“Where is she now?” Elizabeth interrupted in sheer concern for her beloved grandmother. Mr Bennet was an indifferent correspondent, and what letters he did send never contained any information about his mother.
“The envelope said Cuxhaven or something in that vein. Mr Bennet guards his letters as though they are national treasures and hardly ever informs me about anything. I cannot help but think he is withholding the information to limit my spending.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever,” Elizabeth grumbled.
“It makes perfect sense,” Mrs Bennet defended herself. “The Count of Reimarus is as rich as a lord!”
Elizabeth refrained from pointing out that a count was indeed a lord. Instead, she shared an amused look with Kitty.
“It is only fair that Louise receives the money they stole from her when she married your grandfather.”
“I doubt the count has saved her fortune for four or five decades. Besides, it was their father who disowned her, refused to release her fortune, and severed her connection to the family. If her inheritance was still intact, she would have received it years ago.”
Mrs Bennet shook her head. “Mark my words, Lizzy, if your grandmother makes amends with her brother, we are saved.”
“We are already saved, Mother. Between Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, we shall all be comfortable when Father dies.”
“Oh yes, Mr Bingley is such an amiable gentleman.”
Elizabeth took umbrage at the implication that Darcy was not.
“Mr Darcy is ever so solicitous and would never allow any of his family to suffer in deprivation.”
“Yet, he is so serious,” Mrs Bennet mused. “And Derbyshire is so far from Meryton. I would much rather stay with Mr Bingley, at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth would like to suggest to her mother that if that were so, she should travel to Netherfield forthwith. But as Mr Bingley and Jane had yet to return from their northern tour, the idea had no merit. Not that she believed for a second her mother would comply and leave her house when there was a ball to be planned. Sometimes, it was best to succumb to that which could not be avoided and embrace it as best one could.
“I need invitations for the ball—”
Mrs Bennet clapped in glee. “I shall be happy to be of service to you. We shall make them immediately. With so many ready hands, it will be done in no time at all—”
“No,” Elizabeth interrupted her mother. “I must purchase printed ones.”
It would be convenient to have two extra pairs of hands to write the invitations. After all, names and addresses needed to be added, even to printed cards. She could construe an excuse for them to depart after the invitations were written, though it was probably a futile endeavour. It was best to reconcile herself to the additional guests.
“It sounds like we have shopping to do.” Mrs Bennet sprung to her feet and called for shawls, parasols, and the carriage, forgetting she was not the mistress of the house.
“What kind of ball will you have?” Kitty enquired.
“I have yet to decide,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. “Perhaps something in celebration of our wedding, like a wedding ball or a bridal ball,” she mused.
“Is it not too late for a wedding ball, months after you married? With so many unmarried sisters under your roof, you should hold a bachelor ball,” Mrs Bennet suggested.
“Methinks Lady Matlock’s aristocratic lady friends will take umbrage at being regarded as eligible gentlemen,” Elizabeth replied, snickering slightly. “No. I have been accused of being stupid and uncouth. If I choose a theme, it will surely become another reason to disparage me. I would rather create something elegant and classic, one that should leave the quidnuncs with nothing to say. We shall call it Mr Darcy’s grand ball with supper at Darcy House, Grosvenor Square, ten o’clock.”
#
The invitations were simple, but anything extravagant would have required a special order in advance. The ladies engaged in adding the details not already printed, such as all the names and addresses.
Elizabeth divided Lady Matlock and Darcy’s extensive lists amongst her mother and sisters. The ladies wrote until their wrists ached.
“I shall order tea. Whether I can be bothered to lift the cup to my mouth remains to be seen,” Elizabeth wryly complained.
The writing took much longer than anticipated. She sent a forlorn glance towards the stack of unfinished cards. Fifteen minutes later, a maid entered with the tea tray, but once she had served her helpmeets, her mind would not rest.
Elizabeth began musing out loud. “For the dances, I suggest we open with the Morgiana in Ireland, as I have found that to be quite a common first set according to the newspapers’ renditions of the latest balls. The Persian dance could be the second, I think, as it was composed as a compliment to the Persian ambassador, and his Excellency Mirza Abdul Hassan is on Lady Matlock’s list of guests. The third, before supper, should be a waltz medley. It is less vigorous and would suit sore and tired feet. After supper we need to be shaken out of our food-induced stupor. I suggest a new reel, Lady Madelina Sinclair, whose inspiration will also be present. Then we need something old and familiar…”
Elizabeth racked her brain for something suitable.
