Pamela Aidan: An Assembly Such as This

Bingley laughed aloud. “I accept your well wishes, however difficult it was for you to extend them, and heartily concur. I had no idea what a sensation we would cause merely by attending church.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You saw how it was! I could not finish one sentence before being inundated with five more questions or invitations.”

“Miss Bennet, as I recall, was not one of the throng,” Darcy pointed out.

“No, nor her sister Miss Elizabeth Bennet” came Bingley’s pensive reply. Darcy elected to ignore this last observation. “They, both of them, were engaged the entire time in a protracted conversation with the vicar and his wife.”

“No smiles?” asked Darcy, then wished he had refrained from the jibe.

“As a matter of record, yes,” replied Bingley evenly, not entirely sure of the intent of his question but, evidently, determined not to be intimidated. “I was able to catch her eye before Caroline hurried us into the carriage.” He paused and assumed a dramatic pose with one hand pressed to his heart. “I was rewarded with a smile that has nourished my hopes for almost — can it be? — twenty-four hours.” He and Darcy both laughed then, as much at Bingley’s drama as with relief to be again on intimate terms.

When they had regained control, Bingley rose. “It is almost time, you know. I was coming to tell you that a lad from the stable had run up with news of a carriage about a mile from the gate.” He paused, took a deep breath, and looking Darcy straight on, continued, “I know how you dislike these things and count myself well blessed that you have consented to stand by me through it. I cannot think how I would —”

“There is no need, Bingley,” Darcy interrupted, turning slightly away. “Your friendship is reason and reward enough for whatever service I can render you.” He strode quickly over to a small table supporting a decanter. “Now, let us complete our preparation for the morning. What say you to a small glass of fortitude before we face the dragons of Meryton?” Anticipating a positive response, he removed the crystal stopper and poured the amber liquid into the awaiting glasses. Bingley appropriated one and, lifting it, saluted him. Darcy solemnly returned the gesture.

Moments after they had replaced their glasses, a sharp rap was heard on the library door, which opened to admit Miss Bingley. Almost before she rose from her curtsy, she extended her hand to her brother and fixed both gentlemen with a determinedly bright smile. “Charles, Mr. Darcy, our first guests are even now descending from their carriage, and I am told another has been sighted not far behind. We shall have a full morning, I am in no doubt.”

“And you will preside over it beautifully, Caroline,” Bingley said, looking down into his sister’s face. “You will be reigning over Meryton society in no time.”

Miss Bingley acknowledged her brother’s compliment with a tightening of her smile. “We shall see, Brother,” she said, and then turned toward Darcy with an altogether different expression. “Mr. Darcy, I must thank you again for sharing your prayer book with me yesterday. I cannot imagine how I came to lose mine. It is so vexing! I am sure I will find it soon. I am never without it, you know.” During this extraordinary speech, Bingley had looked questioningly at his sister, but at her last statement, he started visibly, then looked to Darcy for his reaction to Caroline’s newest cast for his approval.

It took all Darcy’s self-control to prevent the telltale twitch of his lips as, with a solemnity worthy of a bishop, he assured Miss Bingley of his confidence in the success of her search. “Although,” he concluded, “such constancy in the perusal of its lines must make its loss almost immaterial, for you will surely know much of it by heart.” Miss Bingley was saved the necessity of a reply by the announcement of the arrival of guests. With a deep curtsy and swish of skirts, she quickly left the library.

Bingley was able to contain himself only long enough for his sister to be safely away. “What,” he managed between gasps for breath, “is all this about her prayer book?” Darcy’s look of innocence did not deter him for an instant. “Come, you must tell me! Caroline never looked at her prayer book since she left finishing school nor paid attention to a sermon. When you came down to breakfast yesterday prepared to attend services, I thought my sisters’ eyes would drop out of their heads! I’m sure I should slip their maids a guinea each for the uproar they endured waiting upon Caroline and Louisa a second time in one morning.”

“Why should they be astonished at my attending church?” Darcy replied. “They have seen me do so regularly in Derbyshire and surely are aware that I have a pew in St.——— ’s in London that Georgiana and I rarely fail to attend.”

“I am not sure. Perhaps because we are not in Derbyshire or London.” At Darcy’s puzzled expression, Bingley plunged on. “I believe they think you do so only to be seen.” He hastened to explain. “They attend only if they hear that some influential personage is planning to be there. Your more frequent attendance is excused, I gather, on the grounds that you must feel obliged to set an example to your tenants and sister and that your position requires you to put in an appearance to maintain certain connections.” Bingley lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

Darcy’s left eyebrow had risen quite decidedly during Bingley’s recital, and at its end, he took a step backward and slowly circled the chair, drawing his friend’s attention to the book he had intended to begin, the first volume of The Works of the Reverend George Whitefield. Bingley colored and then laughed shakily. “Of course, did they know you as I do. Such silly ideas…”

Darcy leaned over the chair back, picked up the volume, and with a wry smile tossed it to Bingley, whose face immediately flooded with relief. “They may not be that far off in their estimation, Charles. I cannot deny that duty has been more often my motivation than anything approaching real devotion.” He nodded toward the book in Bingley’s hands. “At least, that would be Reverend Whitefield’s assessment.” Bingley quickly put the book on the desk, as if it had suddenly become too hot to hold.

“But you wish to discover the meaning of her prayer book.” Darcy gave a short laugh. “It is quite simple, really. You remember, of course, that we were late arriving at Meryton Church due to your sisters’ change of costume. When we had finally found seats and opened our hymnbooks, my attention was most decidedly caught by a feminine voice coming from behind us. Such a sure, rich soprano I had never heard outside of a London choir, and against my better judgment, I turned slightly to see who it might be.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was it not, Darcy?” At his friend’s nod, Bingley continued, “Yes, I heard her also and was vastly pleased to listen to her. Her voice drowned out the caterwauling that Louisa calls singing.”

“I will not comment on your sister’s ability, but about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s, I do concur.” Darcy paused, attempting to recall the moment. “It was an unexpected pleasure to hear hymns sung with such feeling and beauty. I confess, they are what inspired me to attempt Whitefield again after avoiding him for some time now.” He gave himself a slight shake. “Regardless, Miss Bingley noticed my distraction and its source. Shortly thereafter, she discovered the loss of her prayer book, and, as was only correct, I offered to share mine. I hardly needed it, as I do know the most common ones by heart. This fact, I believe, she noticed as well, and putting the incidents of the morning together, we arrive at the reason for the conversation of a few moments ago.”