But not tonight.
Tonight, he only watched. And for a moment—just a moment—he let himself imagine that he belonged there, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 30, 1812
Longbournwasinchaos.
Ribbons trailed over chairs, bonnets dangled from banisters, and the scent of lavender starch clung to every hem as the Bennet household prepared to descend upon Meryton’s annual Planting Festival—a yearly affair where country manners collided with town gossip and no one’s waistcoat escaped unwrinkled.
“I need my green gloves!” Lydia cried from somewhere upstairs. “Not the yellow—Kitty, did you take them?”
Kitty’s voice echoed back. “Why would I want your ridiculous gloves? You sit in the grass and then cry when they stain!”
Mrs. Bennet was in rare form, fluttering between rooms and demanding that someone pin her brooch straighter. “The festival will be half-wasted if we do not arrive before the Netherfield party,” she declared. “And I want us seen. All of us! Even you, Mary, though heaven knows you will scowl your way through the flower carts. Lizzy,dotry to smile—oh, I shall have to introduce you to Mrs. Long and Mrs. Purvis…”
Elizabeth stood in the corner of her room, twisting the tie of her bonnet with a reluctant hand.
“It will not kill you to smile,” Jane said, adjusting a pearl-tipped pin above her ear. “The festival is harmless, and Mama has been planning our arrival for more than a week.”
Elizabeth gave her a dry look. “So has Napoleon. That does not make me eager to march into battle.”
Jane suppressed a smile. “Hardly a battle. It is only a village fête.”
“A fête where half the guests think I am someone I am not, and the other half wonder why no one has asked. Forgive me if I do not thrill to the prospect of parsnip displays and curious glances.”
“No one doubts you, Lizzy, and before you protest, let me remind you that nobody listens to Collins. You are being dramatic.”
Elizabeth turned from the mirror. “I am being strategic. I spent the first week in this village blundering around in borrowed shoes. I would rather not compound that by letting the vicar’s wife ask if I am fond of root vegetables while she tries to place my face. What if someone recognizes me?”
Jane leaned over to adjust the ribbon on Elizabeth’s bonnet. “You have been to Meryton half a dozen times before and no one knew you as anyone but our cousin. Why should today be any different?”
“Because we…” Elizabeth stopped and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Because Mr. Darcy sent a letter that made it seem like I had gone elsewhere. What good will that do if I am seen in town today?”
Jane frowned speculatively. “Well, I know nothing about that. But I do know that Mr. Bingley spoke to him at length about plans for the day, and Mr. Darcy voiced no specific concerns.”
“You mean beyond his usual glowering and grumbling?”
Jane squeezed her hand. “Nothing will go wrong. Mr. Bingley will be beside us at all times, and Mr. Darcy close by. You will not be alone, Lizzy.”
“The prime minister was not alone when they shot him, now, was he?”
Jane’s face paled, as if it was the first time she had thought of it. “Well… But surely, if Mr. Darcy did not think it too dangerous…”
Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. But I draw the line at admiring anyone’s marrow crop.”
Downstairs, a loud crash signaled the fall of someone’s bonnet box. Elizabeth sighed and tied her bonnet with an air of martyrdom.
They descended together into the fray, stepping over a fallen shoe and dodging Mary’s attempt to read aloud from a volume of devotional poetry.
In the foyer, Mr. Bennet leaned against the newel post, watching the scene like a man observing a distant battlefield.
“Well, this is festive,” he said. “All this for the chance to stand about a muddy field admiring turnips and pretending to care what the vicar’s wife planted last year.”
“I was just saying the same,” Elizabeth murmured, drawing alongside him.
Mr. Bennet cast her a sidelong glance. “Ah, but your reasons are likely nobler than mine. I simply hate crowds. You, I suspect, are concerned about being noticed.”
