“What about Patrick’s Day in the Morning?” Mrs Bennet mused. “It has been around for decades. I danced it many times as a young girl, before I married your father.” Her mother stared into the air with a lopsided grin.
“Excellent idea!” Elizabeth agreed. “And the last set of the evening should be the French Figure Dances. I like to end the night in an orderly manner. Splendid, we have decided upon the dances. The unwelcome news is that we must resume our writing.”
All her sisters groaned but shuffled obediently to their escritoires.
The invitations were sent on the tenth, and Elizabeth swore to never hold a ball with such limited time to prepare again. The days that followed went by in a haze of wax candles, flowers, and food orders, which spurred Elizabeth into feeling a sliver of sympathy for Miss Bingley of all people. She had, after all, held an impeccable ball at Netherfield, with less time to prepare than Elizabeth. To be fair, with half the guest list, but even so. It was impressive and she could do no less.
Chapter 15 In Weal and Woe
Standing alone in the entrance hall, Elizabeth’s heart thundered in her ears, and she wiped her clammy hands on her skirt before she could think the better of it.
She glanced through the open dining room, leading to the second dining room, and then the two drawing rooms repurposed into a ballroom. Each door case was richly decorated with laurel and other evergreens, intersected with branches of furze-blossoms. The passages were illuminated by arches of variegated lamps and at the end, a British star[2]. The floors were chalked in an emblematic design by an eminent artist, and in the dining rooms a hundred and fifty covers were laid.
The preparations for the sumptuous banquet were well on their way with an abundance of peacocks waiting to be roasted, then served with the plumage still on their heads and brought to the table entire.
The house was resplendent, and her courage rose just as Darcy arrived, bracing himself as best he could.
The torches outside the house were already lit, and the servants rushed to light the last of the hundreds of candles inside. The chandeliers were glittering, illuminating the walls with intricate patterns.
“You look radiant, Elizabeth,” Darcy complimented her in a husky baritone.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, brushing imaginary lint from her new white satin gown with a sarcenet overlay. She righted the sparkling Darcy diamonds adorning her neck and touched the combs in her hair to confirm that they were still in the right place.
Lady Matlock arrived early, to show her support by standing with the newly wedded couple in the receiving line. Mrs Bennet and her sisters were exempt from the tedious task. Georgiana was not, as she was the ball’s leading lady and would call the dances.
“I am sorry the colonel’s general prohibited my son from attending your ball.” Lady Matlock made no comment about the absence of her husband, the earl. “Wellesley keeps him much occupied with the war and sends him hither and yon, even across the continent. It has been months since I last saw him,” Lady Matlock complained with the expression of a concerned mother.
“Do not feel uneasy.” Elizabeth glanced at her husband, who was particularly close to his absent cousin, but his face was veiled in a forbidding mask of haughtiness. Her heart ached for his obvious discomfort, but it could not be helped.
“The colonel’s efforts for king and country are most admirable. I am certain we shall meet him when his business allows it,” Elizabeth added.
“An officer!” Mrs Bennet cried as she busied by with a floral arrangement in her hands. “You must make sure to introduce him to Mary and Kitty. Oh, I do wish Lydia were here.”
As the addition of Lydia would have enticed the colonel to disregard his war duties and hasten to join our ball, Elizabeth thought uncharitably.
“The colonel is not coming, Mama.”
Mrs Bennet flitted away.
“How many guests are you expecting, Elizabeth?” Lady Matlock enquired whilst tugging at her long silky gloves.
The surge of her stomach falling knocked her slightly off balance and she thanked her husband for his steadying hand.
“I do not know.”
Lady Matlock’s eyes flashed wide in concern before she schooled her features admirably within the next second.
“Have you not counted your rejections and acceptances?”
“I have been so much occupied that I do not have a final count in my head, but I can retrieve the numbers immediately,” she offered.
The responses were either lying on her desk or the butler had put them in Mr Darcy’s study.
“You have no time for that now. It is almost ten, and I can hear a carriage arriving. Brush out your skirt, dearest. It has a crease on the left side.”
Elizabeth hastened to do Lady Matlock’s bidding as the door opened to admit a quarrelsome pair.
“Out of my way!” a lady’s voice she recognised cried. “I outrank you and must take precedence.”
