Page 116 of Ashes and Understanding
“That honor may fall to Colonel Fitzwilliam. As the son of an earl, he ranks above Mr. Darcy.”
As the carriage rolled toward Netherfield and the fields turned silver with frost in the fading light, Elizabeth sat with her gloved hands folded in her lap, her stomach twisting with anticipation. Not only would tonight be her first evening as Mr. Darcy’sintended—if secretly so—but it might also be the night Le Corbeau made his final, fateful move.
“Are you ready for the evening?” her father asked quietly.
Elizabeth turned her head, and though her pulse danced with nerves, her voice was steady when she replied, “I am.”
Chapter 26
The carriage turned onto the long, winding drive that led to Netherfield Park, the wheels crunching softly over gravel rimed with frost. As the house came into view, Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat.
Netherfield Park stood bathed in bright light, every window ablaze with dozens—no, hundreds—of candles, their warm flicker making the great windows gleam like polished gold in the dark night.
A collective murmur rippled through the Bennet family.
“Oh!” Jane breathed, her hands clasped before her.
“Gracious,” Mrs. Bennet whispered. “What a grand display, but I daresay he can afford the expense.”
Even Mr. Bennet raised his brows in appreciation. “It appears Mr. Bingley intends to light half of Hertfordshire. Let us hope he does not frighten the livestock.”
As the carriage rolled to a stop before the entrance, Elizabeth found herself unable to look away. Garlands of greenery and white winter roses twined around the columns, and footmen stood at crisp attention beneath gas lanterns. Every detail, from the polished brass fittings to the snowy steps cleared of even a single flake, gleamed with elegance.
For all her pretensions, Miss Bingley certainly does know how to plan a ball.
Elizabeth climbed down carefully, gathering her skirts and drawing her shawl close. Her nerves, which had calmed somewhat during the ride, stirred again as she looked up at the towering façade of the house, causing her heart to pound. The house looked like something from a fairy tale—glowing and resplendent, untouched by fear or secrets. It was difficult to imagine it would be the site of a trap.
Somewhere behind those windows lies a traitor and a murderer.
They ascended the steps together, and a footman opened the door with practiced grace. Inside, the entrance hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Candles floated in glass globes suspended from the ceiling. Music drifted faintly from the ballroom beyond, and the scent of pine and oranges lingered in the air.
Elizabeth whispered to the nurse, who was holding the bundle with the false Benjamin, and the woman nodded and made her way towards the staircase to go up to the nursery.
Guests were already arriving, forming a tidy line to greet the hosts. The Bingleys and Hursts stood in fine array at the head of the receiving line. Mr. Bingley beamed, his face wreathed in smiles as he shook hands and welcomed his neighbors.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said warmly to Jane. “You look lovely. I am most glad you are here.”
Mrs. Hurst stood at his side with quiet elegance, and Mr. Hurst looked moderately awake. Caroline Bingley wore a vivid orange gown embroidered with gold—stunning in its extravagance and clearly chosen to dazzle. Her eyes flicked over the incoming guests with a queen’s narrowed scrutiny.
She curtsied low to the hosts, offering Miss Bingley the same polite, bland smile she had offered everyone else. The haughty woman sniffed in return and quickly turned to the next guest, leaving Elizabeth to the Hursts.
Mr. Hurst nodded absently as his wife fluttered a fan with a bored expression. But it was not until she reached the end of the receiving line that her eyes locked with Darcy’s—and the world seemed to hush.
Her steps slowed ever so slightly she took in his handsome appearance. His dark coat was perfectly fitted, his cravat immaculate, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—were fixed on her as though she had just walked out of his dreams.
When she reached the end of the line, he stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and reverent, “you are absolutely radiant this evening. I believe I may be the most fortunate man in all of England.” Her blush rose immediately. “You flatter me, sir.”
“I am only speaking truth.” His eyes lingered on hers. “I look forward to the first dance with great anticipation.”
Her heart fluttered once more, only this time, her anticipation was of a more pleasurable nature. “As do I. Although you may need to check your card again, sir; I believe I am to dance with”—her voice dropped to a whisper— “my betrothed.”
His eyes gleamed. “Then I shall appeal to your generosity and hope you will not rescind the favor.”
Before she could reply, Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward, elegant in his regimentals and very much enjoying the spectacle. “I believe I may claim the second set, Miss Elizabeth? Unless my cousin intends to steal all of your dances tonight.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I would be delighted, Colonel.”
Darcy, not to be outdone, added, “And the supper set, if you are not otherwise engaged.”
