Chapter 7 #2
“Good day,” the newcomer said frostily, gaze landing upon Lizzie and Charlotte with sharp curiosity. Lizzie stared back. This
woman reminded her uncomfortably of Lady Catherine—self-assured of her own importance and power, expecting everyone else to
acknowledge it. But Lizzie refused to pay deference.
“Good day, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Jane said finally, stepping forward. “How lovely to see you again. May I introduce my sister,
Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
Mrs. Fitzgerald’s gaze swept from Lizzie to Jane, her stony expression unmoving. After a very long pause, she stepped neatly
around Lizzie and Jane, brushing right past Charlotte, and went to the counter as if she hadn’t heard Jane’s greeting. “Miss
Brewster, I’ve come for the brocade I ordered.”
“Of course, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said the sister behind the counter, hurrying to retrieve the order.
Jane stood frozen in the center of the shop, her pale face drawn. Lizzie had never seen anyone cut Jane. Jane! Her sister,
who was the sweetest, most sensitive—
Jane turned on her heel and nearly ran out the door.
By the time Lizzie and Charlotte caught up with her, she was five storefronts away, wiping furiously at her eyes. “Jane!”
Lizzie called. “Wait for us!”
Jane whirled around to face her. “Why did you bring it up? I told you not to!”
Lizzie stopped, shocked. “Jane. Everyone knew. It was obvious. Not saying anything—”
“Would have been the best thing! These are ladies, not common men or criminals! I know you deal with that sort quite a bit,
but I would have thought you’d have the sense to not be so scandalous in a haberdashery!”
Charlotte pulled them away and down a quiet alley between two buildings, where there was no one but a stray cat lounging in
the sun. “Jane, what’s the matter?” Lizzie demanded. “You were acting odd in there, even before I brought up the death. And
who was the awful lady?”
“Josephine Fitzgerald,” Jane said miserably. “And she’s the most influential woman in the county. Everyone takes their cue
from her. She’s terribly proper—and judgmental. She invited me for tea when we first arrived, but she’s not once returned
the call!”
Oh, that was bad form. “And do you think it’s because she resents you, or because of these nasty rumors about the estate being cursed?” Lizzie asked.
“I don’t know!” Jane threw up her arms. “But after that cut direct, we might as well pack up and go home to London, except . . .”
Except they probably shouldn’t go back to London, because Lady Catherine had threatened nearly everyone Lizzie loved. Strangely,
she hadn’t targeted Bingley or Jane in her letter, probably because they had already left London by the time it arrived. Which
suggested that Papa had been right, and that getting away from London had likely been the safest bet for them all.
Lizzie hated it when Papa was right.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Charlotte said, rubbing her arm. “I know it’s little comfort now, but ladies like that—they’re not worth
socializing with, if that’s how they treat others. You’ll make some true friends.”
“Everyone in the village is terrified of her. Even if they were inclined to befriend me, none of them will take that first
step because they fear Mrs. Fitzgerald. She saw Mrs. Watkins laughing in the street last week and disinvited her from weekly
tea because she thought it improper behavior!”
Things were making more sense to Lizzie now. “And this is why you didn’t want me to be seen unchaperoned with Bingley and
Darcy, and why you wanted to come with me into the village? To ensure I didn’t embarrass you?”
“Lizzie, I . . .” But Jane didn’t have anything else to say to that.
The implication of Jane’s actions settled on her, and it did not feel good. Lizzie knew she was unconventional and that she
pushed social boundaries. But Jane was not like her. And Jane loved her, she knew, but sometimes she repaid Jane’s care and
support by making her life more difficult.
Lizzie sighed. She didn’t have it in her to be angry at Jane. Anger could be useful—it could propel her forward, inspire her
to fight injustice, and give her strength when she needed it. But anger could also be exhausting, especially when directed
at those she loved. She thought of Darcy, of her father. They loved her, even when she was stubborn and wrong. And Jane loved
her, too, even when she proved to be embarrassing.
“I’m sorry,” she said to her sister. “The last thing I wanted was to make things more difficult for you.”
Jane just shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell you how bad things were before you arrived—everyone acts as though it’s not
just Netherfield that’s cursed, but us as well. And the body will not help with that perception. You have no idea how lonely
I’ve been since we arrived!”
Lizzie and Charlotte encircled Jane in a hug, and Lizzie felt her heart breaking for her sister. How dare the ladies of this
county treat Jane poorly because of what—some rumor of a curse? Well, Lizzie didn’t believe in curses.
“We’ll prove them wrong,” Lizzie said. “They’ll eat their words before the month is out.”
“At this stage, I’d settle for someone returning a call,” Jane said wistfully. “Perhaps if I could convince them all to come to tea at once, they would see that there is no dark force lurking in the halls and it’s just a normal house, with nothing to fear!”
Lizzie went still, Jane’s words tumbling around in her mind. “What is it?” Charlotte asked.
“Jane,” Lizzie said. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” Jane said. “You know I was being silly earlier when I was telling you what to say and what not to say, you’re
actually very good at making conversation, but why—”
“Come on,” Lizzie said, turning back toward the high street. She had Jane’s hand in hers, and took Charlotte’s arm in her
other, pulling them after her.
“Lizzie, where are we going?”
But Jane didn’t press when she saw Lizzie’s destination—the haberdashery. She tried to slow her pace, but Lizzie pulled her
along, bursting into the shop with such force that the small bell above the door clanged against the wall.
Every woman in the shop turned to look at them, including Mrs. Fitzgerald.
“Hello again,” Lizzie said. “We’ve come back to say that Jane has decided to throw a ball at Netherfield Park, one week hence,
and you’re all invited. I know there have been some silly rumors about a curse, and while yes, we have had some misfortunes
in the house as of late, the Bingleys are looking forward to putting all that behind them and celebrating an evening with
new friends and neighbors.”
Lizzie paused. The ladies seemed stunned at her unconventional announcement, but the teenage girl looked rather thrilled by the prospect. Mrs. Watkins was wide-eyed with shock, but then . . . she grinned.
Lizzie bit back her own smile. “Expect your formal invitations to arrive tomorrow,” she said, then turned and swept Jane and
Charlotte out of the shop once more.
“Lizzie!” Jane hissed. “What on earth have you done?”
“You said that not a single one of them would come on their own . . . but they might come if they all know that someone else
will be there. And you heard the way Mrs. Watkins spoke about Netherfield—she wants to see your ballroom.”
“You do realize that this could backfire entirely if no one comes?” Charlotte asked.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Lizzie said. “One or two might be rude to Jane, and Mrs. Fitzgerald might be bold enough to give you
the cut direct in the village, but they won’t all be able to turn down an invitation to a ball—it would be unspeakably rude.
No, they’ll come because they’ll believe they must, and then once they arrive at Netherfield, they’ll see it’s just a house.
You’ll win them over, Jane. A ball really does solve everything—I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
“Neither can I,” Jane said, sounding stunned.
“Mrs. Bennet will be delighted,” Charlotte observed.
They all had a laugh at that, and then Jane clenched Lizzie’s arm. “You said it would be in a week!”
“Oh, I did, didn’t I? That’s very soon?”
“That’s nearly impossible! We’ve only just finished the first stage of renovations.
I haven’t touched the ballroom—the floors will need waxing, and the chandeliers haven’t been polished in an age.
I’ll have to place an order with the grocer tomorrow, and write the invitations out tonight, and see about flowers and candles and menus and serving staff . . .”
“Make a list,” Lizzie said. “And put Kitty and Lydia to work.”
“There was a dead man in my drawing room last night! Now I’m to throw a ball that won’t embarrass me in a week’s time, and
you want me to have Lydia and Kitty help?”
“Don’t worry,” Lizzie said, wrapping an arm around her sister. “The dead man should be buried by then.”