Prelude to Pemberley: After the Netherfield Ball

Welcome to our Pride & Prejudice prequel! P&P: Prelude to Pemberley tells the story of the time leading up to the events of Pride & Prejudice, including what Darcy and Elizabeth were doing and thinking, Georgiana Darcy’s story, the events of Ramsgate, how Mr. Bingley came to lease Netherfield, and much more! Join us on our journey as the Austen Variations authors post the events of 1811 in real time on the date they happened – 214 years in the future.

After the Netherfield Ball  (Darcy’s POV)

November 27, 1811

I slept very little last night. The responsibility for this unfortunate fact I lay entirely to the charge of Elizabeth Bennet. No, Fitzwilliam must have a share of the blame as well.

I had no choice but to attend the Netherfield ball for Bingley’s sake, of course, and to dance a fair amount as well.  I had planned to keep my distance from Elizabeth, however, lest I should accidentally give her any false encouragement… or lest I be further drawn in by her undeniable charms. But Fitzwilliam had challenged me to dance with her (it was more a dare, truth be told) and I was not in the habit backing down. So I did not shy away from the task; I approached the lady at my first opportunity, intending to get on with it.

“Good evening, Miss Bennet,” I said, bowing. “I hope you are well, and all your family.”

Instead of responding in the customary way, she scowled at me as if I had done something distasteful. “You!” she said in an accusatory tone. “Mr. Darcy.”

“Yes?” I waited for her to make herself clear.

“Some of our pleasantest young men, I am told, have been kept away from this ball by the most artificial of reasons, but nothing has prevented you, I see.”

It was a perplexing observation, one for which I could not begin to perceive the purpose… nor the most appropriate response. “That is true, as to myself,” I said after some hesitation. “I cannot at all account for the presence or absence of others, however.”

“Can you not? I find that difficult to believe. Please excuse me, sir.”

With an expression of disgust – it could be called nothing less – she turned away and immediately left me.

My polite inquiry had been summarily repulsed for no apparent reason, and before I could even state my business. How I had offended on this occasion, I could not begin to understand. I would try once more, I decided, in order to satisfy Fitzwilliam’s challenge. But if I was similarly rebuffed – which I fully expected, even hoped – that would make an end to it. So, when some little time had elapsed, I approached her again and asked for her hand in the next dance. After some obvious discomfort and prevarication, she accepted. I can only suppose I had taken her by surprise and she was not immediately able to divine any excuse for refusing.

So we would dance together after all, and perhaps there had never been two consenting parties less pleased about the prospect.

I had some compensation, of course. I could never truly be sorry for the chance to admire Elizabeth Bennet more closely – her bright eyes, her dark satiny hair, curled and adorned with ribbons and pearls, her cheeks glowing with the warmth of exercise, her figure set off to best advantage by the white gown she wore. A man would have to be blind not to appreciate the sight of her. But these benefits came at a cost.

My initial silence was apparently intolerable to her, and so began her arch smiles, witty barbs, and banter. Then she moved on to a series of probing, critical questions – about Wickham and the like. I acquitted myself as well as I could in this contest of words, but when I had had enough of the inquisition, I attempted to turn the tables. “May I ask to what these questions tend?” I said.

She smiled and adopted a lighter, more teasing tone again. “Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, “I am trying to make it out.”

“And what is your success?”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly.”

I could say the same. Elizabeth Bennet puzzles me exceedingly. Since the day I first met her, her behavior towards me has been inscrutable. One minute, I believe we have begun to establish a tolerable friendship or that she might even be desiring my attentions. Then the next? The next we were all to pieces again.

Some of the other young ladies I danced with last night, after Elizabeth, were arguably just as pretty and light on their feet. That is where the resemblance ended, however. They all behaved more conventionally. They were, without exception, soft-spoken and polite. They smiled and complimented. They most assuredly did not challenge every word I spoke or had spoken in the past. They voiced no unfavorable opinions about my character or conduct. In fact, had I not already endured enough agitation of that kind for one evening, I might have been tempted to accuse these good ladies of dullness.

None of my other dance partners could rival Elizabeth Bennet’s power for gripping my full attention, keeping me ever alert and on my guard for what unexpected thing might happen next. The half hour I spent with her was undeniably lively. Also uncomfortably intense. It was some unfamiliar compounding of pleasure and pain that I cannot rightly describe. One thing is certain however; it could never be described as dull.

She challenged me… but a little testing is beneficial for keeping one’s mind sharp. Is not that so? She had clearly misjudged me where Wickham was concerned… but the blame for that would more rightly be laid to his account than hers. And it was invigorating to debate with a person of superior wit.

By such reflections, I soon after our dance began to feel more charitable towards Elizabeth again. Fortunately, then, lest I should have continued under her spell, other convincing evidence against the Bennet family put things in their proper perspective. Most notably, their cousin accosted me without an introduction, and then I heard – as no doubt did the rest of the company – Mrs. Bennet’s vulgar boasting over her expectations concerning Bingley. The rest of the family comported themselves little better.

This was ample proof of why I should not ever think of such an unsuitable woman as a partner in anything more consequential than a dance. Nor should Bingley be considering a Miss Bennet as such either. With his sisters’ help, I must convince him of that.

The cure is simple. My friend and I must both stay away from the dangers of Hertfordshire for a very long time. As intriguing as Elizabeth Bennet is, and as perplexing as my encounters with her, her influence will soon fade when out of my sight. With a little exertion on my part, my mind will soon be returned to perfect order. I will be as I was before, as if we had never met… if only I can keep away from her. Far, far away.

But can Darcy stay away from Elizabeth? You know the answer!

SPECIAL NOTE: We have so enjoyed writing these Prelude to Pemberley scenes for you, and we thank you for reading along! All good things must come to an end, however, and today’s post is the last in this series. Don’t worry, though. We’re cooking up something new for you, which will begin in January!

Read all the scenes in Prelude to Pemberley here!