Chapter 10 : The Netherfield Ball
The evening of the Netherfield ball found many homes aflutter with ribbons, gowns and excitement. Longbourn was one of these.
Six ladies preparing for a ball was a happening that Mr. Bennet was very eager to escape. And so, by design, he had dressed very early then had locked himself in his study, rolling his eyes at the regular sounds of feminine shrieks and giggles, he had been quite safe for most of the evening until a knock on the door disturbed him. With a darker frown than the occasion called for, he bid the caller to enter.
"Papa?" Elizabeth looked in at her father before entering. His frown disappeared.
"Lizzy, you are looking very handsome." A sudden feeling of melancholy gripped him, for he knew that another young man was to think the same thought tonight, and having observed them from a distance, Mr. Bennet felt that his Lizzy was not herself indifferent to him. Was he to lose his favorite daughter soon? He was almost frightened of what the end of the night would bring. He knew it was a feeling that all fathers who treasured their daughters must endure. He sighed, choosing not to dwell on it for the night. "Are we to be on our way then?"
"Yes, the carriage is waiting now and I have been tasked to come and get you." Elizabeth smiled at her father as she went to him to straighten his collar.
"Well, let us go if we must."
Smiling broadly, she linked her arm with her father's and together they strode out of the room.
Netherfield Park had always been a pleasing structure, but the night of the ball showed it to its advantage. Indeed it seemed that Mr. Charles Bingley had spared no expense for the occasion, and indeed, it showed the extravagant tastes of Miss Caroline Bingley.
Flower arrangements abounded, chandeliers were polished and lit, and numerous mirrors were brought out and placed strategically to reflect the candlelight, giving the setting a wonderful glow. The dining table arrangements too were pleasing to look at, if not too lavish.
Caroline Bingley was quite proud of her work, and the praises bestowed on her for this were received with a gracious countenance that belied an arrogant expectation of receiving nothing less than the utmost praise.
Elizabeth entered Netherfield Park with Jane beside her. In front of them, Bingley, his two sisters, and Mr. Hurst received Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet. When it was their turn to face them, she and Jane curtsied.
"Miss Bennet." Bingley grinned with pleasure at Jane, his eyes barely left hers even when he greeted Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth. We are very glad to see you both tonight."
"Everything is so beautifully done." Jane said smiling at Bingley, then to Miss Bingley she added. "It is breathtaking."
Elizabeth greeted them next, enduring Miss Bingley's artificial joy at seeing her, while earnestly exchanging good cheer with Charles Bingley.
They walked on and were greeted along the way by friends and acquaintances. One of these was Charlotte Lucas who had arrived earlier with her family and had been watching out for the arrival of her friend.
"Lizzy, Jane!"
"Oh, Charlotte! Is this not wonderful?"
"Indeed, we are to have such a night."
Mrs. Bennet came to them and after exchanging greetings with Charlotte, bid Jane to follow her. Elizabeth linked arms with Charlotte as they toured their surroundings, pleased to see people they knew looking their best, and secretly whispering between themselves about the general extravagance of decorations.
"Have you seen Mr. Darcy yet? Or more importantly, has he seen you?" Charlotte smirked.
"Keep your voice down, Charlotte Lucas!"
Charlotte laughed, for they both knew that she had stated her questions in a low voice. "You had better leave that nervous demeanor behind before you meet with him, Lizzy, lest he finally sees how in love you are with him."
"Oh, for pity's sake, Charlotte!"
Charlotte laughed at the expense of her friend.
Soon they joined a group of their Meryton friends whose general gaiety left one and all in smiles.
It was in that fashion that Darcy saw Elizabeth for the first time that evening, from across the room, he stared. Surrounded by her friends, she had smiled and beamed, talked and listened, all with a glow that could be attributed not just to the hundreds of candles around them, but to, Darcy knew, her innate beauty.
He took that opportunity to fully appreciate the way she looked that night. There were flowers in her hair, he could all but smell their sweetness combined with her own. The shimmery white of her gown brought out the smoothness of her skin, the clarity of her expressions. He shook his head, love could make a poet out of anyone, he thought, amused at himself. But like a moth to a flame, Darcy was mesmerized. Would that he could remove every other person in the room, so that he could have her smile at him alone, beam at him alone, and with those eyes, look at him alone.
Straightening, he made to go to her.
Elizabeth knew at once when Darcy had stood behind her. Indeed, she did not need—nor appreciate—the meaningful looks that Charlotte threw her way.
It was the tingle that started at her nape, as if the man himself bent down and blew warmly on her skin. Closing her eyes briefly, she pushed the image from her mind, for it did strange things to her.
The rest of their company grew silent a heartbeat before he addressed her. They all looked at Darcy, then at Elizabeth. The slight blush that tinged her cheeks became her.
"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth."
Receiving one final knowing look from Charlotte, Elizabeth turned around to face the gentleman. She curtsied, eyes cast down, before greeting him.
"Good evening, Mr. Darcy." When she raised her eyes at him, she received the fullness of his smile. Elizabeth caught her breath, her maidenly sensibilities flustered. How handsome he was. His noble mien, his eyes that seemed to speak to her soul, she took it all in and wondered not how she fell in love with him.
Darcy shifted and greeted the rest of the company. He moved to join their circle, and stood close to Elizabeth until the dancing began.
"I believe this dance is mine, Miss Elizabeth?"
"Unless there is another Mr. Darcy in this ball, then I believe it is yours, sir." Elizabeth teased.
"And if there were? Would you disappoint this Mr. Darcy's hopes to dance with you?"
Elizabeth grinned. "I see I have become a bad influence on you."
"And how is that?"
"You have become quite adept at teasing sir." Elizabeth gambled with her thoughts, and decided to say what she wanted. " Charlotte warned me before that I might meet my match." She secreted a glance at him, there was a pleased smile on his face.
"Surely you can not begrudge me my newfound skill, madam, after all they were hard-earned. Such embarrassments I had to endure!"
Elizabeth chuckled. "I shall concede to Charlotte's wisdom then."
He nodded, then flashed a mischievous smile at her.
"Let us test the limits of my new skill, Miss Elizabeth."
"And pray, just how shall we do that, Mr. Darcy?"
"Let us see if I am capable of teasing you while we are dancing." The smile on his face caused Elizabeth to laugh aloud.
Shaking her head, she attempted a serious expression. Raising an eyebrow she met his gaze.
"I accept your challenge, Mr. Darcy."
Chuckling, Darcy led her to the center of the ballroom. They stood across from each other as the first strains of the music started.
His eyes fixed on hers, Darcy inclined his head slightly at her, his expression that of mock seriousness.
It was a dance that Elizabeth would not soon forget, for Darcy had proved quite dedicated to his mission. At one part of the dance where they met in the middle, Elizabeth could swear that the hand lightly placed on her waist intended to guide her turn was used instead to tickle. Near the end of the set, Elizabeth gave up and laughed openly. Laughing himself, Darcy found that dancing was not particularly such a distasteful chore as he once proclaimed.
Darcy returned Elizabeth to her friends out of breath, not just from the dance itself, but from their teasing battle as well. After some refreshments, he had reluctantly left her.
From across the ballroom, he watched in unreasonable ill-humor as her next partner claimed her for a dance.
His remaining motivation in continuing to dance with other partners that night was so he could claim, without raising eyebrows, the next promised set with Elizabeth, the supper set.
Time moved faster than he had anticipated, and before long his second dance with Elizabeth was signaled to begin.
He walked towards her direction, Darcy's mood lifted immediately. Darcy knew that he had been fortunate, for his dance partners had been pleasant ladies. More so, he considered himself lucky for Caroline Bingley, being the hostess, could not dance. He certainly could not deal with her batting her eyes out, or having her fingers trailing unnecessarily.
As he approached Elizabeth, he thought that yes, it was a very good night indeed. Darcy smiled to himself.
Elizabeth curtsied to him as he took her hand. Mr. Beveridge's Maggot was a significantly slower dance than their first. It was as if it set the mood for their current interaction as well. All teasing gone, they dance with warm looks. She tried to describe what she was feeling, but found that at that moment, she was not equal to it. Instead, she cherished every touch of their gloved hands, every look was committed to memory. When she turned and glided to the music, she never felt more feminine, never felt more graceful than she did at those moments when she knew that Darcy watched her.
They sat next to each other at supper, talking amiably of books, for Elizabeth declared in jest that she could not possibly talk about books at a ball. And in reply, Darcy had declared that he would convince her otherwise, that indeed she could—with the right companion of course—talk about books at a ball.
And so Elizabeth mirthfully found herself conceding to him for the second time that night.
Elizabeth sat on a stone bench outside the ballroom. She watched as groups of people strolled about the formal gardens of Netherfield.
After supper, the dancing had reached its heights. Energies renewed, dancers performed more enthusiastically.
Watching them, Elizabeth thought that her ankle bothered her a little. This excuse she had used to refuse the next offers to dance. This meant of course that she could not possibly accept any other dance partner that night without looking rude or ill-mannered. So she had excused herself, claimed her shawl and found a quiet spot in complete view of the open doors of the ballroom and the gardens. She had been pleasantly surprised to see a bench there for it was hidden from view by low hedges. Sitting down, she discovered that she could loosen her dance slippers, for the height of the hedge provided cover from her hip down.
Now in relative solitude, she chuckled to herself. For the real reason of her refusal to dance was not her ankle—which felt perfectly fine—but it was that she could no longer dance with Darcy at this ball.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth breathed deeply. Life had indeed surprised her. She thought of how she had vowed to Jane that she would only marry for the deepest of loves. That is why perhaps I shall never marry. She had not believed she could fall in love. For indeed, in her small world of Meryton, she could not think of one man that had stirred romantic feelings in her.
It had taken one hiding gentleman, one afternoon, and her life had changed. For once touched by love, she now knew, one could never be the same.
But dare she hope? Dare she think that he felt for her what she did for him? She saw the way he looked at her, felt the way he seemed to gravitate towards her. No, she would not think about it, she was in love and that in itself, Elizabeth felt, was a rare gift.
She watched as Kitty and Lydia with a group of other girls walked to the gardens. Upon seeing her, her sisters waved, and Elizabeth waved back. They walked on, giggling as only girls their age could.
"Feeling old, Miss Elizabeth?"
Smiling, she did not turn her head. For that deep voice was unmistakable.
"Quite so, Mr. Darcy, I find myself world-weary at the ripe age of twenty."
Sitting down beside her, he smiled.
"Positively ancient."
Elizabeth laughed. "Why are you not dancing, sir?"
"And why are you not as well?"
"I am resting my ankle. What is your excuse?"
"I am hiding from Miss Bingley."
Elizabeth laughed again.
"The truth if you please, sir!" Elizabeth threw him a reproachful look. "The hostess can not dance at her own ball, you know that."
"I do not jest, Miss Elizabeth! She wanted my help with her shoe."
Elizabeth threw him an unbelieving look.
"'Tis true. I encountered her by the alcove as I was leaving the card room. She said that the ribbon of her shoe caught on the hem of her dress and begged my help, she said that she feared she would trip if she dared to walk. Can that actually happen? What is down there in the hems of ladies' gowns that a ribbon can catch on to?"
Elizabeth covered her mouth as her laughter threatened to overwhelm her.
What Darcy did not mention was that Caroline Bingley had made a show of making him see why she could not possibly bend down herself to untangle it. The position would make my gown immodest. She trailed her fingers along her chest, Darcy had turned around before she could utter another word and had called out that she would find Mrs. Hurst to assist her.
As if the gown was modest to begin with. Darcy scoffed.
"Then you are most welcome to stay here and bide your time, sir."
"I thank you, madam, once again you protected my virtue."
They grinned at each other. After a while, they settled in a comfortable silence, content in watching their surroundings.
Elizabeth looked up at the sky, it was a clear, crisp autumn night. From the corner of her eye, she could see Darcy's profile, she could see the rise and fall of his chest, she could see the cadence of his breathing. Suddenly very aware of him, Elizabeth bit her lip.
Darcy could almost not believe his eyes when he saw Elizabeth sitting on the bench alone. He had gone out to think. He needed to tell her how he felt. He needed to know how she felt. And then there she was, always where he needed her to be.
Now sitting beside her, Darcy's head spun, he wanted to speak, but he was aware that the number of people milling about did not nearly afford the privacy appropriate for such a declaration. But he felt moved to do something, to convey to her in some way that he was overcome with feeling.
Looking down, he saw Elizabeth's gloveless hand resting between them on the garden bench, inches away from where his own gloveless hand rested as well. Darcy ached to move his hand and cover hers, his skin tingled. Did he dare? The hedge would provide enough cover. Did he dare?
Of its own volition, his hand slid slowly, soundlessly, until the sides of their hands touched. Darcy held his breath.
When she did not move, Darcy's fingers brushed lightly against hers, his heart pounded. It was the first time he touched her without the excuse of dancing or assistance, and yet he felt as if he had known the feel of her skin for longer than he knew his name. He dared not look at her face, he dared not move. The knowledge that she did not pull away was to Darcy an answered prayer.
Elizabeth's breath caught as she felt the whisper of his touch, her eyes fluttered closed. Her heart knew a different kind of happiness. She felt heat rise to her face, but she did not venture to move or speak. The moment was too precious.
They sat in silence. For how long, neither one could tell. That one, soft contact telling them more than either one knew how to utter in words at that moment.
A/N:
I loved writing this chapter!
Mr. Beveridge's Maggot was actually the dance Darcy and Elizabeth (P&P 1995) danced to. It was also Emma and Mr. Knightley's dance in Emma 1996.
The last part near the gardens was actually written months ago, I'm so excited to be able to share it now. :) I can't tell you how much I appreciate your reviews, they really brighten my day! Keeping this short for now. Stay safe! Stay kind!