Elizabeth bristled at her mother’s words. Their mother made too much of Jane’s beauty. None of the praise was undue, of course, but it always made Jane uncomfortable, to say nothing of how it made the rest of their sisters feel. And for once, she found she could not hold her tongue as she ought. “And what of my prospects, Mama?” she blurted. “Surely you have some grand prediction for me as well.”
“Of course, I do,” Mrs. Bennet said, waving a hand. “Mr. Collins is perfectly respectable, and he has already shown such marked attention to you.”
“Respectable and marked attention,” Elizabeth said wryly. “What more could a woman ask for?”
“Exactly! You must encourage him, Lizzy. It would be a fine match, indeed. And then—oh, just think! Once Jane is married to Mr. Bingley, and you are settled with Mr. Collins, we shall be the envy of all Meryton.”
Elizabeth caught her father’s eye. He had lowered his book just enough to peer over it with an arched brown and pursed lips. His eyes narrowed, but then he raised his book again and lost himself. Apparently, there was no help to be found there.
“Well, if you will excuse me,” she said, rising, “I believe I shall take a walk. I feel the need for fresh air after all this planning.”
“Oh, do not stay out too long, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet called after her. “You will want to look your best when Miss Bingley calls with the invitations for the ball!”
Elizabeth marched to the door, her pace brisk as she escaped the din of the sitting room. Outside, the late afternoon air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and falling leaves. She breathed deeply, letting the quiet of the garden soothe her frayed nerves.
A ball at Netherfield. It was a certainty, she supposed, but the thought of enduring Mr. Collins’s attentions under the watchful eyes of the neighborhood made her stomach churn. And then there was Mr. Darcy—his inscrutable expressions, his maddening composure. If a ball did come to pass, she resolved to face it as she did all challenges: with wit and determination.
The rest, she thought with a faint smile, would be left to chance.
“I still say itis foolhardy,” Caroline said, pacing in front of the fireplace. “The last gathering we hosted brought nothing but chaos.”
“It brought good company,” Bingley replied, glancing up from the desk where he was carefully drafting the guest list.
“Good company?” Caroline turned sharply. “If you mean the Bennets, then I despair of your judgment entirely.”
Bingley set his pen down and leaned back. “Do not despair, Caroline. The ball will happen, whether or not you approve. The neighborhood expects it.”
“They wager on it, you mean,” Caroline snapped. “I have heard the rumors. The butcher’s wife insists it will be next Tuesday, while the dressmaker has pinned her hopes on Thursday. And we are to reward such absurdity?”
Bingley laughed. “Why not? It’s harmless fun.”
“Harmless!” Caroline threw up her hands. “You are inviting crassness and presumption into this house, Charles. Mark my words, it will end in disaster.”
Darcy shifted in his chair. “She is not entirely wrong.”
Bingley turned to him. “Oh, not you too. I had hoped for support.”
Darcy closed the book he had been skimming. “I do not object to the ball itself, but you must be prepared for what follows. It will spark speculation.”
“It already has,” Bingley said. “Everyone in the village talks of nothing else. If anything, announcing it will put an end to their guessing.”
Caroline folded her arms. “And what of the guests? You cannot seriously expect me to endure another evening of these simple country misses fairly seducing drunken officers in my drawing room.”
“You endured it before,” Bingley said, his tone growing sharper. “And I recall no complaints then.”
Caroline’s lips thinned. “A dinner party is nothing to a ball for drunken revelry. I shall not countenance it, Charles! I had hoped the novelty would wear off for you by now.”
Bingley sighed. “Caroline, I will not hear another word on the subject. The ball is my decision. I will see to the arrangements myself if I must.”
She stopped pacing, her posture stiff with indignation. “Do as you please. But do not expect me to salvage the evening when it inevitably falls to pieces.”
Bingley waved her off with a grin. “I would not dream of burdening you.”
Caroline swept from the room, her skirts rustling loudly in her wake. When the door clicked shut behind her, Bingley turned to Darcy.
“You do not agree with her, do you?”
Darcy hesitated. “Her concerns are not without merit.”
