Free An Assembly Such as This by Pamela Aidan Page A

valet about its proper arrangement.
    The moment Miss Bingley’s back was to him, the frown on Darcy’s face disappeared. He lifted the cup to his lips to disguise the sardonic smile that the frown had masked and that he could no longer prevent appearing.
Elizabeth Bennet — jealous! How rich!
Darcy shook his head and, following through with his pretense, sipped the now tepid brew. Immediately he wished he had not. Looking about him in desperation for a napkin, he found none to hand so was forced to swallow the wretched stuff. By way of remedy, he quickly bit into another sweet and abandoned his cup at the nearest table.
    A touch on his arm brought Darcy round to behold his host with a glass of sherry extended toward him and a look of sympathy on his face. “Not partial to tea, are you, Mr. Darcy?” Darcy took the sherry and bowed his thanks and agreement. “Don’t touch it myself, unless it has got plenty of sugar and milk. Otherwise…vile stuff! When I heard about the Americans throwing a shipload of it into their harbor many long years ago, I knew that we had lost the colonies. Any group of people with
that
much sense would be the devil to stop in
whatever
they decided to do!”
    Darcy could not but smile in the face of such good nature as the squire’s. It occurred to him that his condescending opinion concerning such men and their function in the Empire might profit from some refining.
    “Speaking of those with sense, here comes one now.” The squire gestured with his wineglass. “Have you been introduced to Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I mean.”
    Darcy followed the squire’s gesture in time to see the lady in question pass by them, her arm linked with that of the youngest of the squire’s daughters. Miss Elizabeth’s companion was clutching what appeared to be a small piece of needlework, a sampler perhaps. Her head was hung in shyness as Elizabeth gently seated her, assured her it was “perfectly lovely,” and called to some of those nearby, “Do come and see Fannie’s entry in Meryton’s needlework exhibition.” Suitably appreciative sounds of admiration rose from the group as the sampler was examined and praised. Darcy watched as Elizabeth called their attention to the subtlety of its creator’s design and then quietly withdrew from the group while the young girl blushed and beamed at its center. She stopped a small distance away, and Darcy could see her judging her handiwork. With a small, quick grin of satisfaction she turned and joined Miss Lucas directly across the room from where Darcy and the squire stood.
    The picture Elizabeth Bennet unconsciously presented as she bent toward the squire’s daughter, lending her encouragement and support, had been loveliness itself, and Darcy had caught his breath in the delight of it. The natural grace of her figure, inclined in sweet concern for a shy child, tugged at something within him that had easily resisted the officious attention and elaborate blandishments of those with a fourfold Miss Bennet’s consequence. She had struck no attitude, as was so wearisomely
en vogue
among females in London. Her subsequent charming actions had shown that her sole intent had been to give pleasure to the child and, perhaps, to her parents.
    “Mr. Darcy? Pardon me, Mr. Darcy?” The squire’s voice, solicitous yet amused, broke upon Darcy’s consciousness. He blinked a few times and released his breath in a way that could easily have been taken for a sigh. “Perhaps a little of the sherry, Mr. Darcy? Ah, yes.” He paused as Darcy nearly emptied the entire glass. “Lizzy Bennet is as true as she appears. No artifice there and, as I said, uncommon good sense, all wrapped up in as neat a little package as could be desired, eh?”
    As the squire rambled, Darcy could feel the mortification of what had happened course through his body. His own sense of confusion over the increasing fascination he felt for her was burden enough, but that it should be so