16. Sixteen

Sixteen

T he Bennet carriage rolled into the Longbourn drive just as the weak winter sunlight broke through the clouds, gilding the frost-dappled hedgerows and glittering across the windows of the house. Elizabeth felt an odd mixture of relief and regret as the familiar sight came into view. Home, at last—but she could not help casting one last glance back toward the road as though Netherfield might linger just beyond the horizon.

Inside, they were greeted by a flurry of activity. Lydia and Kitty dashed into the hall, barely pausing to give their father a polite nod before peppering Jane and Elizabeth with questions.

“Oh, Jane, you must tell us everything!” Lydia exclaimed, her cheeks pink with curiosity. “Mama has been in a state ever since Hill said you spent the night. Everyone says it is the greatest scandal!”

Kitty was clutching at her sister’s arm. “We heard Mrs. Long tell the butcher that you must have been kept against your will. Is it true?”

Elizabeth raised a brow, brushing snowflakes from her shawl. “Kept against our will? How thrilling. Were there also accounts of gallant rescues and daring escapes, or have you left those out for dramatic effect?”

Jane stepped in quickly. “Now, now, you must not believe everything you hear. The snowstorm made the roads impassable, that is all. Sir Thomas was kind enough to offer us shelter.”

Lydia’s expression darkened. “But Mama said—”

“Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet interrupted from the doorway, “would do well to remember that discretion is the better part of wisdom. Come, my dear daughters, before your mother descends with tales of captivity and ruin. Let us all go to the drawing room and sit by the fire like civilized people.”

The party moved toward the drawing room, where Hill had already laid out tea. Mrs. Bennet’s voice floated down from upstairs, calling for Hill with increasing urgency. Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, who smiled faintly but said nothing. It was only a matter of time before their mother joined them, full of questions and complaints. Seated by the fire, Elizabeth stirred her tea absently, her mind wandering. The warmth of the library at Netherfield still lingered in her thoughts, along with… him .

She had scarcely finished her first sip when Jane leaned closer, her voice low. “Lizzy, do you suppose we ought to let Mama help with the Christmas party?”

Elizabeth blinked, startled out of her reverie. “Mama? We are bracing for her histrionics even now. Why on earth would we invite her to meddle further?”

“Because we will need her help.”

“Help?” Elizabeth arched a brow. “Jane, I doubt Sir Thomas would survive an hour of Mama’s ‘help’.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane replied, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “You are being unfair. Mama is very good at certain things.”

“Certain things like matchmaking and gossip?”

“Certain things like planning grand affairs,” Jane corrected. “And you know it. If we mean to make this Christmas party a success, we must draw on every available resource. Mama included.”

Elizabeth sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You are relentless.”

“I am practical. You know she will agree, especially if we present the idea just so. Mention the officers. Lydia and Kitty will clamor for it. Mama will be won over before she even realizes what she is agreeing to, and once we have Mama, we have Aunt Philips, Mrs. Long, and Lady Lucas.”

Elizabeth couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You have a devious streak, Jane.”

Jane’s eyes twinkled. “Only when necessary.”

A moment later, their mother entered the room in a flurry of lace and indignation. “Girls! Girls! What is this I hear about you staying at Netherfield overnight? With all that riff raff present! How could you, Jane? And you, Lizzy? Do you think I have no care for your reputations?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but Jane spoke first, her tone calm and sweet as ever. “Mama, the snowstorm made it unavoidable. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were both perfect gentlemen, and Sir Thomas was the soul of propriety. You must not worry so.”

Mrs. Bennet’s expression softened slightly, though her hands fluttered over her shawl. “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley—who are they, I ask? More ne’er-do-wells, come to darken the shades of Netherfield, I’ll wager. Well, I shan’t have my girls mixed up with it!”

“Mama,” Elizabeth broke in, “Mr. Darcy is an earl’s grandson.”

Mrs. Bennet blinked. “What was that, Lizzy?”

“And they are very wealthy businessmen. Uncle Gardiner knows them well,” Jane added. “They have sterling repulsions, and Papa liked them very much.”

“Oh, your father would like a grub if it left him alone in his library. You must consider what people will say!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “That the Bennet ladies had the first intelligence of two handsome, single, wealthy gentlemen come to the neighborhood?”

“But Netherfield ? Do you not hear yourself, Lizzy? Everyone will say you are loose. How will we answer such accusations?”

“By inviting them all to Netherfield ourselves,” Jane said smoothly.

Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea, staring at her sister in disbelief. Jane continued without missing a beat.

“We were just discussing Sir Thomas’s idea to host a Christmas party, Mama. Everyone in the neighborhood will be invited. It will be the perfect chance to show our gratitude for his hospitality—and to put any silly rumors to rest.”

Mrs. Bennet’s face lit up at the mention of a party. “A Christmas party? At Netherfield? Oh, my Jane, what a splendid idea!”

Elizabeth set her cup down with deliberate care. “Indeed, Mama, a splendid idea. Jane has thought of everything.”

Jane smiled serenely, but Elizabeth caught the faintest flicker of triumph in her sister’s eyes. She was not the only Bennet skilled in subtle manipulation, it seemed.

T he brisk winter air was biting as Elizabeth and Jane set out for Meryton. The cobbled streets glistened with frost, and the town hummed with quiet activity—shopkeepers arranging wares, matrons bustling between errands, and the occasional red-coated officer strolling past, tipping hats to passersby. Elizabeth tucked her gloved hands into her muff, her cheeks numbly flushed from both the cold and the anticipation of their task.

“Who shall we call on first?” Jane asked.

“Lady Lucas, of course. As you said, we have Mama’s support now, and she has already gone to see Aunt Philips. Charlotte will help us, I am sure, and if we can bring Charlotte’s family around, others will follow. The Lucas name carries weight—though not, I fear, due to Lady Lucas herself.”

Jane gave a small laugh. “You are dreadful, Lizzy. But yes, Mama’s closest friend is as good a place to start as any.”

They were ushered into the drawing room by a servant, where Lady Lucas sat embroidering with Charlotte at her side. Both women rose to greet the Bennet sisters warmly, though Lady Lucas’s expression carried a hint of curiosity, as if suspecting ulterior motives.

“Jane, Lizzy, how lovely of you to call!” Lady Lucas exclaimed. “I heard the most curious thing—you must tell us all about your night at Netherfield. I have always wondered at your father for his… eccentricities, but a thing such as this! Indeed, I do not exaggerate when I say that the entire town is simply aflutter with speculation.”

“Speculation,” Elizabeth echoed innocently as they took their seats. “How amusing. I had not thought a snowstorm worthy of gossip.”

Lady Lucas gave her a knowing look. “Not just the snowstorm, my dear. It is the company you kept. Two eligible gentlemen, under the same roof with you and Jane? Why, tongues are wagging from Purvis Lodge to the market square, and there are some who might say I ought not to have received you today.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley,” Jane said lightly, pointedly ignoring Lady Lucas’s slights. “Charming gentlemen, both of them. We had the most delightful dinner conversation.”

Elizabeth hid her smile behind a cough. “Indeed, and speaking of charming, Netherfield itself is simply beautiful. The ballroom alone—have you seen it, Lady Lucas?”

Lady Lucas blinked. “The ballroom?”

“Oh, you must have,” Elizabeth said, feigning surprise. “We were just looking it over to be sure that it is suitable, and it is far beyond that.”

“Suitable?” Lady Lucas glanced at Charlotte, who was eyeing Elizabeth with unbridled curiosity. “Suitable for what? A whelping room for ruined trollops?”

Elizabeth had to bite her tongue to keep from protesting Lady Lucas’s vulgar language. She simply smiled all the brighter. “Surely you have heard of the Christmas party. It seems everyone in the neighborhood is abuzz about it.”

“Christmas party?” Lady Lucas set down her embroidery hoop with deliberate care. “What Christmas party?”

Jane clasped her hands together, her eyes bright. “Why, the one at Netherfield, of course! Sir Thomas is hosting a grand gathering. A feast fit for a king, parlor games to last the night long, and I heard they are bringing in musicians from London. Lizzy and I were just discussing what we might wear.”

Lady Lucas’s brows knit together. “I have heard nothing of this.”

Elizabeth gasped softly. “Nothing? Oh, how peculiar. Surely, Sir Thomas meant to include you. Everyone seems to be going. Have you not yet had your invitation?”

Charlotte looked up from her stitching, her gaze flickering to Elizabeth’s with sudden understanding. She cleared her throat delicately. “Mother, perhaps the invitation is simply delayed. It is not like Sir Thomas to be remiss.”

“Indeed,” Jane added smoothly. “He spoke so warmly of you when we were at dinner. I imagine he values your opinion greatly.”

Lady Lucas’s lips pursed. “I should hope so. Though I confess, I have my doubts about that household.”

Elizabeth leaned forward slightly, her tone light and conversational. “Oh, Lady Lucas, I cannot help but wonder what you will think of it. Netherfield’s ballroom is quite grand. The musicians, the decorations—it promises to be quite the spectacle.”

Lady Lucas’s brow lifted, her curiosity piqued. “Spectacle, you say? I was not aware Sir Thomas had much interest in such displays.”

“Perhaps not in the past,” Elizabeth replied with a faint smile, “but Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have been most enthusiastic in their planning. They are staying through Twelfth Night, of course, as they are old friends with Sir Thomas. And you know that Sir Thomas’s generosity knows no bounds. I am sure he wishes for his friends to meet everyone .”

Lady Lucas’s eyes narrowed.

Charlotte glanced up, catching Elizabeth’s sly tone. “It is said the flowers will also be brought in from London,” she added innocently. “Very grand indeed.”

Lady Lucas adjusted her shawl, clearly debating the matter. “Well, I daresay such extravagance would be worth seeing. It is not often one has the opportunity to attend an event of such scale in Meryton.”

“Never in my lifetime,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “I suspect the entire neighborhood will be talking about it for weeks afterward.”

“Entirely possible,” Lady Lucas murmured. “I suppose it would be foolish to form an opinion without… proper observation.”

“Quite,” Charlotte interjected, her cheek twitching as she focused on her stitching. “It would be remiss not to investigate, Mama.”

Lady Lucas nodded with growing determination. “Yes, I suppose you are right. As chairwoman of the parish Benevolence Society, it is my duty to see things for myself.”

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged the briefest of glances—satisfaction flickering between them like sparks in a hearth.

“Will you not join us on our calls today, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked. “I expect Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will be in town making orders, and we might have the pleasure of introducing you.”

Charlotte looked up with a sly smile. “How could I refuse? Besides, I would not want to miss any of the theatrics.”

Lady Lucas sighed. “I am sure this will be the talk of Meryton for weeks. I only hope Sir Thomas and his… household behave themselves.”

Elizabeth rose, her expression perfectly pleasant. “Oh, I am certain they will, Lady Lucas. Sir Thomas is a gentleman, after all.”

As the Bennet sisters and Charlotte made their way to the door, Elizabeth cast one last glance at Lady Lucas, who was already fluttering toward her writing desk. “She will spread the word before tea,” Elizabeth murmured to Jane. “And if we work quickly enough, we will be ahead of her.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Lizzy, you are positively ruthless.”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied with a grin. “Merely… efficient.”

“Efficient,” Jane agreed sweetly. “And perhaps just a little bit devious.”

D arcy stepped down from the carriage first, his boots slipping faintly against the frosty cobblestones of Meryton’s main street. Beside him, Bingley bounded out, nearly bumping shoulders with Roberts, who stood by the carriage, his eyes roving the town with a hint of wariness.

“Roberts,” Bingley said brightly, “you have the list, I trust?”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts replied, holding up a neatly folded sheet of paper.

Darcy surveyed the bustling street with a practiced eye. The draper’s shop lay just ahead, its windows filled with bolts of fabric in muted winter tones. To the left, the butcher’s had hung garlands of holly, though Darcy doubted it was enough to hide the shop’s distinct, earthy smell.

“Well,” Darcy said, “let us get to it. No sense in wasting time.”

The trio strode toward the draper’s shop, Bingley leading the way. He pushed the door open with gusto, setting the little bell above it jingling. Inside, a middle-aged woman behind the counter blinked in surprise as they entered.

“Good day, madam!” Bingley began. “We are in need of two dozen… no, make that three dozen table linens. Finest quality, naturally. And do not skimp on the measurements—every table at Netherfield’s ballroom must be dressed to perfection.”

The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of Netherfield. “The ballroom, sir?”

“Yes!” Bingley exclaimed, spreading his arms. “For the Christmas party, of course. You have heard, have you not?”

Darcy edged his shoulder in before the poor woman fainted. “Not three doezen. We shall require cloths for no fewer than twenty-eight long tables, as well as napkins and perhaps a bolt or two for other embellishments.”

The woman gaped. “Twenty-eight tables?”

“More, if we find the guest list grows,” Bingley added with a grin. “And the flowers—oh, Darcy, we must speak to the florist about those orchids from London.”

“Right,” Darcy replied. “Roberts?”

Roberts stepped forward, handing the list to Darcy. “Here are the quantities we discussed, sir.”.

Darcy reviewed the list briefly before addressing the shopkeeper. “These measurements have been confirmed. We will need enough to accommodate the specified arrangements.”

The woman behind the counter nodded, though her gaze flickered momentarily to Roberts’s empty sleeve. Her hesitation was brief, but Bingley filled the gap effortlessly.

“Excellent work as always, Roberts,” he said with an easy smile. “I daresay you have kept us all in line this morning.”

Roberts inclined his head slightly, stepping back to let the gentlemen complete their order. The shopkeeper’s demeanor softened when Bingley drew out his coin purse to make a deposit on the order, and she quickly began jotting down their request.

“Er… will there be anything else, gentlemen?”

“Not yet,” Darcy said. “We shall send word if we require anything further.”

T he butcher’s bell gave a sharp clang as they entered, the warm, savory scent of cured meats filling the air. A rotund man with a ruddy complexion greeted them with a nod, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his eyes flickering over them with interest. “What can I do for you?”

“We require roast beef,” Bingley announced with a grin, “and plenty of it. Enough for… oh, let us say a hundred fifty guests?”

The butcher stared. “A hundred fifty?”

“No, no, at least two hundred. Perhaps more,” Darcy added. “The guest list is still being finalized.”

“And,” Bingley continued, leaning slightly over the counter, “poultry. Ducks, perhaps. Or game hens. Roberts, what do you think?”

“Game hens would be a fine choice, sir,” Roberts replied. “They roast evenly and present well.”

The butcher’s gaze shifted to Roberts, lingering for a moment on his empty sleeve. “Er… indeed. And will this be for the party at Netherfield, sir?”

“Precisely,” Darcy said, his tone brooking no argument. “You have heard of it?”

“Well, there’s been talk, certainly,” the butcher said hesitantly. “Though I must admit, I hadn’t expected…”

“Expected what?” Bingley interjected, all innocence. “That the finest butcher in Meryton would not be involved? Impossible. Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

The man flushed slightly under Bingley’s praise. “Well, if you insist, sir.”

“Good,” Darcy said crisply. “We shall expect delivery next week. Roberts will coordinate the details. And, ah… you will come, of course?”

The butcher’s eyes widened. “Me, sir?”

“Of course!” Bingley replied. “If you wish, that is. I assume you will want to sample your own meats. It would look rather poorly if we had to say the butcher would not come eat some of his own roast.”

The butcher swallowed. “I will… I shall speak to my wife, sir.”

“Very good,” Darcy answered. “Roberts here will settle the account as soon as you can arrange to have the meats delivered.”

As they turned to leave, the butcher’s assistant whispered something to her employer, glancing nervously at Roberts. Darcy caught it but gave no outward sign. He simply straightened his shoulders and held the door for his companions. One advantage they had was the weight of consequence, silencing further murmurs.

B y the time they reached the baker’s, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the town. Inside, the air was warm and sweet, the scent of fresh bread mingling with spices and sugar.

“Ah, this is where the magic happens,” Bingley said as they entered, his voice buoyant. “We shall need an array of cakes, tarts, and puddings. Too much for Cook to manage all on her own, of course, so this will do nicely. Something festive—do you have plum pudding?”

The baker, a thin man with flour-dusted hands, nodded. “I can, sir, though you’ve almost waited too long to order if you want ‘em rightly aged. Will you require a few?”

“A few?” Bingley exclaimed. “We shall need a dozen! Perhaps more. What do you think, Darcy?”

Darcy inclined his head slightly. “A dozen to start. And a centerpiece cake. Something… remarkable.”

The baker hesitated, his gaze darting toward Roberts, who stood silently behind the gentlemen.

“Do you take commissions, Mr. Baker?” Bingley pressed. “Something extraordinary to match the grandeur of Netherfield.”

“Er… of course, sir. And this is for… the Christmas party?”

“It is indeed,” Darcy said. “Sir Thomas will host, but the event will welcome the entire neighborhood.”

“The entire neighborhood?” the baker repeated faintly.

“We assumed everyone knew,” Bingley said with a slight shrug. “But if not, do spread the word. Sir Thomas insists, and Darcy and I mean to spare no expense.”

“No… expense?” The baker swallowed.

“Ah, of course.” Darcy withdrew his pocketbook. “You might require some supplies, and I would not have you out of pocket before you have even been paid. Allow me.” He dropped a few notes on the desk. “And I trust you will attend as well?”

The baker’s hesitation melted under their combined pressure, and by the time they left, he was discussing flour quantities with a one-armed Army veteran and two of London’s most wealthiest bachelors as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

As the carriage trundled back toward Netherfield, Darcy glanced at Bingley. “You handled yourself well.”

Bingley grinned. “You mean I was useful for once?”

Darcy allowed the faintest smile. “Your charm has its uses.”

Roberts cleared his throat softly. “If I may, gentlemen, I believe you have caused quite a stir in town.”

“Good,” Darcy said firmly. “They should be stirred.”

And as they passed the edge of Meryton, Darcy caught sight of a group of villagers huddled in conversation, their heads turning toward the carriage as it rolled by. He met their gazes squarely, his purpose set. Whatever prejudices the town harbored, they would not be enough to deter him now.