Chapter 20
The ladies of the neighbourhood, having received Elizabeth’s cards, were delighted to find her in their midst once again and hastened to wait upon her.
Elizabeth was pleased to find that her former acquaintances Mrs Dodsworth and Mrs Sinclair were as amiable as they had been previously.
Miss Montgomery, she was told, was now Mrs Robert Bradwell and lived in Leicestershire but was close enough to visit often.
There were many others who waited upon her, and from her reception, Elizabeth could only conclude that they had been genuinely concerned about her health.
Bennet was brought out and exclaimed over, and she was certain that one and all looked to him as the probable cause of her long disappearance from their society.
She received innumerable well wishes for her continued good health with poise and grace and became adept at turning the conversation as needed.
As Mrs Sinclair rose to leave, she paused. “I hope, Mrs Darcy, that you should be recovered enough for parties, for we shall have a ball at Southwynde and very much want you and Mr Darcy to join us.”
Although the very thought made Elizabeth’s stomach clench, she smiled sweetly. “How lovely! I hope we can attend.”
Darcy mentioned it to his family members later that evening as they gathered in the drawing room after dinner. “Elizabeth, you have received an invitation to the Sinclair’s ball, I believe.”
Cries of rapture went up among the younger ladies, but Elizabeth only nodded. “I thought we would ask Mrs Annesley to escort the girls.”
Darcy shot her a look but said nothing. Kitty, Lydia, and Georgiana formed their own tête-à-tête and began an immediate discussion about shoe roses and fans, but Elizabeth remained silent.
Darcy awaited his moment, and when the other ladies were no longer paying attention to them, he moved close and spoke to her in a low voice. “You do not wish to attend?”
“Do you?”
“I know there are many who wish to see you, and they will likely all be at this ball.”
Elizabeth averted her eyes. “I am not sure I have a gown, and it might be difficult to have something suitable done up in time.”
He took her hand, and she allowed it. “It is a country ball. Perhaps one of your finer day dresses could be made over by Blake? I do miss dancing with you.”
She looked at him, thinking it would indeed be nice to see him in his finer clothes—he always did look particularly handsome in evening dress.
With a hesitant smile, she said, “I shall send our acceptance.”
By the time the Sinclairs’ ball came around, Elizabeth had worked herself into a bit of a state and wished ardently that they had sent regrets.
She sat at her dressing table, thinking that no matter how hard she tried, she simply could not imagine being at a ball.
She knew the waltz had gained in popularity in the two years she had been gone, and although she had learnt it back then, she had neither practiced nor performed it since. What if she looked silly?
She decided she would simply not dance. That would be for the best because it would also solve the problem of worrying what Darcy might think or feel if he witnessed her dancing with another gentleman. So resolved, she retired to her chamber to begin bathing and dressing.
How grateful she was that Georgiana, at some time in the last two years, had brought two of her ball gowns from London.
That was at least one worry she might lay aside.
Her maid pressed and laid out both that she might decide which to wear.
Elizabeth rose from her dressing table and went to look at the two gowns.
She gasped when she saw it, her heart sinking.
It lay on her bed, jonquil and cheerful and pretty, and it made her pulse race. It had been a favourite. She remembered trying it on during fittings at the modiste and feeling for the very first time in her life like an elegant, beautiful lady. She remembered hoping her husband would like it.
Then she remembered how she had exited her room to Darcy’s coldness, informing her he had sent his regrets to their hosts—was it the Bickerdykes?
It had been the night she realised how much was wrong with them, with their marriage, and she remembered with painful clarity standing before him in abject terror, wondering what would come.
At once, a sharp pain clenched her stomach, and for a moment, she feared she might be sick.
She sank to the floor, feeling the waves of nausea roll through her as her hands began to tremble and a sour, metallic feeling invaded her mouth.
She raised a shaking hand to her forehead; it felt clammy.
She laid her forehead against the side of her bed, feeling her breath coming rapidly as her stomach churned.
Blake entered the room. “Mrs Darcy, do you think you will want the bracelet that… Madam! Are you well?”
Elizabeth felt Blake take hold of her, trying to help her up, but Elizabeth could not stand. In a faint whisper, she begged, “No, I…just let me rest. I…my stomach…”
She heard Blake hurry away, only to return moments later with a cold, damp cloth to put on her face. Elizabeth murmured her thanks and heard Blake exit.
Moments later, Darcy arrived, the heavy oak door thudding against the wall as he entered with haste. He paused a moment, no doubt beholding her, and then—more gently than she could have imagined—he bent and lifted her.
It nearly made her cry to contrast the cold, unfeeling Darcy in her recollections with the man who gently laid her against her coverlet, then went to refresh the cold cloth on her brow, bending to kiss her cheek before he knelt beside her. “You are ill.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “Merely a little nausea. I only need a moment.”
“I shall send word to the Sinclairs.”
“No need.” With a deep breath, she raised herself to a seated position. “See? I am already better.”
He reached down to help her rise and, as he did, glanced over at the gowns. “That yellow is lovely. I seem to recall you were particularly beautiful in it.”
Elizabeth froze, distressed, pained, and feeling the onslaught of every agonising emotion she had so long suppressed within her.
She began to cry, not a ladylike weeping, but heaving, gasping sobs that curled her body into a tight ball atop the bed.
She felt her husband sit next to her and pull her hesitantly into his embrace, but she was too weak to push him off.
After a few moments, she realised she did not truly want to.
Finally, her sobs subsided and she spoke. “The last…I had planned to wear that gown…it was the Bickerdyke’s ball, I believe…you did not wish… I was already dressed. It was so…so very humiliating.”
“Forgive me…I…I cannot recall…”
Elizabeth enjoyed being in her husband’s arms very well, but felt all the danger therein. With a deep breath, she pulled back, using the need to get a handkerchief as reason to move. After she had retrieved one and dabbed at her face, she sat on the bed. Darcy sat next to her, silently questioning.
She looked down and explained herself as shortly and simply as she could.
“I love that gown. When last I wore it, we were meant to attend the Bickerdykes’ ball, but you had sent our regrets without telling me.
I was dressed before I realised you meant to stay home.
It was that night when I first began to really fear what was happening between us.
Seeing the gown gave me all that feeling again—that dread and uncertainty. ”
She looked at him then, really looked at him, not as her adversary nor her tormentor, but as her partner. “This is why I cannot speak of these things. There is too much, and it hurts far too much to release it.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “I never shall cease trying to redress the things I have done to wrong you.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. Her stomach felt better, she noticed. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, she realised she needed to make haste to dress. She inhaled deeply one last time, dispensing with the clouds of sadness that threatened and summoning a more cheerful humour.
“I believe I must summon Blake. I would not wish to make us late.”
“Let us not go,” he said quickly. Then, just as quickly, “But…no, I mean, I want to go. If you do. I want to do as you want. Wear the gown if you like, or perhaps the other one?”
For some reason, his verbal stumbling made her laugh. “We shall go and enjoy ourselves. I am all anticipation to have a waltz with you! How shocking it is that such a dance has gained such favour and in only a few years. I hear it has been danced at Almack’s!”
After this inauspicious beginning, Elizabeth was surprised to find she had a wonderful time at the Sinclairs’ ball.
All who had not yet seen Mrs Darcy were kind and welcoming, and none seemed so inclined to enquire too deeply into the happenings of the two years past, which was a relief.
She was congratulated on her son and forced to hear several birthing room horror stories, but on the whole, it was quite benign.
Elizabeth was pleased to dance the first with her husband, followed by dances with various gentlemen, none of whom were particularly handsome or even very clever.
Silently, she mused that there was no possible means by which anyone could think she flirted with any among the lot of them, then rebuked herself for such an uncharitable (albeit truthful) sentiments.
The supper was served at midnight, and Elizabeth joined her husband at a table with other young, married couples. Spirits were high, and for a time, she and Darcy forgot their troubles.