Chapter 1
In a corner of the family dining room, Elizabeth Bennet struggled to appear cheerful while she looked at her elder sister, Jane, and her sister’s betrothed. The chamber shone from the fire, the candles, and the happiness on the faces of the newly engaged couple.
Elizabeth’s smile widened as her heart melted with devotion and gratitude. Jane’s felicity was everything Elizabeth had prayed for in the last year.
From the day of his proposal, Mr Bingley became a daily visitor at Longbourn and a dinner guest every evening.
Mr Bennet enjoyed his company and encouraged him to return often.
Mrs Bennet—whose nerves bore the excitement reasonably well—declared that no son could be as perfect.
All the struggles caused by his sudden departure a year ago had been long forgotten, as were Lydia and her husband.
Five thousand a year easily dispelled the image of a handsome uniform, even for Mrs Bennet.
While she rejoiced in Jane’s happiness with all her being, Elizabeth’s soul was torn to pieces, just as her hopes were scattered in the wind.
She had often said that all she desired was Jane’s happiness and that she expected nothing for herself, and now those words proved to be foolish.
She did want more for herself—unreasonably more.
The man to whom her happiness was tightly bound, the man who had captured and held her mind and heart from the day she met him as she wandered Pemberley’s grounds was far away.
More than a fortnight had passed since Lady Catherine’s disturbing visit, and he had not returned.
He had sent Mr Bingley a letter, explaining that unexpected business kept him in Town for an uncertain length of time.
Elizabeth feared she knew the reason: either his aunt made him change his intentions, or he had never entertained thoughts of the kind she had imagined.
Whether she had been wrong in guessing his feelings or he had allowed himself to be convinced otherwise by his aunt, the pain was equally sharp to Elizabeth. And the more she considered it, the more she understood the reasons for his behaviour.
Yes, he had shown her and her relatives nothing but kindness and generosity when they met in Derbyshire.
And he had done everything to convince Wickham to marry Lydia.
He took the full burden of paying the scoundrel’s debts and saving her family from ruin, meanwhile refusing to accept any gratitude for his benevolence.
But the notion of his bonding with the Bennet family, becoming Wickham’s brother, and renewing his proposal to the woman who, unfairly and furiously, had rejected him was beyond imagination.
It was an impossible outcome, and Elizabeth forced herself to admit it.
She had once called him the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry. Now, she had to live with the thought that he was undoubtedly the last man in the world from whom she could expect a second marriage proposal.
And how could it be otherwise? When he confessed that he ardently loved and admired her, she reviled him; to his affection, she responded with anger and insults.
The remembrance of his expression—pale, astounded, hurt—became more vivid every day and haunted her every night.
How could she expect him to forget that if she could not?
She also recollected—with agonising clarity—each moment they spent together at Pemberley: his tender gazes, smiles, warm voice, friendliness, and the touch of his fingers on her hand.
The memories gave her shivers and overwhelming regret when she realised she might never be closer to happiness and might never learn how it would feel to be ardently loved by Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth knew such thoughts only harmed her more, and she struggled to push them away—without success.
Against her own wisdom, she did not abandon the hope that he would return.
After all, her judgement had been wrong many times before.
But while he remained far away, Elizabeth painfully learned the true meaning of longing and sorrow.
Yes, she had dearly missed her family while she was separated from them, but this pain—a grip that squeezed her chest, an ache that trapped her body and mind—she had never felt before.
Whether he returned or not, Elizabeth understood now that her life would never be the same once she realised that she loved and admired Mr Darcy—perhaps as ardently as he once loved her.
The sound of voices startled Elizabeth, and she smiled at Jane, whose conversation she had not heard.
She was disappointed, sad, and angry with herself for being more preoccupied with her own shattered dreams than with Jane’s fulfilled ones. Jane needed her; Elizabeth was the only one who knew the hidden turmoil behind Jane’s apparent tranquillity and peaceful felicity.
The future Mrs Bingley wondered whether she could be the perfect wife Mr Bingley deserved, and whether his friends would approve of her—since she knew his sisters did not.
She both dreamt of and dreaded the notion of marrying so soon.
She could hardly bear a moment without her betrothed, but she was frightened by the idea of being with him all the time, as she feared she might not rise to his expectations.
For each step and each decision, Jane asked Elizabeth’s opinion.
With every doubt, she needed Elizabeth’s reassurance.
For every concern, she leant upon Elizabeth’s strength.
In all these situations, Elizabeth did little except embrace her sister and smile, as she knew how groundless such concerns were.
She had no doubt that Mr Bingley was the best-suited match for her sister and they would have a blissful life.
From across the dinner table, Mr Bingley was casting an adoring gaze toward his betrothed—as though he wished to prove Elizabeth’s musings—then addressed his companions.
“I just received a letter from Darcy today,” he said happily, and Elizabeth’s fork trembled in her hand.
“I hope he is in good health?” Jane inquired gently. Mr Bingley thanked her with another tender look.
“He is—at least, I believe so since he did not say otherwise. But then again, he rarely says a word of his own troubles; he is more preoccupied with other people’s problems.”
Elizabeth understood his meaning but avoided interrupting her future brother. More than anything, she was eager to hear the news but did not dare to ask. Fortunately, the gentleman was keen to share.
“He has an interesting proposal, but I am reluctant to consider it before I discuss it with you. He suggested I should host a private ball—a dinner party or something—to honour my engagement with Jane. He believes I should invite the families of consequence from Meryton and perhaps several friends from Town. He thinks it would be a good way to introduce my future wife to all my acquaintances…”
“A ball? What a lovely idea!” Kitty cried, but she was instantly stopped by Mr Bennet’s glare.
“A wonderful idea indeed!” Mrs Bennet immediately approved of this for her daughter. “And what an honour for Jane! You must invite all four and twenty families we visit regularly. Do you have many friends in Town, Mr Bingley? I know you have a house there; you must have some important friends.”
“A ball? Would that not be too much trouble?” Jane asked timidly.
“Anything that pleases you cannot be too much trouble, my dear Jane,” Mr Bingley replied.
Jane blushed, and Mrs Bennet smiled approvingly. Mr Bennet rolled his eyes and glanced at Elizabeth to share his amusement, but to his surprise, his second daughter did not seem as diverted as he expected.
Mr Bingley continued with a trace of worry in his voice.
“However, I confess I am a bit concerned. Jane deserves a ball as perfect as she is, and I am afraid I shall not be able to rise to expectations. I have never hosted a party by myself. Usually, Louisa and Caroline took care of everything. They made all the arrangements last year. If I could convince them to come and help me…” He became more uneasy as he spoke, and the reason for his distress was easy to guess.
Elizabeth intervened, both for his benefit and for Jane’s.
“Mr Bingley, please rest assured that we shall do everything to help you with the ball. You only have to prepare the guest list and tell us what you want to—”
“Oh, would you do that for me, Miss Elizabeth? I am so grateful! What do I want? Well—you may decide that too. I mean, you and Jane may do whatever you want! Anything you like! I am so relieved! Indeed that is a wonderful idea! I mean Darcy’s idea!
And yours, of course! I truly appreciate your kindness, Miss Elizabeth. ”
Elizabeth laughed, this time truly amused by his enthusiasm.
Jane blushed and smiled while Mr Bennet swallowed some wine and said, “Well, well, just keep in mind you are the one paying for the party, sir. You should not allow the ladies free will in the matter, or you will soon risk exceeding your income.”
“I am happy to pay for anything that will make Jane happy, Mr Bennet,” Bingley said with all honesty.
“Exceed his income?” Mrs Bennet intervened. “Mr Bennet, what are you talking there? Mr Bingley must have the best of everything! We shall help with a menu for the dinner. We must have the appropriate number of courses—perhaps a few more.”
“On this, I count on your help, Mrs Bennet. Even Darcy said when we dined here that he rarely enjoyed such tasteful food. He was impressed with the choices and the arrangements.”
Mrs Bennet’s mouth flew open. Elizabeth stared at the gentleman in disbelief, but Mr Bingley remained serene as he paid attention to Jane and his food.
“Mr Darcy spoke of my dinner?” Mrs Bennet finally uttered.