Chapter Thirty-Two
Netherfield Ball
Elizabeth
“Lizzy, may I speak with you?” Suzanne peeped round the jamb of Elizabeth’s bedchamber door, a trace of anxiety in her eyes.
Elizabeth closed her book and looked up from the comfortable armchair by the fire.
“Are you well, Suzanne? You seem anxious.”
Suzanne stepped inside, twisting the letter in her hand before perching on the chair opposite. The two seats faced the hearth, lending the room a pleasant warmth, though it made the place rather snug. “I have a letter from Henry. He wishes me to come to London for the holiday season.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Oh...” Her fingers clutched the book in her lap. “You were to stay at Longbourn for Christmas.” A pause. It was only natural for Suzanne to wish to spend the holidays with her betrothed, yet disappointment pricked her all the same. “I shall miss you.”
“I want you and Elinor to come as our guests.” Suzanne leaned forwards and clasped Elizabeth’s hand with affectionate insistence.
“I know you have not been back to London since…but you would not need to go to your own house. You could stay at Godfrey House with me and Arthur. And you would already be in town for the wedding. Will you think on it, my dear friend?” The firelight glinted in Suzanne’s golden curls, lending her countenance a gentle radiance that only deepened the sincerity of her plea.
Elizabeth felt torn. Could she return to the place where she had endured such torment? Even if she avoided Fiennes’s house, it would stand near…too near for comfort. “I shall think on it later. We have an evening of dancing to prepare for, after all.”
“That is all I ask.” Suzanne rose, her cheer restored. “We shall have a grand time tonight. I am glad I returned in time for Mr Bingley’s ball. Do you think he will ask Jane for a formal courtship—or a proposal—before the evening is done?”
Unlike her own situation, Elizabeth had every confidence in her sister's future felicity. Mr Bingley was a good man—their investigations had shown that. “One can only hope. They exchange longing glances with such constancy that even the most romantic soul must beg for relief!”
Their laughter mingled with the crackle of the fire before Suzanne swept from the room, saying she had to find Arthur.
The young earl had been occupied with his tutor, though he joined the household daily.
His admiration for Lydia persisted, but Elizabeth could detect no reciprocal partiality.
They are too young. And Lydia is two years his senior.
There could be no harm in such childish infatuation; soon enough, Arthur would be off to Eton.
The proposed visit to town both frightened and intrigued her. She wished to go—and wished to equally remain. Mr Darcy was at Netherfield Park, and—
She stopped short, startled by thought. What has Mr Darcy to do with anything?
Even as the question formed, she knew the truth: the gentleman had come to mean more to her than any other.
Do I love him? It scarcely signified. Her path was already chosen.
She would raise her daughter to be an admirable, intelligent young lady, and…
A long sigh escaped her. Leaning back, she watched the flames dance and flicker in the grate.
Loneliness pressed on her with new clarity—sharper still when she thought of Suzanne’s happiness.
If her friend, once bound in misery as she had been, could move past it and find love anew, might she not as well?
No answer came. Resigned to uncertainty, Elizabeth rose at last and began her preparations for the ball.
Netherfield Park was alight. Lanterns lined the drive, and the carriages in the queue moved forward in stately procession.
Elizabeth gazed at the manor, admiring the blaze of light from its many windows.
I could have lived here, she thought. Of all this, I am mistress, yet I hide away at Longbourn.
The familiar excuses that Netherfield Park would be far too lonely stirred in her mind, but she dismissed them.
She might have invited Jane or Mary—or both—to share the house with her.
Yet she had shied away from the place and its connection to her husband.
Perhaps new memories will help me see Netherfield in a different light.
The Bennets’ carriage drew to a halt before the grand entrance, its lamps casting long shadows across the steps.
Within moments Mr and Mrs Bennet, Jane, and Elizabeth were received into the welcoming warmth and brightness of the hall, followed closely by Suzanne, Mary, and Mr Collins, who had come in Lady Westland’s equipage.
Mr Bingley and his sisters waited to receive their guests. Mr Hurst was nowhere to be seen—likely already in the ballroom and well into his cups. The thought was uncharitable, but she could not deem it unjust.
Mr Bingley’s attention was fixed wholly on Jane as they passed through the line into the ballroom. He bent close, murmuring something that brought a bloom to her sister’s cheeks and a delighted nod in reply. Suzanne, ever quick to notice, enquired at once as they approached the double doors.
“He asked for the supper set…and the last set,” Jane confessed, colouring deeper, her eyes bright with pleasure. “And he already secured the first when he delivered the invitation.”
Elizabeth regarded her sister in amused disbelief. “That is three sets! If you do not return home engaged, I shall be forced to call the man out!”
Suzanne’s tinkling laughter rang like silver, spurring the others to join her.
“Really, Lizzy, a duel? I can picture it now! He will certainly choose pistols—I heard Sir William praise Mr Bingley’s aim only the other evening.
How will you defend yourself? Do you even know how to fire such a weapon? ”
“I cannot shoot,” Elizabeth returned with mock solemnity, “but perhaps I shall not need to. I am certain Mr Bingley will propose before the night is over. What say you, Lady Westland? Shall we make a wager?”
Suzanne’s face dimpled in amusement. “I would lose that bet, and gladly. If Mr Bingley has not offered for Jane by the end of the evening, I shall be very much surprised. Three sets! That is as good as a declaration, even in the country.”
The ladies entered the ballroom, moving easily through the throng. Mary and Mr Collins soon drifted away, drawn to Longbourn’s parson, a cheerful man named Mr Jefferson. Elizabeth suspected sparks between her cousin and Mary and smiled to see it.
The others strolled more leisurely about the well-lit room.
It was neither too crowded nor too thinly attended.
Scarlet coats brightened the assembly, and the hum of voices and music filled the air.
Elizabeth glimpsed Charlotte and Wilkens amongst the company and was pleased they had received an invitation.
Sir William and Lady Lucas stood with them, both in excellent humour.
Wilkens bowed as Elizabeth approached, his smile warm and unforced.
He was more than a faithful steward; as the husband of one of her dearest friends, she felt a particular regard for him.
He alone, amongst all who had known her before, no longer awakened discomfort.
Proof, perhaps, that I can surmount any trial borne of that disastrous first marriage.
“Charlotte—Wilkens! ’Tis a pleasure to see you.” Suzanne joined her, extending her hand with her usual grace. She had met Mrs Wilkens at another evening party, and the ladies had soon grown friendly. “And Sir William, Lady Lucas—how do you do this evening?”
“Capital, Lady Westland, capital,” Sir William replied jovially. “How do you do? And how fares the young earl?”
A few pleasant civilities followed, yet Elizabeth’s attention soon strayed.
As her gaze wandered the crowded room, she knew not what—or whom—she sought, until she saw him.
Mr Darcy stood at the door, with Miss Bingley on his arm, looking fairly constrained by her attentions.
Or perhaps she imagined it. The moment his eyes met hers, his whole manner brightened, and he guided Miss Bingley towards their party.
The arrival of the Bingleys in the ballroom signalled that all the guests were present and the dancing would soon begin.
Mr Darcy had already secured Elizabeth for the first set, and a tremor of anticipation stirred within her at the thought.
Miss Bingley’s hauteur eased the instant she caught sight of Suzanne.
“Lady Westland! How very glad I am that you returned for our little gathering,” she exclaimed, every syllable oozing civility.
“Naturally, I am pleased to be back at Longbourn,” Suzanne’s tone remained even, her smile touched with polite reserve. “Elizabeth is my dearest friend. An evening in her company is always a pleasure.”
Mr Darcy turned to Suzanne and requested the second set.
Miss Bingley’s colour rose as he next addressed Mrs Wilkens, and only then solicited her for the fourth.
She could not conceal her vexation, and her discontent deepened as the orchestra struck up and the dancers assembled.
Releasing her arm, he offered his hand to Elizabeth.
“Mrs Fiennes, I believe this is our set.” His smile warmed her heart and sent a quickening through her pulse. She returned it with quiet pleasure, placing her hand in his as he led her to the floor.
“You seemed eager to be rid of our hostess,” she observed as they took their positions. Jane and Mr Bingley led the set; beside them stood the Hursts, whilst Miss Bingley, at length, partnered with Arnold Goulding.
“She fastened herself to my arm as I passed,” Mr Darcy replied in low amusement. “My first sets were already engaged—a circumstance she did not know. I suspect she meant to claim them.” His suspicion was swiftly confirmed, for Miss Bingley’s eyes cast another resentful look in their direction.
“Poor dear.” She clicked her tongue softly.
“Her hopes are destined to be dashed.”
The dance began, and Elizabeth only nodded.