2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
A Great Assembly
S eptember 1811
Hertfordshire
It was happening more frequently now. She was dreaming nearly every night. Dreams of children, dreams of a large sandstone house by a small lake, dreams of a grey speckled mare she had begrudgingly learned to ride, and the voice of a man calling out encouragements as she rode along. “You’re doing beautifully, Elizabeth,” or “I knew you would be wonderful.” She knew the voice belonged to her husband, but his face remained elusive. She felt held in his arms, her face pressed to his chest. She woke beside him at night, the dark obscuring his features. She heard his voice in the distance, always kind, always strong. She saw the set of his shoulders and the stride of his walk. She teased him. She knew he liked it and that she thought him in dire need of it. He was more real than he had ever been, yet she had no idea who he was.
She sighed and walked into breakfast. There was nothing she could do about it now. She had only turned twenty last week. There was time to meet him. She was not a spinster yet.
“I heard he is bringing nine ladies and seven gentlemen.”
“I heard it was twelve ladies!”
“What are they talking of?” Elizabeth asked Jane.
“Mr. Bingley, the man who has taken Netherfield Park.”
“Ah.” Inexplicably, Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her arm. She knew that name. She could not remember where she had heard it before, but somehow, she knew it.
“Are you well, Lizzy?” asked Jane quietly.
“Yes, only…”
“Did you have another dream?”
“Nearly every night now,” answered Elizabeth.
When the dreams first began four years ago, Jane had been the first person Elizabeth told. Her sister had been kind and sympathetic, and as the dreams began to foretell more about their lives, Jane had enjoyed listening as if it were a fairy tale. Jane did not truly think anything would come of it, but she found it amusing.
Though there was one thing Elizabeth had not told her sister. In the dreams where she had seen Jane and her husband, Jane had assumed the man in the dreams was like Elizabeth’s husband: visible from a distance or with a turned back and always with an unclear face. But Elizabeth had kept a secret from her sister—she knew exactly what Jane’s husband looked like.
The day of the Meryton Assembly, Longbourn was in an uproar. Lydia ran from room to room, stealing the ribbons and shoe roses that she wanted from her sisters, and Kitty ran from one room to another, looking for that which had been taken from her.
“Who agreed Lydia was old enough to go to assemblies?” asked Elizabeth tiredly.
Jane smiled and tucked a braid into place on her sister’s coiffure. “It is only a local assembly, not a London ballroom.”
“Yes, but now she will embarrass us in front of people we know and not a room full of strangers.”
Jane tried to hold in her laughter while Elizabeth grinned slyly in the mirror. She had a feeling about tonight. She could not say what it was exactly, but her entire body was humming in anticipation.
“There. All done.” Elizabeth checked her reflection. She was in decent looks this evening even though she had not been sleeping as well as she ought. The lack of rest showed in her complexion.
“You look lovely. Do not judge yourself harshly,” said Jane in the firm but gentle tone Elizabeth knew she would use with her children one day.
“You know me too well, sister. Do not worry, I was not being harsh. Merely thinking that my lack of sleep has made my complexion a bit dull. But you have worked wonders with my hair—I’m certain no one will notice anything else about me.”
Jane laughed. “Come along. We do not wish to be late.”
The assembly hall looked the same as it always did, but Elizabeth could not help looking around, wondering what was different. She could not quell the nervous feeling in her stomach or the excitement that ran through her veins. Something was going to happen tonight.
After she greeted her friends and the dancing had begun, the watched-for Netherfield party finally arrived. Many of the townspeople had given up and decided they were not coming, but there they stood, a party of five striding through the door as if they owned all of Hertfordshire.
“Who is who, Charlotte?” asked Elizabeth. She could only see a rather rotund man and a woman with pale red hair beside him. The others were hidden amongst the crowd.
“The blonde man speaking with my father is Mr. Bingley. The two ladies are his sisters. Mrs. Hurst is married to the man in the chartreuse jacket—” he was the rotund man Elizabeth had noticed before—“and the taller lady is Miss Bingley. She will keep house for her brother. The other man is Mr. Bingley’s friend, a Mr. Darcy I believe. From somewhere in the north.”
Elizabeth felt the zing down her arm again, just as she had when Mr. Bingley’s name was mentioned before. She must meet them and see this mysterious neighbor. She soon joined her mother, and the Netherfield party was led to them by Sir William who made the introductions. Elizabeth got a good look at Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. The latter looked bored and vacant, while the former kept her nose in the air at an unflattering angle. The gentlemen were obscured by Lydia who wedged her way in front of her shorter sisters. Elizabeth did not mind. She wished to observe without notice for a moment.
Finally, Lydia ran off to dance just as Mr. Bingley requested Jane’s hand for a set. Her sister smiled serenely, and Elizabeth finally looked at Mr. Bingley. Suddenly, all the blood drained from her face and she felt dizzy. She grasped Mary’s arm and swayed slightly, causing her sister to look at her with curiosity.
“Let us sit down, Mary,” she whispered.
Mary nodded and led her sister to a cluster of chairs and sat beside her. “Are you well, Lizzy?”
“In body, yes.”
Mary looked at her in confusion. She was a literal creature, and one was either well or not well. “I shall bring you some refreshment.”
Elizabeth nodded and looked blankly ahead. It was him! Mr. Bingley was Jane’s husband! The man who would make her sister wonderfully happy and who would declare Elizabeth his “favorite sister.” She smiled when she thought of what that said of his feelings for his two sisters by blood. He was here, in Meryton!
When Mary returned, Elizabeth was sporting a ridiculous grin and a dazed expression. Mary handed her sister the punch and crept away, but Elizabeth could not care. It was not every day one met one’s future brother! She could do aught but smile and think of the future. But how would she tell Jane? Should she tell Jane at all?
But, oh! She knew they would be so very happy together! Surely, if Jane knew he was the perfect man for her, she would wish to be happy as soon as possible, and would telling her not speed things along? But what if their relationship needed to progress in its own time? What if her interference caused a problem? What if she was never meant to tell Jane of the dreams at all for this very reason? But then, why have the dreams if they did no good?
The ball would continue another two hours at least. How would she maintain her equanimity? She rose from her chair, thinking she would watch Jane interacting with Mr. Bingley, but her heart was beating so rapidly she could not focus. She felt breathless and faint.
She stepped onto the terrace, telling herself to pull her nerves together and act sensibly. This was no time to begin taking after her mother. After a few more breaths, she rejoined the assembly. She must dance with Mr. Bingley. It was the best way to get to know him, and she needed to know if he was worthy of her sister.
Squaring her shoulders, she stood on the side of the dance floor just as the set was ending. Jane and Mr. Bingley soon made their way to her.
“Lizzy, have you met Mr. Bingley?”
“I have not had the pleasure.”
Jane performed the introductions, infatuation already wending its way about her. Mr. Bingley seemed equally affected. He asked Elizabeth to dance, as she had hoped he would, and she told herself not to do anything to give her prior knowledge away. She must gather information about Mr. Bingley. That was all.
By the end of the dance, Elizabeth knew two things. Mr. Bingley was perfect for Jane, and she could not wait for him to be her brother.
Two sets later, Elizabeth was obliged to sit out as there were more ladies than gentlemen present. She took the opportunity to speak to Mr. Bingley’s sisters. They had been introduced earlier in the evening, but she had not had a chance to converse with them.
“How do you find Netherfield?” she asked politely.
“It is a lovely house,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Though it wants updating.”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “It wants more than that. The main drawing room is tolerable, but the music room needs complete redoing, as does the dining room. The rooms in the family wing need repapering, and the guest rooms need complete redecoration.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Will you be changing much then?”
Miss Bingley sighed, though she tried to hide it. “My brother does not think it necessary, but he is a man. I have told him ladies understand these things better.”
“Ah.”
Mrs. Hurst looked like she did not agree with her sister, but she was not about to start arguing with her at a public assembly in front of strangers. Miss Bingley did not seem to mind casting her brother in an unfashionable light. The conversation was stilted after that, but Elizabeth remained polite throughout, though Miss Bingley made it difficult. Elizabeth thought Mrs. Hurst might be friendly enough, but it would be impossible to tell as long as she was overshadowed by her sister.
The Bennet women stumbled and yawned their way into Longbourn after the assembly. Jane was starry-eyed, a dreamy smile on her face. Her mother was almost as happy, for Mr. Bingley had danced twice with Jane and that must mean he was half in love with her already. Normally, Elizabeth would caution her mother to restrain her hopes and remind her that a dance was not a proposal. But this time, she said nothing.
Elizabeth dressed for bed, then made her way down the corridor towards Jane’s room. Mary’s door was not closed all the way and Elizabeth heard a sniffle as she passed. She pressed the door open and peeked in.
“Are you well, Mary?” She had had a cold a week ago. Perhaps Mary was not as recovered as they thought she was?
Mary was sat on the edge of her bed with her back to the door. She glanced over her shoulder and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “I am perfectly well, Lizzy. Do not fret over me.”
Elizabeth knew the sound of restrained tears when she heard them. She slipped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. “What has upset you, dearest?”
She sat on the bed beside Mary and noticed her sister’s red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks down her cheeks. Had someone been rude to her at the assembly? Elizabeth had been so distracted with Jane and Mr. Bingley that she had not paid much attention to her younger sisters.
“It is nothing you should concern yourself over.” Mary straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, but a choked sob made its way out.
Elizabeth wrapped her arm about her sister’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Nonsense! You are my sister. Your concerns are my concerns. Now tell me, what has overset you so?” It was something her grandmother used to say to her. Elizabeth had never been as close to Mary as she had to Jane, but they had played together often as children, and when Jane came out and Elizabeth was left at home, they had grown closer for a time. Mary was the most stoic of all her sisters. If something had made her cry, it was no small matter.
“It was that man.”
“What man?” asked Elizabeth, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.
“The new one, at Netherfield.”
“Mr. Bingley?”
“No, his friend. Mr. Derry? Derby maybe?”
“Mr. Darcy, I think. What did he do?”
“Nothing so very bad. He merely refused to dance with me.” Her shoulders shook as a new round of tears started.
“What did he say?” asked Elizabeth, dreading the answer. Mary was not as pretty as her sisters, but she could hardly help it. She had been compared unfavorably to Jane and Elizabeth since she had come out. With Kitty and Lydia now in company as well, things were unlikely to have improved.
“Mr. Bingley offered to introduce us and told Mr. Darcy that I would be an agreeable dance partner. Mr. Darcy said there was not a woman in the room it would not be a punishment to stand up with, and that he would not give consequence to a woman slighted by other men.”
Elizabeth gasped. “No!”
Mary nodded her head miserably and buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“You were not slighted by anyone other than that ogre parading as a gentleman! There were not enough men in attendance. Anyone with the ability to count would have realized that. Every lady took a turn sitting out. Even Jane sat out a dance! Is she slighted by other men?”
Mary shook her head, still not looking at her sister.
Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder. “Did he say anything else?” she asked gently.
Mary took a deep breath. “When Mr. Bingley called me agreeable, the other one said I was not handsome enough to tempt him.”
Elizabeth felt rage bubbling up in her and held her sister tightly. “You listen to me, Mary. Mr. Darcy does not know what he is talking about. He is a rude man with poor taste besides. He danced with Miss Bingley, and she is terrible company!”
Mary almost laughed at that.
“He is clearly no judge of character. He does not know what he is missing by dismissing you in such a fashion.”
Mary said nothing, but she did not have to. Elizabeth knew what her sister was thinking. Mary was not beautiful, and Mr. Darcy had merely said aloud what other gentlemen were likely thinking.
“I shall tell you what Granny told me when I was very young.”
Mary looked up at her and Elizabeth put her finger beneath her sister’s chin.
“You are lovely in your own right, and don’t let anyone go comparing you to Jane—not even your own mother. You are beautiful in your way, and anyone who cannot see that is not worth the breath you waste speaking of them.” Elizabeth smiled reassuringly.
“Did Granny truly say that?”
“Yes, more than once. She wanted to make sure I did not forget.”
Mary smiled weakly.
“Truly, Mary. We are all plain next to Jane.” That earned a true smile. “But that does not mean we do not have worth of our own, or that our looks are entirely unpleasing. After all, the world cannot be fully populated with stunning women. The men would all faint dead away.”
Mary smiled and sniffled. “Very well, Lizzy. I believe you.”
“Good.” Elizabeth kissed her forehead. “Do you wish to sleep with me tonight?” She rarely invited anyone to sleep with her—not even Jane—and Mary felt the compliment.
“Thank you, but I sleep better on my own.”
“As you wish.” Elizabeth left her sister with a smile, but as soon as the door closed, a scowl settled over her features. Mr. Darcy would rue the day he slighted a Bennet.
Darcy returned to Netherfield in a foul mood. He hated balls. He hated cramped, airless rooms. He hated being forced into company with people he did not know and did not wish to know. And he really hated it when Bingley chastised him in public and asked him to dance with unknown ladies. If he had wished to dance, he was more than capable of requesting an introduction. He was a grown man of seven and twenty. He did not need assistance in finding a dance partner!
But Bingley would insist he attend the cramped ballroom filled with strangers. And he would insist Darcy dance with one of them. It did not matter that Darcy’s head ached from lack of sleep and the continual clenching of his jaw. He was surprised he had not ground his teeth flat after the events of the summer. He was in no mood to be in company, and he ought to have refused to attend, but he had not wanted to offend Bingley.
Now, he realized he had offended his friend and likely half the ballroom. He did not truly care—it was a backwater in Hertfordshire, not the cream of London—but he did not actually set out to offend people. It was an unfortunate byproduct of his going into company. It had been so for as long as he could remember and he saw no way to remedy it now, nor did he truly wish to. Having the reputation for offense kept the chattier members of society away from him and spared him many unpleasant hours.
But he did not like to offend his friends, and Bingley was his closest friend. Bingley was hoping to make his way as a gentleman in this neighborhood, and he had been nervous about attending the assembly. Darcy had known as much, and his presence had been designed as support for his friend. It had not gone as planned.
As he slid beneath the counterpane, two thoughts were on his mind. How he could apologize to Bingley for being such a bore while making it clear he would not be forced into such a party again, and, more importantly, the hope that he would dream of his mystery lady again. She had visited his dreams twice more since Ramsgate, always elusive—always smiling at him—and he had come to find her presence soothing.