Chapter Eight
The announcement of their engagement appeared in the paper on a Thursday, between a notice about a lost grey mare and an advertisement for a new draper’s shop in Meryton.
For something that was to rescue Elizabeth’s reputation and her sisters’ future, it was a small thing, comprising only four lines of names, their families and home counties, and the customary wish for future happiness.
Elizabeth read it at breakfast, set it down beside her toast, and drank her tea.
Her mother cut it out with scissors she had apparently kept to hand for this purpose and pressed it between the pages of her housekeeping book with a satisfied smile, her victory achieved.
The public reaction to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy’s engagement arranged itself into factions, as public reactions often do.
In the fortnight since the engagement, Elizabeth made a study of them all.
Though she attempted the detached interest of a naturalist, she suspected she could not quite achieve it.
It was difficult, perhaps, to achieve true detachment when one was also the specimen under examination.
But whether or not she could achieve truly impartial judgement, Elizabeth at least felt certain that most people approved of the match.
These were primarily the older residents of Meryton, for whom the narrative resolved itself satisfyingly: a young woman had found herself in an impossible situation, a gentleman had behaved with honour, and the outcome was an engagement that, whatever its origins, was entirely proper.
Mr Harrison, the dear old rector of Meryton Church, had said “Exactly what one would hope for,” with such relief that it had left Elizabeth blinking away tears, while the widowed Mrs Johnson had given a firm, approving nod and remarked that Mr Darcy had shown himself a man of real character.
Elizabeth had felt their approval with a degree of gratitude that left her feeling both surprised at herself and slightly shaken.
A second faction did not approve, but did not say so where it could be attributed to them.
These were the people who had always found the Bennets rather too much, who had watched Mrs Bennet’s performance at Lucas Lodge with disapproval, and who had privately considered Elizabeth Bennet too clever for her own good.
The whispers of this faction were characterised by a murmured suggestion that the Bennet girls had always been rather forward, that it was not entirely surprising that one of them had eventually found herself in a compromising situation, that Mr Darcy was to be pitied for his honour costing him quite so much.
Elizabeth heard two versions of this through Charlotte Lucas.
Her friend hesitated to repeat such ugly gossip and made it clear she took no pleasure in it, but in the end, she did it.
A third party of people found the whole affair delicious in its scandal and made no effort to pretend otherwise.
To her credit, Charlotte herself belonged to none of these groups. She called on Elizabeth on the Tuesday after the announcement and sat with her in the garden despite the cold. “How are you, Lizzy?” Charlotte asked. “Truly?”
Elizabeth looked at the bare rose beds and thought about answering honestly. Though honesty had its costs, she did not think she could bear to do otherwise.
“Suspended somewhere between relief and sheer terror,” Elizabeth admitted at last. “The rumours are quieting, which is a relief. My mother is happy. Jane and Mr Bingley are as infatuated as ever.” Indeed, Bingley’s renewed attentiveness to Jane had been immediate and unmistakable, as though the establishment of one engagement had given him permission to pursue the other with full commitment.
“But the permanence of it —” she stopped, unsure of how to voice her feelings.
“You have not resigned yourself to it,” Charlotte said, without judgement.
“I have resigned myself to the necessity of it,” Elizabeth replied. “But that is not quite the same thing.”
Charlotte was quiet for a moment and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “No,” she said. “I suppose it is not.” She did not offer meaningless platitudes about how it would all be for the best, which was one of the things Elizabeth valued most about her.
∞∞∞
Before the compromise and the ensuing scandal, Mr Bingley had proposed holding a ball at Netherfield Park, and even afterwards, he had not changed his intentions.
The ball was therefore to be held as planned.
For many of the young ladies of the neighbourhood, this news was a considerable relief, and the time until this storied event must have gone by painfully slowly.
Indeed; Kitty and Lydia certainly said often enough that they were tired of waiting.
But for her part, Elizabeth might have gladly waited another month before attending the event, or perhaps never gone at all.
How eagerly she might have gone to the Netherfield Ball, Elizabeth thought ruefully, if things were different! She might have seen it as an evening of elegant amusement, had she not been attending as the fiance of Mr Darcy. The ball was now less a social occasion than a particularly demanding test.
She understood this more clearly as the carriage approached Netherfield on the evening in question, with her mother beside her radiating satisfaction and Lydia on the opposite seat talking about the officers without ceasing. Jane sat next to Elizabeth and pressed her hand once, briefly.
The house was lit along its full front aspect, the windows golden against the November dark. Carriages were drawn up along the drive. From inside came the faint, ordered suggestion of the orchestra tuning. It was, Elizabeth thought, exactly what a ball at Netherfield ought to look like.
Within ten minutes of entering the ballroom, Elizabeth knew the rules had changed.
Before the compromise and the subsequent engagement, she would have been nothing more than a guest at Netherfield.
She would have been observed, certainly, but observed as one of many guests, her behaviour subject to the ordinary standards applied to any young woman at any ball.
Now she was the subject of everyone’s attention.
Every room she entered, she entered as Mr Darcy’s intended, which meant every room she entered was already watching to see whether she merited the designation.
Did Mr Darcy seem pleased? Did the whole arrangement have the quality of genuine attachment or merely of obligation?
Did she know her situation was an improvement on anything she could reasonably have expected, and was she suitably grateful?
It took very little time of bearing such scrutiny before Elizabeth feared she might crumble under its weight.
Some twenty minutes after her arrival, Elizabeth found Mr Darcy standing near the far end of the room with Colonel Forster and one of the Lucas brothers.
By the quality of his attention as she crossed toward him, it was evident that he had been aware of her presence since she came through the door.
He turned as she approached and bowed, and she returned the gesture.
The exchange was perfectly correct and observed by half the room.
Elizabeth did her best to ignore the many eyes on them, with somewhat mixed success.
“Good evening, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“Mr Darcy. I trust the evening finds you well?”
It was the language of strangers at a formal occasion, and they both knew it. Behind it was the knowledge of the study and the scratch on the lock plate. Elizabeth bit her lip, feeling the oddity of the exchange. They were almost perfect strangers, and they were soon to be wed.
More oddly still, Mr Darcy no longer felt entirely like a stranger to her.
He offered his arm to lead her further into the room. Elizabeth took it, wishing she were not so aware of all the eyes that followed them as they walked together.
His arm was steady under her hand. “An excellently arranged room, do not you think?” Mr Darcy murmured. “It is always a shame when there is hardly space to walk at a ball.”
“Quite so,” Elizabeth replied. “I imagine Miss Bingley will have handled the arrangements for Mr Bingley. She is to be congratulated.”
“And particularly for the selection of the musicians. My sister would approve if she were here. Indeed, they are so skilled that I must regret she is not.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “I wonder where Miss Bingley found them? They are considerably better than the musicians we had for the last Meryton assembly.”
Each exchange of pleasantries was well enough, only Elizabeth could not help thinking that they all amounted to exactly nothing. None of it was what either of them were thinking.
Mr Darcy conducted her about the room with a care so evident it bordered on ceremony. Mrs Bennet, observing from across the floor, beamed as though the spectacle were of her own devising.
Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks. If she had ever imagined that the engagement might afford ease between them, she would have been swiftly disabused of the notion. There was no ease, only care and vigilance.
“You are excessively attentive, sir,” she murmured as they paused near the hearth.
“It is expected of me,” he replied quietly.
“And do you always perform to expectations so flawlessly?”
His gaze flickered to hers, as guarded as ever. “When expectation aligns with propriety, I see no reason to do otherwise.”
Elizabeth might once have teased him for such an answer. Tonight, she could not. “Propriety is much in demand this evening,” she said instead.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And as such, it would be best for us to dance the first together. If you would not object?”
Elizabeth knew very well that she could not. Indeed, she should not even really wish to. What was a dance, compared to the likelihood that they would end by being tied together for all their lives?