Chapter 1
As Elizabeth Bennet walked up the steps to Netherfield Park, it never occurred to her to view the coming evening with any foreboding. Quite the contrary. Over a series of dull and rainy days, the ball to be held at Netherfield Park had been an object of fond anticipation for her. A ball was always vastly pleasant, but the Netherfield ball could be expected to provide particular sources of enjoyment. Beyond the elegance of the event itself, Elizabeth had every intention of dancing at least two sets with Mr Wickham. On their last meeting, he had half-asked and been half-promised that she would. If Elizabeth had only known what trouble the evening was to bring! Had she had even the smallest inkling, she would have been perfectly happy to stand a wallflower, watching from the sidelines as her sisters and friends had the pleasure of dancing.
The grand old house had many improvements made upon it since Mr Bingley had taken over the lease. Caroline Bingley acted as her brother’s hostess, and while Elizabeth could not claim to admire her as a friend or neighbour, she was clearly no mean hostess. Upon joining her brother at Netherfield, she had lost no time in transforming the estate. The dusty rooms had been cleaned and the old furniture replaced with the finest pieces and paintings from their London home. Elizabeth had never seen Netherfield Park look so fashionable.
She was glad to see the house come to life again, as it had been in the bygone days of which her parents had often spoken. In decorating for the ball, Miss Bingley had outdone herself. Arrangements of hothouse flowers brightened the corners of the rooms, and constellations of candles lit the space almost as brilliantly by daylight. The musicians were capital, and if half of the neighbourhood gossip was true, the late supper would be among the finest ever served in Hertfordshire. Everything ought to have been in the most promising way for enjoyment.
Yet as Elizabeth wove through the gathered company, her heart sank. One thing was missing. Where was Mr Wickham?
Jane caught her sister’s eye from the far side of the room and made a small beckoning gesture. Elizabeth crossed the room to join her without delay.
“My dear Lizzy. I am afraid Mr Wickham is not here,” Jane said quietly. “It is a shame, for I know you had wished to dance with him.”
“Not here? But that cannot be!” Elizabeth said. Despite her surprise, she was careful to keep her voice low. It would not do to let anyone else know of her disappointment.“Is there not some mistake? He said he would be here. Perhaps you have missed him. I shall look a little longer, I think.” Elizabeth turned away to continue her search, but Jane took hold of her arm and gently pulled her aside.
“No, Lizzy. I heard it just now, from — ” Jane quickly fell silent upon seeing Mr Collins approach them with a broad grin and an awkward bow.
“My dear cousin Elizabeth, how lovely you look tonight. Very nearly as fine as the daughter of my noble patroness, Miss Anne de Bourgh, I might even say! May I have the pleasure of the next dance?” he asked.
Elizabeth glanced at her sister. If only Jane could think of what she could not — a way to escape their cousin.“Ah, Mr Collins,” Elizabeth stalled.“I did not think you danced.”
“Why, of course, cousin! I could not be remiss in seeking out the pleasure of dancing with you. And though I do not wish to brag, I daresay you shall find me quite light of foot, indeed.”
And to that, there was nothing she could do but extend her hand and allow him to lead her to the dance floor.
Mr Collins did indeed dance. That much could not be denied. If, however, Elizabeth had depended on finding in him the lightness of foot of which he had boasted before leading her out to the dance floor, she would have been badly disappointed. It took all her efforts not to crack a smile at his face, which he had twisted into such an expression of concentration that she could not help but think them comical.
Mr Collins did not seem to share her reservations.“You dance beautifully, cousin. I do not think anyone will think me too forward in saying so.”
Elizabeth reminded herself that she must not roll her eyes, as it would have been the height of rudeness, and tried to calm the giggle rising in her throat.“Thank you, Mr Collins. You are too kind, I am sure,” Elizabeth replied, hoping that he would come to his senses. It was, perhaps, too much to hope for. It sometimes seemed that Mr Collins had no sense at all.
If her dance with Mr Collins could not be expected to supply any enjoyment in conversation, it did at least give Elizabeth the opportunity to look about the room. Surely it was not impossible that Mr Wickham might yet surprise them all and finally make an appearance. She could not help but wonder what Jane had been about to tell her.
One explanation came readily to mind — the very natural reluctance to meet Mr Darcy, after how cruelly and unfeelingly that gentleman had dealt with Mr Wickham. She would not be surprised if he had stayed away, given the painful history between them. Even so, understanding could not do away her disappointment. Yet another reason to dislike Mr Darcy — and she had no lack of them.
Elizabeth soon found she had more to worry about than the absent Mr Wickham. Her cousin was incorrigible in his attempts to flirt with her throughout the dance sets, which seemed to drag on for eternity. Every time they came together on the dance floor to perform a turn, he got very close to her, his head coming to her shoulder, and attempted to look longingly into her eyes. She shot Jane an embarrassed plea for help, but of course, her sister could not do a thing about it. When at last she could curtsy to Mr Collins and leave him standing on the dance floor in a most awkward position, with his back slightly slumped and his knees bent, her relief was profound.
Elizabeth quickly found a solitary place in which to hide for a moment so she might regain her bearings. She leaned close to the glass-paned window and relished the coolness pouring from it. The chill night was a welcome contrast to the overcrowded and sweltering Netherfield. She pressed her forehead against the glass and was glad of the shock against her warm skin. Mr Collins, of all men! Why had she been forced to suffer the first set with her insufferable cousin? She gazed longingly out the window, hoping she might see Mr Wickham walking up to the house — late, and not absent for the entire evening, as Jane seemed to think he would be.
“Miss Elizabeth? Are you well?”
Elizabeth swung around, coming face to face with Mr Darcy. After allowing herself a moment of surprise, she composed herself as best she could. She curtsied, and he gave a slight bow at the waist, as propriety demanded. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she wished there might be a way to rid herself of the proud gentleman as quickly as possible.“Yes, I am well, Mr Darcy. Thank you. I was only a little warm.” She gave a weak smile, hoping the answer would satisfy him, so he would turn away and leave her in peace.
Her hopes were soon disappointed. He did not move. Did not seem to blink as he stared at her. Elizabeth looked this way and that, wondering what other answer he might be looking for from her.
He licked his lips. Elizabeth thought it a strange gesture, for Mr Darcy always seemed the soul of discretion, never one to display his emotions — if he had any — and certainly not what he might be thinking.“I wondered if I might ask you for the honour of the next dance, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his words tumbling over one another.
Her heart froze. And so did her tongue. Mr Darcy, asking her to dance? But he had called her tolerable at best, and certainly not handsome enough to tempt him.Before she could fully formulate a reply, she heard the words soaring out of her mouth.“You may,” she said coolly.
He bowed and swung around to head back down the hall before she could say anything else. Elizabeth would not have known what to say. She leaned against the wall, horrified at what she had just agreed to. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She disliked him heartily, she had even promised her mother never to dance with him, and now she would have to do exactly that. What on earth had he intended by it?
Elizabeth gave herself a few more moments to breathe, then made her way to the grand salon where the dancing was taking place. Mr Darcy was waiting for her, it seemed, watching her from across the room as the last dance set was being finished. Why did he glare at her so? If he disliked her so much, why had he asked her to dance? She looked away, choosing to ignore the judgement implied by his stern looks. He did not approve of her or her family, of course — he had made that perfectly clear. Lydia and Kitty were too wild, her mother was too uncouth, and their father allowed it all. But the worst of all was that he seemed to think Jane was not good enough for his friend, Mr Bingley. When Jane and Mr Bingley were speaking, his displeased expression made it impossible to doubt his opinion of the match. No doubt he was trying to devise any means possible to keep them apart.
The present dance had scarcely begun, and there would be some time yet before Elizabeth need meet her partner. With sudden alarm, she saw Mr Collins wading through the crowd toward her, his expression horribly determined. Elizabeth shuddered. She ducked out of sight and quickly wove through the crowded parlour to lose him, where hopefully she could evade his insufferable attentions. Mr Collins seemed bent on flirting with her, and she did not have the strength to cope with his babble.
She shook her head, as though trying to cast the thought of Mr Collins far away. Her mother would have fallen over in a dead faint if she learned how Elizabeth was working to avoid her cousin. Because he was the heir to the entailed Longbourn estate, Mrs Bennet would be delighted to see one of her daughters married to Mr Collins — and never mind that he was utterly lacking in good sense. In Mrs Bennet’s eyes, the benefit of keeping Longbourn outweighed everything.
Elizabeth vowed to herself that she would never make such a bargain. Not even if she were starving or on the verge of ruin would she consider taking him. She could never marry for convenience. No, the man she married must be a man of sense and judgement, and Mr Collins lacked both entirely.
