Page 29 of He Insulted My Entire Family Before Proposing

It was loud, warm, crowded, and cheerful in the dangerous way of rooms where everyone knew everyone else's business.

Elizabeth attended with Jane and enough Bennets to make privacy impossible. Mrs. Bennet had entered in a flutter of lace, triumph, and maternal arithmetic, counting daughters, incomes, and future carriages with equal enthusiasm. Jane looked quietly radiant, and Elizabeth suspected Mr. Bingley would look as if the entire county had been arranged for his personal delight the moment he entered the room.

Elizabeth tried to look composed.

"You are very calm," Jane murmured.

"That is because you are not looking closely."

Jane's smile was all softness and mischief. "I am looking exactly closely enough."

Elizabeth pretended not to hear, which was a sisterly privilege.

The list was not in her reticule. Elizabeth had locked it in her desk before leaving, after imagining Lydia, Kitty, or half Meryton finding it on the floor. Its absence felt oddly loud.

Jane glanced at the reticule anyway. "You look as if you have left something behind."

"Only a bad habit."

"Then I am glad it stayed home."

Jane said this kindly, which was intolerable.

By then Jane's engagement to Bingley was known to both families, though not yet advertised to Meryton. The Netherfield party arrived not long after. Bingley came first, all open delight; Miss Bingley followed with Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Hurst, all elegance, feathers, and determination not to look defeated by another woman's happiness. Darcy came with them because he was still Bingley's guest, and because a man who meant to correct a public wrong had to enter the public room where the wrong had first done its work.

He went to Jane and Elizabeth first.

Not to the highest-ranking person in the room. Not to the grandest acquaintance. To the women whose family his former self had treated as an objection.

"Miss Bennet," he said, bowing to Jane, "Mr. Bingley is the happiest man in Hertfordshire, and I am very glad of it."

Elizabeth felt the sentence like a hand opening.

Jane accepted the compliment with her usual sweetness, but Elizabeth saw the quick shine in her sister's eyes. Darcy looked at Elizabeth only after Jane had been honored first.

There was no triumph in his face. Good. Triumph would have spoiled it.

The evening began.

Elizabeth danced with a local gentleman, then with Sir William Lucas, who treated every turn as evidence that civilization had not declined beyond rescue. Darcy danced with a neighbor's daughter whose mother looked as if ten thousand a year itself had joined the set.

It might have ended there, with civility and glances and the ache of unfinished matters. But Caroline Bingley was not content to let the evening end quietly.

Near the refreshment table, Elizabeth heard a familiar tone before she saw the speaker.

Caroline Bingley, having arrived with the Netherfield party, was sustained, Elizabeth suspected, by the hope that mortification improved when administered before witnesses.

She stood with Mrs. Hurst and a London friend of Mrs. Hurst's, both dressed beautifully and ready to wound. Her eyes moved from Elizabeth to the Bennet party, then to Darcy speaking with Bingley near the doorway.

"It is charming," Caroline said, not softly enough, "how generous Mr. Darcy has become with his acquaintance."

One lady murmured something Elizabeth could not catch.

"Yes," Caroline continued, "the country has broadened him. Family connections that once mattered so much are now, it seems, no obstacle at all."

Elizabeth felt heat rise in her face.

It was not unexpected. That almost made it worse. Contempt loved an audience. It starved in private.