• Find earlier parts of this story HERE
• Find additional short stories HERE

Miss Bingley finds an interesting dance partner at the ball.

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Part 2

November 26, 1811

 Caroline took a deep breath and released it to a count of twenty and repeated the process just as her mother had taught her. A lady never allowed her guests to suspect her nerves … and most certainly not on a night like tonight. A night that could change everything—for better or not. Such nights did not come along often. Nothing could be left to chance.

She stood in front of the long mirror turning this way and that. The rich, pink silk of her ball gown glowed in the candlelight. The linen draper had been correct, the color improved in evening light was very well suited for her complexion. She ran her fingertips along the smooth lines of the skirt.

No, she must not sigh. What matter that the gown was bought with Darcy in mind?  She had it on good authority that he favored this color. But who was to say that no other gentleman would approve of it was well.

If only she had been able to learn more about Mr. Westmoreland. Even just his favorite wine and dishes at supper—just some way to ensure he found something upon which to look with favor for the evening. But no, fate had  conspired against her. It really was unfortunate that her lady’s maid could not contrive to visit the haberdasher just a day earlier when Mr. Westmoreland’s man had been there. Some things just could not be helped.

She would have to trust in the skills her mother taught her and hope in Providence for the rest. Not the hand she would have preferred to play, but it was all she had.

At least the boorish society of Meryton and its surrounds would work in her favor tonight. What an odd thing to think, but it was quite true. There would be few rivals worthy of Mr. Westmorland’s attentions. He was a gentleman; there was no doubt, he would do his social duty and dance with many partners through the course of the evening. But there was little chance he would find the local girls interesting.

But that was no assurance he would find her interesting.

She huffed and strode to her dressing table. Her mother’s seed pearl parure stared up at her from the dark blue velvet linings.  Mama had worn that set of jewelry to nearly every grand event she and Papa had attended. She once said it brought her luck. Perhaps it would do the same for Caroline tonight. Not that she really believed in such things, but …

She fastened the earrings and the necklace. The cool pearls felt heavy against her throat. The bracelet and the jeweled comb followed. The pearls, she had to admit, looked excellent against her dark hair. It stood out, but not garishly so; a quiet mark of her place in this society. She slipped on the ring, but no, it really was a bit too much, and it did not fit well.  Back into the box it went.

Enough primping, it was time to go downstairs and act the hostess for the social event of the year.

 

Louisa edged closer to Mr. Hurst to make room for Caroline between herself and Charles in the receiving line near the grand stairs.

“You did well choosing a gown to match mother’s jewels.” She adjusted her apricot gown just a mite. Layers of lace and trim still did not hide the fact that it was not perfectly cut and fit to Louisa’s figure. A clever seamstress could have fixed it, but Louisa did not trust anyone local to do the job, so she wore the gown as it was, certain that the current society would not notice the details Caroline did.

Caroline opened her mouth to respond, but Nicholls ushered in the first guests. Of course, it had to be the dreadful Bennets and their odious toad-eating cousin. At least her duty to them would be paid quickly—better than dreading it to come, or worse having them arrive alongside more desirable guests.

Charles was so effusive in his greetings that she only had to force a pleasing expression and make a curtsey, then step back to study her guests.

Mrs. Bennet’s gown was heavy and frumpy, but not unfitting for a matron with five daughters to dress. No one truly could expect her to be sporting something of modern design one might even question her motives if she did. Her daughters were somewhat better dressed. While clearly they could hardly afford silks and fine laces, their white muslins were fine and flowing, trimmed with pretty ribbons. Not embarrassing, but certainly nothing to catch a truly discerning man’s eye.

At least she hoped so. Sometimes men seemed to be hardly sensible creatures, unable to recognize what was best for them until it was too late. Hopefully Charles would not be one of those.

More guests arrived and pressed through the receiving line and into the retiring rooms to prepare for dancing.  But where were the Westmorland? He was not from the area—a point also in his favor—but stayed with his cousins, the Godwins, an established couple with three children not yet out of the nursery. They were only four miles from Netherfield, so they should not be long in arriving.

Oh, pray nothing had happened to interfere with their coming. Mrs. Godwin could have fallen and hurt her ankle. One of the children could have taken ill. They could have heard the Bennets and Lucases—another garish local family—were on the guest list and changed their minds about coming all together—so many things could go wrong!

Stop, stop, stop! Now she was sounding like a silly school girl, Such unrestrained thoughts would do nothing to help her cause.

Look, there! The Godwins had just arrived, with Mr. Westmorland just behind them. Her cheeks tingled. At least her prior silliness had put a pretty blush on her face. That was something.

Mr. Westmorland and his cousins were impeccably dressed in the latest fashion. His coat was particularly well tailored, fitting him like a second skin and showing off his fine, trim figure. His starched white cravat boasted perfectly even creases, precisely where they should be. A perfectly tied cravat just said something about a man …

The Godwins passed by quickly, but Mr. Westmorland paused.

“Good evening, Miss Bingley.” He bowed from his shoulders, his voice deep and sonorous.

“Good evening, sir. Your company is most welcome tonight.”

“We have been looking forward to a proper event for some time.” He cocked his head, nodded, and then disappeared into the crowd.

A proper event? So much conveyed in so few words. Was he even aware? Something about his tone of voice suggested he was—perhaps even as much as she was.

Very good. Even excellent, perhaps.

 

Several hours later, a dance set ended and Caroline’s partner led her off the dance floor. He was a well enough looking young man, but his prospects where hardly equal to her fortune, nor did his connections make up for that lack. The dance was pleasant, but she would find a way to make sure he did not ask her for a second set. Halfway down the room, Mr. Westmoreland lead Lydia Bennet off the dancefloor.

It was galling that he should be dancing with the little chit, but hardly avoidable. The Bennet sisters were hard to ignore and ever, it seemed, in need of partners. He had already danced as set with Miss Bennet and one with Miss Elizabeth—yes, she was entirely aware of everyone he had danced with or even spoken with that night, but who could possibly blame her for it?—it was inevitable that he should have danced with Miss Lydia. But it was a relief that it was over. Pray he did not seek her out a second time. That would be nigh on intolerable.

He bowed to Miss Lydia and backed away. But she seemed to follow him instead of withdrawing like a sensible girl. His expression unchanged, he seemed to thank her for the dance again, bow, and attempt another withdrawal. And yet, Lydia Bennet persisted. Before Caroline could even think through her plan, her feet were in motion.

“Oh, Miss Lydia, Mr. Westmorland, did you enjoy that last set?”

“It was ever so much fun! Who does not enjoy a dance so lively and quick?” Was Miss Lydia bouncing as she spoke?

How vulgar. “The servants are bringing around punch and ices, if you would like. There, they have just arrived from the kitchen.” Caroline looked off in that direction.

“What a capital idea! I will bring us some!” Lydia flashed a smile at Mr. Westmoreland and scampered off.

The little flirt.

“Perhaps sir, you would find the view from this side of the room more appealing. There is a very interesting marble bust in that corner behind that knot of local matrons.” She nodded toward the far side of the room.

“What an enchanting notion, Miss Bingley.” He followed her away from the dance floor.

“The Bennets are a leading family in the area as I understand,” she said softly as they walked around the milling crowd.

“My cousins have told me the same. I hope you do not think me ill-mannered to suggest that leading does not necessary imply quality.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Not at all sir, I think it a rather sensible way of thinking.”

The corner of his lips twitched up in a smile. He beckoned a tray-bearing servant and captured two ices, offering her one. “This is the first ice I have had since being in this county.”

“I as well. It has been a bit shocking, the lack of ice in the neighborhood.”

“You have done well to take a house with a properly stocked ice house.” He stood beside Caroline near the wall, savoring the sweet rum ice. “And liquor cabinet.”

“That I must credit to my brother Charles. He saw that our spirits were properly supplied when we arrived.”

“A man with excellent tastes.” He raised his glass toward Charles who was surrounded by Bennet sisters.

“It seems appropriate to try and introduce a bit of taste into this little corner of the Kingdom.”

“An effort that sadly will not be appreciated as it should.” He tipped his head.

The musicians returned to their place and retuned their instruments.

“I understand this is the supper set,” he said.

“It is indeed.”

“Would you do the honor of dancing with me, Miss Bingley?”

“I would be very pleased to.” It would be inappropriate to smile the way she was tempted to—vulgar and unrefined. But it did not mean she was not tempted.

He offered his arm and led her to the floor.

It was no surprise that he proved himself an excellent dancer. Indeed, why would he not be? Better still, he was an excellent conversationalist at dinner, taking great pleasure in the ridiculousness of the locals, particularly the unfortunate Bennet family.

In retrospect, it could have been considered a bit rude. But anyone who truly understood the circumstance would surely excuse their opinions. Really, how could a family manage to so uniformly embarrass itself in one single evening? Between the ear-rending performance of Miss Mary Bennet, from which her father had to deliver them all—oh the shame of being asked to step aside in favor of other young ladies—but really she had all but asked for it. And the youngest two sisters—cavorting after the officers like common tarts. Shocking and embarrassing.

And sad. Mr. Westmorland observed the very negative impact they would have upon the prospects of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, who were entirely proper and appropriate despite the rest of their family.

Clearly the younger sisters had learned it all from Mrs. Bennet. How appalling to overhear her talking of her eldest daughter and Charles as though there were some understanding. At least Mr. Westmoreland did not appear to hear that. That was no small relief. That might cause some difficulty. He might well want to avoid the possibility of a disagreeable connection through Charles. Oh, that would be a problem. One she would need to address very soon and very decisively.

But that would wait until tomorrow or the next day. After she enjoyed the last set with Mr. Westmoreland. He had after all already asked and it would be rude to allow other distractions to divert her from the pleasure of his company.

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Find earlier parts of this story HERE

Find additional short stories HERE

 

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