Page 46 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Netherfield Hall was ablaze with lights, every window a glowing panel against the November night.
Candles gleamed from within, their flames magnified in the tall panes so that the whole facade seemed to shimmer like a jewel.
The Bennet carriage crunched up the gravel drive, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves softened by the thick autumn air.
Inside, the six Bennet ladies sat snugly, skirts pressed together in a confusion of silks, muslins, and woolen cloaks.
The jostling of elbows and the sway of the conveyance made it impossible to sit entirely still, but there was a current of anticipation running through them that kept spirits from souring.
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins followed in a small covered gig, its wheels rattling unevenly behind them.
They were among the first to arrive—Mrs. Bennet’s careful orchestration, of course.
She had declared it their due, given Mr. Darcy’s courtship of Elizabeth and Jane’s impending—though as yet unofficial—engagement.
Never mind that Mr. Bingley had not spoken a formal word on the matter, nor offered a courtship; Mrs. Bennet’s mind was made up.
The carriage had scarcely halted before Mrs. Bennet had the door open, sweeping down in a rustle of silk and a gust of lavender perfume, urging her daughters to follow.
A liveried footman extended a gloved hand to each young lady in turn, helping them onto the wide stone steps.
The great oak doors stood open to receive them, the heat and music of the house spilling into the night.
Elizabeth, stepping up from the cold into the glow of the entry, glanced at her family and could not help but think they looked rather fine tonight.
Their gowns might still bear the mark of country fashion, but they were fresh, carefully mended, and prettily adorned.
It did not matter to her in the least—Mr. Darcy would think her lovely, regardless.
The receiving line formed just inside the marble-floored entrance.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were first, offering the politest possible courtesies without true warmth, before turning their attention to the next guests.
Miss Bingley was as glacial as a January dawn to everyone but Jane, who received a marginally softer greeting and an appraising glance at her gown.
Mr. Bingley, by contrast, greeted them with genuine delight, clasping Mr. Bennet’s hand and expressing his pleasure that they had come. “I feared you might be delayed by the weather,” he said cheerfully. “It would have been a poor evening indeed without the Bennet ladies here.”
From there, the Bennets filed into the ballroom.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch a little at the sight: a glittering expanse of polished oak, chalked with intricate patterns of vines and garlands.
Garlands of hothouse flowers—white camellias, blush roses, and fragrant hyacinths—were looped along the wainscoting and twined about the gilt-framed mirrors.
Candles stood in profusion, their light caught and multiplied by every reflective surface until the whole room seemed brighter than day.
Mary made straight for the pianoforte at the far end, perhaps seeking the safety of music.
Her first set was promised to Mr. Collins, but she clearly meant to keep her conversation with him as brief as possible.
Kitty and Lydia drifted through the crowd like leaves in a stream, their heads bent together as they admired the decorations and scanned the arrivals for their friends—and the bright red coats of the officers.
Mrs. Bennet caught Elizabeth’s arm, fluttering her fan so vigorously that it was a wonder she did not stir a draft.
“Oh, what an elegant sight!” she declared.
“Miss Bingley has done a marvelous job of it, has she not? Look at the flowers—why, the hothouses must be entirely stripped bare! And the mirrors! The candlelight reflects and dances upon them—why, the room is twice as bright for it. Did you see the chalk designs on the floor? And the ribbons on the pillars! Such comfortable seating, too…”
Elizabeth let her mother’s stream of observations wash over her, her own gaze scanning the crowd for a tall, familiar figure.
Mr. Darcy had yet to appear. She wondered what detained him—and whether she might have a moment to speak with him about the latest terror at Longbourn before the dancing began.
Kitty’s fright from the night before still weighed heavily on her mind.
A deep voice behind her forestalled further speculation. “Good evening.”
Elizabeth started and turned to find Mr. Darcy standing just behind her and Mrs. Bennet, impeccably dressed. His waistcoat was of deep midnight blue shot through with silver thread, the perfect counterpart to the ribbon on her gown.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said warmly.
Mrs. Bennet curtsied with an air of triumph.
“You look rather dashing this evening, do you not, Lizzy? And your waistcoat is blue and silver—you match my daughter perfectly! I knew how it would be when you came to the Meryton assembly. I said to Lady Lucas, a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife! And now, here we are. You are courting my Lizzy, and Mr. Bingley is… well, I suppose he is courting Jane, too. What else might one call it?”
Darcy, with a faint smile, stepped in before Mrs. Bennet could draw another breath. “Your insights are unique as ever, Mrs. Bennet. Coming to Hertfordshire with my friend has proven to be the wisest decision of my life. I thank you for your accolades.”
Mrs. Bennet’s fan fluttered faster. “Such a handsome man,” she said, patting his arm. “Ah, there is Lady Lucas—I shall leave you two to yourselves.” She bustled off with a sly look over her shoulder.
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. “Does she believe she is being subtle? You have quite won my mother over, sir. You should be proud of that. She detested you after you called me tolerable. ”
Darcy’s eyes glinted. “Did she? I wondered if she knew—and then I wondered whether she knew I had apologized.”
“I never told her,” Elizabeth admitted. “If it comes up, I shall. And…I am sorry to say, I gleefully spread the tale that night, hoping the neighborhood would turn against you. Now all is put to rights.”
He chuckled. “What a sorry start we made.”
He offered his arm, and they began a turn about the room, exchanging greetings with her neighbors.
Elizabeth caught whispers from the sidelines—what a handsome couple they made, how surely they would be engaged before Christmas.
For a few moments, she forgot the shadows that lingered over Longbourn.
Mrs. Long admired her gown, Miss Goulding nodded a polite greeting without a trace of disapproval, and then—like a sudden gust of cold air—they came upon Mr. Collins.
“Mr. Darcy, sir! Cousin Elizabeth!” he exclaimed.
“What a lovely evening! Never have I been in more splendid surroundings—save when I dine at Rosings Park. No place can compare to that great hall, nor is there any soul of greater condescension and benevolent manners. Your saintly aunt is the very pattern of a Christian gentlewoman, sir. Her daughter, no less!” He shot Elizabeth a glare as if daring her to contradict him.
“I thank you for the sterling character you grant my aunt,” Darcy replied, his tone clipped, lips pressed thin.
“I know you have the first set with my cousin, Mr. Darcy,” Collins continued, “but I feel it my duty to step in on your behalf. That set is generally shared between those of a closer connection. Your aunt would object to your actions, sir, and so I stand ready to—”
“That is unnecessary, Mr. Collins.” Darcy’s voice cooled to ice. “Elizabeth and I shall dance every set I have claimed. And did you not promise the first to Miss Mary?”
Collins faltered. “Yes, well, that was before—she will understand.”
Mary appeared at his elbow like a conjured spirit. “I believe our set is forming,” she said flatly.
Darcy inclined his head towards the musicians, who had begun the opening chords. “So it is. Miss Elizabeth, shall we?” He led her away without a backward glance.
“I am sorry for my sister,” Elizabeth murmured as they took their places.
“I shall seek her hand for a later set,” Darcy said, smiling now. “And how fare your sisters in our little intrigue?”
“Very well. Not a single letter has escaped. Poor Mr. Collins is baffled.” She glanced down the line. Mr. Collins was watching them, brows drawn together, entirely ignoring the figure of the dance.
The couples arranged themselves along the chalked designs on the ballroom floor.
The first strains of a lively country-dance filled the air, the notes bright from the violins and flute, with the deep hum of the bass viol beneath.
Elizabeth stood opposite Darcy, the distance between them feeling at once proper and too great.
When the opening figure began, they stepped towards one another, eyes meeting in a quick, almost conspiratorial glance before they turned away again, each moving in the prescribed arc to their next partner.
The dance was a game of approach and retreat—Darcy’s gaze sought hers each time they drew near, and though they spoke only of trivial things in the moments allowed, Elizabeth felt the pulse of something unspoken beneath the formalities.
“You look particularly fine tonight,” he said quietly as they met in the center for a turn of two hands. His voice was pitched low, meant only for her. “I cannot think of another in the room who could so easily command my attention.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved, though she strove to keep her tone light. “That is a dangerous thing to say, Mr. Darcy. People might suppose you mean to flatter me. ”
“Let them,” he replied as they circled away again, his eyes lingering on her a fraction longer than the dance required.