Chapter 15
Ballroom
Netherfield Hall
Mrs. Bennet walked into the ballroom with her five daughters in her train like so many well-dressed ducklings, while Mr. Collins followed behind them all.
When they had proceeded ten feet within the room and were no longer in danger of blocking the open door, Elizabeth came to a halt, looked around, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.
She had only attended a few other private balls in her life, and this one was by far the most beautiful, with the myriad crystals of two brightly lit chandeliers overhead refracting the light, with large vases of hothouse flowers, with the floor polished so brightly it almost glowed.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bennet, Misses Bennet,” a cool feminine voice said from their right.
Elizabeth looked at Caroline Bingley, who was elegantly dressed in an ivory underdress with a lace orange overdress, her hair twisted in an elegant knot with curls dangling to frame her face and one single white rose bud pinned in her dark tresses.
“Oh, Miss Bingley,” Lydia exclaimed, “I declare I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life!”
Caroline Bingley genuinely looked gratified at these words and said, “Thank you, Miss Lydia. I am glad you like it.”
“Oh, I do!” the girl continued, her cheeks pleasingly flushed. “Now, I know that the officers will be arriving soon and of course I need to be available to dance, but perhaps later we could speak of archery? I understand you are quite an adept!”
Miss Bingley’s brow rose in surprise. “However did you hear about that, Miss Lydia?”
“Oh, from one of our maids, who heard of it from one of the maids here at Netherfield, who is her cousin. It sounds marvelous to shoot arrows. Is it very difficult to hit the target?”
“It is rather difficult, yes, but I practice almost every day, and am growing better at it…”
At this moment, Mr. Bingley surged up to the party, his face wreathed in smiles. “Mrs. Bennet, Misses Bennet, Mr. Collins, good evening.”
The bevy of ladies curtsied, Mr. Collins bowed, and Mrs. Bennet said, “Oh, good evening to you as well, Mr. Bingley. Thank you so much for your invitation. The decorations in this room are magnificent.”
“That is all thanks to Caroline,” Bingley replied, glancing at his sister with a pleased smile. He then turned his attention back to Jane and said, “Might I have the honor of your next available dance, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth noted a flicker of irritation on Miss Bingley’s face, but it was quickly wiped away when the tall, handsome master of Pemberley walked up to them and said, “Good evening, Mrs. Bennet, Misses Bennet, Mr. Collins.”
Again, there were curtsies and a bow, and Mr. Darcy said, “I hope you are all well?”
“Oh yes, we are very well,” burbled Mrs. Bennet. “Indeed, how could we not be when looking forward to such a wonderful evening? Miss Bingley has done such a marvelous job here. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy was a little surprised at such a question, but he looked around, nodded judiciously, and said, “Yes, it looks very well indeed. Miss Bingley, many congratulations.”
Miss Bingley was by nature a handsome woman, but she now looked genuinely glorious in her pride and joy. “Thank you, sir. It was difficult, of course, given the distance from Town, but I am glad you are pleased.”
Darcy said, “Miss Bingley, might I have the honor of the next dance?”
Now Elizabeth thought that if it were possible, the lady would float in her happiness.
“Certainly, Mr. Darcy. I would be honored.”
Elizabeth expected the master of Pemberley to retreat, but to her considerable astonishment, the man turned to the Bennets and proceeded to ask all five daughters, one at a time, for a dance.
Mary gracefully informed the man that she intended to dance every dance with her betrothed, but the other four ladies agreed.
Miss Bingley did not look as pleased with that, but the glory in being chosen for Mr. Darcy’s first dance of the night remained, at least.
The musicians who had been warming up their instruments on a dais at the end of the room now began playing the notes indicating that the dancing would be starting shortly.
Bingley held out his arm to Jane, and Mr. Darcy to Miss Bingley, while two officers, who were lurking in the corners of the room, hurried forward to ask Kitty and Lydia for a dance.
“Shall we, William?” Mary asked.
Mr. Collins looked toward the ballroom and then back at his prospective bride. “Mary, I should have said this before, but I do not have much practice in dancing.”
Mary chuckled and said, “I am not particularly accomplished either, William. Pray do not worry about it. Our neighbors are generous people who will not mind the occasional misstep.”
He smiled at her and held out his arm, and the pair made their way toward the dance floor.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet cried out as they departed, “how happy I am! I can hardly believe that Mary, of all of you, would prove the salvation of the family. Of course, Mr. Bingley may wed Jane, but even if he does not, I will not lose my home.”
Elizabeth looked over at these joyous words, taking in the light and ease on her mother's face.
The regrettable truth was that Mrs. Bennet tended to be rather trying as a parent to a young lady of refinement.
Indeed, Elizabeth had been put to the blush by her mother's voluble vulgarity many a time.
The former Frances Gardiner had not been raised to adorn the position of a gentlewoman, and her manners in company had more than once caused embarrassment.
Jane, already beautiful at fifteen, had been launched into society the very month of her birthday, and Mrs. Bennet had instructed her before her first assembly to pay special attention to the young gentlemen present.
It was never too early, Mrs. Bennet had said sagaciously, for a young lady to begin thinking of a husband and matrimony.
She had counseled all her daughters likewise as they attained their fifteenth birthdays, determined that one at least should marry as soon as possible.
All throughout Elizabeth's youth, after she had left the nursery, she had been painfully aware of how Mrs. Bennet rendered the household repulsive with her vapors, with her attacks of nerves and unsteady state of mind.
More than once, Elizabeth had privately reflected that Mrs. Bennet was her own greatest hindrance, alienating any prospective young gentlemen who quailed at the thought of so histrionic a mother-in-law.
There were not, admittedly, a great many young gentlemen for the Bennet ladies to impress, and for some years the issue had been depressingly unhopeful.
Elizabeth herself, imbued with the optimism of youth, had never allowed the danger that loomed over them all to bear down her spirits.
From the moment she had first learned of the entail, though, she had never quite forgotten it either, and as tiresome as her mother's incessant nerves were, Elizabeth had found herself in some sympathy with them.
Longbourn had sufficient income that money could have been set aside to be saved against the death of Mr. Bennet, but Mrs. Bennet, proud of her position as the mistress of a fine estate, spent the money as rapidly as it was brought in with no prudence for the future.
Mr. Bennet, indolent by nature and a great lover of books, did not so much as lift a finger to restrain his wife but spent his income on first editions and new volumes.
Then too, there was pin money for five daughters as well as the mistress of the house, and the bills that Kitty and Lydia ran up at the dressmaker's and milliner's to be paid.
No, there were no savings laid aside from Longbourn's income.
This was by no means unusual amongst gentry and commoner alike, but it would have been wise to do so and comforting to all of the Bennet ladies.
There was Mrs. Bennet's marriage portion, but it would only bring in two hundred pounds a year.
That would be a miserly amount to support six women, but such had seemed their likely fate.
All that was past now. Mr. Collins was an honorable man who took his duty seriously.
His betrothal and eventual marriage to Mary would both oblige and free him to provide for her mother and sisters in the event of Mr. Bennet’s death.
They need no longer fear losing Longbourn and being thrown from their home.
Looking at the glow on her mother's face, Elizabeth contemplated how long that fear had lain on Mrs. Bennet's shoulders. The relief must be incomparable.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
She turned toward Mr. Denny, who had approached from her right side. “Yes?”
“Might I have the honor of this dance?”
“Oh yes, thank you,” she replied, taking his arm.
***
Ballroom
Supper Set
Later
Darcy punctiliously executed the steps of the cotillion, his eyes following the graceful form of his partner as she glided around.
Elizabeth Bennet was a gifted dancer, and her amusement was palpable as she moved from partner to neighbor and back again, her eyes sparkling, her lips lifted in a lovely smile, and her face attractively flushed with exercise and pleasure.
Darcy could not help but return that smile, even though he knew he should not betray too great a satisfaction at partnering a mere provincial miss. The truth was that he had never before partnered a woman who fascinated him so.
Nonetheless, she was merely Miss Elizabeth of Longbourn, the daughter of a country squire, with poor connections and no dowry, and as Darcy of Pemberley, he could and must do much better in finding a wife.
Indeed, he should not even have allowed himself to ask her to dance.
He had, at least, been prudent enough to avoid singling her out with an honor that would, in this little bucolic place, raise expectations, so he had asked every Bennet girl to dance.
It was not a prospect of unalloyed pleasure.
While Miss Bennet danced well and Miss Elizabeth was a great joy as a partner, Darcy was not looking forward to his dances with either Miss Kitty or Miss Lydia.
They were both very silly girls, and Miss Lydia especially had a tendency to be loud and boisterous and vulgarly forward in a manner that could not be entirely excused away by her youth.
His one comfort was that none of the Bennets were clumsy dancers.
At least his discomfort would not be compounded by having his toes trodden upon.
To dance with silly younger sisters was a price he was willing to pay to dance with Miss Elizabeth.
He could never consider her as a bride, but he could admire her bright eyes and enchanting smile and enjoy the touch of her hand on his.
It truly was a pity … but no, it could not be.
Even were she not the granddaughter of a solicitor, and in turn the niece of one, and of a tradesman, the behavior of her mother and sisters would entirely disqualify her as a potential bride.
He was Darcy of Pemberley, nephew of an earl, and he owed it to his name and family and history to marry a bride who was his equal.
His cousin Anne de Bourgh was one such woman, and truly, it was the dearest wish of her mother that Darcy should wed her.
He was not completely settled in his own mind regarding his cousin, though it was likely that he would bow to the dictates of honor, but even if he decided to throw over poor Anne, not for one second would Miss Elizabeth be a serious contender for his hand.
Perhaps not his hand, but his heart was another matter.
That treacherous organ had fastened onto the lady and refused to be dissuaded by any calm and logical good sense.
Darcy had always prided himself on his iron control of his will and mind and his meticulous attention to his duty.
Now that control seemed to be softening, and his stony logic was giving way to wayward interests.
It was no good to remind himself while he was in Miss Elizabeth's presence that she was no fit bride for him, for a memory would inevitably arise of her great courage as she teetered on a wet, muddy bank to pull Maxwell to shore.
Or perhaps he would be subject to a shameful display from her mother or sisters, shoring up his dislike of the family, then within minutes he would witness the lady's kindness and wit.
Her conversation sparkled as much as her eyes.
She was knowledgeable about a variety of eclectic subjects and was not afraid to assert her own opinions on them, defending her thoughts with a vigor and conviction rarely found in young ladies.
More than once Darcy had found himself eager to converse with Miss Elizabeth or had idly started to imagine soliciting her opinion on some small matter or other.
There was no denying that he held the lady in considerable regard.
Darcy was rather alarmed to discover that he had begun to fall, just a tiny bit, in love with Miss Elizabeth.
It would not do. It would never do.
Her gloved hands clasped his, and she laughed up at him with the sheer joy of the dance.
Darcy could not help grinning at her in return, and forced himself to banish his gloomy thoughts.
He would not be at Netherfield for much longer, for he would soon be joining Georgiana for the Christmas season in London.
Far from Miss Elizabeth, his attraction would fade.
Time enough for that later; for now, he would enjoy dancing with this enchanting lady, losing himself in the familiar figures and basking in her radiance.