Page 24 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman
Netherfield
Elizabeth
On the day preceding the much-anticipated assembly at Netherfield, Mr. Lumley paid a call at Longbourn.
Aside from the evening of Mr. Collins’s arrival, Elizabeth had scarcely given him a thought.
He had not called at Longbourn since he hinted at an admiration for her, and her mind had been far too burdened with graver concerns to dwell upon him.
Upon his return, he was all civility, entering into easy conversation with Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth, however, suspected he found the clergyman as disagreeable as most, and merely bore his company out of deference to their familial connection.
With some pride, Mr. Lumley declared he would be attending the ball in company with his aunt, and promptly solicited the first set with Elizabeth. As there was no objection to his request, she accepted, though she privately doubted she would dance much that evening.
Upon his departure, the remainder of the day was devoted to preparations. Gowns were examined, shawls compared, and fans selected with great deliberation. Elizabeth, though less invested in such matters, settled on a green gown she deemed suitable enough for the occasion.
On the morning of the ball, Mr. Bennet surprised the household by announcing his intention to attend, in honour of Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth thought it a graceful gesture; for what proclaimed approbation more eloquently than presence at a ball, particularly when Mr. Bingley appeared poised to offer for Jane at any moment?
The act was not only civil but very thoughtful.
The journey to the ball proved less than comfortable, chiefly owing to the addition of Mr. Collins to the modest carriage that had barely accommodated the Bennets before his arrival.
He seized the opportunity to compare it to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s carriage, extolling its Italian design and spaciousness as though expecting accolades. None were forthcoming.
Upon arrival at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley greeted them at the door and ushered them into a vast, glittering ballroom.
Rich carpets muffled each footfall. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, their candlelight dancing across polished mirrors and gilded walls.
A string quartet played lively airs, while tables pressed with fruits and jellies formed a tasteful display along one side of the room.
Elizabeth, though outwardly indifferent, could not help admiring Miss Bingley’s elegant arrangements and the ease with which she had transformed Netherfield’s interior into something worthy of praise.
Her fleeting admiration, however, was quickly stifled. Miss Bingley and her sister barely acknowledged them. Not even Jane, whose courtesy they usually affected, escaped their cold politeness.
Memories surged as Elizabeth walked around the ballroom.
She recalled her first entrance into the estate—Darcy’s fleeting expression of surprise, followed by a softer look that hinted at approval.
Her boots had been caked with clay, her petticoat damp from her march across the fields.
She could still see his face light up when he rose from the books that had toppled from the library shelf.
Dust had showered him, leaving his hair floured.
His countenance assumed the wry look of a clown overtaken by misfortune.
The image drew a smile from her, unbidden yet undeniable.
Her mind drifted to the evenings of whist, when he and Bingley had laughed over their victories with boyish satisfaction.
She recalled the gentle absurdity of the garden walk, when Darcy stumbled over Miss Bingley’s bonnet and tumbled.
And that final game of heads or tails before she and Jane departed still made her heart flutter whenever it came to mind.
Slowly, her smile faded. She recalled his final promise to visit Longbourn—and how he had not come. He had left town without a word, and his absence now stretched beyond excuse. Her chest tightened as she admitted the truth: he had made a promise and left it unfulfilled.
A familiar voice behind her startled her from inward drift. She turned.
"Oh, Mr. Wickham," she said, recognising the friendly curl and the bright cheer in his bow.
"Miss Elizabeth," he greeted, stepping forward with courteous grace. "It is a pleasure to see you again."
"Your words are too kind, sir," she replied with controlled composure, banishing the thoughts that threatened her mind, though his presence summoned all the echoes of their prior discourse.
"I have at last met the fifth Bennet sister," Mr. Wickham continued with sweetness. "Lydia spoke of her and pointed me in her direction."
"Yes, that is our elder sister, Jane," Elizabeth answered, eyes lifting to see Jane smiling at something Mr. Bingley had said.
"I see she is well acquainted with our host," Wickham observed.
Elizabeth allowed herself a proper smile at that. "Jane and Mr. Bingley... are fond of one another."
Wickham nodded at the response. He glanced around the room and then said, "I also note that the subject of our mutual conversation remains absent."
"You mean Mr. Darcy, sir?" Elizabeth asked, her throat constricting with sudden tension.
Precisely," Wickham replied. "I hear he remains away, with no intention of returning soon. A pity, truly. It would have amused me to see his reaction had he walked in and found me here. His carefully polished reputation is not quite so safe as he believes."
Elizabeth did not know how to respond except with a small, wry smirk. As conversation lulled, Wickham asked whether she had yet taken a set. He noted he would have asked for the first set but had promised Lydia already.
"My first set has been claimed, sir," Elizabeth said, glancing toward Mr. Lumley, who stood near Mrs. King and watched her sidewise.
"Then I do hope you will save me a dance," Wickham said earnestly. "It would be a delight to dance a set with you."
With that, he returned to Lydia, who waved him eagerly across the room.
Just as the music swelled and the first set formed, Mr. Lumley approached Elizabeth. In a tone tinged with jealous curiosity, he inquired how she came to know Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth paused only a moment before replying, "We have only recently met. He is more of my younger sister’s acquaintance than mine." She offered the statement not as a defence but as clarification.
The musicians struck up the tune, and as couples took their places upon the floor, Mr. Lumley offered his arm. He proved a wonderful partner—his steps more assured than they had been at the Lucas ball, his manner attentive without presumption.
Just as the first set neared its end, the doors at the far end of the hall burst open. Elizabeth’s breath caught. She looked up at once, her gaze drawn sharply to the entrance.
Just as the first set neared its end, the doors at the far end of the hall burst open. Elizabeth’s breath caught as she lifted her head, her gaze drawn unerringly to the entrance.
Time seemed to stall. Standing at the door was a tall, familiar figure.
His presence was unmistakable even before his face came into view.
He was accompanied by two others, a gentleman and a lady, whose faces Elizabeth did not immediately recognise.
Elizabeth's step faltered, her heart pounding.
Around her, the hum of the room faded into silence.
There, at the threshold, stood Mr. Darcy.
His coat hung slightly rumpled, his cravat sat crooked at his neck, and the signs of recent travel clung faintly to his appearance.
He looked not composed, but resolute, as though nothing short of force could have kept him away.
His gaze locked with hers, steady and unwavering, as if all else in the room had ceased to exist.