“You told me many things, Mrs. Bennet. I have learned to wait for evidence before updating my expectations.”
“Evidence! The man looks at Jane as though she hung the moon and stars. What more evidence could you require?”
“A proposal, perhaps. Delivered in person. Preferably with witnesses.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed and returned to her plans for new ribbons.
Lydia and Kitty were speculating loudly about which officers might attend the entertainment. Mary sat in the corner withFordyce open on her lap, practicing what Elizabeth could only assume was a sermon on the dangers of excessive merriment.
Elizabeth sipped her tea and tried not to think about Mr. Darcy's dark eyes or his almost-smile or the way he had looked at her across Miss Bingley's drawing room.
She failed.
The post arrived mid-morning, and with it a note sealed in pale blue wax—Miss Bingley's signature color. Jane broke the seal with careful fingers, her expression shifting from curiosity to pleasure as she read.
“We are invited to Netherfield tomorrow afternoon,” Jane announced. “Miss Bingley wishes to consult us on matters of taste related to the holiday entertainment.”
“Consult you on taste?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware Miss Bingley believed anyone possessed taste but herself.”
“Lizzy.” Jane's tone was gently reproachful.
“I speak only the truth. The woman arranges flowers as though preparing for battle.”
“She is making an effort to be friendly. We should appreciate the gesture.”
Elizabeth doubted very much that friendliness was Miss Bingley's motivation, but she held her tongue. Jane saw the good in everyone, even those who offered precious little evidence of it.
Mrs. Bennet was, predictably, ecstatic.
“Another invitation! And so soon! Jane, you must wear your cream muslin—no, the blue, the blue brings out your eyes. Lizzy,do try to be agreeable. Miss Bingley is to be your sister, after all, and it would not do to antagonize her before the wedding.”
“There is no wedding, Mama.”
“Not yet. But there will be. Mark my words.”
The carriage rideto Netherfield was mercifully brief. Elizabeth spent it watching the frost-covered hedgerows slide past and wondering whether Mr. Darcy would be present this time, or whether he would once again vanish into the depths of the house like a particularly antisocial ghost.
She told herself she did not care either way.
Her quickening pulse disagreed.
Netherfield, when they arrived, was in a state of organized chaos.
Footmen hurried through the entrance hall carrying armfuls of holly. Maids balanced on ladders, draping garlands across doorways. The housekeeper stood in the center of it all, consulting a list so long it nearly touched the floor.
Miss Bingley swept forward to greet them, her smile wide and her eyes sharp.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! How delighted we are to have you. Do forgive the disorder, we are in the midst of preparations, as you can see.”
“It looks wonderfully festive,” Jane offered.
“It looks like a forest exploded,” Elizabeth murmured, too quietly for anyone but Jane to hear.
Jane's lips twitched.
Miss Bingley led them into the drawing room, which had been transformed since their last visit. Greenery adorned every surface: holly wreaths on the walls, ivy trailing across the mantelpiece, sprays of winter berries arranged in crystal vases. The effect was impressive, if overwhelming.
“We have been working since dawn,” Miss Bingley said, with the air of a general surveying conquered territory. “The servants have been most diligent. And of course, Mrs. Hurst and I have supervised every detail.”
