by Robin Helm
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Elizabeth dressed with greater care for this assembly than she had ever done for any assembly before. She thought it was the first time that she was grateful for her mother’s insistence on packing a ball-gown, in case there should be an eligible gentleman for her to attract.
And Mr. Williams was eligible, Elizabeth was sure of it. The presence of Col. Fitzwilliam, as well as his reference to hunting spies, made everything clear. Mr. Williams was doing clandestine work for the army, of course. Or, more likely, he was protecting someone who was. Hadn’t he said that the situation he was referring to was exactly like Rahab and the spies? Rahab was protecting the spies of Israel in Canaan, therefore Mr. Williams was an ordinary but good-hearted clergyman who was simply protecting someone else.
She drifted into a daydream. He would see her across the crowded assembly room, be struck by her beauty, and ask her to dance. Perhaps he would not dance with anyone else, no matter how rude it would be. At the end of the evening, he would declare his love, and she would accept him, and he would ask when he might speak to her father…
That pulled her out of the daydream. He thought she did not have a father. In fact, he thought a number of things about her that were not true. She would explain, of course, and hope that he would forgive her for deceiving him. He might well blame her for not telling him at that outset that she knew he did not come from Meryton. She did have a reasonable explanation for her actions, but she still quailed at the thought of confessing that she had thought him something as despicable as some sort of traitor, or a confidence trickster.
She had been reluctant to tell Millie about her growing feelings for Mr. Williams. Millie had said that, after twice rescuing Elizabeth, she was certain he could not be a dangerous man, and she was content to leave him be, as long as he did not trifle with Elizabeth’s heart. Elizabeth was a little afraid that if she told Millie that she thought Mr. Williams felt something more than disinterested admiration for her, Millie would make sure to investigate him. Elizabeth could envision her demanding an explanation from Mr. Williams about why he had said he came from Meryton. Elizabeth was afraid that, rather than discard his disguise and expose someone else to danger, he would leave the district, perhaps never to return. No, better not to question him yet, or give Millie reason to do so. She would wait until he trusted her enough to tell her what the truth was.
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Darcy approached the assembly that evening with some trepidation. His evening clothes, which had been merely what a man of his station was expected to wear at Lanesborough Hall, were very, very impressive at a small country gathering like this. He would be expected to dance with almost any young lady who was unsolicited by someone else, in order not to disgrace his supposed calling; he had never been in such a position before, and it made him nervous.
He saw Elizabeth as soon as he and his cousin arrived, and she took his breath away. He started to advance toward her and Miss Milsom, who was standing beside her, but was intercepted by Mr. Hendry, the man with the long nose.
“Ah, Williams! Glad to see you here! And your friend!”
Darcy introduced Col. Fitzwilliam to Mr. Hendry, and at the same time noticed a young lady who bore a distinct resemblance to him hovering just behind him. Darcy recognized his duty.
“Will you introduce me to your daughter, sir?” asked Darcy
Mr. Hendry beamed and turned to his offspring. “Frances, may I present Mr. Williams?”
Just as Darcy bowed to acknowledge the introduction, the musicians began to strike up a tune. He cast one forlorn look toward Elizabeth, and then saw Miss Hendry’s face. The girl was one of the most unattractive females he had ever seen; she had inherited her father’s nose, and had a cast in one eye. She was still blushing from the introduction, and Darcy knew that she was probably only rarely solicited to dance. He could not humiliate her by neglecting to ask her.
“Miss Hendry, will you do me the honour of dancing the two next with me?”
Miss Hendry nodded shyly, and they took their places in the long line of dancers in the middle of the room. Darcy could not help but notice the other girls looking enviously at his partner. He might not be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley to this throng, but evidently he was still generally admired enough for it to be a coup for this girl to dance with him. He was glad he could do a small thing for her. She was still blushing, but he thought he detected a lift to her head and a shy smile that had not been there before.
He looked over and noticed that his cousin had asked Elizabeth to dance. He was glad Elizabeth was not being neglected, but he was impatient for the two dances to be over, so that he could dance with her himself.
The dance began, and he was thankful to discover that Miss Hendry was a good dancer—she must have practiced much in hopes that she would be asked. Her conversation was not very exhilarating, however, and he spent most of the dance trying to decide what he should say first to Miss Bennet.
After the dances, James returned Miss Bennet to Miss Milsom’s side, and went to talk to Darcy.
“Jealous that I danced with her first?”
“A little. What did you talk about?”
“You, mostly. I solemnly extolled your virtues, and gave her to understand that you are the most worthy of men. I even contrived to keep my countenance when she asked if I had ever met Mr. Darcy, your patron.”
“Good heavens, what did you say to that?”
“That of course I did know him, and that he was the most insufferable, arrogant—”
“James!”
The colonel grinned. “I told her that he was a good man, and in many ways resembled Mr. Williams. Look, Darcy, the next set is forming. You had better go and ask her to dance.”
Darcy nodded. “I will. If you want to do some good this evening, ask Miss Hendry to dance.”
He threaded his way through the milling crowd until he stood before the two ladies.
“Good evening, Miss Milsom, Miss Bennet. You both look very well, if I may say so.” What he wanted to say was, “Miss Bennet, you are the most beautiful creature in the whole of England,” but he was sensible that such a statement would not be politic, and forbore to do any such thing. “Miss Bennet, will you do me the honour of dancing the next with me?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Elizabeth, and took his offered arm as he escorted her to their places. She thought he was the most finely dressed gentleman she had ever seen, and smiled briefly as she imagined what her sisters would say if they could see her being sought out by this man as a dance partner. She could guess what her mother would say, loudly enough for all to hear, and was devoutly thankful she was many miles away tonight.
The two of them stood facing each other, both knowing they had much that should be said to the other, and neither of them knowing how to begin. The lead couple started the first figures, and Darcy and Elizabeth were forced to give some attention to the dance.
“I thank you for dancing with Miss Hendry,” said Elizabeth finally. “It was kind of you to take notice of her.”
“Not at all. She dances very well.”
“I think you gratified the dearest wish of her heart,” said Elizabeth.
Darcy decided that dancing with an ugly girl had been a very small price to pay for the reward of having Miss Bennet look at him in that admiring way. It emboldened him to say, “And you are gratifying the dearest wish of my heart.”
He watched her cheeks tinge with pink. “Am I?”
“One of my dearest wishes, at least.”
“What are your other wishes?” Elizabeth hoped her question could not be construed as flirtatious, for she honestly wished to know.
“I wish you would not take a situation as a governess.”
Without thinking, Elizabeth blurted out, “I have no intention of doing so.”
It was their turn to begin to dance the figures, and in those moments when the dance separated them, Elizabeth remembered that she had once told him that she was looking for a posi
tion as a governess. The thought that he did not want that life for her, and was willing to tell her so, made her heart skip a beat. But the proper, maidenly observation to make should have been, “Why ever not?” and let him explain himself. As it was, it seemed as if she assumed he was making her a proposal of marriage, and she was over-eager. She felt the burden of setting straight the lies she had told. But how could she begin an explanation of her deception?
“That is,” she amended when the dance brought them together again, “I am considering staying where I am for a while.” There, that was not deceitful, even though he would probably interpret it to mean that she would be staying with Millie.
Darcy had doubted that he had heard her aright when she had at first so confidently answered in the negative. It seemed so brazen a reply, something that was all out of character for her. Her addendum made things more clear.
“I wish you would not do that either,” Darcy said, when he next had a chance to speak. “I wish…I wish you could trust me.”
“I do, sir. I have been longing to tell you that I do place the firmest reliance on your character.”
James must have done a more thorough job than I realised! thought Darcy. He plunged ahead.
“Do you, Miss Bennet? Would you trust my character no matter what you might learn about me?”
The absolute earnestness of the question, and the intensity of the look in his eyes made Elizabeth quail a little bit. Was he going to tell her something she had not anticipated? Perhaps that he was constantly in danger, or that he was not a quiet country clergyman but a spy on whom the nation’s security rested? No matter. She could rise to the challenge.
“If you are on the side of right, of morality, and justice, then yes, I do trust you.”
The last strains of music ceased, and Darcy made his bow. “Miss Bennet, you cannot know how—”
“Darcy!”
Involuntarily he turned, and then wondered why James had forgotten everything about his assumed identity. But it was not James that met his eye, it was Charles Bingley.
“Darcy! Whatever are you doing here?”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. Confusion was writ large on her face.
“I might ask you the same question.”
“Oh, I’m here to look at a house. A Mr. Madderly—a man I met in Town only last week—has decided to rent his house for the year. I came to look at it. He said there was to be an assembly here this night, and thought it would be good if I came to meet the local populace.”
“A very good idea, I’m sure,” said Darcy. He saw Bingley looking from himself to Miss Bennet, as she was listening closely to the conversation. Darcy quickly made the introductions, and then asked if his sisters were in Town.
“Yes, fixed there for the winter,” replied Bingley. “And have you heard from Georgiana lately? My sister Caroline wanted to be sure that her greetings were given to Georgiana whenever I saw you next. She will be pleased to know I met you and passed on her message. Honestly, I think she is angling for an invitation to Pemberley, but you are under no compulsion to issue one!”
“Are you staying in the village?” asked Darcy.
“No, I am a guest at the manor house; Mr. Madderly offered to let me stay there so I could really look around the place. Where are you staying?”
“At the inn here in the village.” Bingley’s face now registered surprise, but before he could ask any questions, Darcy said, “Shall we dine together tomorrow? Perhaps at The Sun; no need to put Mr. Madderly’s cook to any inconvenience.”
“Ah, there you are!” broke in James, who had appeared out of nowhere. “I wondered where you had got to.” He glimpsed Miss Bennet’s puzzled face, and said, “Darcy, will you introduce me to your friend?”
“Ah, yes, yes,” said Darcy. “Bingley, may I present Col. Fitzwilliam? James, this is my good friend, Charles Bingley.”
Both men bowed, and James said, “Bingley, I hate to impose upon you at our first meeting, but I have been commissioned to introduce you to several young ladies, as there are not enough gentlemen at this assembly, and I fear you may be held in some dislike in the future if you neglect them now.”
“Oh! Certainly,” said Bingley. “We will meet again soon, Darcy.” He allowed himself to be drawn away by the colonel.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “I believe an explanation is in order. I cannot feel we should remain here to talk; we should inevitably be interrupted. And look, the next set is forming. Would you object to coming outside to talk? I realize the impropriety, and would be glad to fetch Col. Fitzwilliam to join our party if you would prefer…”
“Thank you, but I believe I would rather not have a third person present.” It was coming, then, Elizabeth thought. The explanation of his behaviour. And of hers, most likely. She did not want to confess her sins before someone she had only met that day. She was divided between anticipation and dread.
A few words arranged the matter. Darcy left the assembly room first, and a few minutes later, Elizabeth followed without anyone noticing, she hoped. They met outside The Sun, and Darcy said, “It is moonlight; perhaps we ought to walk? It will keep us warmer.”
“As you wish.”
He offered his arm and she took it, and they started slowly down the street.
“So you are Mr. Darcy,” began Elizabeth.
“I am. No doubt you wonder why I took a false name.”
“I thought I knew once, but now I am not certain.”
“You thought you knew? Were you aware that I was not Mr. Williams?”
“No, I knew you were not from Meryton.”
His eyebrows rose at that. “I knew I would probably give myself away by some chance remark, but I had no idea I had given the game away so soon after I met you. I must tell you the whole story, and pray you do not think so ill of me as I deserve.”
He told her of his cousin’s request, the circumstances that had led to his presence at the ruins, and the cluster of coincidences that had led him to wonder if she could possibly be his cousin’s quarry.
“I knew it was so unlikely as to be laughable that you were a spy, but every time I decided that you were definitely not a spy, you would say something that made me hesitate again. I can only beg you to forgive me, and give me leave to pay my addresses to you as myself.”
“Oh yes! That is—" she fell silent, trying desperately to think of how to begin her confession, for she felt she could not give him leave to pursue her if he thought she was the character she had assumed.
Darcy did not know why she had stopped herself, but the first two words gave him the courage to continue. “How did I give myself away?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Because, as it happens, I am from Meryton.”
He stopped walking and looked at her. “You are from the town of Meryton?”
“Not from the town, exactly. My father’s estate is nearby.”
“Your father’s estate,” he repeated. “So you are not from Cheapside?”
“My aunt and uncle live there, but I have never lived there.” She hurried into an explanation. “When you said you were from Meryton, I knew you were lying. I did not know what else you might be lying about, and I was afraid you might be up to something reprehensible—even, the thought crossed my mind, a spy. Millie and I—she is my old nurse—decided that I would conceal my identity, except for my name, which you already knew. As time went on, I could see your true character coming through, and I decided that whatever reason you might have for lying about your place of residence, it must be for a good reason. You told me so, in fact.”
“Yes, when I thought I would make it easier for you to confess and forsake your ways as a spy, if that is what you were.”
“I imagined that you were either a spy in His Majesty’s service, or protecting someone who was.”
Darcy chuckled. “Do you mean to say that we both suspected each other of espionage?”
“It seems so. It must have been very uncomfortable for you to masquerade as a c
lergyman, used as you are to the best of everything.”
“It was, I believe, very beneficial to me. What I told you about Mr. Darcy was true—I was arrogant without knowing it, and needed to be taught a lesson.”
There was a brief silence. Suddenly, Darcy stopped walking again and faced her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I don’t think we have been properly introduced.”
Elizabeth laughed and curtsied. “I am Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn, near Meryton in Hertfordshire. I have a father and mother and four sisters, and an aunt and uncle who live in Cheapside. I only rarely read French novels.”
Darcy bowed. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire. I have one sister, Georgiana, who is ten years my junior. I also have a house in London, and an annoying cousin who sometimes sends me on military errands. At least, he used to; he never will again.”
“How do you do, Mr. Darcy?”
“I am well,” he said, gripping her hands. “I am very well, in fact. Miss Bennet, will you give me leave to wait upon your father? I have a very earnest desire to meet him.”
“Yes. I should like you to meet my father.”
“Thank you. Miss Bennet, you asked me tonight what some of my dearest wishes were. I told you three of them, and they have all been granted. There is a fourth; I must hope that you will grant that one as well.”
She smiled up at him, and he took it for permission. It was not a long kiss, but it was tender, and both knew it was a promise.
“We ought to be getting back,” said Elizabeth, who felt warm in spite of the cold winter night.
“Yes, we ought,” said Darcy. “And we must discuss the answer to the question that is now uppermost in my mind.”
“What is that?” said Elizabeth.
“Who am I now going to find to teach at my orphanage?”
The End
Other books by Barbara Cornthwaite
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