Chapter 4 #3
“A ball?” Bingley repeated, laughing. “Why not? I should be very happy to be that someone. What do you think, Mis Bennet? Ought I to have a ball at Netherfield Park?”
Caroline Bingley was regarding her brother with anything but pleasure, but he had eyes only for Miss Bennet.
She smiled sweetly at him. “That would be very pleasant, Mr Bingley,” Miss Bennet said. “I believe it has been fully six years since there was last a ball at Netherfield Park, and of all my sisters, only I was old enough to attend then. The ballroom is most elegant.”
“So it is!” Bingley cried. “It is settled, then. I shall begin the arrangements at once.”
Though Darcy could not approve of the proposal, he thought it the better part of manners to keep his opinion to himself, a choice shared by few others present.
Miss Bingely and Mrs Hurst shared dismayed looks, either oblivious or uncaring that they risked being seen by their host, and Mrs Bennet and her youngest daughters were noisily joyful.
“A ball at Netherfield!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, clasping her hands in delight. “Nothing could be more elegant. I cannot imagine anything that would give greater pleasure.”
Having established that a ball there would be, the conversation then turned to its imagined success. Upon being applied to for her opinion, Miss Bingley smiled thinly. “We must hope the company will do justice to the occasion.”
Bingley laughed, and the remark passed without consequence. But while her brother did not seem to have perceived Miss Bingley’s intention, it had not been lost on Darcy, and to judge by her expression, it had not been lost on Elizabeth Bennet, either.
Darcy said nothing.
As there was no Mr Bennet to offer them cigars or port, the gentlemen followed the ladies directly to the drawing room after dinner.
Darcy hoped wryly that Bingley did not regret so rashly promising a ball, for to judge by the conversation all evening, he certainly would not be allowed to forget it.
For himself, he could only congratulate himself on finding the strength of will to take a seat well away from Elizabeth Bennet, where he would be spared the temptation of speaking to her.
The rest of the evening was a kind of noisy tedium, an impression that Mrs Bennet certainly did not seem to share.
At leave-taking, she regretted only that her guests could not stay longer.
“How glad I am that you could join us! We have had a most delightful evening,” she declared.
“Quite delightful. I cannot remember when we have enjoyed ourselves more.”
“The pleasure has been entirely mine,” Bingley replied cheerfully.
“And we shall look forward to the ball, for remember, you promised,” Lydia Bennet added, with no attempt at subtlety. “I mean to dance every set.”
“Of course, my dearest,” Mrs Bennet said fondly. “That is just as it ought to be.”
Bingley smiled at this and assured them all that every effort would be made to make the event worthy of their expectations.
The carriage was then brought round, and the Netherfield party departed.
As they rattled over the three miles to be covered, Bingley spoke with cheerful animation, delighted as always by everything.
He spoke of Miss Bennet with warmth and of the proposed ball with increasing enthusiasm, his spirits undiminished by the length of the night.
Miss Bingley was the first to interrupt him. “I cannot say I was much impressed with the hospitality,” she remarked. “There is a want of propriety in some parts of the family which cannot be overlooked.”
Mrs Hurst gave a small nod. “Indeed. There is a great deal that might be wished otherwise.”
Bingley laughed lightly. “You are too severe. I found it all very agreeable.”
“You always do,” Miss Bingley returned, with a faint smile that did not soften her meaning.
He made no attempt to dispute her further, and the conversation soon declined. After a short interval, silence settled upon them all.
The night was clear, and the road before them lay quiet beneath the moon. The motion of the carriage was steady, and the stillness within it gave him no excuse to avoid his own thoughts.
He had seen nothing that ought to alter his opinion. The disadvantages of the connection remained as strong as ever, and her family was precisely what he had first supposed. The want of propriety and the want of restraint could not be denied.
He acknowledged it fully. Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman he could think of in any serious way. The idea was unreasonable from the first, and nothing that had passed that evening had made it less so.
Darcy fixed the thought in his mind and resolved to abide by it. Even as he did so, Netherfield came into view.
No matter how sparkling her eyes and subtle her wit, no matter how much she needed a true ally by her side in her father’s absence, Elizabeth Bennet was not a suitable bride.
He would make himself stop thinking of her, whatever it took.
They would be only common and indifferent acquaintances, nothing more.
The thought should not have been as disappointing as it was.