Elizabeth Newark - The Darcys Give a Ball

Juliet trembled. Such a suggestion was far beyond a débutante’s expectations. How daring it would be! But at that moment she caught sight of her mother’s crimson dress, as she passed among her guests. “Oh—I must not,” she said. “I wish that I could. But I must not.”

“Miss Juliet,” a voice broke into their reverie. “Miss Juliet, I protest!” Charlie Musgrove, somewhat tousled about the head and flushed about the cheeks, stood before her, staring at Walter Elliot indignantly. “The supper dance... your company... was promised to me!”

“You were tardy, sir,” said Walter Elliot suavely. “Miss Darcy waits on no man’s pleasure. Your punishment was to lose your dance.”

“Juliet?” Charlie held his ground. “The music is starting again. This next dance is also mine.”

Walter Elliot raised Juliet to her feet, then turned her hand in his, and brushed his lips over her palm before he relinquished her hand.

“Later, my diamond,” he said, and sauntered off through the crowd.

But he did not go far. Spreading his net, he began to talk to Mrs. Bingley; he knew how close the Darcys and Bingleys were. It would stand him in good stead to make Mrs. Bingley his friend. Then, somewhat daringly, he invited her to dance. Jane Bingley was delighted. She chaperoned her daughter to balls, but seldom danced herself these days. She demurred, but then consented. Her husband was in the card room, doing his duty, and she went willingly out onto the dance floor with this well-spoken man.

Then he danced again with Catriona Fitzwilliam. She had several seasons at her back and was far more sophisticated than her cousin Juliet, and had a lively sense of humor. She did not for a moment take his compliments seriously; he changed his tactics and soon had her laughing. As he danced, he kept his eyes open for Juliet, dancing first with Charlie Musgrove, then with Torquil Fitzwilliam, and then Anthony Bingley.

Juliet was enjoying herself. She still felt the excitement, the heightened emotional state that her supper with Walter Elliot had aroused in her. Torquil Fitzwilliam was a match for her high spirits, but Anthony Bingley, pleasant-mannered and gentle like his father, and more like a brother to Juliet than an admirer, was taken somewhat aback at the way Juliet pressed against him in the mazurka, by her flushed face and brilliant eyes, and the flirtatious remarks she made. He was a little younger than Juliet. They had grown up together but he had never been one of her flirts. Earlier, he had danced with Nell Ferrars and been impressed with her sweet and modest manner. Alice Bertram, daughter of the Reverend Edmund Bertram and his wife, Fanny, was also to his taste, with her air of fragility, though he had been alarmed at how soon she tired; at the end of a galop she had retired to her mother’s side with her hand pressed against her bodice.

But Juliet swirled madly through the mazurka with her head thrown back, laughing in his face. In spite of himself, he reacted to her exuberance, and they spun together round the room.And thus it was that the accident happened. Unused to so much excitement, Anthony failed to observe how closely they were dancing to another couple, until they all collided. It was a minor fault; a bow and an apology were all that was called for. Unfortunately the couple with which they collided was Lt. Gerard Churchill and his affianced lady, Selina Ferrars. Miss Ferrars cried out in alarm, and then stood apart, the picture of affront, while Anthony and Gerard bowed. Juliet, not seeing at first the identity of the second couple, turned with a laughing face and eager speech towards them. Finding herself face to face with Gerard, the laugh died. She made a small, frozen inclination of her head to Miss Ferrars, which was not returned. “Gerard,” said that lady, loudly. “These country manners are too much for me. Take me home!” She turned away, taking his arm, but managed as she did so to entangle her heel in the trailing skirt of Juliet’s pale yellow silk gown. Juliet felt the tug and rip as stitches pulled loose at her waistline, and a tear showed in her hem.

The insult, to a Darcy, to a daughter of the house, to the first lady of the ball, was too great. Elizabeth and Charlotte, talking nearby, saw the incident and hurried forward. Giving her escort no time to speak, Selina Ferrars made a shallow curtsey to her hostess, said a few cold words, and swept herself and Gerard out of the ballroom. Gerard Churchill’s face matched his scarlet coat. He knew he had outraged the Darcys. His gentle mother would be unhappy, and even his careless father would be furious at such an insult to an old friend. He had judged himself fortunate, at a time when luck was so confoundedly against him, to win the hand of a considerable heiress, but had not expected his betrothal to be conditional: Miss Ferrars had demanded that she accompany him to the Pemberley ball, of which he had unwisely spoken. Nor had he realized that her intentions were other than social climbing, but Selina Ferrars had had revenge in mind. Various snubs and put-downs from Juliet Darcy had long rankled. She knew full well of Gerard’s flirtation with Miss Darcy. This had been, in fact, one of her reasons for singling him out, though his self-regard was too complete for him to realize that he was in fact the hunted, not the hunter. Miss Ferrars had wished to flaunt her capture, but she had not been able to resist a more overt insult, whatever the social consequences. Her upbringing, after all, had taught her that money was all-important in Society.

Anthony Bingley, almost in tears at being involved in such an embarrassing incident, turned back to Juliet. But she was already being led from his side.Walter Elliot had taken her smoothly under his wing. Talking in a low tone, patting her hand, he led her off the floor. Anthony, left alone, turned a scarlet face to Elizabeth Darcy. “Aunt Elizabeth, I must a-a-pologize,” he stammered. “I would not have had that happen for the world. Juliet..?”

“Juliet is in good hands,” said her mother, hoping devoutly this was true. “Don’t worry, Anthony. You are in no way to blame.”

Juliet was vexed beyond words. She bit her lip and clung to Walter Elliot, crimson patches blotching her cheeks. “I hate her, I hate her,” she said, when she could speak. “How dare she behave in that way to me?”

Walter Elliot murmured consolingly to her, in a voice pitched low. He led her to the punch table, and brought her a full glass he had poured himself.

“What can I do? What can I do to show them?” she kept saying. Only that morning she had dreamed of the ball, with herself as the center of attention, announcing her engagement to Gerard. He was indeed to be married but to someone else—and such a someone.

“Do you really mean that? Then come with me, my beautiful, my golden darling. You shall be my treasure, the star of my life.Together we shall astonish all Society. I shall take you to my mother at Kellynch. Come with me. Trust me. From there we can arrange to be married.”

“Yes, yes, I will. Oh, but my dress! I must find my maid. How shall we contrive?”

“Go upstairs, my darling. Your mother knows your dress is torn; she will expect you to retire. Then find yourself a cloak, take the few things you need overnight, and meet me at the conservatory door. I will slip down to the stables and tell my man to harness the horses—then I shall meet you at that door.” He looked at his gold hunter. “It is nearly one o’clock—I will see you there in twenty minutes. Don’t fail me, my darling.” He pressed her hand, then lifted it to his lips, holding it there for a moment or two. As he walked away, she could still feel the warmth and softness of his mouth against her skin.

Juliet stole down the corridor that led to her bedroom and quietly opened her door. She prayed that her maid Agnes would not be there, sitting in her dressing room mending the strap of a chemise or a flounce. All the other lady’s-maids, she knew, would be downstairs in and about the servants’ quarters, where they would have a chance of seeing the dancing and the dresses, and would be kept supplied with wine, cakes, and pastries. But Agnes held herself aloof from the other servants, feeling herself superior to all but Latchett and Mrs. Cleghorn, and Jeanne-Marie, maid to Mrs. Darcy—and Jeanne-Marie was French, which meant, in Agnes’s estimation, she didn’t really count. So she might well have chosen to stay upstairs, in case her mistress ran back with a tale of a ripped lace or frill—as in fact Juliet was doing.

But the room was quiet; everything was in order. For once, Agnes must have joined the other servants. Juliet felt an odd irrational spurt of anger—for her dress was torn and in any other circumstances she would have needed help, and Agnes should have been there—then shrugged her shoulders and gave a nervous giggle. She felt almost giddy with excitement. Now, she thought, what shall I need? Her heart was pounding and her face flushed. Selina Ferrars’s remark was like poison still percolating under her skin. Insolent, hateful woman, thought Juliet, her eyes filling once more with tears. Oh Gerard, Gerard!

But though Gerard had betrayed her, she had found herself another beau, far more sophisticated and charming than Gerard. Someone who admired and cherished her, and recognized her as the star on his horizon, as was her due. Walter would take care of her, and one day she would be Lady Elliot. Gerard was only a younger son. She found a large bandbox, and began to toss her toilet articles into it: hairbrush, lotion, then a nightgown and cap, rolled up and thrust in before she had time to think what they implied.Trust him, he had said.