Page 57 of Colour My World
Mrs Bennet fluttered a linen, her voice rising like a bell. “What a pleasure, sir! We are delighted.”
Next came Jane.
His bow deepened. He said her name with warmth but no embellishment. Just sincerity. He met her eyes. Jane blushed.
Then, he turned to Elizabeth…
His gaze lingered. Just a moment too long. A shift of weight. A slight lift of the brow—barely perceptible, but there. His aire pulsed.Curiosity. Not quite alarm. Not quite interest. Something closer to surprise.
Her eyes. He had noticed. And yet—he bowed.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She curtsied. His aire calmed.
Last, he greeted Mary. Polite. Present. He bowed with equal care and no condescension.
Elizabeth watched Mary curtsey with her usual economy. No effort to charm, but no insult taken. Hisairedid not waver. A blue so honest might be difficult to sustain.
Most men veiled their intent behind civility. Mr Bingley’s manner was unguarded. There was no mask. No sharpness, no greed, no anxious gleam of calculation. Only light.
Chapter 19
Meryton, October 1811
Mr Bennet rode with Mrs Bennet, Jane, and Elizabeth in the carriage for the short ride to the assembly rooms. Mary had chosen to remain at home, preferring a quiet evening of duets with Mrs Ecclestone to the noise and bustle of an assembly. Kitty and Lydia had remained home as well, still not out, though increasingly eager to be.
The absence of her father’s protest marked his interest more clearly than any declaration. Elizabeth appreciated his presence, a steady tanairewith familiar brown undertones.
“You both look lovely,” Mrs Bennet said. The sincerity in her voice matched the marigold glow that surrounded her.
Mr Bennet agreed. “Indeed. Many a head will turn. I may have to sharpen more than my wit.”
Mrs Bennet playfully slapped his arm. Elegant in soft blue, Jane sat beside Elizabeth in a pale green gown. The carriage stopped; their father handed them out. Several familiar faces were ahead of them.
Once inside the assembly hall, the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter mingled with the tentative strains of instruments tuning for the evening’s entertainment. The expected colours hovered about the assembly-goers as they passed and conversed: warm yellows of excitement, occasional pulses of coral from the newly married or infatuated, and the cool greys of those attending out of obligation rather than delight. It was, as one might expect, as regular in its course as the turning of the seasons.
Mr Bennet took his leave for the card room; Mrs Bennet, meanwhile, settled among the matrons’ circle. Elizabeth andJane approached Miss Harriet Goulding and Miss Penelope Long.
“I heard Mr Bingley is to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen,” Miss Goulding said.
Miss Long shook her head. “No, you are mistaken. The housekeeper was overheard to say he brought only six, his five sisters and a cousin.”
Jane turned to Elizabeth. She shrugged. As far as she could see, Miss Goulding and Miss Long spoke their beliefs.
The assembly doors opened. “We shall now learn the truth,” Jane said. The Netherfield party had arrived: Mr Bingley, two ladies, and two gentlemen.
Mr Bingley led the way, hisaireas cheerfully buoyant as the day before. Beside him, two ladies of differing height, hair the same shade of auburn, glided into the room. A small cloud of pale gold hovered over the shorter woman, dressed in a gown of crimson.How very lovely to see such appreciation.
The taller wore dreadful orange silk, herairestormy grey speckled with bright gold.She does not wish to be here.
Beside the shorter of the two ladies stood a gentleman whose most notable feature was a want of any distinction. He was suitably attired, composed in manner, and wholly unremarkable in feature. His aire, like Mary’s, was fixed and uniform. Elizabeth found herself inclined to like him.
Then another gentleman stepped forward, taller than the rest, dark-haired, and immaculately dressed. It was not his height that first caught her notice, nor his bearing, but the absence. He had no aire.
Elizabeth blinked as though her eyes deceived her.
People glowed, faint and bright, warm or cool, each hue a whisper of inner truth. But around this man, there was nothing. She looked again.
