Page 10 of A November to Remember

There was a beat of silence. The newspaper lowered. Two inches. Then four. Then the entirety of Mr Bennet’s face appeared above it, in the grip of a genuine philosophical reconsideration. “Is it the Armagnac?”

“He did not specify,” Charlotte said.

“He would not need to. Only the one variety requires its own room.” A pause followed, during which a private argument was conducted and resolved. The newspaper folded. “I shall attend. For the brandy. I have no interest whatsoever in the social proceedings.”

“Naturally not.” Mrs Bennet’s smile could have lit the room unaided.

“There will be whist,” Mary offered to the room, then added into the silence that followed, “I mention it only because the card party does imply cards. One ought to be prepared.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Elizabeth’s voice was perfectly level. “The assembled company stands forewarned.”

Kitty had been thinking during this exchange, which was always a process requiring its own interval. She raised her head now, having just arrived at a conclusion after considerable internal effort. “Do you think Mr Bingley might be back from London by Saturday? Mrs Goulding thought she saw his carriage on the Meryton road yesterday, but Mrs Goulding also saw a fox wearing a hat in September, so one cannot be entirely—”

“If he returns,” Mrs Bennet interrupted, “he is invited because he lives in the general neighbourhood, and has been invited, as dear Charlotte said. He will certainly attend, because he danced with Jane twice. A gentleman who dances with a lady twice does not subsequently absent himself from the neighbourhood card parties. It would be positively rude, and Mr Bingley is not rude, he is charming and wealthy and he will be there. He will see Jane across the whist table, and it will all be settled by Sunday and I will have my Christmas wedding. Or Valentine’s.”

A silence of exactly five seconds followed this.

Jane stood, collected her cup and saucer, mentioned her work basket, and left the room at a pace that was not technically a retreat, but Elizabeth recognised it as one nonetheless.

She watched her sister go, unable to help her.

“More tea, Miss Lucas?” Hill offered.

“Thank you.” Charlotte accepted the cup, and her eyes, over the rim of it, found Elizabeth’s.

Seconds later, Mrs Bennet engaged Kitty and Lydia in the critical matter of what they ought to wear on Saturday. Mr Bennet retired behind his printed shield with a relieved exhale, regaining his natural habitat.

Charlotte moved to the window seat and Elizabeth joined her.

“It is good to see you,” Elizabeth said and meant it.

“And you.” Charlotte studied her face with unhurried attention. “What is the matter?”

“I am perfectly well.”

“You are perfectly furious.” Charlotte delivered this in the same tone she would use to observe that it was cold out and one ought to wear a coat. “Your left eye does something. It has been doing it since I sat down.”

Elizabeth looked at her friend, at the steady, unsentimental, affectionate face that was the most reliably honest surface she had ever encountered, and abandoned the performance.

“He called me tolerable.” The word landed as flat and exact as a pin in a map. “Not handsome enough to tempt him.”

“I heard.”

“Everyone heard.” Elizabeth turned back to the window.

“The county is primarily amused.” Charlotte let a fractional pause settle, and a knowing smile curved her lips. “You are quite affected by a man you claim to hold in such low esteem. One might almost think you were not indifferent to him.”

Elizabeth laughed, though the sound carried an edge sharper than she intended. “Indifferent? I am furious, Charlotte. Tolerable! As if I were a second-rate mare at market rather than a gentlewoman of sense and education. If he has the audacity to return to Netherfield, I shall take great pleasure in showing him precisely how tolerable I can be. I mean to be perfectly civil in company and devastatingly witty in private. He shall learn that Hertfordshire ladies are not so easily dismissed or forgotten.”

Charlotte regarded her with fond exasperation, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You are too quick to anger, my dear. Such fury requires feeling, and feeling is a dangerous thing where proud, handsome gentlemen are concerned. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps Mr Darcy was simply having a wretched evening. Or perhaps he is unused to being among society.”

“We were breathing in his vicinity, Charlotte. That seemed offence enough.” Elizabeth’s dark eyes flashed with determination. “No, I shall not forgive him easily. Should he attend the card party, I intend to exact elegant revenge. He wounded my pride, and I mean to return the favour with interest.”

Charlotte shook her head, linking her arm with Elizabeth’s. “Do be careful, Lizzy. Campaigns of revenge have a way of becoming far more complicated than one anticipates, especially when the enemy is tall, wealthy, and rather intriguing despite his many faults.”

Elizabeth directed her eyes to the ceiling, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Intriguing? You sound as bad as my mother. I want nothing to do with Mr Darcy beyond the satisfaction of cutting his consequence down with exquisite politeness. Now come, let us join Mamma’s mayhem.”

The two friends rejoined the lively chaos of the family, and Elizabeth felt a renewed spark of resolve kindle in her chest. Mr Darcy might have slighted her at the assembly, but she refused to grant him any lasting power over her spirits. Saturday’s card party would provide the perfect stage for her elegant retribution.