Chapter 3 #2
Sleep came gradually, her thoughts fading into quiet as the promise of the coming assembly remained, for the present, no more than an idea.
The day of the assembly arrived with a sense of purpose that seemed to touch every corner of Longbourn.
Elizabeth was awake earlier than usual, awakened by the awareness that the day would unfold differently from most. Even before she rose, she heard movement in the passage—light footsteps, doors opening and closing, and the murmur of voices kept lower than their excitement naturally encouraged.
By the time she descended to breakfast, the household already bore the marks of anticipation.
Kitty and Lydia were present, though neither devoted much attention to what was set before them. Their disappointment at being excluded from the evening’s event had scarcely diminished overnight. Lydia, in particular, carried herself with an air of grievance she made little effort to conceal.
“It is most unjust,” she declared, pushing her toast aside. “To remain at home while everyone else enjoys themselves.”
“You will have ample occupation,” Mrs. Bennet said. “There is still work to be done.”
“That is hardly the same,” Lydia replied.
Kitty sighed, though with less energy. “We have helped with the gowns. We ought to be allowed to see the result.”
Mrs. Bennet continued with her tea. “You shall see them.”
“That is hardly my meaning,” Lydia said.
Elizabeth, seated between Jane and Mary, exchanged a glance with the latter. Mary’s expression suggested patience worn thin by repetition, while Jane’s reflected gentler resignation.
“Your time will come,” Jane said.
“It ought to be now,” Lydia insisted.
Mrs. Bennet set down her cup.
“You are not out.”
The words, delivered without emphasis, carried the same finality they had the previous day. Lydia opened her mouth, then thought better of it. Kitty lowered her gaze.
The matter was settled once again.
Breakfast concluded with less conversation than usual. Anticipation for the evening, combined with the lingering disappointment of the younger girls, lent the room an atmosphere that was somewhat strained, though far from unpleasant.
Elizabeth found herself observing more than participating. Something in the arrangement of the day—its expectations and preparations—invited her attention.
After the meal, the household divided.
Mrs. Bennet directed the morning’s tasks with her customary efficiency. The gowns, though largely prepared, required final adjustments. Trimming was secured, hems examined, and ribbons arranged with care. No detail was considered too small to merit attention.
Elizabeth returned to her chamber to begin her own preparations, though the final stages still lay ahead. Her gown rested across the bed, the fabric smoothed and the alterations complete.
She paused beside it.
The dress had been improved without losing its original character.
Its familiar form remained, while the additions lent it a freshness that fully justified its reappearance.
The color—a pale green—had always suited her, though she had seldom given it much thought.
With the new trimming of fine white lace along the sleeves and neckline, it seemed to possess an added lightness.
A narrow ribbon of deeper green had been added at the waist, tied in a manner that gave the gown a more graceful shape. The effect was simple, though undeniably elegant.
Elizabeth touched the fabric lightly and turned away.
There was still time.
The morning passed in a succession of small occupations.
Mary practiced at the pianoforte, though with sufficient moderation to avoid interfering with the general activity.
Kitty and Lydia, having accepted their exclusion, applied themselves to assisting where they could, though Lydia’s efforts continued to include frequent commentary upon the injustice of her situation.
“You will tell us everything,” she said to Jane at one point, while holding a length of ribbon Jane was arranging.
“I shall tell you what I can,” Jane replied.
“That is insufficient,” Lydia said. “I wish to know everything.”
Kitty nodded. “Every dance. Every partner.”
Elizabeth, seated nearby with her needle, glanced up. “You will know more by tomorrow than you would have observed in a single evening.”
“That is hardly the same,” Lydia said.
“It is not,” Elizabeth agreed. “But it is what you will have.”
Lydia frowned, though she offered no further argument.
By midday, the work was complete.
The gowns were laid out once more, each receiving its due attention.
Jane’s dress, of white muslin, had been refreshed with delicate blue trimming that enhanced without overwhelming. It required very little alteration, as most things did when applied to her.
Mary’s gown, in a shade of warm yellow, had been adjusted at the sleeves and neckline, with modest lace enhancing what might otherwise have appeared too plain. The color, once outside her usual preferences, suited her far better than she had anticipated.
Elizabeth’s own stood between them, neither as light as Jane’s nor as warm as Mary’s, but still distinct in its quiet effect.
Mrs. Bennet regarded them with approval.
“They will do very well.”
The afternoon allowed for rest, though few took full advantage of it.
Elizabeth attempted to read but found her attention wandering. The thought of the evening, though never pressing, remained quietly present.
At last, the appointed hour approached.
Final preparations began in earnest.
Hair was dressed with great care. Jane’s, arranged simply, required little embellishment beyond a few well-placed curls. Mary’s was drawn back more firmly, with curls at the sides to prevent severity.
Elizabeth sat before the mirror while Mrs. Bennet adjusted the arrangement.
“Less tightly,” she said. “It does not suit you.”
Elizabeth relaxed as the pins were repositioned. The finished style framed her face without constraint, allowing a few loose strands to complete the overall effect.
A ribbon matching her gown was added with practiced precision.
“There,” Mrs. Bennet said.
Elizabeth rose.
The overall effect exceeded what she might have accomplished alone; it felt utterly her own.
Kitty and Lydia hovered nearby, their interest undiminished.
“You look very well,” Kitty said, with a sincerity untouched by disappointment.
Lydia nodded. “Very well indeed. It is most unfortunate that I may not accompany you.”
Mrs. Bennet glanced at her. “You may admire from here.”
Lydia sighed.
Jane approached Elizabeth, her expression warm. “You are ready.”
“As are you,” Elizabeth said.
Mary joined them, adjusting her sleeve. “We ought to depart promptly.”
Mr. Bennet entered shortly thereafter.
He paused as his gaze moved from one daughter to the next.
“You appear determined to make an impression.”
“That is not our intention,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“It may prove the result nonetheless.”
He offered his arm to his wife.
“Shall we?”
The carriage was brought around. The evening air, cool and still, carried a sense of expectation Elizabeth found impossible to ignore.
They entered together—Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Jane, Mary, and Elizabeth—leaving Kitty and Lydia at the door with expressions that combined admiration and regret.
“You must tell us everything,” Lydia called as the carriage door closed.
Jane smiled. “We shall.”
The carriage set off.
Elizabeth settled into her seat, her hands resting lightly in her lap.
The road to Meryton was familiar; the knowledge of what awaited lent it a different character.
Beside her, Jane sat in composed anticipation. Mary, though more restrained, conveyed a similar readiness. Mrs. Bennet’s attention seemed directed toward the passing landscape, though Elizabeth suspected her thoughts encompassed far more.
Mr. Bennet appeared content to observe.
At length, the lights of the assembly rooms came into view.
Elizabeth felt a distinct sharpening of awareness.
The evening had begun.