The investigative thread had been pulled as tightly as it would go for the hour. Elizabeth felt the knot of it in her chest loosen; into that space something else arrived, not uninvited but unexpected in its timing: a warmth that had nothing to do with the thin sunlight on her cheek. When she turned her head, she found Mr. Darcy already looking at her—seriously, steadily—and yet with a softness that seemed a confession.
“Miss Bennet,” he said. “There is a matter of a lighter sort I should beg leave to put before you.”
“Pray do,” she answered, her pulse unaccountably quick.
“I have publicly made myself ridiculous once in your hearing,” he began, mouth turning rueful, “and have no wish to repeat the error by presuming upon your patience. Yet if I do not speak plainly, I shall accuse myself of cowardice all the way back to Netherfield. Bingley is to hold a ball.On that night—if you are to attend—may I solicit the honor of your first set, your supper set, and your last set?”
The neatness of the request stole her breath. First, supper, last: the architecture of an evening arranged between them like a chart. It was not a proposal; it was not even an avowal—but it felt, absurdly, like a promise, and a shield raised against a hundred small interferences. Society would see it as a declaration, and she did not disapprove.
“Sir,” she said, and had to pause because her voice was unsteady. “Yes. You may.”
A light she had not seen in him before leapt and was as quickly contained. “You make me grateful beyond—” He stopped, breathed, adjusted the line of his hat as if it had somehow betrayed him. “I thank you.”
“Thank me once we have survived Miss Bingley,” she returned, smiling. “Mr. Collins may also protest.”
A horse’s tread upon the lower lane broke the moment. They both turned. A figure in buff and blue—easy seat, cheerful wave—came into view at a canter and then, seeing them, checked to a bright, bouncing trot.
“Darcy! Miss Bennet!” Mr. Bingley called as though Oakham Mount were his own forecourt. His color was high; the capes of his greatcoat flapped handsomely. He swung from the saddle with his usual buoyancy and bowed to Elizabeth with affection that did not attempt to concealitself. “What luck—two birds in one tree, as it were. Darcy, you dog, you have stolen the best hour of the morning. Miss Bennet, I come on an errand of immense consequence. I bear invitations!”
He drew from his pocket a stack of cream cards tied with blue ribbon and, with a flourish, produced one addressed to Mrs. Bennet. “I have here an invitation. Netherfield shall have a ball on Tuesday week. I mean to deliver this to Longbourn first so I may solicit your sister’s hand. May I accompany you back to Longbourn to see it into your mother’s hands?”
Elizabeth nodded, laughter blooming in her eyes. “Sir, you will set the whole of Meryton to dancing before you return to your horse.”
“That is my intention,” he said cheerfully. “Darcy, do not pretend you are not as pleased as I am. I am determined no one shall be left off the list who can possibly sit, stand, or limp to a reel.”
“Your generosity exceeds your flooring,” Darcy replied, but there was warmth beneath the dryness, and Mr. Bingley grinned.
“Capital!” cried Mr. Bingley, and clapped Darcy upon the shoulder with such vigour that the latter’s hat slipped half an inch. “Be sure you do not delay in securing your sets, Darcy! Miss Elizabeth will be a popularpartner.” He paused. “Ah. The complacent expression on your face tells me you are already better provided than I. I am undone.”
“You will manage to make up the lack,” Darcy replied teasingly in the way only old friends can be, “if only because your good humor supplies you with a raft where other men would have nothing but a plank.”
“Ha!” Mr. Bingley laughed. “You see, Miss Bennet, he is in spirits. I told Caroline we should be the merriest house in the county, and she replied, ‘We shall if we must.’ But she will be happy, I assure you. Everyone is happy when there is a ball to plan.”
Elizabeth pictured Miss Bingley’s thin smile and was not so sure. “We should depart for Longbourn now, sir,” she said, as he tucked the invitation safely away. “My mother will want to thank you in person. You will be fed beyond your appetite and flattered beyond your patience.”
“Then I am doubly rewarded,” he replied, light-footed already towards the lane. “I shall bring my horse to your stables and follow on. Darcy—are you for Longbourn as well?”
“I am,” Darcy answered.
“Excellent. Do not dawdle. I cannot wait long before petitioning Miss Bennet.” With a wave and a laugh, Mr. Bingley remounted and jogged away, scattering a smallcongregation of rooks who had been engaged in a committee at the roadside.
Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged a look in which amusement and dread were pleasantly mingled. They descended from the mount together, speaking little; any words now must contend with Lydia’s shrieks and Kitty’s clapping and Mrs. Bennet’s blue-printed cap lappets vibrating like pennants in a gale.
They were not disappointed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
November 20, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Mrs.Bennetreceivedthecard with a cry that might have roused the church wicket. “A ball! Oh, my dear Mr. Bingley! To think—at last! Jane, my love, where is that pale green sarsenet—the one with the new sleeve? Lizzy, the blue sprig—no, the white muslin with the silver trim—oh, we must have Mr. Cartwright see to the hem. Lydia! Kitty! Where are you? Mr. Bingley gives a ball!”
Lydia and Kitty arrived at a run, their clamour enough to unsettle a small army. In the doorway, Mr. Collins appeared, breathless, having evidently been summonedby the thunder of feminine joy.
“A ball?” cried Lydia, bouncing on her toes. “A ball at Netherfield? Oh, Mama, a new gown—say I may have a new gown!”
