Mrs. Bennet was as excited as her five daughters were about attending the ball at Netherfield. Mr. Bennet and she had had their first dance in its ballroom more than two decades earlier, and she fondly remembered the pale blue robe a l’anglaise with matching petticoat she had worn that evening and which had greatly complemented her blond hair, blue eyes, and tiny waist. But after only a few moments of remembrance of things past, she returned to the business of the day. Now that Jane was to marry Mr. Bingley, she needed to concentrate her efforts on seeing that her four unwed daughters made advantageous marriages.
Mrs. Bennet was disappointed when she learned that Mr. Bingley chose not to invite any of his friends from town to the ball. Because he had settled comfortably into the neighborhood, he was often seen riding into the village on his way to Longbourn, waving to the merchants and their families as if he had grown up in Meryton. As a result, he felt no need to seek company outside of Hertfordshire. Occasionally, he was accompanied by his friend, Mr. Darcy, but because someone of such an exalted rank would not be interested in any of her girls, the gentleman from Derbyshire served no useful purpose and was, therefore, of little interest to her.
Mrs. Bennet decided that Kitty, whom she considered to be second in beauty only to Jane, would have no difficulty finding a suitor, possibly from amongst the officers who would be in attendance at the ball. And although Lydia was only sixteen, her effervescence always attracted attention, and her mother would not say “no” to a good offer for her youngest daughter. Mary, of course, was hopeless. If only she would do something about her looks. A little rouge, a nice pair of earrings, a less severe style to her hair would do wonders for her, but any suggestion about improving her appearance brought on endless sermonizing about the fleeting nature of beauty versus the enduring benefits of integrity and character.
Then there was Lizzy with her dark hair and eyes, so unlike her fair sisters. In the privacy of their bedchamber, Mr. Bennet occasionally teased his wife about their second daughter, accusing her of having had an assignation with a Spanish wine merchant that had resulted in their dark-eyed daughter.
Lizzy was certainly pretty enough to attract a suitor, but it was her habit of expressing her own opinions that would prove to be her downfall, and there was no hope of improvement in that area as no one seemed to intimidate her—not even Mr. Darcy. Lizzy’s conversation, in which she had teased that gentleman about his knowledge of dancing, had been overheard at Lucas Lodge and widely remarked upon. That type of banter was perfectly fine once you were engaged, but totally at cross purposes before an offer was made. No man wanted a wife who was smarter or wittier than he was.
And was her obstinacy more in evidence than when she had refused to even consider Mr. Collins when he had come to Longbourn for the purpose of finding a wife from amongst his cousins? When Mr. Collins had learned that Jane was shortly to become engaged to Mr. Bingley, he had turned his attention to Lizzy. But any conversation that had so much as a hint of a future together was met with stone cold silence. Instead of marrying Lizzy, he had marched over to Lucas Lodge and proposed to Charlotte Lucas, and they were to be married in a month’s time. That piece of good news was repeated at every opportunity by Lady Lucas.
Since there was nothing to be done about Lizzy, she would concentrate her efforts on Kitty and Lydia. Mrs. Hill, who excelled in doing the girls’ hair, was now assigned to the two youngest Bennets, and when Lizzy saw Mrs. Hill walk past their bedroom with the jewelry box, she started to laugh. “Jane, Mama has determined that I am a hopeless cause, and that she will waste no more time on me. I hope I do not come to regret my decision to refuse Mr. Collins.”
Jane only smiled at the absurdity of her sister’s comment because she was attempting to tame Lizzy’s unruly tresses, and after many minutes of effort, she finally suggested that her sister wear her hair down. They agreed upon a green ribbon that framed her face nicely, allowing her luscious dark hair to fall freely upon her shoulders. Lizzy, who had a bad habit of playing with her curls, did not know if this was a good idea.
“Yes, it is true that you play with your hair when it is down,” Jane agreed, “but you are forever tucking your curls back into place when you wear it up. Since you will be playing with your hair in either case, to my mind, there is no one prettier in all of Hertfordshire when you wear your hair down. The green gown you have chosen complements you greatly, and you will be la belle de la danse.”
“It is my favorite gown.”
“Yes, I know,” Jane answered, aware of the reason why Lizzy had chosen that particular dress. “You will have every man at the ball asking you to dance.”
But Lizzy did not care if she had every man in the ballroom asking for a dance. She cared only about one man—Mr. Darcy. This might very well be their last time together until Jane and Mr. Bingley’s wedding and that was many weeks in the future.
At that moment, Lydia and Kitty came into their sisters’ room to urge them to hurry. Lydia was sure that many of the officers were already at Netherfield dancing with Maria Lucas and Mary King. As Lizzy stepped out of the front door and onto the gravel path, a full moon appeared on the horizon, casting its soft glow over the landscape. The ball would last into the early hours of the morning, and Lizzy intended to dance every dance and to wear out her slippers. Because she would be so agreeably engaged, she would not think about the few hours left to her before Mr. Darcy returned to London and Miss Montford. Those thoughts were for another place where no one would see her tears.
Mr. Darcy had instructed Mercer, his manservant, to put out his very best evening clothes, and the effect of the green jacket with the black waistcoat and beige breeches was more than satisfactory. There was nothing conceited in his appraisal as he knew that he was handsome in an imperfect sort of way. A broken nose, a result of a sparring match at Jackson’s Boxing Academy, had forever altered his profile, but his dark hair and gray-green eyes seemed to have appeal for the ladies, or so he had been told.
Mercer, who had been in Mr. Darcy’s employ since his return from the Grand Tour five years earlier, was adept at sensing the changes in his moods. But, of late, even he was surprised by the range of his master’s emotions. The day after the assembly, Mr. Darcy had ridden to Longbourn for the unpleasant task of apologizing to a young lady for a statement he had let slip as a result of his desire to be anywhere other than at an assembly in a country market town. Mercer had been anticipating that his master would return in the same mood in which he had left, but, instead, he had entered the house in a joyful mood and had climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. The dramatic fluctuations continued, depending on whether he was discussing Letitia Montford or Elizabeth Bennet.
Pulling on his waistcoat and tightening the knot on his neckcloth, Mr. Darcy took one last look in the mirror and said, “Mercer, do you recall the saying, ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die’? In my case, I would say, ‘Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow I must go to town,’” and out the door he went in search of diversion from the events that awaited him in London.