Chapter 20
Twenty
In Which Lizzie and Darcy Attend a Ball, with Detrimental Results
“There,” said Agnes, sliding the last pin into Lizzie’s hair. “What do you think, miss?”
“I think you’re a miracle worker,” Lizzie murmured as she peered into the mirror. Her normally plain appearance seemed somehow
elegant thanks to the coiffure that Agnes had carefully pinned into place. “You must teach me how to do that.”
“It’s no trouble. The trick is twisting the hair here, and then sliding two pins crossways . . .”
She’d already lost Lizzie, but she nodded—gently, so as not to loosen her hair, although Agnes had secured it very well—and couldn’t help the soft smile that played across her lips when she took in her own reflection.
Unless Jane did her hair, Lizzie’s style ran toward practical and simple.
She didn’t dare let her mother or sisters anywhere near her with an implement that had to sit near a hot fire, either.
But Agnes had wielded her papillote iron with great aplomb, creating a soft halo of curls that seemed to transform her into someone who looked more grown. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
“So you like it, miss?”
“Oh, Agnes, I love it,” she said, resisting the urge to pat the curls gently. “Thank you.”
The maid smiled and began to briskly set to rights the various tools and supplies she’d used for Lizzie’s coiffure. “And are
you hoping to catch the eye of anyone in particular tonight?”
Lizzie laughed. “I think I’ll leave the officers for my sisters to pursue.”
“And what about Mr. Darcy, will he fill your dance card?”
“I think I can manage to wrangle a dance or two from him,” Lizzie said, smiling.
“May I ask you something, miss?”
“Certainly,” Lizzie said. Anyone who’d made her feel as pretty as she did now had earned a forward question or two.
“Are you and Mr. Darcy attached?”
“Not officially, no,” Lizzie said carefully, uncertain of the maid’s reason for asking.
“But unofficially?”
Lizzie winked at Agnes through the mirror. The maid simply shook her head. “I knew it. Do you think he’ll ask for your hand
soon?”
At that question, Lizzie felt her smile falter. “Oh, I don’t know. All in good time.”
The idea of marriage used to frighten Lizzie—it had felt too much like giving up her freedom, sacrificing everything she’d worked for.
Even now she could imagine what the gossips would say.
You know she used to fancy herself a solicitor?
Well, she married and came to her senses.
Even though Darcy understood that she wasn’t going to give up her career for any reason, not even marriage, she still had
a hard time imagining what a future where she was both married and a solicitor even looked like. And then there was the not-so-small
matter of his father’s disapproval . . .
That was hardly a romantic thought.
“Perhaps he’ll be so moved by the sight of you tonight, he’ll propose on the spot!” Agnes continued, oblivious to Lizzie’s
inner turmoil. “The ballroom is a sight to behold!”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Lizzie said, choosing to ignore Agnes’s comment about proposals. She stood and allowed Agnes to
help her carefully into her dress. “You all worked so very hard to pull this off. And this ball is very important to my sister.”
“She invited unmarried gentlemen,” Agnes pointed out, tightening the laces of Lizzie’s dress. “It will be a success for that
fact alone.”
Lizzie giggled at that and then turned to get a look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a white dress with delicate
pink-and-green embroidery, and her cheeks had a natural flush to them. Agnes fussed with her skirts. “There,” she said, straightening
her hem. “Now, if you need me, I’ll be downstairs, serving. I ought to hurry down, in fact.”
“You’re serving?” Lizzie asked in surprise. “I thought the valets would be doing that.”
“Well, yes—that is to say, the two valets that are left,” Agnes said. “The maids are helping out.”
Lizzie sighed. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that solving the mystery of the body in the flue would debunk the myth of the
curse, and the servants who’d quit would come back. Alas, that had yet to happen.
“Will there be enough of you tonight?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, please don’t worry about us, miss. The London staff are all hard workers, and I won’t go anywhere.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Lizzie said. “If only the rest of them had your sense.”
Agnes bobbed a quick curtsy and slipped out of the room while Lizzie surveyed the chamber, finding Guy sprawled across her
bed. She went over to rub his belly, which was quite full, thanks to his friends in the kitchen. “You be good,” she told him.
“Don’t go off anywhere with anyone.”
She didn’t relish the idea of leaving Guy alone, but Jane had given her a key to the room, and this was the safest place for
him, short of bringing him with her to the ball. A sense of unease still hung over her when she thought about all the strange
occurrences she couldn’t yet explain.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself. “Tomorrow you must come clean to Papa about Lady Catherine.”
But for now, she had a ball to attend.
She locked the door behind her, slipped the key into the pocket of her dress, and hurried toward the sound of voices and music that floated up from below.
At the top of the stairs stood a tall, sharply cut figure in evening wear.
As she approached, he turned, and Lizzie smiled to see Darcy.
He took her in and laid his right hand over his heart, as if the sight of her were too much for him.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, dipping into a small curtsy.
“Miss Bennet,” he said with a bow. “You look . . . stunning.”
Her smile grew as his words sent a thrill down her spine. “And you look quite handsome yourself. What are you doing up here?”
“Waiting to escort you, of course,” he said, offering her his arm.
“How chivalrous,” she said, taking it. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t want to face all those people
on your own?”
He grimaced. “I believe every eligible young lady in the county is here.”
“Darcy, you’ve faced down murderers and thieves and villains of all sorts, but you’re afraid of young ladies?”
“Terrified,” he confirmed. He leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, “And even more intimidated by their mothers.”
Lizzie laughed, leaning into Darcy. She wanted to enjoy tonight—for all of the things that she and Darcy had seen and undergone together, they’d never been to a ball together.
And maybe she was a little romantic after all, or maybe it was the flickering of hundreds of candles in the foyer below and the strain of music from the ballroom, but she felt lighter than she had in days.
Weeks. Then she looked into Darcy’s eyes and realized no, it wasn’t the setting—it was he.
Darcy was the one who made her feel as though she didn’t have to fight to prove herself.
He saw her exactly as she was, and he made her laugh, and he was always there.
“What are you thinking right now?” he whispered.
That I want you to kiss me, she thought. And never stop.
But before she could say anything reckless, a door slammed somewhere behind them. She and Darcy startled, and Lizzie took
a half step back, turning to see Caroline coming around the corner, dressed in an exquisite peacock-blue dress and looking
extremely annoyed.
“Well, are we going down or not?” she demanded.
Lizzie tilted her head to Darcy, and he sighed and offered an arm to each of them. “Be nice,” he reminded Caroline as they
glided down the stairs.
“Darcy, the sooner Charles and Jane give up on trying to impress these country bumpkins, the sooner I get back to London,”
she muttered under her breath. “I don’t give one fig about being nice.”
“Eloquent as always, Caroline,” Lizzie said.
“Don’t pretend you’re any happier here than I, Lizzie Bennet,” Caroline said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I
know you’re just dying to go home.”
Then she extricated herself from Darcy and glided away, slipping between guests as she made her way to the ballroom.
“I’ve a new theory,” Lizzie whispered. “Do we think that Caroline is perpetuating the rumors about this place being cursed
in order to get herself back to London faster?”
“Don’t give her any ideas,” Darcy said.
They made their way through the foyer, where Jane and Bingley stood greeting guests as they arrived, and to the ballroom, which was down a short hall to the left of the front door. The room seemed to glow from the hall, and when Lizzie and Darcy stepped into the space, Lizzie caught her breath.
The ballroom had been transformed.
The wood floors were polished to a high gleam, and gone was the musty smell of air being shut up for too long. Lively musicians
played along the far wall, and everywhere Lizzie looked, the people of Meryton were chattering animatedly. Above them all,
the giant chandelier cast a brilliant, shining light down on the guests from dozens of lit candles. The overall effect was
cheerful and inviting, with an undercurrent of excitement.
Lizzie spotted the ladies from the haberdashery, including Mrs. Fitzgerald and two tall, wide-eyed young women who could only
be her daughters. Clara Jeffries stood near the edge of the dance floor, staring up at the chandelier. And Mr. Thomas was
deep in conversation with Charlotte, who looked especially lovely in a saffron-colored dress. Lizzie smiled and nudged Darcy.
“Look,” she whispered, nodding in their direction. “Mr. Thomas seems quite taken with Charlotte.”
“Taken?” Darcy repeated. “You mean . . .”
“Perhaps. She deserves someone nice, don’t you think? And he seems nice.”
“Mr. Thomas, though?” Darcy asked.
“Do you think her not good enough for him?” Lizzie felt her voice rise in defensiveness, but she didn’t care.
“On the contrary—I wonder if he is good enough for her.”
“Well said,” Lizzie said. Then she spotted another familiar figure—her mother, headed straight toward her.