“Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs. Bennet for the fourth time that hour. “I am so, so happy. And his lordship; have you ever seen a handsomer man?”
Elizabeth smiled. It was easier to indulge her mother’s effusive glee without her faux-suitor present. Better her mother expel it at home before the ball in a few days hence, though as Darcy was to be the guest of honor, Mrs. Bennet assumed her share of that same title by proxy.
“I still don’t see why you should have him all to yourself, Lizzy,” pouted Lydia.
“It’s not fair,” echoed Kitty, for despite her additional two years, she followed Lydia in everything. “Next thing we know, Jane will be marrying Mr. Bingley and there will be nothing but farmers left for the rest of us.”
“You met his lordship when he was still Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Did you like him then? For if you have the prior claim, I’ll have to bow out to preserve my honor.”
“Don’t be silly, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet. “You can’t bow out, not now! Oh, but I have never been so happy! A countess!”
“We are not engaged, mama,” said Elizabeth, tired of repeating herself already. In the mind of Mrs. Bennet, the contract was already signed.
Elizabeth bore these conversations as best she could. Whenever she imagined her family’s disappointment at finding out there would be no such wedding, it helped to remember that her sisters would at least have some security in the form of dowries.
Still, the pain of so deep a falsehood had been a constant presence since Darcy had announced his suit a few days past. The invitation to Mr. Bingley’s ball had arrived on the heels of that good news and the Bennet household had been in high spirits ever since.
Elizabeth began to think that perhaps she ought to plan to travel soon, just to escape the continual talk of suitors and nuptials. Perhaps she should go see her aunt and uncle Gardiner in London. Amidst the talk of ball gowns and wedding plans, Elizabeth amused herself by drafting a letter in her mind.
Darcy was having a less pleasant time of it during the days leading up to the ball at Netherfield. Bingley was enthusiastic in his support. No doubt he perceived Darcy’s courtship as a prequel of his own impending happiness, since Darcy’s pursuit of Elizabeth would likely mean more reasons for Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet to be thrown together.
The other occupants of the house were not quite so encouraging. Darcy had received congratulations from Bingley’s sisters and from Mr. Hurst, but Miss Bingley had not spoken to him since that halted conversation. He knew he must have imposed on her feelings by not coming to her first; Darcy also knew she was a proud woman, and he would not see her further embarrassed by broaching the subject with her now.
The day of Bingley’s ball approached rapidly. Every invitation that had been sent had been answered ‘yes’ with haste, for everyone for miles was keen to get a look at the new earl and the woman said to have snared his heart.
That was Darcy’s own doing, he supposed. To stave off any further interference from Lady Catherine, Darcy had written the gossip piece himself and sent it to every paper in the country he could think of. On first publication, it had the immediate effect of slowing the tide of visitors he and Bingley had been forced to deal with at Netherfield daily. The news had traveled rapidly and had its desired effect. Darcy was no longer being sought by any but the most determined of fortune hunters.
He found the circumstances brought less peace than he would have liked.
He’d had to send the announcement before conferring about it with Elizabeth, and that also weighed on him. She ought to have been warned, but Mr. Collins’s voluble protestations and his aunt’s lengthy letter outlining precisely the qualities Darcy ought to seek in his future countess had chafed. He would marry whom he chose, and while his aunt’s advice had some merit, Darcy no longer felt called upon to come to heel over it.
Darcy visited Elizabeth as often as propriety allowed, and still found himself wishing he could see her more often. In more private moments, he could admit to himself that he sometimes forgot their courtship was only for show.
But that line of thinking was dangerous – Darcy could not afford to be distracted by such flights of fancy. Had not that been the purpose of the ruse in the first place? To keep him free to attend to the business at hand.
He certainly had enough business to keep him busy. Weatherby had returned twice for more signatures. Georgiana had written, and though she could not attend the ball at Netherfield this week, she was keen to meet the woman who’d agreed to help him with so delicate a problem.
They would get along famously, Elizabeth and his sister.
Darcy forced his mind back to his letter writing, banishing the woman from his thoughts for approximately the hundredth time that afternoon.
“You look beautiful.”
Elizabeth turned to see Jane standing in the doorway.
“Thank you, but I think you’re blinded by the prospect of a potential countess. This is my old green silk.” Elizabeth looked down at herself and back to the mirror atop the vanity in her room.
“The maid’s excellent needlepoint notwithstanding, you look lovely,” said Jane, coming to stand beside her sister. “I came to see if you need any help.”
“You’re a gem,” said Elizabeth, giving her sisters hand a squeeze. “I think I’m nearly there. But thank you.”
“If you’re set, then I’d best go see to Kitty. She was already weeping over something snide Lydia said about her gown,” said Jane. She handed Elizabeth a folded piece of paper. “Oh, and one of the servants found this in the hall. They’re not sure when it arrived. I thought you might want to see it straight away.”
“Hm,” said Elizabeth.
“A love letter from the earl, perhaps?” said Jane with a smile.
“Hardly,” said Elizabeth drily, even as a blush started on her cheeks. “I’m not sure what it could be.” She unfolded the single page but did not recognize the writing.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Jane. They could hear Kitty’s wailing from down the hall.
Alone once more, Elizabeth turned her eyes back to the note. There was no address, no greeting.
He deserves better than a crass, poor upstart like you. Call it off now before somebody has to put you in your place.
Elizabeth stared, fighting down the threatening nausea. She sat, motionless, absorbing the words until they were engraved upon her mind.
Sarah was nearest by. Elizabeth called to her from the door and the girl appeared a moment later.
“Yes, miss?”
“Did you see who left this note in the downstairs hall?” Though she’d been loath to touch it again, Elizabeth had refolded the letter to its original shape to conceal the contents. She held it up for Sarah to see.
“No, miss. Though I did hear Hill tell cook that one of the hands found it out near the stables.”
“I see,” said Elizabeth. The stables were situated close to the road, but concealed by a tall, thick hedge. Anyone could have dropped that letter on the dirt footpath and would have been hidden again in the space of a breath. “Thank you, Sarah.”
The servant left and Elizabeth turned back to stare at herself in the mirror. The letter did not specify her fate; perhaps it was merely the work of some heartbroken young miss who thought she’d lost her chance at landing an earl. It was disgusting and small of someone, but the note wasn’t overtly threatening.
Still, it made Elizabeth uneasy.
But the family were to leave for the ball in very short order, and as a person of particular interest to the guest of honor, Elizabeth could not be late. She’d put the letter out of her mind for now; perhaps she’d find a private moment to mention it to Darcy. He might have some insight as to its author.
Darcy knew he spoke with a great many people throughout the night. The crush was such that he suspected there were several guests present who hadn’t actually received an invitation. Bingley was a charming host, but Darcy’s status as guest of honor had made the rounds of conversation ever since his new title became public. The locals were especially keen for Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a favorite in general in Hertfordshire, and Darcy’s notice of her had brought him up still further in their estimation. He’d been introduced to more people this evening than he could remember at any one time in his life.
And for all his upbringing and generally refined manners, he couldn’t recall a single one of their names. All he could recall from the past several hours was the exact shade of green glimmering off Elizabeth’s gown as she passed beneath the candlelight. It perfectly complemented her dark hair and the color in her cheeks, which was heightened by the heat of the room. It somehow elevated her pretty eyes to extraordinary. Darcy caught himself staring yet again and retrained his gaze on the crowd of dancers instead.
Darcy did not much care for dancing as a rule; too much intimacy in too public a venue for his taste. Society deemed it acceptable, of course, but it carried a whiff of impropriety to it that he didn’t like and thus, he rarely partook in the activity.
But tonight he was courting. Surely he was entitled to dance with a woman he was publicly pursuing. It was likely even expected of him; he’d never courted a woman before, but the expectation seemed logical.
Darcy excused himself without ceremony from the group around him. That shimmering green vision moved in his peripheral sight. A moment later he found her.
Elizabeth was talking to one of the women from Meryton; Lucas, was her name. They were laughing when he approached.
Elizabeth laughed often. Spending any amount of time with her would confirm it.
Darcy rather thought he could use more laughter in his life.
“Miss Lucas,” he said. “Would you object to my stealing away your companion?”
“Not at all, my lord,” she answered, smiling at him. “And might I compliment you on your very good taste in choosing your company?”
Darcy returned her smile. “I could as easily compliment your choice in friends,” he said. Darcy turned and bowed before Miss Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, might I have the next two dances?”
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she said. He’d managed to surprise her, he observed; his precipitous proposal aside, he’d never managed to surprise her before.
“I don’t,” he conceded. “But I have it on good authority that society will cast me out if I do not at least attempt the act this evening.”
“As the ball is given in your name, we cannot have that,” she said dryly.
“Indeed.”
Miss Elizabeth said goodbye to her friend as Darcy escorted her to the line. The music began and they moved into the dance.
“For a man who does not care for dancing, you dance rather well, my lord,” Miss Elizabeth said a few moments later.
“I think the skill of my partner renders me thus,” he said, baldly and without flattery. It was true; Miss Elizabeth was an excellent dancer. She made him better. Still, the compliment made her blush.
“You needn’t flatter me, Darcy,” she said on the next turn. “We understand each other, you and I.”
Here the music separated them once more. Darcy was grateful; the respite prevented him from revealing his thoughts, which had grown more sentimental and sweet every minute that passed.
When the second dance had finished, Elizabeth found a seat by her sister Mary.
“I cannot think of a less interesting way to pass an evening,” said Mary. “I should much rather be reading.”
“I am rather surprised you didn’t bring your book with you,” said Elizabeth, only barely attending the conversation.
“I tried,” said Mary, her frown growing. “Mother took it away when we arrived.”
Elizabeth smiled but her mind was occupied. She really ought to have told Darcy about the unsigned note she’d received before the ball. They’d had a half hour dancing together, almost uninterrupted; she could have mentioned it at any time. But the dance had slipped by almost on the instant. Eerie note aside, Elizabeth could not remember having a finer night.
She imagined anyone looking on would think them quite besotted with each other.
That queer reflection was interrupted by a servant speaking her name nearby.
“Yes, I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said, standing. The servant presented her a folded piece of paper.
Another one.
The script was unfamiliar, not remotely like the writing on the note she’d received earlier; yet without reading a word, Elizabeth suspected she knew the contents at once.