Page 88 of A November to Remember

“Well.” Mrs Bennet lifted her chin. “It is a wise mother who keeps her valuables close to her person when she lives in a house full of thieves.”

Late that afternoon, the bedchamber shared by the eldest Bennet sisters offered a temporary reprieve from the tempest raging on the landing. Lydia’s demands for a specific lace trim penetrated the walls like a poorly tuned hunting horn, followed closely by Kitty’s retaliatory wail.

Elizabeth sat before the looking-glass, holding a hairbrush she had forgotten to use for the past five minutes. Her reflection stared back, presenting a woman whose entire understanding of the universe had been dismantled and rearranged in the space of a few weeks.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was courting her. The man who had insulted her at the Meryton assembly, who had irritated her beyond measure, had subsequently rescued a trapped stable boy from a collapsed beam, sided with her on the flaws of Alcibiades in her father’s drawing-room, and then sought permission to court her. It defied all logic.

Jane stood behind her, expertly pinning a curl to Elizabeth’s coiffure. She wore a gown of pale blue silk, her golden hair swept up into an elegant knot, serene amidst the household chaos.

“You are holding that brush with hostility, Lizzy.” Jane took the wooden handle from Elizabeth’s grip and set it on the table. “The bristles are innocent.”

Elizabeth turned on the stool. “I am attempting to apply reason to an unreasonable situation. Mr Darcy, with ten thousand a year and a pride I once thought impenetrable, asked to court me, and cited his stallion’s preference for my apples as a primary consideration.”

Jane smiled, reaching for a pearl comb. “I think they both like you very much indeed.”

Elizabeth smoothed the skirts of her amber gown. “Well, he had better, because I like him too. Jane.” She took her sister’s hands in her own. “I think I love him.”

Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hands, her eyes watering. “I am so happy for you, Lizzy. You deserve happiness, and your Mr Darcy is a wonderful man.”

Elizabeth felt tears threatening and rose, moving away from her sister. She required a change of subject before her composure dissolved entirely.

“Never mind my Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth stopped and faced Jane again. “I am concerned about you. You have been preparing for this ball with a quietness that alarms me. You tolerated Mamma’s endless monologues, yet you have not spoken a word of your own expectations for tonight.”

Jane moved to the bed, picking up her white evening gloves. She smoothed the fine fabric over her fingers, appearing untroubled. “I have no specific expectations, Lizzy. I intend to enjoy the music and dance every set I am asked for.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms. “What about Mr Bingley?”

Jane shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It was a mistake on my side. I allowed myself to believe his universal amiability was a specific devotion. The man does not want me, Lizzy, and he is merely too polite to convey his indifference. I suspect he is giving the ball and he will vanish with his sisters shortly after.”

“He is a fool.” Elizabeth stepped closer, her protective instincts flaring. “He bounded into your sickroom carrying dripping roses and ruined a very fine table. His sisters have confused him, Jane. Caroline Bingley treats the truth as a mere suggestion.”

“It does not signify.” Jane lifted her chin, her eyes clear and devoid of martyrdom. “If a gentleman needs his sisters to instruct him on his own heart, I do not wish to be the subject of his lessons. I survived the disappointment. I am recovered, I assure you.”

Elizabeth searched her sister’s face; the placid acceptance was gone, resolve taking its place.

“Then what of Viscount Keathley?” Elizabeth lowered her voice, mindful of the thin walls. “He presented you with a volume of Cowper from his personal collection. You agreed to a friendship with him on Sunday, yet he strikes me as a rake, Jane. Be careful, I implore you.”

A delicate blush crept up Jane’s neck. She turned to stare out of the window.

“The viscount might not want me, either.” Jane’s voice was soft, but it carried a stubborn weight. “He said himself he had a colourful past. He warned me that he is a scandal, and that he uses his charm to keep people at a distance. He freely admits to leaping from windows into rose beds to escape consequence.”

Elizabeth gasped in astonishment.

“But I really think there is more to him than the exterior, Sister.” Jane turned back, her expression earnest. “He uses that scandalous reputation like a cloak, wrapping it tightly around himself so no one expects him to possess a conscience. Yet he drove into a tempest to fetch the apothecary for me. He has a good heart, Lizzy, even if he attempts to hide it behind impeccable waistcoats and theatrical bows.”

Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips, her mind churning. The Netherfield ball offered the perfect environment for an investigation.

“Very well.” Elizabeth began pacing. “If the viscount is hiding a noble core beneath his nonsense, we must uncover his true intentions. Mr Darcy is his cousin and they share every confidence. I shall interrogate him tonight.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Lizzy!”

“He is courting me.” Elizabeth spun around, pointing a decisive finger. “He is obligated to endure my inquiries. I shall demand a full, unvarnished account of Lord Keathley’s character. We shall have the truth before the supper sets are announced.”

A laugh burst from Jane’s lips, shattering the tension in the room. She closed the distance, catching Elizabeth’s hands in her own.

“You will do no such thing!” Jane’s eyes danced with wicked amusement. “You will not spend your first ball together questioning him about another gentleman.”

“Propriety is an insufficient excuse when your happiness is in question.”