Page 105 of A Question of Character

“I had that pleasure in town.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, but she was too well-bred to exclaim. “Then you will know whether he always looks so unhappy when escorting a handsome lady.”

Elizabeth’s fan moved too quickly. “I believe Miss Bingley may have claimed his arm with more triumph than he feels.”

“That is a charitable interpretation.”

“It may be the single charitable one available.”

The discomfort that moved through Elizabeth at the sight of Miss Bingley’s hand upon his sleeve was absurd. She knew nothing of the lady beyond Darcy’s own admission that her hopes were unpromising. He had said her attachment, if it could be called such, was one-sided. Elizabeth believed him.

Belief did not prevent irritation.

Sir William Lucas soon approached, beaming, with the Netherfield party in train. He introduced Charlotte first with appropriate paternal pride, then Mrs. Bennet, whose curtsey contained both welcome and calculation. Jane was presented next. Mr. Bingley’s admiration was so immediate that even Elizabeth, inclined to defend her sister from every premature expectation, could not deny the pleasure of it.

“And Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Sir William said.

Darcy stepped forward before Sir William could complete whatever flourish he had prepared.

“Miss Bennet.” His bow was deeper than mere neighborhood civility required. “I am very pleased to see you again.”

The room did not stop, of course. Assemblies did not halt because one gentleman spoke warmly to one lady. People continued whispering, fiddlers scraped, Mrs. Bennet made a small triumphant noise, and Lydia, from across the floor, stood upon her toes to see better.

But Sir William’s brows rose. “You are acquainted already? Excellent, excellent. How gratifying to discover Mr. Darcy known among us. We are a small community, sir, but not, I hope, without claims to good society.”

“Indeed,” Darcy replied, though his eyes had not left Elizabeth’s face. “Miss Bennet’s aunt and uncle honored my sister and me with their friendship in town.”

“How very delightful,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Lizzy, you never said Mr. Darcy was coming.”

“I did not know it, Mama.”

Miss Bingley’s smile had become an object of discipline rather than pleasure.

Darcy ignored it. “May I have the honor of the next set, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth’s answer required less thought than propriety pretended. “You may.”

“And the last, if it is not already promised.”

Miss Bingley’s fan snapped open.

Elizabeth felt Charlotte shift beside her, likely suppressing laughter.

“The last is also free,” Elizabeth said.

“Then I am fortunate.”

Mr. Bingley, perhaps reminded of his duty by Darcy’s efficiency, asked Charlotte for the next set and Jane for another later in the evening. Charlotte accepted with composure. Jane accepted with a blush that made her more beautiful than ever. Mrs. Bennet looked ready to embrace the whole Netherfield party, including Miss Bingley, though Elizabeth doubted Miss Bingley would survive the event with grace.

The dance was called before further awkwardness could gather.

Darcy led Elizabeth to the set, his manner correct, his presence so familiar and so altered by location that she scarcely knew how to order her feelings. London Darcy had belonged to Gracechurch Street, Hyde Park, tea tables, and tender farewells. Hertfordshire Darcy stood beneath Meryton candles, among her neighbors, while every curious eye tried to determine why he had asked her before any lady of higher consequence.

“I hope your journey home was comfortable,” he said when the dance allowed conversation.

“Comfortable enough. Ireland did not send us back by the shortest road, but my uncle insists the longest roads produce the best stories.”

“And did they?”