Page 61 of A November to Remember

Mr Bennet tapped his stick on the marble floor. “We are Bennets, my lord. We are accustomed to rattling, and my daughter is stronger than she looks.”

The viscount adjusted a flawless lace cuff. “It is merely a conveyance, sir.”

“It is a sovereign nation on wheels, my lord. We take our own carriage.”

Caroline Bingley approached Elizabeth. “Miss Eliza. I trust you shall return to your habits of vigorous exercise, but do avoid the bogs, I implore you. Mud is so stubborn to launder.”

Elizabeth dropped an insincere curtsy. “I shall do my utmost to remain pristine, Miss Bingley.”

Miss Bingley pivoted to Jane, the frost replaced by a spun-sugar warmth. “Dear Jane. You must wrap your throat. The Hertfordshire air is notoriously treacherous this time of year.”

Mr Bingley waited with his hands tightly clasped behind his back, his hair ruffled, not meeting Jane’s eye.

“Miss Bennet! I am—we are all—so gratified by your recovery. So gratified, in fact, I—” He trailed off, swallowing hard and exchanging a panicked glance with Lord Keathley. “I shall host a ball, as I promised to your sister. On the twenty-sixth of November.”

Miss Bingley flinched as though she had been struck by a flying teacup.

Elizabeth watched Jane’s hand drift to her throat, the soft expectation in her sister’s eyes hardening into bruised dignity. “A ball?”

“Yes!” Mr Bingley blurted, taking half a step forward before arresting his own momentum. “To celebrate the harvest. Or the impending frost. Winter is a festive season, is it not? You must come, Miss Bennet. Both of you. The whole family. Please say you will come.”

Jane lowered her eyes, her posture stiffening. “We should be honoured, Mr Bingley.”

Elizabeth caught Lord Keathley rolling his eyes upwards. The colonel shook his head and reached into his coat pocket, presumably checking for a spare biscuit. Her gaze finally landed on Mr Darcy. He stood apart from the others, clad in a dark coat that accentuated his broad shoulders. He took a measured step forward.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr Darcy.”

He held her gaze, the silence stretching for an endless moment, drowning out the chatter. “May I call on you at Longbourn, Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth stared at him, her heart pounding. She swallowed hard, forcing her chin up. “Yes. Everyone may call at the proper hours, Mr Darcy.”

He executed a crisp bow, offered a single nod of acknowledgement to Mr Bennet, and stepped back.

They were ushered into the carriage and began the three-mile ride back home. Soon enough, they hit a rut, and Elizabeth bounced three inches off the seat, knocking her bonnet against the wooden frame.

Jane swayed with the motion, gazing out of the window at the passing hedgerows, her lips pressed tight. Elizabeth stared at her own gloved hands, attempting to decipher what Mr Darcy’s question meant.

Mr Bennet watched his two eldest daughters from the opposite bench.

“I realise returning to the maternal bosom after a week of luxury is a difficult adjustment. Do try not to weep openly when you see the frayed edge of the drawing-room rug.”

Jane blinked, turning away from the glass. “We are very happy to be going home, Papa.”

Mr Bennet snorted. “Of course you are. You both look like mourners at a funeral, but I expect your mother will provide enough noise to jolt you out of your despair.”

He was correct. The carriage barely rolled to a halt before the front door of Longbourn burst open.

“Jane! Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet waved her handkerchief from the portico as though signalling a ship. “My fragile girls! Come out of the wind! Lydia, move out of the way, you are blocking the steps!”

Lydia shoved past her mother, grabbing the carriage door before the footman could reach it. “Did Mr Bingley ask you? Is it settled? Are you to be mistress of Netherfield? Did anyone mention Captain Carter? Or his horse?”

Kitty coughed loudly into her sleeve, elbowing Lydia aside. “Did you see any new bonnets on Miss Bingley? Does she wear lace in the mornings?”

Mary came to stand in the doorway. “Welcome home, sisters. I trust your time among the frivolous excesses of the wealthy has not corrupted your moral fortitude.”

Elizabeth pushed past, taking Jane’s hand and guiding her inside. “Thank you, Mary. Jane requires rest. Mr Jones’s orders. We must go upstairs.”