Page 39 of Companions of Their Youth
Bingley had vanished into the crowd almost immediately upon arrival, swept away by a warm welcome and a man he had apparently known at school. Introductions were made to the man’s family, and Bingley had taken an especial liking to the eldest daughter. Darcy had only caught a glimpse of her from afar—light hair, large blue eyes—and then Bingley was gone, lost in a swirl of country smiles and chatter.
Darcy sighed.
All the weight he had left behind in London now pressed on his shoulders again.
For one glorious afternoon, he had been free. Racing across the fields beside Bingley, wind in his coat, sun in his face. The whoops and laughter from his friend had coaxed a rare grin from him, and he had let himself go. Just for a moment.
Then came the guilt. The whispered rebuke of his father’s voice in the back of his mind.Decorum, Fitzwilliam. Dignity. Remember your place.
So now he stood doubly rigid, punishing himself with propriety.
He worried about Georgiana—was she improving under Richard’s watch? Was she still furious with him? Was she even safe?
And Pemberley—would the harvest be managed properly? His steward was excellent, but Darcy had never been away this late in the season.
He had just begun debating whether he could slip away onto a balcony unnoticed when Bingley reappeared, all exuberant cheer.
“You must dance,” Bingley said, clapping him on the shoulder. “There are many pretty girls here, and everyone is terribly kind.”
A young man—Bingley’s friend from school—materialized at Bingley’s shoulder, his features strongly resembling the Bennet girl Bingley had taken such a shine to.
What was his name? Matthew? Moses?It was a Bible name; Darcy was sure of it.
“I see both of your sisters are already engaged,” Darcy said tightly. “It would be insupportable to stand up with anyone else in a place like this.”
Bingley blinked. “What? Nonsense. This is a charming assembly.” He gestured across the room. “Look there—what about that girl?”
Darcy did not even look.
He scowled and muttered, “Tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
There was a pause.
Bingley’s mouth dropped open. “Darcy!”
Darcy frowned, then followed the direction of Bingley’s gesture.
The young woman standing only a few feet away had flushed cheeks and bright eyes—eyes which were now narrowed into a glower.
Mark’s jaw was tight.
“She is my sister,” he said flatly. “I ought to call you out for that, would it not upset my mother.”
Darcy blinked. “I—what?”
“Elizabeth. The girl you insulted. She is my sister—mytwinsister, and quite lovely if I do say so myself.”
“I did not even look at her,” Darcy said, mortified. “I was trying to be left alone. I spoke without thought.”
Mark’s voice was like a blade sheathed in civility. “Then perhaps you should have remained at Netherfield instead of attending a public ball.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked toward Miss Bingley, who sat stiffly along the wall.
Bingley winced. “He tried. But Caroline insisted she remain behind him with… alone.”
Mark grimaced, and the edge of his expression softened into reluctant sympathy. “I quite understand your dilemma, sir. Be that as it may, it could excuse some discomfort, but it does not excuse rudeness.”
Darcy turned again to the girl—Elizabeth—and for the first time, truly looked at her.
