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resolved to avoid. Still bereft of an opening gambit, he fell back on the usual social inanities he so detested, looking steadily past her ear as he mouthed them.
    “Your servant, Miss Bennet. You have lived long in Meryton?”
    “All my life, Mr. Darcy.”
    “You have not been to London, then?” he responded with surprise.
    “I have had occasion to visit London, sir, but not during the Season, if that is what you mean by having ‘been to London.’” The archness of her tone caused Darcy to frown slightly at its meaning, and involuntarily, he looked her full in the face. She appeared all innocence, but something told him it was not so. Perhaps it was the almost imperceptible lift of one shapely brow or the tendency of her dimple to peep out. Regardless, he knew himself to be an object of amusement. He was not pleased to be such a figure.
    “I should not consider time spent in London merely to visit dressmakers’ shops as having been to the city at all,” he replied coldly.
    “Mr. Darcy, you are too kind!” Her simper was such that he knew he was not meant to receive it as anything but false and that his attempt at depressing this young woman’s impudence had utterly failed. His eyes narrowed. Why on earth should she pretend to thank him? He had certainly meant no compliment! His suspicion at her purpose was shortly to be confirmed.
    “That a gentleman of your discrimination should regard my gown as a
London
creation! But I must disabuse you, I fear. It is a
local
concoction only, but be assured, I shall certainly repeat your pretty compliment to my dressmaker.” She sketched another quick curtsy before his astonished mind could form a coherent reply. “Please excuse me, Mr. Darcy. My mother is in need of me.”
    Pretty compliment? Compliment, indeed!
Sputtering silently, Darcy stared after her as she made her way through the now crowded drawing room. True to her word, she went to her mother’s side, pausing only briefly to exchange a greeting with friend or neighbor as she glided gracefully past them. He forced his mind to stop reeling in circles and cast it back to the beginning, the moment when she had entered the doorway and her face had betrayed her opinion of her hosts.
Or, more correctly, her hostess,
Darcy amended, recalling her lively exchange with and genuine smiles for Charles. He looked about the room for Miss Bingley, easily discovering her surrounded by a ring of guests who, it appeared, were attending her every word. At the moment, she was holding forth on the “terrible crush” at Lord and Lady ——— ’s, what she had said to Lady ———, and what her reply had been to Sir ——— ’s little witticism, punctuating it all with a haughty sniff and an elegant shrug of her shoulders. The group tittered appreciatively, and Darcy noticed several young women attempting to imitate Caroline’s air as a wave of shoulders lifted and fell. Elizabeth Bennet was not among them, being occupied with a smaller circle of admirers and close female friends.
    No, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not impressed with the London sophistication of Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst, nor did she appear to feel the necessity of inveigling her way into Caroline’s good graces, as most of her neighbors were doing this very moment. Instead, thought Darcy with dawning comprehension, she found Miss Bingley’s manner objectionable! Far from cultivating her, she had, by the drollery in her eyes, assigned her a place among the ridiculous, as one might do with an amusing but slightly mad relation. Having satisfied himself on what Miss Elizabeth Bennet was about, Darcy found the discovery to have engendered two equal and opposite emotions, which struggled manfully in his breast. The first was to stiffen in indignation at the impertinence of the lady in judging her betters. The second was an impulse to laugh in agreement with her assessment. A twinkle had almost reached Darcy’s eye when he was struck with the remembrance that