“An invitation from Netherfield!”Mrs. Bennet’s voice echoed through the house, louder than the bells at St. Mary’s on a Sunday morning.
Elizabeth glanced up from her book as Lydia darted into the drawing room, waving a cream-colored envelope triumphantly. “It’s here, it’s here!” Lydia sang, spinning on her heel. Kitty trailed behind her, nearly tripping over her own excitement.
Jane looked up from her embroidery, her cheeks pinking slightly. “Is it truly—?”
“Indeed!” Mrs. Bennet swept into the room with all the grandeur of a queen bearing news of a royal decree. “A ball! At Netherfield! Oh, Jane, my dear, this is your moment! Mr. Bingley shall have no choice but to propose after such a splendid evening.”
Elizabeth set her book aside, unable to suppress a smile. “And what role, precisely, does a ball play in securing a proposal?”
Mrs. Bennet waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Lizzy, you are far too cynical. A ball is the very height of romance. Why, your father and I first danced together at a ball. And look at us now.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted. “Indeed, Mama. What a glowing endorsement.”
“Do not tease your mother,” Mr. Bennet said from behind his newspaper. “It is unkind to mock those who cling to their dreams.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored him entirely. “Jane, my dear, we must ensure you have a gown that leaves no doubt as to your charms. Perhaps something with ribbons. Or lace. And pink—itmustbe pink!”
“Something sensible will suffice, Mama,” Jane said gently, though her blush deepened.
“Sensible! Jane, you cannot be sensible at a ball. It is entirely the wrong idea.”
Lydia plopped down beside Elizabeth, still clutching the envelope. “I wonder how many dances I shall have. Ten, at least. Maybe twelve.”
“Surely you will leave some for the other guests,” Elizabeth said.
Kitty huffed. “Only if they ask quickly enough. Lydia always steals the best partners.”
“And I’ll bet Mr. Wickham asks me first,” Lydia said, tilting her chin up triumphantly. “He said he loves dancing.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “How fortunate for you.”
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet called, her tone suddenly sharp. “Do not think you can sit in the corner making clever remarks all evening. You must dance as well.”
“Do I usually abstain?”
“No, but I would not put it beyond you to vex me onthisnight, of all nights! And I am sure Mr. Collins will be most attentive to you. He will no doubt insist upon at least two sets.”
Elizabeth’s faint smile hardened. “How reassuring.”
“Now, Jane,” Mrs. Bennet said, returning her focus to her eldest daughter, “we must make the best use of this time. There are gowns to be chosen, accessories to be polished, and—oh, thehair! We must call Mrs. Hill at once. Yes, she must see if she can get an extra maid from the village to help you all dress.”
“Perhaps we might let Jane breathe first,” Elizabeth suggested.
Mrs. Bennet glared at her, but Jane intervened with a soothing smile. “Lizzy is right, Mama. There is still plenty of time before the ball.”
“Time enough to make every possible preparation!” Mrs. Bennet declared. “Oh, Jane, my dear, you will be the fairest star of the evening. And after Mr. Bingley proposes, we shall have such celebrations!”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, who looked both flattered and overwhelmed. Rising from her chair, Elizabeth moved to her sister’s side, resting a reassuring hand on her arm. “Do not let Mama’s enthusiasm frighten you. A ball is just a gathering, nothing more.”
“A gathering where every eye will be on us,” Jane murmured. “And every ear will be listening.”
Elizabeth squeezed her arm. “Let them. You will dazzle them all.”
“Will you not dazzle them too, Lizzy?” Lydia teased, spinning across the room.
“Only if they appreciate sharp tongues and scathing remarks,” Elizabeth replied.
“I daresay Mr. Darcy might,” Kitty muttered.
