“Ithasto be a ball, Lizzy,” Lydia insisted. “After all, with such a fine house, where else would we all have a Yuletide party? Mr. Bingley loves dancing, and with so many eligible ladies in the neighborhood, he’d be mad not to host one.”
“And if Mr. Bingley hosts a ball, surely all the officers will attend again!” Kitty declared.
I was already shaking my head. Only the previous afternoon, I had been with Mr. Darcy, and he had given no indication that such an event was being planned. He, of all people, would certainly be wary of another such event in the offing.
“I’m not sure,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “If Mr. Bingley were planning such an event, surely… his friendswould know of it. It would not be a matter for speculation. Jane, you have heard nothing of this from Miss Bingley, have you?”
Jane shook her head. “No, and I took tea with her yesterday.”
Lydia pouted. “Oh, Lizzy, you always have to be such a voice of reason. Why can’t you just let us be excited?”
“Because excitement is best saved for actual events, not imagined ones,” I replied, earning a scowl from both Lydia and Kitty.
But my mother was having none of it. “Now, Lizzy, let your sisters have their fun. After all, Mr. Bingley is a man of considerable means, and Christmas is the perfect time for such festivities. If I know anything about the world, it’s that wealthy young men don’t need much excuse to throw a ball.”
“Indeed!” Aunt Philips nodded sagely. “Mark my words, Lizzy, you’ll see the invitations soon enough.”
As much as I wanted to argue further, I knew it was a lost cause. There was no stopping this runaway carriage once it had gained momentum. Mama and my sisters were already giddy with anticipation, whispering excitedly about the gowns they would wear, the gentlemen who might attend, and—inevitably—who might propose to whom.
I sighed, resigned to the madness, and followed them out into the street, where we continued toward the shops. I was still pondering the alleged ball when we nearly collided with Lieutenant Denny and Mr. Wickham.
“Miss Bennet!” Wickham’s voice was warm and charming as he greeted us with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Before I could reply, Lydia had already launched herself in between us. “Mr. Wickham! Have you heard the news? There’s to be a Christmas ball at Netherfield!”
I winced. “Lydia, we don’t know that for certain.”
Mr. Wickham raised an eyebrow. “Another ball at Netherfield? How delightful. Though I must say, Miss Bennet,” he added,turning to me with a slight grin, “you seem rather apathetic about the prospect.”
I met his gaze evenly. “I prefer to wait for facts, Mr. Wickham. Rumors, as you know, can be misleading.”
“Quite right,” he agreed, still smiling. “But sometimes, a bit of anticipation can make the eventual truth all the sweeter.”
“Oh, Mr. Wickham, you must attend! I only got one dance with you last time, and Lizzy got two. It is not fair, you know. You simplymustcome!”
He chuckled. “If there is another ball, Miss Lydia, I will do my utmost to attend.”
Kitty beamed. “And then you can dance with all of us!”
Mr. Wickham bowed slightly. “I would be honored.”
I tried not to roll my eyes as the younger girls practically swooned at his charm. Mama was no better, encouraging them with enthusiastic nods and murmurs of approval.
And there I was, the lone voice of reason in a sea of wild speculation. As much as I wanted to believe that there would be a ball—and that Mr. Bingley and Jane might find themselves perfectly paired on the dance floor—something about the whole situation left me uneasy.
“Come along, girls,” Mama said at last, practically pulling Lydia and Kitty away from Mr. Wickham. “We’ve much to do before the ball if there’s to be one!”
And with that, we were swept off again, leaving Mr. Wickham and Lieutenant Denny behind, the rumor of a Christmas ball growing ever larger in my family’s imagination.
Twenty-Two
Darcy
Dinner with Colonel Forsterand his officers was exactly as dreadful as I had expected.
Bingley, of course, had agreed to the evening with enthusiasm, while I had spent the entire carriage ride into Meryton contemplating whether I could feign a sudden illness to escape. Hurst had been little help, already half-asleep in the corner of the carriage, and I’d been left alone to grapple with the fact that I’d soon be sitting down to a meal with Wickham.
Wickham.
