The gentlemen were assembled in the hall somewhat earlier than was strictly necessary. Mr. Collins stood with an air of solemn expectation, gloves folded precisely in one hand, his posture suggesting that he considered himself already in public view.
Mr. Bennet, by contrast, leaned indolently against the small table near the staircase, as though the entire business of preparation were a spectacle arranged solely for his private amusement. “You appear prepared for conquest, cousin,” Mr. Bennet observed mildly.
“I endeavour only to discharge my social duties with becoming propriety,” Mr. Collins replied. “The ball affords a valuable opportunity for graceful conduct.”
“I am sure it does,” said Mr. Bennet. After a pause, he added, “Have you secured a partner for the evening?”
“I have taken the liberty,” Mr. Collins said, lowering his voice slightly as though confiding something significant, “of requesting the honour of Miss Elizabeth’s hand for the first set.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose – not dramatically, but enough. “Elizabeth?” he repeated.
“Yes. I thought it fitting. Her discernment in household matters, her spirited manner…”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet interrupted gently. “Spirited indeed.” He studied his cousin for a moment with an expression of reflective curiosity. “That will not do,” he continued, “Jane and Elizabeth are unlikely to want for partners. They are, I suspect, already provided for.”
Mr. Collins drew himself up slightly. “I was unaware…”
“Of course you were not,” Mr. Bennet said soothingly. “It is merely that my two eldest daughters are favourites in the neighbourhood.”
Mr. Collins looked momentarily discomposed.
“Mary, however,” Mr. Bennet went on, as though struck by inspiration, “possesses a most improving fondness for solemn company. And Kitty and Lydia, though lively, might benefit from a steady influence in their immediate vicinity. I should be gratified to see them engaged in rational society.”
At the top of the staircase came the faint sound of laughter – unmistakably Lydia’s.
Mr. Bennet’s expression altered very slightly. “One cannot be too vigilant where red coats are concerned,” he said lightly – though the lightness did not quite reach his eyes.
Mr. Collins brightened. “It would, indeed, be my pleasure to promote decorum where possible.”
“I rely upon you entirely,” said Mr. Bennet gravely.
Footsteps sounded above them. The rustle of silk descended.
The carriages were announced in due order, and the household descended in a flurry of silk, ribbons, and admonitions.
Mr. Collins hovered with visible anticipation but found himself burdened by his new task.
Mr. Bennet assisted his daughters into the carriage with an air of detached civility. When Elizabeth’s foot found the step, he leant slightly nearer. “You may thank me later,” he murmured.
She looked at him in quick surprise. “For what, sir?”
“For rescuing you from opening the evening with our worthy cousin.”
Her eyes widened. “You did not…”
“I merely suggested that solemnity is best appreciated in moderation,” he replied. “Mary seemed the safer enthusiast.”
Elizabeth struggled not to laugh as she settled onto the seat. “And what am I to do when he seeks the second set?”
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet said, closing the carriage door with deliberate calm, “one cannot prevent all suffering. It is enough that we limit it.”
As the carriage lurched forward, Elizabeth caught her father’s eye through the window.
He inclined his head slightly – a conspirator satisfied with his work.
***
The ballroom was already bright when the Bennets arrived. Light spilt from the tall windows onto the gravel, and the sound of violins, imperfectly tuned but enthusiastic, drifted into the cool evening air.
