Chapter 2
Until mere days before it was to be held, Elizabeth Bennet had not expected to attend the public ball.
Even now, standing in assembly rooms more elegant than anything Meryton could boast and hearing the chatter of London society almost overpowering the musicians, she did not expect much enjoyment in the evening.
In her experience, London assemblies were not particularly designed for comfort.
They were designed for display. A great many people were gathered together for the purpose of being looked at, and an equal number were determined to look.
The air was too warm, the noise too constant, and the whole affair relied upon an unspoken agreement that everyone present must pretend to be enjoying themselves.
Elizabeth could manage a pretence as well as anyone when it was required. She simply preferred not to do it for amusement.
Yet this evening was not meant for amusement. It was meant for Jane.
After Mr Bingley’s departure from Netherfield Park, Jane had done her best to keep a smile on her face, but her efforts had fallen far short of genuine happiness and ease.
The suggested visit to the Gardiners in London, which had seemed so promising, had not turned out well.
Jane had seemed a little cheered, even despite not seeing Mr Bingley in London — until Caroline Bingley had returned her visit, late and obviously disinterested, and made it only too clear that she was not Jane’s friend, and would do everything in her power to prevent becoming her sister-in-law.
Her sister’s letters showing her malaise, Elizabeth had elected to join her in London, but even this had not turned out as she had hoped.
Jane had been glad to see her — had said all that was right and proper of a loving sister, and had really seemed to find it a relief that she might now speak freely to her closest confidante.
Yet her sadness still lingered, subtle but unmistakable.
Jane had been so subdued of late that Elizabeth could not bear it.
Her sister’s quiet endurance had always been one of her most admirable qualities, but there were moments when Elizabeth wanted to shake her gently and insist that being good and patient did not make pain less painful.
Jane had spent far too many days sitting at the same window of the house on Gracechurch Street, reading the same pages without truly seeing them, smiling whenever anyone spoke to her and then falling silent again the moment the conversation moved on.
Her sister’s pain was not surprising. Elizabeth understood what it was to be wounded. Jane simply insisted upon being wounded politely.
Mrs Gardiner, who possessed the rare gift of speaking truth without harshness, had said at last that Jane must be persuaded to go out.
She did not make the suggestion as a command, but as an inevitability, and Elizabeth was grateful to her for it.
Mr Gardiner agreed at once and, with the practical confidence of a man accustomed to managing men, warehouses, and accounts, declared that there was no need for them to sit at home and grow more miserable when London offered enough diversions to occupy the mind for a dozen lifetimes.
“There is a public assembly in three days,” he said, as calmly as if he were deciding between taking tea or coffee. “We shall go.”
Jane had protested. Elizabeth had coaxed. Mrs Gardiner had smiled at them both and arranged everything before Jane could quite convince herself she ought not to be persuaded.
So they went.
Upon entering the assembly rooms, Elizabeth felt the familiar sensation of being swallowed into a world where she did not quite belong.
She was not ill-dressed. Mrs Gardiner had seen to that.
Their gowns were not extravagant, but they were well chosen, neat, and becoming.
As always, Jane looked beautiful with no apparent effort at all.
Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction on seeing how one gentleman after another was struck by the way the candlelight caught the fair hair at Jane’s temples, how the delicate colour in her cheeks returned when she laughed at something Mr Gardiner said.
Jane’s beauty could not be dimmed even by her sadness, but all the same, Elizabeth would much rather see her sister smile, an expression that had been all too rare on her sister’s face of late. Tonight, for a little while, it seemed as though the sadness might loosen its hold.
Elizabeth watched her carefully. Jane smiled when spoken to, danced when asked, and even appeared as though she had forgotten to listen for Mr Bingley’s name in every conversation that drifted past. Elizabeth did not delude herself that the hurt was gone, but she saw relief in Jane’s eyes and seized upon it.
If her sister could be coaxed into feeling like herself again, even for an hour, it would be worth any number of tedious introductions.
Mr Gardiner took those introductions seriously.
Elizabeth had never known him to do anything by halves.
In so glittering an assembly, there were many above their own circle, but there were as many more who knew her uncle as a successful merchant, one growing wealthier and more influential each year, and as a pleasant and sensible man.
He guided them through the crowd with the ease of a man who understood people, offered their names to those of his own acquaintance, and steered them away from those too proud or too undeserving for an introduction.
Mrs Gardiner remained near Jane, supporting her whenever she sensed her courage wavering, speaking to her softly, drawing her into conversation, and ensuring she was not left standing alone.
Elizabeth felt her heart swell with gratitude. She loved her aunt for a hundred reasons, but at such a moment, she was particularly grateful for the way Mrs Gardiner could make Jane feel protected without ever making her feel pitied.
For the most part, Elizabeth was content.
She danced once, then again, and found the partners her uncle arranged for her perfectly tolerable, if not more than tolerable.
A young gentleman with a loud laugh spoke too much of his own estate.
Another attempted a compliment that would have been charming had it not sounded as though he had practised it in advance.
Elizabeth responded with the correct degree of amusement, neither encouraging too much nor discouraging entirely.
She had long since learned the art of being agreeable without giving away anything important.
And yet, from the first moment they arrived and gave their names, she had been aware of something strange.
It began as a faint sense of attention, the sort of thing one feels without being able to prove it.
She noticed eyes turning toward her, then away again too quickly.
She caught murmurs that ceased as she approached.
Once, a lady she did not know looked Elizabeth up and down with such careful deliberation that Elizabeth nearly laughed outright.
She was accustomed to observation. She had no great vanity about it, but she knew what it was to be assessed, admired, dismissed, and then assessed again.
Tonight, however, the attention felt different.
It did not have the simple quality of curiosity.
It had an edge, like the first sharp taste of something sour.
She could not decide whether it was judgement or anticipation.
She danced a third time, and it followed her still.
When at last she found herself beside Jane once more, Elizabeth leaned closer.
“Tell me honestly,” she said, keeping her tone light, “is there something amiss with my gown?”
Jane looked at her in surprise. “No, not at all. Why would you think so?”
Elizabeth glanced down at herself as if expecting to find a ribbon undone or a conspicuous stain. “I cannot imagine any other explanation. Either I have spilled something without noticing, or something about my expression invites particular scrutiny.”
Jane smiled, and for a moment the old warmth returned to her face. “You are imagining things, I think. People look because you are very pretty.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “That is a sister’s prerogative, and I thank you for it. But something is wrong all the same. I am quite certain of it.”
Jane’s eyes softened. “You have nothing to worry about. If anyone is looking at you, it is only because you are new to them.”
Elizabeth wanted to believe her. It would have been pleasant to accept that London had taken notice of her simply because she stood out in some agreeable way. Yet the feeling did not match Jane’s explanation. This was not admiration. It was something else, something that sat oddly on her shoulders.
Still, she did not press the matter. Jane had enough on her mind without Elizabeth inventing additional anxieties.
Mrs Gardiner returned at that moment with a gentle question about whether Jane wished to sit for a time. Jane shook her head, smiling, and insisted that she was well. Elizabeth could see the effort beneath the words, but she also saw that Jane was trying.
With a little inward reproach, Elizabeth resolved to stop worrying about herself. She could endure a few looks. It was Jane’s happiness that mattered.
Her resolution made, Elizabeth made an effort to keep it. In any case, surely making every effort to enjoy herself would be a more sensible way to spend the ball than worrying about what she could not change. She had just begun to relax when a familiar figure appeared at her side.
Mr Darcy stood before her.
For a moment, Elizabeth was genuinely startled.
She had not expected to see him in London at all, and certainly not here.
She had believed him too proud, too reserved, and perhaps too indifferent to seek out such public assemblies unless he had a clear purpose.
The surprise must have shown on her face, for he hesitated briefly before speaking.