18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
November 26, 1811 Netherfield Ball Elizabeth
E lizabeth had never attended a private ball. There had been the occasional small gatherings whilst she stayed at Elm Grove, but never anything as large as this event. Miss Bingley had outdone herself. There were candles lit in front of large mirrors, and the floor had been decorated with chalk dust.
Unfortunately, Mr. Collins had asked for Elizabeth’s first two dances. Indeed, he had asked each of his ‘fair cousins’ for a set. Lydia had demanded his supper set, and he had agreed readily enough. Not to be outdone, Kitty declared that he must dance the final set with her. Elizabeth felt mortified at her sisters’ display, and even more so when her father refused to do anything but smile in amusement.
Jane calmly agreed to dance the second with him, and Mary took the third. Mrs. Bennet kept her peace, likely because her two youngest children had secured other desirable sets.
She wondered idly if Mr. Collins’s dancing would reflect his character or his countenance? Would he dance elegantly, or would he fumble and stumble through the steps?
Officers mingled with the citizens of Meryton, their red coats making them stand out. She looked for Mr. Wickham and felt distinctly disappointed when she could not find him in the crowd. Suddenly, her cousin appeared at her side.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, smiling broadly. “I cannot tell you how I have been anticipating our set.”
“Have you had many occasions to dance as a man of the cloth?” she asked.
He frowned. “Well, no, but I did learn the steps. Lady Metcalf extended an invitation once for her private ball. I danced with three ladies there. Though, none could compare to the fair beauty before me!”
“Such pretty words, sir.” She smiled but hated that it felt so insincere.
“I flatter myself that I can fashion a delicate compliment when one is required. Though, I do amuse myself by occasionally arranging them in my head. I take care to present them in as unstudied manner as possible when the time comes for their use.”
“I assure you sir, no one could believe your manners rehearsed.” Elizabeth could not believe the man. Did he really dream up little things to say to ladies? Perhaps he did so for his patroness’s benefit.
“Shall we, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, extending his arm. “I believe they have called the first set.”
As it turned out, Mr. Collins could not dance at all. He went left when he ought to go right, stepped on her toes, and managed to get his cufflink stuck in her hair when she turned under his arm. They were required to leave the set because she could not move, and Mary helped to untangle Elizabeth’s locks. Together, the sisters waved away Mr. Collins’s apologies and went to the retiring room to repair the elder’s hair.
“I believe you have lost a pin somewhere, Elizabeth.” Mary dug in her reticule and retrieved a few, carefully twisting her sister’s disheveled curls and pinning them in place. “There. All better.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth said, gingerly patting her hair as she looked into the mirror. “Why would he dance if he has not the skills?”
“Maybe he attempted to impress someone.” Mary poked Elizabeth’s ribs and giggled.
Elizabeth nudged her sister with her elbow. “If he did, then it had better not be me. I will not have him. He would have been better off to demonstrate his proficiency in some area rather than his poor ability on the dance floor. ”
They linked arms and left the room. Mary was to dance with Mr. Goulding for the second set, and Elizabeth had been engaged by Mr. Lucas.
The orchestra was required to pause before the third set, for a violinist had broken a string. During that time, Captain Denny found Elizabeth with news to relate.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “I hope your evening is well. I come bearing a message.”
Elizabeth’s heart fell. There was only one message that he could have. Mr. Wickham was not here.
“My friend was sent to London on militia business,” he continued. “He begged me to tell you that he regrets that he will not be able to share a dance with you and hopes that you will reserve a set during the next assembly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Denny,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I am grieved that Mr. Wickham is not in attendance, military business cannot be put off.”
“Yes. He did say that it was better this way, for he had no desire for unpleasant confrontations to take place at Mr. Bingley’s ball.” Denny cast her a knowing look.
It gave her pause. Mr. Wickham seemed eager to spread the tales of his misuse. Perhaps he felt it was necessary to establish himself before Mr. Darcy could spread his version of events. But why was he concerned? Mr. Wickham knew that his former friend was not well-liked in Meryton. Surely, their respective characters and manner would speak for themselves.
“Miss Bennet.” As if summoned by her thoughts, Mr. Darcy appeared at her side. Mr. Denny bowed and departed, a nervous look on his face.
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth nodded in greeting.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?”
She blinked in surprise, but kept her expression carefully schooled. Not able to summon a ready excuse, she said, “yes” without thinking. He bowed and departed without another word.
Oh, why could I not think of some excuse? I would rather be required to sit out the rest of the night than dance with him.
He came to claim her hand for the set ten minutes later. The violinist had fixed his string, and they were ready to continue dancing.
The first notes played; they began to move through the steps. It was a stately, slow dance—perfect for conversation. Yet, they were silent. After dancing in silence for a time, Elizabeth spoke.
“Come now, Mr. Darcy. We must have some conversation.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you speak as a rule when dancing, Miss Bennet?”
“No, not as a rule, but it is rather odd to spend thirty minutes in each other’s company without exchanging some conversation.”
“Please, tell me what you wish to discuss, and I shall oblige you.” He did not smile, and so she could not tell if he teased or if he was serious. Though, come to think of it, she could not imagine Mr. Darcy being anything other than taciturn and serious.
“I might compliment the decorations, and you might respond by noting the number of couples in the room. After that, we might be silent.” She felt unaccountably irritated that he could not grasp this basic social grace.
“Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?” he asked.
“Yes. It is but a mile.” She paused before continuing. “We had the great pleasure of making a new acquaintance when we last went.”
He stiffened, though he did not falter in the dance steps. “Mr. Wickham is very capable of making new friends,” he growled. “The same could not be said for his ability to keep them.”
“He has lost your friendship in a manner that is likely to affect him all his life.” She would defend those less powerful than herself—Mr. Wickham did not deserve Mr. Darcy’s cruel treatment.
“Telling tales again, is he?” Darcy scoffed. “I beg you to be cautious, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham is not the man he pretends to be.”
“Do any of us present ourselves genuinely to others?” she countered. “Have I observed you in your truest form?”
“Touche, Miss Bennet. But my warning stands.”
The set ended, and Mr. Darcy escorted her from the floor, bowed, and departed.
She huffed in annoyance, replaying their conversation in her head several times as she tried to make out what he meant.
Telling tales? Was Mr. Wickham being truthful? Or was Mr. Darcy attempting to divert blame for his own actions? Such a puzzle.
She had sketched characters for years. Though her society was confined and unvarying, people changed so much year to year that it always gave her something new to observe and decipher. Most people were very much as they appeared. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, was difficult to understand.
He carried himself with pride and conceit, making no attempt to curry the favor of his friend’s neighbors. He had, by Mr. Wickham’s word, ruined that man’s life, denying him the living that his godfather had bequeathed. But she was forced to acknowledge that she did not know the particulars. She had but one account, and having known Mr. Wickham for less than a week, she had not yet sketched his character enough to know if he could be entirely trusted.
The realization was profound. By all accounts, she knew more about Mr. Darcy than she did his former friend. Perhaps I must examine both characters again before forming my opinions, she thought.
Dinner came after the next set. Her stepmother was in fine form, telling all around her that Jane would very soon be engaged. She also bragged that Lydia was to marry Mr. Collins. Indeed, the youngest Bennet had secured his company for dinner and practically hanged off his arm, making it very difficult for the parson to eat his food.
Mr. Collins did not seem to mind the attention, but Elizabeth noted how often he glanced in her direction, which told her he had not given up on attempting to win her hand.
Jane, too, had the complete attention of her prey. Could Elizabeth call Mr. Bingley anything else? Her stepsister batted her eyes and laughed. Her gown had once again been pulled scandalously low, showing off her generous decolletage. A lovely diamond pendant sat nestled on her chest and it sparkled in the candlelight.
Mr. Bingley seemed enthralled. Elizabeth watched the couple with concern, searching for any sign of sincerity in Jane’s expressions of adoration. She certainly could not say one way or the other if the lady truly affected the gentleman. He, on the other hand, was an open book, and he gazed at his partner with tenderness and fascination.
After the meal, Miss Bingley called for the instrument to be opened. Surprisingly, Jane stood and made her way to the pianoforte before their hostess could extend the invitation for guests to exhibit.
Elizabeth gaped openly. Jane had learned to play, but only just. She had never performed in company. She had not even practiced, at least not to Elizabeth’s knowledge.
Dread filled her as Jane began to play a Scottish love song. It was a simple tune, and she might have muddled her way through had she not also decided to sing.
Jane had a lovely voice, but with her concentration divided, she hit the wrong notes on both the keys of the instrument and as she tried to sing along. Further distracting her was their host. She looked at him as she sang, making her message clear to all. When she finished, the audience clapped politely. Mr. Bingley was a mite more enthusiastic, but even the dullest person could not miss the pink of embarrassment on his cheeks.
Thankfully, she left the instrument immediately after and joined Mr. Bingley on the settee. The Misses Long played, followed by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. Mary was prevailed upon to play in conclusion, and she selected a simple tune in an effort to not outshine her hostess.
After that, the dancing resumed, and Elizabeth tried her best to lose herself in the entertainment. Mr. Darcy did not dance again. She did care to wonder why she had noticed. Perhaps she wished to find some other fault in him. He certainly took the time to categorize hers.
Kitty and Lydia trailed after Mr. Collins the entire evening. They practically ignored the officers, which surprised Elizabeth. When their quarry was dancing, they stood on the side, glaring at the lady he partnered.
Despite his poor capabilities on the dance floor, Mr. Collins did not miss a set. Elizabeth wondered if he were oblivious to his lack of skill, and so subjected ladies to his presence with no intention of embarrassing them. He lacked sense in other ways, so she supposed it could be the case.
When the last set concluded, people began to drift off. Carriages were called for, and the room emptied slowly. It was in the early hours of the morning, and Elizabeth felt weariness settling into her bones as she pictured her warm, comfortable bed at Longbourn.
Unsurprisingly, the Bennet carriage was the last called. She waited patiently with her family, listening with half an ear as Mrs. Bennet chattered away at Mr. Bingley. He gave only half-hearted answers, for his attention was entirely on Jane.
Jane had her arm looped through his. Her other arm wrapped across her body, and she had her hand upon his coat. It looked as though she hugged his arm. Her head had practically come to rest on his shoulder.
Sir William and Lady Lucas waited for their conveyance too, and the former approached Elizabeth for conversation. “How long until a happy event is announced?” he asked conspiratorially.
“Jane does not keep confidence with me,” she hedged. “When she has something to announce, we will all know.”
“They look such a pretty picture. She is handsome and he wealthy. It is a good match.” Sir William grinned.
“I hope that there is a surer foundation than that, or I fear they will both be very unhappy.” Elizabeth kept her expression neutral in hopes that he would change the conversation.
“My Jane is by far the loveliest lady in Hertfordshire, sir. A man can go a long way without seeing a figure like hers. Tell me, do you not think she would make any man a fine husband?” Mrs. Bennet smiled knowingly at Mr. Bingley. “And you, sir, you are so handsome and wealthy. The perfect suitor for my daughter.”
Elizabeth saw something change in Mr. Bingley’s expression. His smile seemed a little stiff, and there was a look in his eye that did not bode well for Jane’s future hopes.
“Mama, do not bore him.” Jane swatted her mother playfully with her fan. “My dear Mr. Bingley has had a very long night. Let us not overtire him with inane conversation.”
Something about Jane’s posture told Elizabeth that she knew her mother had overstepped with her words. Perhaps she had felt her suitor stiffen under her arm. Whatever it was, the conversation shifted to Mr. Bingley’s business in London. He said that he would be departing the next day for town and planned to be gone for a sen’night. Jane did not look concerned, but told him she looked forward to his return with anticipation.
“I shall miss you,” she murmured just loud enough for Mr. Bingley to hear. The high ceiling caused her voice to carry, and Elizabeth winced. Jane was being rather forward.
“Yes, well, I do not plan to be gone long, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley replied. He seemed a little anxious.
The carriage came before any other words could be exchanged. The return to Longbourn was blessedly silent, given the fatigue of the passengers. Elizabeth wished that Charlotte was at Lucas Lodge so that they could discuss the evening the next day.