Chapter 2
The Netherfield Ball
Elizabeth firmly disentangled her hand from her cousin’s arm as they approached the steps of Netherfield House.
“Thank you, Mr Collins, I am quite able to support myself up the steps.” She clenched her teeth in her attempt to stay polite despite her annoyance at her mother for pushing Mr Collins in Elizabeth’s direction.
“But, Cousin Elizabeth! It is only right that I escort you. You have granted me the honour of the first two sets.” His smile was ingratiating, and Elizabeth quailed.
Granted under sufferance only! Her thoughts were dark.
Those dances had been looming, spoiling her anticipation of the ball — as had the four days of unrelenting rain, trapping her at Longbourn with her family.
They were noisy and brash; and the oily attentions of her cousin were worse. She shivered.
Her dearest Jane had made her promise to be pleasant to Mr Collins — and even to Miss Bingley. But Elizabeth’s temper was scarcely under her command, and it would take little for her to boil over.
As they climbed the steps, Mama leaned to her. “Lizzy!” She hissed. “Be good to Mr Collins or I will have much to say to you tomorrow!”
Elizabeth could hardly answer and a nod would have to suffice, for they were about to join the receiving line, and Mama was hastening to Jane’s side to sing the praises of her most beautiful daughter to Mr Bingley.
Behind her, Elizabeth shook her head; Mama would drive yet another suitor away with her loud effusions and overbearing insensitivity, and she saw Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst sniggering behind their fans.
Then she was in front of them, and they tittered at her dress.
Elizabeth lifted her chin defiantly. She thought she looked rather well in her gown of cream muslin.
It was simply cut, but had an overdress of pale sarcenet that shone softly in the candlelight and the ribbon of emerald silk beneath her bosom was tied in a bow at her back.
Her hair, arranged in soft curls around her face and swept high at the back, was adorned only with narrow ribbons of the same colour.
She would not let the Bingley sisters discompose her.
Finally, the Bennet family moved on into the ballroom, which was extravagantly decorated, although already over-warm with the large number of people chattering to each other.
The smells of varied perfumes and cologne were hardly preferable to the heat and sweat they meant to disguise, and Elizabeth sighed.
She was certainly not in the right frame of mind to enjoy this ball, but she moved into the room, looking for the one person who might well cheer her.
But despite circling the room several times, and hiding her disappointment at every red coat she saw that was not being worn by Mr Wickham, she understood that he was not here, and her ill-temper worsened.
It was the wrong moment — any moment would have been wrong, for Mr Collins to approach her, just as she had encountered Charlotte. “Oh, my friend, I …” but he took a step even closer and cleared his throat. She guarded her behaviour and turned back to her friend.
“Charlotte, may I present our cousin, Mr Collins?” Then she had to jump back a little to avoid being touched as he gave an extravagant bow. She gave Charlotte a look over his lowered head, and when he was upright again, resumed her introduction.
“Mr Collins, this is my friend, Miss Lucas.”
He turned his greasy smile on Charlotte.
“I am delighted to meet such an elegant friend of my dear cousin, Miss Lucas. I have the great honour of being …” but he was interrupted by a flourish of music by the trio at the side of the room, and he instantly turned to Elizabeth and grasped for her hand before she could even extend it.
“Come, cousin!” His voice was loud and over-cheerful and Charlotte sent a commiserating look her way.
As she lined up for the dance opposite her cousin, she found they were next to Jane, who was partnered by Mr Bingley and Jane gave her a loving look, full of sympathy with a knowing undertone, reminding Elizabeth of the warning.
Elizabeth could hardly look up for the shame of it. Sir William’s polite astonishment and Miss Bingley’s arched brow left no doubt of his offence against every rule of precedence.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr Darcy’s lip curl, and instantly, her temper rose further; did he think she should have pulled Mr Collins further down the line? She could not have done so, not and be polite as Jane wished. She averted her gaze.
Mortifying as that experience had been, the set itself was far worse. She wondered if her cousin had danced a step in his life before, and within the space of the first dance, he had trodden on her feet four times and in the final indignity he trod on the hem of her gown, tearing it.
Hastily using the excuse it offered, Elizabeth retreated to the ladies’ retiring room, where she pleaded with the maid to take a long time in repairing it — “… at least until the final dance of the second set, if you possibly can.”
The maid laughed and agreed; she was one whom Elizabeth had exchanged banter with when she had stayed here, caring for Jane.
And at that thought, her ire rose again at Mr Darcy.
He had patrolled the room during her dance, watching her closely.
It must have been to find fault with her, as he had done when she was staying here.
And she was certain it was him that had driven poor Mr Wickham away tonight.
She took some deep breaths. If she could miss the whole remainder of the dances with Mr Collins, she would be well-pleased, and she could, perhaps, determine to enjoy the rest of the ball.
When the repairs were completed she moved quietly back into the ballroom, hoping she would not be seen by her two least-liked men in the room.
Sir William and Colonel Forster were standing near the doors and she concealed herself behind them while surveying the room as best she could.
“Of course Mr Darcy would not take the first set,” Sir William was expounding. “Gentleman that he is, he could not wish to cause gossip by giving consequence to a lady. But see, he is now dancing the third with his hostess. Yes, yes! A very gentlemanly gentleman.”
Elizabeth’s snort of disdain was fortunately hidden by the Colonel’s agreement.
Soon, she managed to slip past them and found Charlotte to stand with, and had the chance to bemoan the tear in her gown. “I hope it is not too damaged to repair fully when I get home.”
They were conversing contentedly at the change of dances when Charlotte cleared her throat. Elizabeth turned to see Mr Darcy approaching.
Attempting to keep her expression as serene as Jane always seemed to manage, Elizabeth studied him.
For some reason, he looked a little uncomfortable.
Probably because he disdains approaching me!
Her thoughts lightened her spirits a little.
But he may stay away. I am sure I do not wish to speak to him.
But he was before them, and bowed, so they returned the compliment. He hesitated, then seemed to steel himself. “Miss Bennet, may I have the honour of your next dance, if you are not engaged for it?”
Too surprised to control her response, Elizabeth faltered, and saw something like alarm in his eyes.
It could not be; she must be mistaken. But people were watching.
She inclined her head as graciously as possible, “I thank you.” Why did my heart jump when he asked me? I will not fall for a handsome face!
All too soon, they were standing up together, and Elizabeth noticed Miss Bingley’s narrowed eyes and pinched lips as she glared at them. Elizabeth tore her gaze away and stared challengingly at Mr Darcy. She let her lips twitch. He might soon regret asking me to dance.
He looked encouraged by this, but still did not speak. He was an elegant dancer, Elizabeth had to admit, but she pushed the thought away, determined to remain strong in her dislike.
A moment later, she was decided; if he would not speak, then she would.
“We ladies are glad to have the pleasure of the company of militia officers in the town now. It means there will be more partners at our assemblies.” She smiled sweetly.
“It means no young ladies will need to be slighted by other men because there are too few of them.” She put a heavy emphasis on repeating what he had said, and he paled. Good. Now he knows I heard him.
“Some of the officers of the militia may be very good men, I grant you. But some — they wear the uniform with all the air of gallantry — though perhaps rather more show than service.” His voice was tightly controlled, but she discerned anger apparent beneath the control.
She would not let him take the moral high ground! “Some of them, to be sure. Others may have to serve their country in this way because they have been betrayed by those they once trusted.”
He flinched, and paled again. “And some have the happy looks that deceive and can tell stories that are incomplete to make themselves appear the wronged.”
“And there are those others who try to demean and insult them to make themselves appear to have been the damaged ones.” She was indignant, and took a wrong step — no, Elizabeth, concentrate!
Mr Darcy corrected her error smoothly and she felt even more wrong-footed.
“Madam, I beg you to take care and not believe something that will certainly have been embellished, leaving out certain of the inconvenient facts. I can assure you there is far more to the story than you know.” Was that pain in his eyes?
She drew herself up, proudly. She would not yield. “Those of us who are derided as merely tolerable find explanations from those who scorned them — unconvincing.”
It was his turn to miss a step, she thought with satisfaction. But he caught himself with little difficulty, and she looked at his face; a mixture of hurt and fury.
“Then those people are impossible to assist.” He was probably as happy as she was that the dance was ending.
They exchanged the same bow and curtsy as the rest of the dancers, and then he took her hand upon his to lead her from the floor.
The tension was like static between them and Elizabeth almost stumbled. He nodded at her and turned away.
He was probably as mortified as she was. Elizabeth blinked to rid herself of the mistiness before her eyes. But there was nowhere she could go to be private.
Why did I torment him? It was cruel, even to someone I dislike so intensely.
She looked around; Papa was sitting at the side of the room with Mr Goulding, but they were not speaking. Before she could think further, she circled the room to reach him. I could go home.
“Papa, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“We have finished our conversation,” Mr Goulding said kindly. “Take this seat, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Papa, please, may I go home?” Elizabeth tried to sound her usual self.
“What did that man say to you?” Her father looked stern. “Another insult? Do I need to have words with him?”
Elizabeth shook her head and looked down. “No, Papa. I admit I was — rather cutting. I think I caused him pain, and I would like to be in private for a while. I could say I have a headache.”
“Your mother will not be pleased.” Papa looked resigned. “She has already berated me for the sin of having you escape most of the first sets with Collins.” He chuckled. “Fortunately Goulding rescued me.” He patted her hand, his gaze astute.
“Call the coach, my dear, and then you can send it back for us. Borrow one of the maids who can return with the coach.” He gave her a look. “And no, you may not walk home, even if you could find a footman to escort you.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth climbed to her feet, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Please tell everyone I have a headache and did not wish to disturb them to make my farewells.”
In her dark cloak, Elizabeth stood in the cool of the night, slowly feeling calmer. She was standing just outside the circle of light that was candlelight spilling out of the door onto the steps.
The footmen were all inside, trying to keep a little warmer, even with the door wide open.
A disturbance a little way away roused her attention and she peered into the darkness, despite knowing it was useless. She could not see beyond the light. A raised voice, then another.
“Quiet!”
Elizabeth jumped. She knew that voice. If Mr Wickham was here, why was he not attending the ball?
She stepped back carefully, quietly, against the wall of the house. There were an unknown number of men outside here, and she was alone.
She heard Wickham’s voice again, although it was quieter, but her hearing seemed sharpened.
“Stop complaining, you’re being paid enough. I know him, proud and arrogant; he’ll be out here soon enough, to hide from the women …” And she heard a jeering sound from a few other men.