CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
brEAKFAST WAS MUCH as it had been the previous morning, save that the entire party was assembled, and the table felt fuller for it. Conversation moved easily at first, the company still in a pleasant humour, until Mr Darcy rose slightly in his seat and addressed them all.
“There is to be a small ball this evening,” he said. “Here at Pemberley.”
Mrs Bennet brightened at once. “A ball! How very delightful. I was beginning to grow quite vexed at the thought that I might pass the season without one. Surely there must have been several already in Hertfordshire by now.”
“I imagine so, madam,” Darcy replied with polite composure. “The weather has curtailed much of what might otherwise have been arranged. Yesterday I began to put something together, as a means of restoring a little cheer. All tenants who remained at Pemberley after the snow set in will attend.”
The announcement was met with general approval. Even those who affected indifference could not entirely disguise their interest, and Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction was such that she scarcely attended to her plate thereafter.
Elizabeth observed Mr Darcy from beneath lowered lashes.
He spoke little more, and before long was called away by the demands of planning and arrangement.
She saw little of him for the remainder of the morning, though more than once she felt his eyes upon her at table, as though seeking a moment that never quite presented itself.
There was no opportunity to thank him for his gift, nor even for the briefest exchange.
Instead, Elizabeth spent the morning enduring the whispers and tittering of her youngest sisters, whose anticipation of the evening promised no peace. More troubling, however, was the altered conduct of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst.
She had noticed it the previous day, but this morning it was unmistakable.
Their civility towards Elizabeth herself had cooled into something barely masked, and towards Jane it was colder still.
Their earlier attempts at conversation, however forced, had been abandoned entirely.
Remarks were withheld, glances sharpened, and any courtesy offered felt grudging and constrained.
Elizabeth had long understood their regard for Jane to be rooted less in affection than in pretence, but now it was as though the pretence itself had been abandoned. The change was disconcerting. Nothing obvious had occurred to account for it, nor could Elizabeth recollect any particular slight.
Her only conclusion was that something must have been said, or heard, or inferred.
Time, she supposed, would soon reveal all.
***
At About Six o’clock, servants passed quietly through the house to remind the company that the ball was to commence at eight. The announcement set the evening in motion at once. Gowns were brought out and shaken free of their folds, ribbons examined, slippers set ready by the fire.
Elizabeth dressed with more deliberation than usual. When she had finished and laid her brush aside, her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the small box upon the table.
She told herself, at first, that she would leave it where it was.
The thought did not endure.
With a faint shake of her head, as though reproving her own fancy, she crossed the room and took up the box. The lid opened easily now. She withdrew the locket and turned to Jane, who was fastening a ribbon at her sleeve.
“Will you help me with this?” Elizabeth said, holding it out. “I cannot manage the clasp.”
Jane took it at once, then paused. “You mean to wear it tonight?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes steadily. “The snow is thawing, and we may not remain here much longer. I do not know whether Mr Darcy will ever return to Hertfordshire. If he is to see it on me, it ought to be now.”
Jane arched her brows, amusement softening her look. “You have given the matter some thought.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “Yes I have. Moreso, it is his ball, after all.”
Jane laughed quietly as she fastened the chain. “That is reason enough, I suppose.”
Elizabeth rose and glanced at her reflection. The locket lay simply against her gown, neither conspicuous nor concealed. She found the effect pleasing for its restraint.
At ten minutes before eight, a bell rang through the house, clear and expectant, announcing that the company was to assemble.
Elizabeth and Jane left their room together, their steps unhurried, though Elizabeth felt a quickening beneath her calm.
The evening had been long anticipated, yet she knew it was not the ball alone that stirred her so.
Her thoughts returned, unbidden, to the locket at her neck, and to the gentleman who had given it to her.
She wondered what he would think on seeing her wear his gift—whether he would remark it at once, or observe it in silence. The question warmed her more than she expected.
***
Elizabeth Had Seen the great drawing room before. Mr Darcy had shown it to them on the day of their arrival, naming it without ceremony as the largest room in the house. Then, it had impressed her chiefly by its proportions.
Tonight, it took her breath.
Light spilled from every direction. Chandeliers blazed overhead, their many candles multiplied in the tall mirrors so that the room seemed brighter than the winter night had any right to be.
Garlands had been arranged with care, greenery softened by ribbon, the whole effect festive without ostentation.
For something conceived and executed in so short a time, it was remarkably well done.
Elizabeth found herself granting Darcy silent praise as she crossed the threshold. For a gentleman so often accused of reserve, he had understood exactly what such an evening required.
She had little leisure to admire more. The room was already well filled, and her attention was quickly claimed by the familiar arrangement of the company.
Mr Collins stood proudly with his wife at his side, as though presenting her to the room by mere proximity.
Anne de Bourgh remained close to her mother, whose elaborate dress and commanding manner might easily have persuaded a stranger that she was the hostess of the evening.
Miss Bingley kept resolutely to her sister and brother-in-law, her smiles selective and her attention guarded.
Mr Bingley found himself moving restlessly about the room—sometimes lingering near Bennets, sometimes at Darcy's side, sometimes in conversation with the officers—but never, notably, near his sisters.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood near Captain Ashford, who was engaged in conversation with a gentleman Elizabeth did not recognise.
The Bennets, including Elizabeth herself, remained together, a small island of familiarity amid the growing crowd.
Within half an hour of their arrival, the room had filled so completely that Elizabeth began to wonder how many people might possibly reside upon the estate.
Mr Darcy moved steadily through the press, introducing those he could, the greater part of them tenants or neighbours who had been detained by the snow and now took advantage of the thaw.
Each appeared sincerely pleased to be there.
One of the evening’s earliest surprises came when the musicians were announced.
Darcy explained, with characteristic plainness, that they were drawn partly from his own household and partly from among his tenants, several of whom possessed considerable skill.
There had been no means of engaging professional musicians at such short notice, nor any certainty of travel through the snow.
Elizabeth thought the solution entirely in keeping with him.
When at last Mr Darcy approached the Bennets to offer his welcome, Elizabeth felt herself grow suddenly, acutely aware of the locket at her throat.
He greeted her parents first, then Jane, and then—inevitably—his gaze fell upon her.
For the briefest moment, his composure faltered.
His eyes moved from the locket to her face, then back again, as though he could not be certain of what he saw. The widening of his eyes betrayed him before he could prevent it. He had not expected her to wear it.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, lest her smile reveal too much. She hoped Georgiana, standing beside her brother to receive the guests, had not observed his surprise, though she caught Jane’s quick glance in her direction and knew she had not escaped notice entirely.
Mr Darcy recovered himself with admirable speed.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, when the greetings were concluded, “if you will not think me too forward, I should like the pleasure of your hand for the first set, when the music begins.”
The words sent a warmth through her that no candlelight could rival. She felt suddenly conscious of the room, of her family, of the moment’s consequence—and yet there was no hesitation in her reply.
“I should be very happy to accept,” she said.
Jane’s smile was immediate and affectionate. Mrs Bennet’s eyes widened in unmistakable triumph. Even her father, to Elizabeth’s surprise, permitted himself a soft chuckle, as though the scene afforded him particular amusement.
Mr Darcy inclined his head, satisfaction restrained but evident, and then excused himself to attend to the arrival of new guests.
Elizabeth watched him go, her heart unaccountably light, and thought that if the evening held no more than this, it would already have been worth remembering.
***
Darcy Had Expected the evening to require his full attention.
There were guests to receive, introductions to be made, arrangements to oversee. He had anticipated noise, movement, the usual demands of a crowded room. What he had not anticipated was how entirely his focus would be arrested by the sight of Elizabeth Bennet crossing the threshold.
For a moment, the room receded.
The locket lay plainly at her throat, neither concealed nor displayed with intention, as though it belonged there by right.
He recognised it at once. The familiarity of it struck him with a force he had not prepared for.
He had chosen it with care, yes—but he had never truly believed she would wear it. Not so soon. Not at all, perhaps.
His gaze moved from the gold to her face, and back again, before he could check himself. The warmth that rose in him was immediate and unmistakable. She had not worn it by accident. Of that he was suddenly, entirely certain.
That she would choose this night—his ball, beneath his roof—could not be coincidence.
He felt a quiet, steady certainty settle within him, stronger than any hope he had permitted himself before. This was no mere civility, no polite acknowledgement. Her regard for him was not indifferent, nor reserved. It answered his own.
When at last he spoke to her, requesting her hand for the first set, he did so with composure hard-won, though the acceptance he received sent a satisfaction through him that no effort could fully restrain.
As he moved away to greet new arrivals, his thoughts did not follow his steps. They remained with her—and with the knowledge, now firmly held, that his affection was not unreturned.
There was, he knew, only one way to confirm what he now believed.
And he intended to find out very soon.