Page 90 of A November to Remember

Charles blinked. “I did what?”

“You agreed to dance with all of them.” Caroline’s smile did not move by a hair. “You are doomed, little brother.”

The horror reached him through the fog in stages. Three sets. Two nieces and their aunt. I have promised the opening two sets and the supper set of my own ball to a mallow armada, and I do not know which one is Susan.

Charles was about to groan, but the opportunity was lost. The Bennets had reached the receiving line.

Mrs Bennet surged forward in a whirlwind of pink fabric and maternal ambition. “Mr Bingley! Miss Bingley! Oh, what a triumph! The whole county is lined up outside your doors! I told Mr Bennet just yesterday, I said, ‘Mr Bingley does not do things by halves!’”

Charles looked past her at Miss Bennet. Up close, the delicate flush on her cheeks dismantled what remained of his faculties. He needed to speak. He needed to be a man of the world, to welcome her, to beg her hand for the opening set he was no longer free to offer.

She raised her eyes but did not smile. “Mr Bingley,” she said with a polite curtsy.

His jaw locked and he stared at her, like a mute, useless idiot, and the moment passed.

Caroline supplied the greeting he could not manage.

“Mrs Bennet.” She extended both hands, her voice dripping with a rich, honeyed warmth that made the hairs on the back of Charles’s neck stand up. “We are so delighted you could join us. And Miss Eliza! That amber gown is exceptionally becoming. It brings out the vigour in your complexion.”

Elizabeth Bennet dropped a crisp curtsy, her eyes flashing with suspicion. “You are very kind, Miss Bingley.”

Caroline pivoted to Jane. “Dear Miss Bennet. You look entirely recovered. It is such a relief to us all—we were so dreadfully worried during your confinement upstairs. I trust the damp night air has not brought on a relapse?”

“I am perfectly well, Miss Bingley. The carriage was very warm.”

Charles watched his sister with slow-dawning confusion. Caroline despised the Bennets. Yet here she stood, emanating a gallant, friendly charm that bordered on affection. Why was she complimenting amber silk? Caroline hated amber. It was odd, but his mind was elsewhere, and he did not dwell much on it.

The Bennet ladies moved on, and behind them came Mr Bennet.

He paused before his host, his gaze landing on Hurst, who was now asleep on his feet.

“I see you have gathered half the county, Mr Bingley. But is there a corner somewhere lacking both music and conversation?”

“The card room, through the door on the left of the ballroom, sir,” said Hurst, without opening his eyes.

“Excellent.” Mr Bennet drifted past Caroline. “I shall go and hide from them immediately. Enjoy your ball, sir. I am told they are very pleasant, from the inside.”

Charles stood there considering his life choices. He was bound to three sets with the Long family, his sister’s sickening sweetness scared him, and he had the feeling he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Susan is the one with the squint,” Hurst clarified. “In case you were wondering.”

Chapter Twenty-One: Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady

November 26th, 1811

Richard Fitzwilliam shifted his weight from his left boot to his right, experiencing a bodily betrayal of the highest order. He felt distinctly nauseated, which was an unfamiliar condition. He had an iron constitution that had survived rancid salted pork, freezing rain, and his mother’s sherry. He usually spent these grand society affairs stationed within arm’s reach of the nearest cheese platter, enjoying the absurdity of the attendees as a detached observer. Tonight, however, the lavish spread of the Netherfield buffet held no appeal. His palms were damp and his cravat was throttling him.

Beside him, his relatives were faring little better. Darcy was gripping his own hands behind his back tightly, his eyes locked onto the entrance with burning intensity. Robert, conversely, was adjusting a cuff with the precision of a jeweller, humming a cheerful tune that failed to mask the tension in his shoulders. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, presenting a solid wall to the rest of the room like a row of wardrobes.

The Bennet family entered the ballroom, Mrs Philips rushing to complete the tableau, Mr Bennet disappearing to the card room.

The three gentlemen moved forward as a single entity.

Robert glided. Darcy strode. Richard lumbered, wishing fervently he had eaten a piece of bread beforehand to settle his rolling stomach.

They reached the cluster of ladies just as Mrs Bennet opened her mouth to announce their arrival to the ceiling. Robert struck first, bowing before Jane Bennet with a flourish that somehow managed to be both respectful and flamboyant.

“Ah, ladies! Every single one of you is a balm to the eyes! Mrs Bennet, Mrs Philips, delighted to see you.” He waited a moment for the tittering to stop, and turned to his real objective.