Chapter Eleven #2
Lydia, too, wore a similar gown, and fidgeted slightly in her seat as Jane put the last of the pins into her chestnut curls.
Though Lydia tried to maintain an air of patience, her foot tapped incessantly against the floor, betraying her eagerness to be off.
Jane worked with practiced care, smoothing a stray curl and securing it neatly, her expression serene even under her sister’s restless scrutiny.
“We shall deliver you to your aunt and uncle on our way,” Mrs. Bennet said from the doorway.
The five girls had gathered in Jane’s chambers—the largest of the bedchambers besides the master and mistress suite. The room was warm with candlelight and the faint scent of lavender water; ribbons and gloves were scattered across the dressing table. They turned in tandem to face their mother.
“My, you all look lovely!” Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands. She wore a fashionable headdress in place of her usual lace cap, feathers arranged just so. Her handsome features glowed with pride as she surveyed her daughters. “Come now, your father is waiting.”
They descended together and received similar compliments from their papa before they donned cloaks and gloves and went to the carriage. Mr. Bennet inspected each daughter with exaggerated solemnity before pronouncing himself satisfied, which earned him several giggles.
The evening air nipped at Elizabeth’s nose, and she hastily climbed aboard the family conveyance to escape the cold. The interior was already warmed by foot-warmers, and she tucked her cloak more closely around her, her thoughts briefly straying to the evening ahead.
The stop in Meryton took no time at all. Mr. Bennet escorted his two youngest daughters into the Phillips’ house, teasing his wife that if she went, they would be late to their engagement.
“You and your sister do love to chatter on,” he said, winking obviously.
Mrs. Bennet scolded him lovingly and bid him to close the carriage door before they all froze. Kitty and Lydia waved enthusiastically from the doorway, already brimming with excitement as the conveyance rolled away.
Elizabeth settled back against the seat as the horses resumed their pace toward Netherfield.
The road ahead was dark, the lanterns swaying gently, and she felt that familiar flutter of anticipation—one born not merely of society and supper, but of the subtle sense that this evening, like so many lately, might carry consequences she could not yet name.
Inside, the Bennets settled themselves comfortably, cloaks loosened now that the chill had been kept at bay, the easy intimacy of family filling the space.
“Well,” Mrs. Bennet began with a satisfied sigh, adjusting her shawl, “it is not every day one is invited to dine at the finest estate in the neighborhood. I trust we shall acquit ourselves properly.”
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet replied mildly, “we have been dining for decades without scandal. I see no reason to alter our habits simply because the table is longer and the walls taller.”
Mrs. Bennet laughed, leaning closer to him. “You are incorrigible. Still, I should like them to think us agreeable. First impressions do linger.”
“They do,” he agreed, his tone softening. “Though I married you on a first impression, and I find it has improved with time.”
Mrs. Bennet smiled at him in a way that made Elizabeth look discreetly out the window. Some things were better left unobserved.
Jane sat opposite, hands folded in her lap. “I hope we shall be good company. Mr. Bingley seems so eager to please, and his sisters—well—”
“They will survive us,” Elizabeth interjected lightly. “If nothing else, Mama’s enthusiasm will distract them.”
“I heard that,” Mrs. Bennet said, unoffended. “And I make no apology for it. Enthusiasm is far preferable to dullness.”
Mary cleared her throat. “There is a great deal to be said for moderation in all things. Excessive animation can—”
“Mary,” Mr. Bennet interrupted gently, “if moderation were truly the rule of the world, we should all be dreadfully bored. Pray allow your mother her liveliness.”
Mary subsided with a small nod, her lips twitching despite herself.
Jane glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes bright. “Do you suppose Mr. Darcy will join us this evening?”
Elizabeth lifted one shoulder. “I imagine so. He has not yet developed the habit of hiding from company—though he may yet, if dinners become too frequent.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “I rather like Mr. Darcy. He listens more than he speaks, which is a rare talent. And when he does speak, it is usually worth hearing.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded thoughtfully. “He is certainly attentive. I noticed that.”
Warmth rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Mama notices everything.”
“As is my duty,” Mrs. Bennet said cheerfully, patting her husband’s knee. “And you, my love, notice when I am wrong—which is far less often than you pretend.”
“True,” he said solemnly. “But it keeps our marriage lively.”
The carriage slowed, wheels crunching softly on gravel. Ahead, Netherfield Park emerged from the darkness, its windows glowing warmly, light spilling across the drive like a welcome. Something shifted within Elizabeth, sudden and unexpected.
Jane leaned forward slightly. “How very fine the manor looks with the windows alight.”
The carriage came to a halt, and the footman descended to open the door.
Mr. Bennet stepped out first, offering his hand to his wife, who accepted it with a pleased smile.
Jane followed, then Mary, and finally Elizabeth, who paused for a moment at the bottom step.
Whatever the evening held, Elizabeth suspected it would at the very least be entertaining.