He turned an even deeper shade of crimson, which at least answered that question.
I sighed and stood, straightening my jacket. “Let’s go, then. You can’t very well leave Miss Bennet waiting, can you?”
Bingley beamed at me. “Right! Yes, of course.” He moved toward the door, eager to follow Williams to the drawing room.
I, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic. There was only one hope that would make this surprise visit remotely tolerable: Elizabeth.
If she was there, perhaps she could help smooth matters over—especially if this ridiculous ball was brought up.
Heaven help us all.
Elizabeth
Miss Bingley was doingher best to play the perfect hostess, which meant wearing a smile that looked as though it might crack at any moment. She had greeted us with such warmth, you’d think we were old friends, but her eyes told a different story altogether—especially when Lydia and Kitty began chattering about the officers.
“Oh, Miss Bennet,” she purred, turning to Jane with an almost predatory smile, “we were so delighted to hear of your visit today. It’s been far too long.”
Jane inclined her head. “We’re always pleased to call at Netherfield, Miss Bingley.”
Caroline and Mrs. Hurst exchanged a glance over Jane’s head, their lips tight in the universal language of sisters who pretend to smile while silently begging for rescue. They were marvelous at it, though, not a crack in the veneer as Kitty launched into a description of some rather dramatic spectacle involving Lieutenant Denny and a misfired musket. If either hostess found the story tiresome, they hid it behind a mask of politeness, though I suspected Caroline’s cheek twitched a little too much.
“It was the most thrilling thing that’s happened in weeks,” Lydia declared, her hands gesticulating wildly. “And I’m sure we’ll see something even grander at the ball!”
Miss Bingley blinked. “Ball?”
At that moment, the door opened, and the gentlemen entered.
Bingley was all smiles, as usual, but I scarcely paid him any mind. My attention, as always of late, went straight to Darcy, who followed closely behind, looking like he was holding his breath. His eyes scanned the room, searching—no doubt for Ewan. He was nearly twitching with it, and when his gaze finally found mine, I raised my brows in silent question.
Darcy gave the barest shake of his head. No ghost, no nonsense. Not right now, at least. That settled, I shifted my attention to my mother.
Mama made a flurry of herself greeting the gentlemen, and before long, she was in full form, exclaiming loudly about the ball Lydia had so casually let slip.
“Oh, Mr. Bingley!” she said, clasping her hands together, “we’re all so delighted about the ball! It’s going to be such a tremendous event. I must make over my gown, of course, but I think Jane shall have a new one. She’s so beautiful—she deserves to look her best, don’t you think?”
I winced. There it was, laid out as plainly as possible for all to see. The plan. The expectation. My mother might as well have pulled out a contract and handed it to Bingley with Jane’s name on it, ready for his signature.
I glanced toward Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, whose eyes had gone noticeably glassy. They still wore their hostess smiles, but they were brittle at the edges, as if the idea of Jane in a new gown, dazzling their brother at a ball, was a fate worse than death.
“I hadn’t realized we were hosting a ball,” Caroline said, her voice as smooth as glass, though I didn’t miss the undercurrent of irritation. “I had thought we’d be in London by the end of the month.”
I turned my gaze to Darcy, seeking some sort of explanation. His expression was... well, tight was the only word for it. His lips pressed together as if holding back some dreadful piece of news, and when my eyes met his, he gave me the faintest, almost imperceptible eye roll.
I sensed a ghost afoot.
Poor Mr. Bingley looked like a man juggling too many glass balls at once. His smile had wavered for just a second when his sisters expressed their dismay, but he quickly recovered.
“Well,” he said brightly, “we’re to have so many lovely dinners this season, I think a Christmas Eve ball would be just the thing! A perfect way to celebrate, don’t you think?”
I had to give him credit—he said it with such conviction, you’d think this ball had been planned all along.
Jane smiled at him—that particular smile, the one she reserved only for Bingley—and, if I wasn’t mistaken, that was all it took. Bingley’s mind was made up.
“Therewillbe a ball,” he said, looking directly at her.
Caroline’s smile barely held. Mrs. Hurst’s teacup rattled just the tiniest bit on its saucer.
And Darcy? Oh, Darcy was frowning. He glanced at me, then raised his brows in that way of his—the one that said, “I don’t like this, and I’m sure you don’t either.” I could read him as well as I could read any book, and at that moment, we were both on the same page.
