Chapter 2
The following morning, the entire Bennet family succumbed to the tumult of ball preparations—even Mr Bennet, who found that his usual defence, locking his library door, was unable to restore his peace.
To Elizabeth, the date was no less agonising.
A year earlier, she never would have imagined that the departure of Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy would bring so much turmoil to her dear sister and such an extraordinary outcome for herself.
The night of that ball she was sure Mr Darcy despised her as much as she loathed him.
She was confident—and relieved—that she would never see him again.
She blamed him for the separation of her sister and Mr Bingley.
She blamed him for his mistreatment of Mr Wickham.
She blamed Mr Darcy for everything! And now she wondered whether she would have a chance to admit her past errors and thank him for the extraordinary generosity that saved her family.
Every discussion about the ball made Elizabeth think of Darcy. As soon as she realised he might not come, she understood how much she hoped for his presence—only to fear that he might come and show her nothing but amiable friendship.
His last visit to Longbourn had been distressing for Elizabeth.
She searched for a sign of preference in his countenance but found none.
She wished he would at least speak to her directly, but they exchanged only polite greetings.
The only moment of intimacy occurred when she offered him a cup of tea and their fingers touched briefly.
That mere touch was as vivid to her senses as was the thought that she gave too much importance to a simple gesture.
She had offered so many cups of tea that day, and so many others had touched her fingers in taking them.
How was it possible that her skin remembered only his touch?
Disturbing musings forbade Elizabeth from being as keen as her sister needed her to be.
She struggled to keep her mind attentive to all around her, or else it would wander away, together with her heart.
Fortunately, with everyone so busy and preoccupied, her strange state of mind went unnoticed, so she could carry on with her distress for several more days.
As soon as details were settled, invitations to the ball were sent by express to Mr Bingley’s friends and acquaintances in London and to all the neighbours who met with Mrs Bennet’s approval.
The news spread quickly, and the upcoming party immediately became the centre of Meryton’s attention.
It was declared the most important ball ever hosted in the neighbourhood.
For Mr Bingley, the event quickly turned from pleasure to torment.
His desire to have everything perfect in honour of his beautiful intended made him distressed, impatient, and worried.
He had never hosted such a party by himself, and now he was forced to do so.
His sisters—Caroline and Louisa—were angrily opposed to the notion of his marrying Jane Bennet, so they refused their support.
Eventually, they agreed to attend the ball, together with the other guests from Town, but not arrive beforehand.
Consequently, the weight of taking care of everything fell on Mr Bingley’s shoulders, which were unused to carrying such a responsibility.
Jane happily shared her betrothed’s burden, and Mr Bingley had even more reasons to admire her character.
With calmness, kindness, and elegance, Jane fulfilled the duties of the Netherfield mistress.
The staff was happy to listen to her, and her smiles were as rewarding as the generous payment offered by the master.
Shortly, all the families from Meryton confirmed their attendance at the ball, much to Mrs Bennet’s joy.
“I also received a letter from Darcy,” Mr Bingley said one evening at dinner. “He will come for the ball with his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is the youngest son of Lord Matlock.”
“A colonel? And the son of an earl? What excellent news for the ball, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet replied.
“Is he handsome too?” Kitty asked as she avoided her father’s censuring look.
“Well, I cannot say whether a man is handsome or not,” Mr Bingley responded. “But Miss Elizabeth might answer you. I know she has met the colonel before.”
“Have you, Lizzy? When? Oh, I hope you did not scare him with your sharp tongue! You always—”
“Mama!” Jane said in embarrassment. “What do you mean? Everybody who knows Lizzy comes to admire her!”
“Of that, I can testify,” Mr Bingley immediately agreed.
Elizabeth smiled and thanked them with an amused glance before replying.
“I met Colonel Fitzwilliam when I was in Kent. He and Mr Darcy were visiting their aunt Lady Catherine. He is an amiable gentleman with pleasant manners. And yes—handsome enough, just as a colonel should be. And you must not worry, Mama. I dare say the colonel is not a man easily scared by the sharp tongue of any woman.”
“Hopefully, he will enjoy dancing more than his cousin. It is little use to have a handsome man at a ball if he cannot entertain young ladies in need of a partner,” Mrs Bennet concluded.
Mr Bennet intervened. “Upon my word, what comes of our world if we judge a man’s worthiness by the number of young ladies he entertains?
Every time I hear of a ball, I am tempted to fall ill.
Not that anyone would expect me to entertain any woman.
But the mere idea of spending a night trying to please people of whose pleasure you do not care is tiresome and ridiculous. ”
“Papa, you are too harsh on balls,” Elizabeth said with a laugh.
“Well deserved, my dear, as balls are too harsh on me too.” Mr Bennet then turned his attention to his glass of brandy.
The news of Mr Darcy’s certain arrival brought Elizabeth equal delight and torment.
But, at least, now she knew what to expect.
He did not seem reluctant to be in her proximity.
He did not wish to keep a great distance between them—which could mean one of two things.
Either he desired to see her again or he had no special desire regarding her and the notion of seeing her was of no consequence to him.
This tumult of conflicting thoughts gave Elizabeth little peace.
Although she knew she was silly and irrational, she could not bring herself to use wit and reason against her fears and speculations.
The novelty and power of these feelings made them impossible to command.
As never before, Elizabeth’s wit and strength seemed to betray her.
Her usual inclination to find amusement in human follies was only helpful for laughing at her own nonsense and whims. She had believed herself to be the last woman in the world who would ever suffer because of a gentleman, but she was again proved wrong.
Since she had never been in love before, everything she imagined she knew about feelings and affection was a pale imitation of the reality.
And what about Mr Darcy? Had he loved other women?
Admired them? Ardently? Would he do so again?
If so, would she be able to watch him share happiness with another woman?
Such questions—and countless others—Elizabeth failed to answer before abandoning the attempt and deciding to merely wait for his return. There was nothing else she could do.
With restless nights and bustling days, another fortnight passed. Preparations for the ball were almost finished; only the list of attendees was incomplete. Responses from London arrived one by one—some accepting, others refusing.
“Here are the last letters from Town,” Mr Bingley announced, handing a number of letters to Jane. They were in Netherfield’s drawing room with Elizabeth, who served as the couple’s chaperone.
“So, my cousins Laura and Julia Kendall will come—which is quite strange as they were never good friends with Caroline and Louisa. You know, their uncle is married to a cousin of Lady Matlock, Darcy’s aunt.
I confess I only sent the invitation to them out of politeness, never expecting to see them in Hertfordshire.
Oh, and the Millers accepted. And David and Hugh Wilson.
They are both attorneys; their father made an impressive fortune in the spice trade between India and England.
Oh, and Louisa says Adam and Emma Godwin will come too.
Their great-grandfather was an earl, did you know?
They are related to Mr Hurst. Dear Lord, what shall I do with all these people? ”
Mr Bingley spoke with obvious astonishment and worry, folding the papers in his hand while Jane listened to him, dumbfounded and turning slightly pale.
“But, my dear Charles, who are all these ladies and gentlemen? I have never heard of them before.”
“They are friends, or relatives, or acquaintances…I…dear Lord, shall we have rooms for all of them? This is madness!”
He began to pace, clutching the papers tightly, and frowned in such despair that Elizabeth could hardly restrain her laughter.
To Mr Bingley, the prospect of such a large ball seemed more of a torture when he was the one to organise it.
And Jane looked little better, sharing her betrothed’s concern atop her own fears.
“Mr Bingley, I think you should be happy that your private ball is so well received,” Elizabeth said, smiling and trying to calm her companions.
“Let us count the chambers carefully and then the guests who will stay overnight.
If needed, you may also rent rooms at the inn in Meryton, just in case.
You may need them, if not for the guests at least for some of the servants.
“The inn? Yes indeed, that is an excellent idea! The inn, yes…let us count the rooms.” He continued to pace, looking for paper and pen, then abandoned the search and took a chair, asking for a glass of wine.
Jane watched him with such deep concern that Elizabeth covered her laughter with her napkin.