Charlotte's sheepish grin faded to concern. “I did not injure you overmuch, did I?”

“No, though I shall struggle to remember I must maintain this limp throughout the evening. You know Mama will not countenance my departing before Mr. Bingley arrives. She heard he has several gentlemen staying with him as guests, and she is convinced that at least one of them is a duke.”

“Yes, I have heard that dukes are commonly found at country assemblies these days.”

“Apparently they grow on trees.”

“At Hyde Park?”

“Where else?”

Charlotte leaned against her. “At least you now possess an excuse to avoid dancing.” Her brow furrowed. “How are you managing, truly?”

“Poorly, if you felt compelled to assault my toes. I cannot feign happiness when my heart is heavy.”

“Your countenance has always been too honest for deception.”

Elizabeth sighed, her gaze drifting across the familiar faces of her neighbors—Lady Lucas arranging garlands with careful precision, Sir William entertaining a group of men with another story about his brush with royalty at St. James’s, Mr. Higden present despite his recent illness after the loss of his mother. “I cannot help but wonder how this tragedy will affect the son,” she murmured.

“Your betrothed?” Charlotte's voice carried gentle warning. “Oh, Lizzy, do not make that face! Like it or not, he is your intended. You might even discover you like him, if you would but give him a chance.”

Charlotte's perpetual practicality regarding the arrangement had become both a comfort and a torment. Still, she was a good listener and a safer confidante than a diary that could be read by a curious little sister.