“Please, please, you must let me go!” Lydia wailed at her parents.
Elizabeth sat with Jane at Lydia’s bedside, watching the drama unfold. There was no denying that Lydia was well on her way towards a full recover, however, she was not fully recovered yet—and the trip to Meryton the previous day had made that exceedingly clear to all.
Despite the carriage and the limited amount of time spent in the shop, Lydia had returned exhausted. She had collapsed into her bed the instant she arrived home and did not stir again until midmorning.
However, Lydia was not one to recognise the need for continued rest, and she was now arguing vehemently to be allowed to go to the ball. She, unconvincingly, attempted to persuade everyone that it was neither illness nor her trip to town that had caused her extended slumber, but a cup of herbal tea brewed for her at lunch the previous day.
Thankfully, this time not even Mrs. Bennet was inclined to grant Lydia her wish, and their father especially opposed the idea.
“I am sorry, my dear girl,” Mr. Bennet said with no pity in his voice. “The officers will simply have to find a different silly girl with whom to dance the night away. Your sister, Kitty, will do quite nicely.”
Elizabeth winced—if there was any way to enrage Lydia further it was to mention the fact that Kitty would be having fun without her. Well, Elizabeth amended, anyone having fun without her would cause a severe reaction, but the rivalry between Lydia and her nearest sister would encourage an even more explosive response.
Sure enough, Mr. Bennet had no sooner finished his sentence before Lydia’s face began to turn a bright red.
“If Kitty dances with them, they’ll never return for her leaden feet will drive them away! They’ll beg to be sent to battles to escape her!” Lydia shouted, venom filling her words.
Elizabeth glanced quickly towards the door, hoping Kitty had not heard. Lydia was not a cruel girl, but in fits of rage or tantrums, she often said hurtful things. Kitty was not often the target, but when she was, Lydia could be especially mean.
Thankfully, Kitty was nowhere to be found, but Elizabeth lost her patience at this unprovoked attack.
“Lydia!” She exclaimed. “What a perfectly wicked thing to say! No one deserves such malice, especially not Kitty. You know how terribly worried she has been over these past weeks—and how attentive.”
To Lydia’s credit, she looked properly ashamed, turning red and letting her head hang.
“Oh, Lizzy,” she said miserably. “I know you are correct, but I cannot help but feel robbed of this delight! How many times does my birthday and a ball fall in such proximity? And it isn’t my fault that I’ve been so ill! It just isn’t fair!”
“No, my darling girl, it is not,” Mrs. Bennet said, smoothing Lydia’s hair over her forehead. “But in this matter, I am afraid we must insist. You cannot risk your health by attending the ball.”
“What if I just sit?” Lydia begged. “What if I just sit and talk? That cannot be so terrible.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. The idea that Lydia could resist dancing at a ball was unimaginable. Lydia often encouraged dancing at social gatherings in which it was improper, so great was her affection for the pastime.
“No,” Mr. Bennet said, sounding as if he might be losing his patience. “I appreciate how great a sacrifice this will be for you, my girl, but we really must end this ridiculous debate. You are too ill to attend. I have finished discussing this.”
Lydia burst into tears and sobbed into her mother’s arms. Elizabeth might have found the sight as ridiculous as her father, but the sound of Lydia’s wheezes between sobs and the deep cough still in her chest reminded Elizabeth how very close they had all come to losing Lydia—ridiculousness and all.
This encouraged her to have a more patient view towards her sister at present. Elizabeth glanced over at Jane and saw that her sister bore a similar look upon her face. Jane bit her lip and gave Elizabeth a significant glance. Unsure what Jane was thinking, she raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” Jane said, breaking into Lydia’s tears. “We should all stay home. Sisterly solidarity. For as Papa said, there will be other balls.”
Elizabeth was surprised at Jane’s suggestion, but considered the idea closely. She liked balls, but her enjoyment of them was dwarfed by Lydia and Kitty. But while Elizabeth might agree—and Mary would jump at the excuse—Kitty would be a difficult one to convince. In talking with Kitty over the past day, Elizabeth had, however, noticed that her sister was torn over Lydia’s inability to attend. Part of Kitty was devastated to lose her best friend and compatriot for the evening, but another part was glad for a rival to be absent.
“Yes, a fine idea, Jane,” Elizabeth said, making up her mind. “And I’m sure Mary and Kitty will agree as well. We Bennet girls stick together.”
“You would really do such a thing?” Lydia said, face puffy from crying. “For me?”
“Of course,” Jane said with a kind smile. Elizabeth glanced at their mother and saw that Mrs. Bennet did not look pleased at this new suggestion. She was a little confused, for as much as Mrs. Bennet herself loved dances, Elizabeth thought she would surely support any action that would alleviate Lydia’s dismay of the situation.
“Jane,” Mrs. Bennet said quietly. “I’m not certain that is the best solution.” She glanced nervously at Lydia and her tear-streaked cheeks. “My darling, is it not assuring enough to know that your sisters would sacrifice themselves for you? Surely it is unnecessary for them to actually miss the ball…?”
“Mama?” Elizabeth said sharply.
“Jane must attend,” Mrs. Bennet said, her voice taking on a suddenly frantic tone. “We all know how precarious the situation with Mr. Bingley has become and we cannot jeopardise this—not again.”
Jane flushed with colour at Mrs. Bennet’s frank speech, but did not say anything. No one said anything for the longest time.
“Mama is right,” Lydia sighed at last. “Jane must attend, which means you all must.” Elizabeth was surprised by this unselfish acknowledgement from Lydia and her heart leapt with affection for the girl. “But perhaps I have convinced…”
“You have not,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “You still cannot attend.”
Lydia folded her arms across her chest in a huff.
“Jane, when you marry Mr. Bingley, you must promise to throw balls at every opportunity,” Lydia said with her bottom lip stuck out. Jane coloured brightly at this statement.
“Lydia,” Jane stammered. “That is, I mean to say, Mr. Bingley and I do not have an understanding…”
“Yet,” Elizabeth said with a bright smile. “I am sure Lydia will be among the first to congratulate you when it finally occurs.”
“You all have far too much confidence,” Jane said with embarrassment.
“Would you like one or two of us to stay with you?” Elizabeth asked Lydia seriously. “I would stay. And I’m sure Mary would jump at the chance.”
“No, no,” Lydia said miserably. “You must go and enjoy yourself on my behalf. And Mary.” She grinned wickedly. “I think my health is far better served by the idea of Mary being forced to dance with at least five different partners.”
“You are cruel,” Mrs. Bennet said with a laugh. “But since you have said so, I shall make sure it happens. Mary does need all the fun we can manage.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of pity for her younger sister, but it was paired with a somewhat unkind amusement—it would do Mary some good.
“Poor Mary,” Jane said sadly, and Elizabeth knew her empathy was untinged by the small maliciousness that peppered Lydia, Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth’s amusement. “But I will ensure she has some fun—her own sense of fun—to make up for the dances she is sure to loathe.”
“I suppose it is settled then,” Lydia said with a sigh. “There is nothing more I can do to convince you that I am well enough to go?” Elizabeth, Jane and Mrs. Bennet all shook their heads. “Very well, then I can admit that the argument has tired me. May I beg your permission to get some rest?”
Mrs. Bennet leaned over and kissed Lydia’s forehead.
“Of course, my dear,” she said, standing. Jane and Elizabeth stood as well, and prepared to leave Lydia to her rest.
Elizabeth was grateful that Lydia had accepted her fate in the end. She was perfectly capable of stretching things well into the evening and had that occurred, no one would have enjoyed themselves at the ball. Perhaps Lydia was finally growing up, she thought to herself. With a fond look at her youngest sister, Elizabeth left the room.
When they arrived at the ball, the Bennet women each did what they always did: Mary immediately went to find a quiet corner, Kitty rushed to the nearest knot of giggling girls, and Mrs. Bennet walked towards the refreshments and the gossiping women, while Elizabeth and Jane patiently scanned the crowd for someone they knew.
“Jane, Lizzy!” Aunt Phillips came out of the crowd, looking a bit harassed. “How are you, my girls? Where is your mother?”
Elizabeth greeted her aunt dutifully with a kiss on the cheek before responding.
“Hello, Aunt,” she said. “Mother is just over there.” She pointed towards a knot of townswomen happily gossiping away. Their husbands stood nearby, arguing loudly over something—politics, if Elizabeth had to guess.
“Oh, yes, I see her now. Well, I just wanted to catch you, Jane, and say hello. For if what I hear is correct, this may be my only chance of the night as your attentions will soon be diverted elsewhere,” Aunt Phillips said with a sly smile. Jane blushed at her words.
“Aunt, surely you are mistaken…,” she began, but before she could finish her statement, Mr. Bingley appeared at her elbow.
“Miss Bennet!” He said with a wide smile, not seeming to notice Elizabeth and Aunt Phillips. “Would you please do me the honour of dancing with me?” He asked as he bowed low. Jane blushed even deeper.
“Of course,” she said at once. “Mr. Bingley, may I present my Aunt Phillips?” Jane motioned toward Aunt Phillips, who wore a very satisfied smile upon her face.
“Mrs. Phillips,” Mr. Bingley said with a slight jump and a bow in greeting. “It is most excellent to make your acquaintance. I do apologise, I am not sure where my manners have gone.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Bingley,” Aunt Phillips replied with a curtsy and a laugh. “And do not concern yourself with manners, for I am quite sure I know where they have gone.”
It was Mr. Bingley’s turn to blush now, however, he looked quite pleased with himself all the same.
“And how is Lydia this evening?” He asked, attempting to cover his reddening face.
“Sleeping soundly when we left,” Jane answered quietly, giving Mr. Bingley a shy smile. “You are kind to ask after her.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth added in an undertone to her aunt. “For all of her claims of health and begging to be allowed to join us this evening, she fell asleep before we even departed.”
“The poor girl,” Aunt Phillips said with a chuckle. “There will be plenty more balls, to be sure, and Lydia is still young. Although at her age, I do understand why she wouldn’t want to miss a ball, with all the entertainment and handsome gentlemen…”
Aunt Phillips’ voice trailed off and Elizabeth noticed that her attention was now devoted to the silent exchange of embarrassed smiles and glances passing between Jane and Mr. Bingley. They sure were a sight to behold, Elizabeth thought with amusement. And judging by the curve of Aunt Phillips’ lips, she thought the same.
The music ended a moment later, and Mr. Bingley held out his arm to Jane.
“To dance?” He asked hopefully.
Jane took his arm without reserve and nodded. Elizabeth was surprised, and pleased, to see this action from her. In previous times, Jane would never have gone off to dance without first ensuring Elizabeth was pleasantly occupied. But it seemed her elder sister could spare no extra thought for her, and that suited Elizabeth just fine.
Watching them walk away, she however felt an unexpected jolt of sadness ripple through her. The last time Jane and Mr. Bingley had danced, life had been much different and the ball was making those differences quite evident.
Charlotte’s absence was particularly noticeable. This was the first ball Elizabeth had ever attended without her faithful friend at her side. Even when the choices of music and partners had been woefully grim, Charlotte had always been at her side to jest and comment.
Now, she found herself alone—Aunt Phillips had excused herself with Jane and Mr. Bingley and gone towards where Mrs. Bennet was holding court—and Elizabeth began to think sadly of the last ball.
Instead of remembering Charlotte, however, she found her mind flashing towards Mr. Darcy and the time they had shared together. Not so much time together—a single dance—but it stuck in her mind like a thorn.
At the time, she had begrudgingly agreed to dance with Mr. Darcy out of politeness. However, despite his protestations to the contrary, Mr. Darcy had proved an able dancer and Elizabeth had found herself enjoying herself. But once the dance had ended, she had forced herself to dwell upon other matters and had not thought of it since.
So why was she thinking of their dance now?
Elizabeth moved through the crowd, unsure of where she was going. Her mind was still firmly upon Mr. Darcy. She still did not know what to think of the man—he remained an unfathomable enigma toward whom neither time nor space had proved helpful. But she realised that she wished he were present now, asking her to dance and talk and, perhaps, laugh. It wasn’t the first time in the last days that her mind had turned longingly toward Mr. Darcy.
When Mr. Bingley had arrived back at Netherfield, Elizabeth had assumed that Mr. Darcy would be in his company. After all, Mr. Darcy had accompanied his friend to Hertfordshire before. And Mr. Bingley’s excuse for his visit—the shooting—was just the sort of activity for which a man’s friends would join him.
However, Mr. Bingley had never mentioned Mr. Darcy’s presence since his first visit to Longbourn—in fact, he had said the man would not be visiting Netherfield—and Mr. Darcy had not come to call. So as odd as it struck her, Elizabeth had come to the conclusion that Mr. Bingley indeed had come to Netherfield alone.
She forced herself to bite back her curiosity in the matter—just as she had for the past weeks, for she had no wish to answer any questions about why she was interested in Mr. Darcy’s whereabouts. If for no other reason than she did not know herself.
Elizabeth continued to walk through the crowd, mostly lost in thought—she still kept one eye out for Wickham. Her feelings of the previous day had not changed in the slightest: she had absolutely no desire to socialise with the man, and avoiding him seemed the easiest solution.
As her eyes absent-mindedly scanned the crowd, however, she through she saw a tall figure that she recognised.
No, she thought to herself, it couldn’t possibly be him. She was imagining it was him because her mind was so preoccupied by thoughts of their shared time together. Surely Mr. Darcy could not be here!
Elizabeth stopped all forward movement, and pushed towards the wall—whether she was hiding or seeking a more advantageous space to stare, she was uncertain. But her eyes never left the dark, curly-haired man on the other side of the ballroom. Elizabeth noted he wore a bottle-green jacket with tan breeches and soft leather shoes on his feet. Whomever he was—and it wasn’t Mr. Darcy, she was quite sure of it—he cut a dashing figure.
She suddenly felt the wall against her back—she could go no further. And still, she stared; with the firm wall behind her, Elizabeth allowed herself to realise that she hoped it was Mr. Darcy. It was a startling realisation, but she knew it to be true. Whatever her feelings—and she still could not figure them out with any certainty—she knew that she wanted to see the man again. And soon.
Suddenly, as if feeling Elizabeth’s eyes upon him, the stranger turned and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. For this was no trick of the light or the mind.
Mr. Darcy was at the ball.