Page 49 of Fortuitous Encounters

Darcy growled, half because Bingley made at least some sense, and half because he just wanted to get the miserable chore over with. Oh, he understood that the exit time was fixed. It would be a half-hour after the last dance if he was any judge of Bingley’s habits. Whilst delaying the start and thus shortening the duration should improve things, it was nowhere near worth the annoyance of waiting on two nominal ‘ladies’ who wanted to make the men dance to their tunes.

“How far would you say it is to the assembly hall, a mile?” he finally asked in exasperation, trying to calculate the night’s schedule.

“I suppose that sounds about right. Did you see it on the way through Meryton?”

“I did.”

He made one more circuit around the room, examined his watch one more time, compared it to the mantle clock one more time, and finally shoved the infernal device back in his pocket, then startled Hurst out of his wits (what little he had left) with a very uncharacteristic exclamation.

“That’s IT!”

Bingley startled as well, and asked sheepishly, “That’s what?”

“As I said—IT!”

“Can you be more… specific?” Bingley said as he watched in confusion as his friend headed for the front door at a brisk walk.

When Darcy arrived, he donned his hat and coat with the butler’s help, took his dancing pumps in hand, and walked out the front door.

Bingley followed to the steps and asked his retreating back, “Where are you going?”

“The assembly, of course!” Darcy replied without turning and just kept walking.

Bingley shook his head, but since he was happily anticipating the fearsome reaction from his sisters, he just returned to the parlour to enjoy the show. Darcy was, after all, a grown man, and if he wanted to walk a mile, what business was it of his?

~

Mr Darcy approached the assembly hall in a muddled mood. It had been decidedly foul when he left Netherfield, but the mile long walk in the fresh autumn air, with no annoying company revived him; especially given how he had been forced to endure Miss Bingley’s perfume and chatter for three hours earlier in the day. For a gentleman farmer, a mile was hardly far enough to reach the edge of his formal gardens. Even most ladies (with notable exceptions) would have no trouble with a single mile.

Once he arrived, he saw a major flaw in the plan. He did not know a single soul any closer than Netherfield, and while he had not been thrilled with the idea of entering a staring contest between the neighbourhood and the Netherfield party, the idea of enduring one between himself and the assemblage was even worse; especially without Bingley to take most of the heat.

To avoid just standing around in a stupid manner, he went to the cloakroom to dispense with his coat, hat, and walking boots in favour of his dancing pumps.

After that, he had no idea what to do, but his ruminations were distracted by a soft voice.

“He looks confused, Mama. Should we help him?”

“Hush Flora!” he heard from the attendant who had just taken his items, a young woman of about thirty.

He looked over and saw her looking down in either embarrassment or nervousness. The latter was reasonable in a world full of Caroline Bingleys. Oh great, two minutes in and already making people uncomfortable.

He thought it might be best to act like a gentleman, so he replied as politely as possible. “Pray do not scold the child on my account, my good woman. She meant no harm, and her remark is sound. I could use some guidance. Might I know your name, madam?”

The servant looked a bit confused, but Darcy assumed she got odd requests all the time in that position.

“Mrs Redgrave, sir. My impertinent daughter is Flora.”

“I am twelve,” Flora said proudly, which earned her a mild scowl from her mother and a rare smile from Darcy.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Redgrave and Miss Flora.”

Flora giggled as if she had never heard anyone call her ‘Miss’ before, which might well have been true.

“May we be of assistance, sir?” Mrs Redgrave asked kindly.

Darcy realised he had omitted part of the ritual. “Pardon my distraction. I am Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”

“A pleasure, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Redgrave replied, echoed by Flora who gave a wobbly curtsy.