Page 77 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
“Sir William!” Bingley seized his hand and pumped it with that irrepressible warmth that made him impossible to dislike. “Splendid to be back. What a fine room, even finer than I remembered. And is that new bunting? Capital touch, capital.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Sir William replied, much pleased. “And may I say, the ladies of the neighborhood have been most anticipatory.”
But I was not watching Bingley. I was watching Caroline, who had entered behind her brother in a gown the color of burnt gold, one hand resting on Georgiana’s elbow with the proprietary firmness of a woman presenting a protégée.
“Chin up, Georgiana,” she murmured loud enough to carry, which made it a performance, not counsel. “Shoulders back. This is your first assembly, though I use the term loosely, since a country assembly and a London presentation are hardly comparable occasions.”
“I know, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana said, and her voice was small but steady.
She was beautiful. I had no other word to describe her. She looked nothing like the girl who had thrown apple cores at ducks. She wore ivory silk, pearl pins, and her hair was swept up in an arrangement that must have taken her lady’s maid hours of pinning.
“Good heavens,” Charlotte breathed beside me. “That is not the Miss Darcy you described.”
“No,” I agreed. “It is not.”
Mrs. Hurst positioned herself beside Caroline. “What a charming little room,” she announced to no one and everyone. “I do not suppose the fashions are up to date. One does one’s best with limited resources, I suppose.”
“Quite,” Caroline agreed, surveying the assembly with the satisfied air of a woman who had entered a room specifically to find it wanting.
Mr. Hurst, deposited near Sir William, wasconducting his own assessment. “I say, Lucas. No peers here at all, are there? Not a titled man in the room. Extraordinary.”
Sir William’s smile held, just barely. “We are a modest neighborhood, Mr. Hurst, but a warm one.”
“Warm, yes. I can feel it. It is rather close.” Mr. Hurst tugged at his collar and glanced toward the card room with the expression of a man already calculating his escape.
And then, behind them all, came Darcy.
Tall, dark-coated, and reserved: the assembly Darcy, not the kitchen Darcy, and not the Commerce Darcy. He caught my eye across twenty feet of candlelit floor, and the catching held warmth, a private signal, and a flash of the man behind the armor.
I held onto it and tried not to let my cheeks flush. Our dance was a secret; I had informed no one, not even Jane, as I could not wear my heart on my sleeve the way she did.
“Georgie!” Lydia pushed toward the Netherfield party with the momentum of a girl who did not recognize social barriers. “Georgie, you came! I thought you were not out. Oh, look at your dress! Is that the ivory silk? You look like a duchess. Doesn’t she look like a duchess, Kitty?”
“She looks very fine,” Kitty agreed.
Georgiana’s smile flickered, pleased and nervous. “Lydia, I?—”
“Miss Darcy.” Caroline’s hand tightened on her elbow, steering her away from my sisters and toward Lady Lucas, who was approaching with Maria in tow. “Lady Lucas, how delightful. May I present Miss Darcy?”
The snub was precise. The pivot from Lydia and Kitty to Lady Lucas was a statement of hierarchy delivered in three steps and a smile.
Lydia’s face went blank. “Did she just?”
“Yes,” I said. “She did.”
“I shall go tell Georgie that?—”
“Not now, Lydia.”
Charlotte’s hand found my arm. She said nothing, but the nothing was eloquent.
Mrs. Goulding leaned toward Mrs. Long, behind her fan. “Returning to London before Christmas, she says. I wonder if Mr. Bingley knows, or if his sister has arranged everything without consulting him, which is the impression one receives.”
“One receives a great many impressions from Miss Bingley,” Mrs. Long replied.
Sir William, undeterred by Mr. Hurst’s rudeness and Caroline’s maneuvers, was beaming at Darcy. “Mr. Darcy, sir, how good of you to come, and with your sister! What a treat for the neighborhood. I was just saying to Lady Lucas, Miss Darcy will be the handsomest girl in the room.”
Darcy inclined his head, the minimum that courtesy required. “You are very kind, Sir William.”
