Page 4 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
She sauntered away, joining her younger sisters whose name he had already forgotten. Lydia? Margaret? Whatever their names, none looked pleased to be here and indeed, he had to wonder about the wisdom of having all five of them here so soon after their father’s death.
Caroline Bingley appeared at Darcy’s elbow. “Making friends already, I see,” Caroline said with obvious amusement.
“Miss Bingley.” Darcy nodded to her. “Are you enjoying the assembly?”
“Oh, immensely,” Caroline said with obvious sarcasm. “The company is so… refreshing. So different from what one encounters in town.”
Darcy glanced towards where Elizabeth Bennet now stood with her sisters. Unlike earlier, she was not animated or merry—there was a composure about her that suggested someone bearing invisible burdens. Her recent mourning had clearly left its mark.
“The second Miss Bennet seems to carry herself well, considering her circumstances,” he observed.
“Indeed,” Caroline agreed. “Though I wonder if country composure translates to broader society. Some people manage well enough in small settings.”
The dance ended, and couples began forming for the next set. Darcy surveyed the room. He had no desire to dance, but even if he had wanted to the options were slim. Most of the young ladies had already been claimed, and those who remained were either too young, too old, or too obviously eager to catch his attention.
“Mr Darcy,” Caroline appeared at his elbow again. “You really ought to dance, it is an assembly after all.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
Caroline followed his gaze and her countenance soured. “Surely you’re not considering the Bennet girl?”
“Which Bennet girl?” Though Darcy knew perfectly well which one she meant.
“Elizabeth. I confess I find her rather… provincial. She has a tolerable figure, I suppose, but nothing that would tempt a man of discernment.”
Darcy looked again at Elizabeth Bennet and felt an odd twist in his chest. Caroline was not wrong—the girl was pleasant enough to look at, but hardly a beauty. Her gown was well-made but not fashionable, her hair dressed, her manner too confident for someone in her circumstances. By any reasonable standard, she was exactly the sort of woman he should avoid.
“Tolerable,” he agreed, his voice carrying further than intended in the momentary lull of conversation around them. “But not handsome enough to tempt me.”
He saw Elizabeth’s shoulders stiffen and when she turned, he was confronted with a fiery glare. She had heard. The look she gave him was not embarrassed or angry—it was flippant, as though she had taken his measure and found him wanting.
Then she turned back to her youngest sister and said something that made the girl smile.
“Quite right,” Caroline said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Elizabeth had overheard. “Far better to wait for worthier company.”
But Darcy was not listening. He was watching Elizabeth Bennet’s straight shoulders and the way she refused to acknowledge that his words had affected her. Most women of his acquaintance would have been crushed by such a comment, or would have made a scene. Elizabeth Bennet had dismissed him.
“Shall we take some air?” Caroline suggested. “It’s grown rather close in here.”
Darcy nodded and followed her towards the doors that led to a small terrace. But as they walked, he looked back towards where Elizabeth Bennet stood with her family, her composure intact despite what she had overheard.
The country air was cool against his face, a welcome relief after the stuffiness of the assembly rooms. Caroline chattered beside him about the provincial company and the inferior quality of the music, but Darcy’s mind was elsewhere.
He thought about Elizabeth Bennet’s quiet dignity and the way she had met his rudeness with such composure. He thought about her sharp tongue and her obvious devotion to her family, her apparent indifference to his wealth and status. Mostof all, he thought about the look she had given him—not angry or hurt, but disappointed, as though she had expected better from him.
The realisation that she likely thought ill of him bothered him more than it should have. He barely knew the woman, and what he did know suggested she was entirely unsuitable for his notice. She was a gentleman’s daughter, true, but her family’s reduced circumstances and her own manner marked her as someone he should avoid.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
“Mr Darcy?” Caroline’s voice broke through his reverie. “You seem quite distracted.”
“My apologies,” he said, forcing his attention back to his companion. “I was merely reflecting on the evening’s… entertainment.”
“Indeed,” Caroline smiled. “Though I confess I find such rustic amusements rather tedious. How much more enjoyable it would be to return to town, where one can find proper society and intelligent conversation.”
Darcy nodded, but his mind wandered again to Elizabeth Bennet and the quiet intelligence he had glimpsed in her manner. Something told him that conversation with her would be anything but tedious—challenging, perhaps, even irritating, but never dull.
The thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
