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Charles was always exceptionally enthusiastic about the Christmas Ball. It was endearing, really. He had started a tradition at Netherfield, he said, and it mattered not that they had an estate of their own now, far away from Hertfordshire. A little trifle like the shifting of the date - mid-December, rather than late November - did not matter either, for it was the spirit of the thing that counted; they owed it to themselves and their friends and their family to continue the tradition, improving and polishing as they went. And besides, it was simply an enjoyable thing, a ball.
Jane Bingley had merely smiled at her husband, acquiescing easily, rather enjoying the thing herself. It had been a much more difficult event to plan last December, when their home was new and Little Charles had been very young. It was a much simpler endeavor now, and, at any rate, Jane had always been stronger and more competent than she was given credit for.
Their guests would be arriving at any moment-- those, at least, that were not already staying with them through the holiday. Jane glanced around with a critical eye, looking for a speck of dust or anything out of place, but all was perfect; the candles burned merrily, the rooms gleamed, and everything looked warm and welcoming. It was a pity that it was not a Christmas Eve Ball, for the greenery would have made the hall look so pretty and festive. Perhaps Charles would shift the date further along the calendar in time.
She smiled at the thought and waited for the sound of carriages.
***
Georgiana Darcy was more comfortable at balls now– or, at least, at this ball. She recognized the familiar faces of the Bingleys’ usual guests; she could talk to the people she liked and avoid the people she didn’t; she knew to seek out Jonathan Metcalfe, for his gentle manners and his sweet, understanding smile. She might even be enjoying herself! That was an agreeable development indeed.
Her gown tonight was a rich, velvety green. She hadn’t been convinced by the color when Elizabeth had suggested it, nor when she had tried the gown on in the glare of the noon sun - she’d thought it made her look pale and rather sickly - but it was perfect now, the candlelight sparkling off of the beads, making her feel shimmery and ethereal. Georgiana stole another glance in the looking-glass, smoothing down a curl that had escaped its pin. She appeared more adult somehow, graceful and sure of herself, not the timid little girl of the last several years. She was a handsome young lady about to dance and laugh and have a thoroughly good time.
How very marvelous.
***
Mary Bennet had had a complicated relationship with balls and dancing and parties for quite a few years now. She had liked the first heady rush that had accompanied coming out, the new experiences and the new faces. In those first several months she had been almost as fond of a ball as Jane and Lizzy. Then, of course, she started hearing the whispered comparisons between her and her sisters; she found herself sitting down during every dance, unable to procure a partner. Balls became a place to show off her musical accomplishments and avoid young men, ignoring their snide little sniggers and pretending not to notice the mocking looks in their eyes.
But she was Mary Cartwright now, and balls were no longer such a torture. She had William to dance with… or to stand and talk with, as neither of them were overly-keen dancers. She had an arm to hold, a husband whose eyes skimmed past all of the beautiful young ladies in their fancy gowns and went straight to her, loving and admiring.
There was still a part of her that wanted to run to the pianoforte, to sit where she was most comfortable and hide in her music. But she stayed by William instead, her head high, facing the crowd.
***
Louisa Hurst was glad to be among company, even if most of Charles’s guests were not as stylish as she wished they would be. He should have married an heiress, Charles. How much grander his estate would be, had he combined his fortune with a young lady worthy of him.
She sighed a little, glancing over at her sister-in-law. Jane was a sweet girl, and at least Charles hadn’t fallen in love with one of the younger Bennet sisters. He could have done worse, she supposed. But it would have been so much better for Louisa, if Mrs. Bingley had been a well-connected woman independent of her husband.
Still, it was not a bad way to spend the evening. The estate was a pretty one and there were a few impressive personages in attendance. She only wished Caroline were here; Louisa had no one with whom she could whisper about the hideous way Mrs. Darcy was wearing her hair. But Caroline had her lord and her castle and her baby daughter now; she had her opulent new life; she was staying at the home of a marquess this Christmas. How Louisa would love to know a marquess.
She sighed again and watched as Charles went down the set with Georgiana Darcy. That would have been a fine match. They had all hoped for it.
She got up from her chair, feeling suddenly restless. She would go find her husband; while they were here, they might as well dance. And until she tracked him down, she would think of the letter she would write to Caroline, full of all the ruthless observations about their acquaintances that her sister always enjoyed.
***
Kitty Bennet knew herself to be much improved over the last couple of years. She had rid herself of her high, frequent giggle, her whiny petulance, her tendency to chase after officers. She was still smaller and slighter than was fashionable, with her waifish figure and her bony elbows, but Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy had done their work well: Miss Kitty Bennet was a pretty and respectable young lady, catching the eyes of the eligible men, her dance card always full.
And the only person whose notice she wanted was lurking over in a corner, looking awkward and out of place.
Kitty had begged Jane to invite Mr. Milton to the ball, and pleaded with Lizzy to encourage him to accept. Mr. Milton had both the living of Kympton and Kitty’s desperate affection; she hoped this evening, with all of the charming influence of the dancing and the candles and the atmosphere, would inspire him to make a declaration.
She positioned herself where he could best see her - wondering if she looked attractive in this light, praying that the very pretty Miss Agar would stray a little farther to the left, so there would be no unconscious comparison - and hoped that the force of her own gaze would draw him closer.
***
The Darcys had been separated for the last several pairs of dances - it would not do to ignore convention and dance only with each other - but they had reunited now, and Elizabeth was happy about it. Her partners had all been pleasant and agreeable, but they were none of them Fitzwilliam, and therein lay their unforgivable defect.
“How were Mary and Kitty?” she asked. Fitzwilliam was better at a ball these days, but he still preferred to be particularly well acquainted with his partners.
“Mary had much to say about the books she has been reading, and I certainly did not mind listening to her opinions. Kitty spoke only of Mr. Milton.”
“I trust Jane’s conversation was satisfactory.”
“It always is.”
“And Mrs. Hurst’s?”
“I confess, my mind rather wandered when I was dancing with Mrs. Hurst, but she seemed to be preoccupied chiefly with a marquess.”
They grinned at each other.
“So I am still your favorite?”
The look he gave her was tender and affectionate. “As though there is ever any doubt of that.”
It did not matter how many times he said it; it was always a pleasure to hear.
“I think, Fitzwilliam, as everyone seems quite busy and inattentive, that we might slip off to the library without anyone being the wiser.”
“I believe that you are accurate in your assessment.”
“It is a good plan, I think.”
“I quite agree.”
If anyone noticed that they were gone, it was never mentioned, and neither of the Darcys very much cared either way.
***
The ball went on until early in the morning; a great success, everyone declared. It was gratifying to hear, and only strengthened Bingley’s determination to make the event an annual thing. They would be known for it, he thought, the Bingleys and their Christmas Ball. It would not be some stuffy, pompous affair, like the one Caroline’s marquess was hosting. It would be warm and inviting, good company prioritized over titles and importance.
“I think that went splendidly,” he told Jane later, after their guests had either departed or gone upstairs to sleep. “All your doing, I am sure.”
Jane exclaimed against this, but she flushed prettily anyway, and he kissed her soundly, in full view of the servants, before leading her up to bed.