It had prevented him from pressing her.
He would have gone to Longbourn the very next day had the skies permitted it. Prudence might have counseled restraint, but impatience would have conquered it. Instead, the flooded lanes and impassable ruts enforced distance.
Elizabeth had asked for time.
It seemed the universe was ensuring he would give it to her.
Netherfield, at least, had grown more tolerable in Miss Bingley’s absence. The house no longer hummed with brittle commentary or watchful disapproval. It felt lighter. Less like a salon arranged for display, and more like a home.
Mrs. Hurst, perhaps chastened by her sister’s abrupt departure, proved subdued. She applied herself earnestly to preparations for the ball and frequently solicited Lady Anne’s counsel on matters of arrangement and decorum.
“Do you think the musicians should be placed nearer the fireplace?” she asked one afternoon, hovering anxiously over a sketch of the ballroom.
“Wherever they are least likely to be overturned,” Lady Anne replied gently.
Mrs. Hurst nodded gravely, as though this were profound strategic insight.
Georgiana, meanwhile, had discovered a new enthusiasm: she wished to practice dancing.
Constantly.
“Brother, will you walk through the steps once more?” she pleaded at least twice a day.
Darcy obliged without complaint. Bingley, delighted by any excuse for movement, joined readily.
On one memorable occasion, Georgiana turned, emboldened, to Mr. Hurst. “Sir, would you do me the honor—”
Mr. Hurst, who had been examining a decanter with intense concentration, started so violently that he nearly overturned both himself and the table.
“Dance?” he repeated, as though she had suggested naval combat. “Good heavens, no. I do not dance.”
Georgiana flushed crimson.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured, retreating at once.
Bingley coughed in an attempt to disguise laughter. Darcy laid a steadying hand upon his sister’s shoulder.
“You were very brave,” he told her later.
“I shall not ask him again,” she replied fervently.
At last, the day arrived.
Darcy had thought himself prepared.
He was not.
He paced after breakfast. He paced after luncheon. He paced until his valet, with visible concern, suggested that if he continued at that rate the carpets would require replacing before the first quadrille.
He changed his clothes in record time when everyone retired to their rooms to dress for the ball.
And then he resumed pacing.
The foyer offered only so much distance before one encountered a wall, but he traversed it repeatedly until the first carriage wheels sounded upon the gravel.
Thereafter, pacing became impossible.
He stood beside Bingley to receive their guests, bowing, greeting, extending courtesies with mechanical precision.
