Chapter Eight
Posture, girls, posture , Elizabeth heard in her mind as she exited the carriage behind Mama and Jane and waited for Mary and Kitty to join them.
Papa had remained behind at Longbourn with Lydia, apparently less interested in meeting the members of the Netherfield party than the rest of his family.
He had introduced himself to Mr. Bingley when the man first entered the neighborhood and had asked Mrs. Grover to take the girls upstairs when the young man came to return the call.
From an upstairs window, they had watched his departure, Kitty declaring him handsome in his blue coat and Elizabeth admiring his black thoroughbred.
She saw him gaze back at the house as he left, and thought he appeared disappointed.
Given Mary’s pantomime, she was sure she knew why.
Elizabeth was aware that while he enjoyed his bookroom, Papa also kept busy on the estate some hours each day.
As she understood something of what that work required, she did not begrudge his wish to remain home and retire at his usual time.
She was anticipating the assembly even without his presence, mostly because it would be the first she would attend with her sisters.
She was under strict orders from Lydia to tell her everything that happened and was determined to find at least one exciting bit of news for her youngest sister, who was feeling very much left out.
The hall was large and well-lit, but packed tightly with people milling about.
Soon, she surmised, the card rooms would open, allowing some of the crowd to disperse.
It was much like the few assemblies she had attended in Yorkshire and Derbyshire.
She felt a brief flicker of anxiety when she realized her gown was perhaps too fine for such an occasion, but Mama had resolved that her daughters would each wear their best, meaning the gowns made from the silks Elizabeth had brought with her as gifts.
Kitty had been upset that she had only muslin, so Elizabeth had given her some material she had been saving for herself.
It was not the best shade for Kitty’s coloring, but it was silk, and apparently that sufficed.
She thought it fortuitous that her truly best gowns had traveled on to town with Aunt Olivia, or her mother might have had her dressed for a London ball rather than a country dance.
At least the Bennet girls would all be overdressed in the same way.
She chatted with Charlotte Lucas, a friend of Jane and Mary’s she had come to know over the summer.
Charlotte was a sensible woman, and Elizabeth enjoyed their conversations.
Charlotte had recently discovered that many area landowners were using milk to feed their pigs while the poorest parish children went without.
They determined that they would speak both with their fathers and Reverend Greene to see whether anything might be done.
“Mary tells me we shall lose you to London before the next ball, Lizzy,” Charlotte said, keeping the volume of her voice low.
Elizabeth did not reply. She had promised Papa not to discuss the Russells or London or anything to do with her aunt or uncle with anyone outside the family, and she had kept that promise even when it became increasingly difficult to comply.
“Do not worry,” Charlotte reassured her. “I shall not say anything. All I ask is that if you were to leave, perhaps we might correspond?”
Elizabeth gave her a small smile. Why not? She already spent time each day writing letters. At least with Charlotte, she was likely to read interesting news. “With pleasure,” she said.
She spied a young man heading their way. She did not wish to dance the first, so she excused herself, mumbling something about her slipper, and took herself to the retiring room. After ten minutes fixing various items that needed no repair, she took a breath and returned to the ballroom.
Elizabeth could hear the music grow quite loud as she drew near to the main rooms. As she entered from the hall door, there was a commotion at the entrance and a small party of five individuals stepped inside.
She recognized Mr. Bingley from his curly blond hair.
Where is Jane? she wondered, for she had every intention of watching the introduction.
Elizabeth saw Sir William call Charlotte over to be introduced, then spied Jane and strolled over to join her.
It was then she heard the familiar rumblings of gossip over the steps of the dancers.
She frowned. Like thunder rolling over the hills.
Having been on the other side of this kind of speculation a few times, she felt for Mr. Bingley, who supposedly had five thousand a year, and more for his guest, who reportedly had ten.
Her ears pricked. Had they said Mr. Darcy?
Her mind immediately went to Georgiana, for she had not heard much from her friend of late.
Since Georgie’s letter about her companion’s strange behavior, Elizabeth had received only a single note, forwarded from Lady Matlock to her aunt’s direction in town and forwarded, again, to her.
It had been secured with a plain seal and conveyed the news that Georgiana was now in the country with family.
She had written to Matlock House, again through her aunt, but heard nothing else.
As the first set came to an end, Mary stepped up beside them. Kitty moved to her mother’s side. Mrs. Bennet was making a fuss, herding them together in a manner that made Elizabeth think of a shepherd. She cast her eyes down and bit her tongue, but Mary leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Baaa.”
“Mary,” she whispered back urgently, the censure strangled as she strove not to laugh. Kitty nudged Elizabeth. “Watch,” she hissed, indicating Jane.
Elizabeth took a calming breath and lifted her eyes. Mama was introducing Jane to Mr. Bingley. He startled, his eyes popped, his mouth fell open. It was all exactly as Mary had predicted. Except for one thing.
Jane returned every expression.
From Mary and Kitty’s stunned reactions, Elizabeth gathered that this was unexpected. Of course, their sister was so demure even in her astonishment that only her sisters noticed. There is something there, Elizabeth thought, elated. Good for you, Jane.
Mr. Bingley was quickly introduced to the rest of Mrs. Bennet’s daughters, and while he was cheerful and charming to all, it was Jane he turned to address.
“Miss Bennet,” he said eagerly, “may I have the honor of the third set?”
“I should be very happy, sir,” Jane replied, her cheeks rosy.
Elizabeth moved her gaze to Mr. Bingley’s friend, who was standing a bit apart.
Strong, hard jawline, high cheekbones, sharply intelligent blue eyes, thick black lashes.
She would know that face anywhere. This could be none other than George Darcy’s son and Georgiana’s brother.
It was an odd coincidence that after all her time spent with his family that they should at last meet in Hertfordshire, where, thanks to her promise to her father, she could not tell him she was Miss Russell.
And without being able to use her name, she could not claim an acquaintance with Georgiana when she would dearly love to ask after her.
Elizabeth's mind toyed with the ways she could persuade Mr. Darcy to ask her directly. Then she would not be breaking her promise to her father. This was Georgiana’s brother, after all.
She would likely see him in London this winter.
It would be wiser to explain things now and prevent an awkward meeting later.
Mr. Darcy and Georgiana shared his father’s blue eyes, but beyond that, Georgiana was all Fitzwilliam in her looks, and her brother entirely Darcy.
Her smile grew a bit, but she felt it fade as she recalled visits to Pemberley to see Georgie, to play duets on the pianoforte, to read and draw and sing together.
To select Kensington. Her heart contracted painfully.
She missed old Mr. Darcy. She missed her uncle.
I might just say I am a friend of his sister’s.
Papa could not fault me for that. It would surely prompt him to ask how I know her.
Elizabeth stood a bit taller and waited for the introduction with anticipation, but it did not come.
Mr. Darcy had declined being introduced to anyone outside his party, remaining in the company of his friend’s sisters.
She felt a stab of disappointment and no little annoyance. Rather high-handed of him.
The musicians began to play again, and the second set began; she observed Mr. Bingley walk Charlotte to the line.
“Well,” said Mary, both piqued and amused, “I believe Mr. Darcy is a bit out of his element. I would have expected more from a denizen of the ton.”
“We are, after all, here to entrap him,” Elizabeth muttered.
Unfair, she scolded herself. You do not like it when people speak about you or Aunt and Uncle.
Indeed, that had been an unexpected but wonderful consequence of not using the Russell name in Meryton.
Everyone seemed to assume she had no more fortune than her sisters, and she was amazed to discover that nobody knew the true worth of her sisters’ dowries.
The general belief was that they each had a thousand pounds, and even that only after Mrs. Bennet’s demise.
Her father had refused to allow her mother to tell anyone, and he must have had some hold over her, for she had obeyed.
When Elizabeth asked about it, Papa told her it would not be wise to make it known locally.
The money might be nothing in London, but for Meryton…
he feared it might put kind-hearted Jane, especially, at risk from a charming fortune hunter, and for a woman of Mary’s caustic tongue, he joked, it would not be near enough.
When a man came courting, he had told her, he would speak of dowries.