The 26th of November
A Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions
By Elizabeth Adams
Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Adams
All rights reserved.
Dedication
For everyone who has ever had a day they wished they could do over. This one’s for you.
And for my youngest daughter, who was promised a puppy when I finished this book.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to my editor, Lori Timberlake, who encouraged me from day one, listened to all my crazy ideas, and then fixed all my mistakes. My cover designer, Caitlin Daschner at Chromantic Studio, is nothing short of divine She is helpful, kind, and a calming influence when the muse is taking me on a roller coaster ride.
My cold reader, Jami, is quickly becoming a friend, and I thank her for her solid feedback and encouragement throughout this crazy process we call writing a book. Rita at From Pemberley to Milton was so generous with her time and feedback, and Claudine from Just Jane 1813 has been an absolute wonder. Her tireless efforts on behalf of writers leave me speechless and incredibly grateful.
My husband has been a rock and a huge support—listening to ideas, giving me space to write, and making sure I didn’t get too lost in the project. I think we might be getting the hang of this whole creative couple thing.
Chapter 1
A Ball, a Proposal, & a Letter
26th of November, Netherfield
The ball was a disaster. Elizabeth could not be more embarrassed if her family began dancing on the tabletops. Her mother was loudly proclaiming Jane’s eminent engagement to Mr. Bingley, the host, and she spoke of her second daughter’s betrothal to Mr. Collins, the heir to Longbourn, as if it were a completed thing. Lady Lucas was listening politely, but even that venerable gossip looked like she would happily shove a piece of bread in her neighbor’s mouth if given the opportunity.
Mary had played and sung spectacularly badly and then been publicly humiliated by their father. He, of course, would stop Mary from playing in company, but would do nothing to curb her mother’s tongue or stop her youngest sisters from cavorting loudly through the house, being chased by officers and drinking too much punch. Elizabeth could hear Lydia’s raucous laughter from the next room, and she silently prayed the party would be rendered temporarily deaf, or better yet, her sister permanently mute.
The revulsion on the faces of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst was impossible to miss, and while she would publicly defend her family, she couldn’t blame the ladies’ feelings. She herself was disgusted with her relations’ behavior, and she had had a lifetime to become inured to it.
Mr. Darcy looked coldly at them all, staring down his aristocratic nose at the commoners of Hertfordshire. If it wasn’t bad enough that he had watched her dance with the horrid Mr. Collins (and likely laughed to himself the entire time), she had been shocked into accepting a dance with him. He had gone through the steps well enough, and he had certainly been an improvement on Mr. Collins (though that was not difficult to accomplish), but they had quarreled over Mr. Wickham, and Sir William had stopped them in the middle and made an embarrassing speech about Jane and Bingley. Why had he walked through the middle of the dance anyway? Mr. Darcy’s stern look toward his friend and her sister was impossible to miss. Would Mr. Darcy encourage Mr. Bingley away from Jane?
She told herself it didn’t matter. Mr. Bingley was his own man, and he was clearly in love with her sister.
It was to Elizabeth’s great relief that the ball ended and she found herself climbing wearily into her family’s carriage. She looked out the window and ignored her mother and sisters’ voices, wanting nothing more than quiet and her bed.
The next day she hoped for peace, a little solitude, and a good chat with Jane and Charlotte Lucas. Alas, it was not to be. Mr. Collins cornered her to propose and her mother insisted she hear him. It was awful and embarrassing, and she sincerely hoped she would never see him again, though she knew it to be unlikely. Her mother insisted she marry him, Elizabeth insisted she would not, and Mrs. Bennet had been angrier at her least favorite daughter than her children had ever seen her. Mary was silent, Jane squeezed her hand in support, and Lydia laughed at her, making more than one rude comment about marriage to such a man.
Thankfully, her father had supported her, even in the face of her mother’s temper, and Mr. Collins had left the house for the safety of Lucas Lodge. If only her mother would keep her word about not speaking to Elizabeth ever again, she would be happy.
She lay down that night wondering what new humiliations tomorrow would bring, as the last two days had surpassed even her most horrified imaginings.
Thursday morning was bright and clear, and Elizabeth was happy to see that she’d slept until nine, even after tossing and turning for several hours. She rose hopeful that this day would be uneventful. She dressed and fixed her hair simply, then headed outside for a fortifying walk. After an hour of tramping through Longbourn’s fields, she felt renewed and ready to face her mother’s lamentations on her refusal to marry Mr. Collins. She stopped outside the kitchen to remove her muddy boots and asked Sarah to bring her another pair. As she was lacing them, the maid asked her if she had heard the news.
“What news?” asked Elizabeth.
“Netherfield is being closed up, Miss. I had it from my cousin Molly what works as a maid there. She was terrible upset at not having the wages through the winter. She asked if I knows of any positions in the area. I told her I’d keep my ears open.”
She looked at Elizabeth expectantly.
“Of course, I will tell you if I hear of anything. My Aunt Phillips may know of a position.” Sarah nodded in thanks and Elizabeth stood and straightened her gown. “The entire party left? Not just Mr. Bingley?”
“No, Miss. Molly says Mr. Bingley left yesterday as he’d planned, but then last night Miss Bingley ordered the carriage and told the housekeeper to close down the house. Said they wouldn’t be back no time this winter. Molly says they left first thing this mornin’, even the gentlemen.”
Elizabeth looked thoughtful at this. “Mr. and Mrs. Hurst left as well?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, Miss. They’ve given the staff notice and Mrs. Nicholls was seein’ to the drapin’ of the furniture when Molly delivered a note for Mrs. Hill and told me all about it.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and wondered what this meant. Mr. Bingley would return, surely?
That afternoon, after an unsatisfactory visit to Meryton and a meeting with the charming Mr. Wickham that further turned Elizabeth’s feelings against Mr. Darcy, a letter arrived for Jane from Caroline Bingley. It confirmed everything Molly had told her and furthermore dashed all of Jane’s hopes as it espoused a desire to see Mr. Bingley wed to Georgiana Darcy and stated Caroline’s doubts that her brother would return to the area any time soon.
Jane was devastated and felt certain that she had imagined Mr. Bingley’s affections and that Caroline had kindly tried to put her on her guard. Elizabeth was less convinced and assured Jane that Mr. Bingley loved her and would return for her, but the nagging doubt in her mind would not be quiet. Her family had made a spectacle of themselves at the ball, and if she was being honest with herself, she was not surprised that the Superior Sisters thought their brother could do better. There was no one as kind or lovely as Jane herself, but Bingley was an affable, attractive man with a fortune and an easy disposition. He would likely have little trouble securing a match with a better do
wered lady with fine connections.
It was no matter. She would not share her concerns with her sister. Mr. Bingley loved Jane, of that she was certain. It was only his spiteful sisters and the arrogant Mr. Darcy who were trying to convince him otherwise.
She would keep the faith—Mr. Bingley must return. But as she lay in her bed that night, she couldn’t help but wish that her family had been a little less objectionable, at least in public.
Chapter 2
A Strange Dream
Elizabeth awoke to the unwelcome sound of her mother screeching. Servants were being ordered about and she was scolding her girls to get out of bed and examine their gowns for tears or loose seams. Elizabeth pressed a pillow over her head at the mention of shoe roses.
The door flew open and Mrs. Bennet burst into the room.
“Get out of bed, Miss Lizzy. You have to look your best today and Sarah will need extra time for all that hair.”
She bustled out as quickly as she had come in and Elizabeth looked at her in wonder. She could have sworn her mother had said something similar to her on the morning of the Netherfield Ball, but that wasn’t so unusual. Her mother had a limited repertoire of conversation.
Elizabeth dressed and went down to breakfast, searching for Jane who had uncharacteristically beaten her out of bed this morning.
“What is all the fuss about?” she asked her sister when she found her in the parlor.
Jane looked at her in confusion and said, “The ball at Netherfield, of course. What else would it be?”
Elizabeth looked at her sister in silence for more than a minute.
“Are you well, Lizzy?” asked Jane.
Elizabeth shook her head and said, “It is the strangest thing. I think I am having a dream.” She pinched her arm and hissed at the pain. “Or perhaps that was the dream,” she said quietly. She looked about her with a dazed expression and Jane drew close to her.
“Sister, do not let Mama see you behaving like this. She is already anxious for the ball. Perhaps you should take a short stroll in the gardens. That always refreshes you,” said Jane in a low voice.
Elizabeth agreed and took herself to the garden and wandered aimlessly through the rows of late blooming dahlias and goldenrod. It was so very strange. It had all felt so real!
She sighed in relief that Bingley was still at Netherfield and Jane’s heart was unbroken. All would be well. It was just a dream.
Mr. Collins showed his first bit of sense and left the ladies to their preparations. He had been following Elizabeth like a puppy and she was glad of a respite from his attentions. She dressed with care and spent an hour on her hair. She had hopes that Mr. Wickham would be there and he would ask for a dance. He had hinted as much when she last saw him. He had been absent from the ball in her dream, but she would not let that deter her hopes.
She had not been at the ball above a quarter hour when she realized Mr. Wickham was not there. She was told he had not come because of Darcy, and the hope of avoiding a public conflict. The similarity to her dream confused her, but she nodded and found her friends. Her first set was with Mr. Collins, and it was awful. He stepped on her foot more than once, apologized instead of attended, and made a general fool of himself and her as his partner.
Mr. Darcy stalked around the edge of the ballroom, his eyes sometimes on her, and she felt herself flush that such an arrogant man should see her dancing with a buffoon. Finally, the dance was over and Elizabeth felt nothing but relief as she hurried away from Mr. Collins.
She was talking to Charlotte when she was approached, quite suddenly, by Mr. Darcy. He asked her to dance the next and she accepted, too flustered to think of a suitable excuse to avoid his company.
By the time her dance with Mr. Darcy began, she was beginning to wonder if she had a gift of premonition. So far, the evening had progressed nearly exactly as it had in her dream, the only differences being her own words and reactions. Wishing to test her theory, she made a remark about the dance.
He was silent, as she thought he would be.
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, now you ought to make some remark about the size of the room, or the number of couples.”
He smiled and said, “Whatever you wish me to say shall be said.”
A nervous feeling crept over the edges of her mind. “Very well, that reply will do for the present,” she said, with less gaiety than she might have. “Perhaps by and by I might observe that private balls are pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.”
She said the lines as if reading from a script, her cheeks beginning to pink and her eyes not meeting his.
“Do you talk by rule then, when you are dancing?” he asked.
She swallowed and smiled weakly, glad the dance was taking them away from each other for a moment. Was she a prophetess? She vaguely recalled hearing of prophets when her grandmother would read the Bible to them, but that had been years ago. Perhaps Mary would know.
She returned to Mr. Darcy and endeavored to keep her composure. She knew what would be said. She would call him taciturn, he would be evasive, she would question him about his tendency to be resentful and they would quarrel about Wickham. He would ask her not to sketch his character at that time and she would say she would have no other opportunity. He would grudgingly acquiesce, and they would dance in silence.
Her heart beating rapidly, Elizabeth turned about Mr. Darcy, then joined the ladies in a circle. Her mind was spinning faster than the dance. How had this happened?
She said nothing else, and Mr. Darcy looked at her oddly more than once, but she had no desire to further confirm her fears. When she saw Sir William crossing the floor, she turned in a wrong direction and he passed them while she apologized to the lady she had run into. Darcy looked at her quizzically again, but she ignored him and went through the remainder of the dance mechanically. Darcy led her to her mother when the dance was over, thanked her, bowed correctly, and left. She vaguely noted that if the events in her dream truly were premonitions or prophesies, she would never see him again, for he would leave in two days’ time.
The remainder of the evening only further disturbed Elizabeth. Her father interrupted Mary on the pianoforte—again—and ignored her younger sisters’ wild behavior. Lydia and Kitty drank too much, spoke too loudly, and flirted with everything in a red coat. Her mother spoke so volubly at dinner that Elizabeth wished she could crawl under the table as she had done when she was four years old. She was too worried about her own predicament to notice the glares aimed at her family by Mr. Darcy and the Superior Sisters, but she knew they were there nonetheless.
As she finally climbed into bed that night, fully aware that she had just experienced the same day twice and wondering if she had a mystical gift for foresight—like a gypsy—she said a fervent prayer that Mr. Collins would not propose to her tomorrow and she would return to her usual ungifted self.
~
She was to be disappointed. The next day began with her mother screeching and telling her to wake up, for her hair would take additional time to arrange. Somehow, against all reason and rationality, it was Tuesday, the 26th of November. Again.
Elizabeth trudged to the breakfast table in a sour mood, and then settled into her father’s library with the Bible to read about prophets. She read everything she could think of that might explain premonitions, prophesies, even witchcraft. None of it explained her experience or was in the least bit helpful.
Her father asked her what she was about, and she said she was merely curious about something. After watching him do nothing to curb her sisters’ behavior at the same ball twice, she was not feeling particularly forthcoming. He went back to his book as she knew he would and ignored her for the remainder of the day. She supposed she should be grateful he had not asked her to leave, though she expected he had likely forgotten her presence some hours ago.
She was late to begin preparing for the ball and her hair was put up simply. Jane had kindly
attached her shoe roses for her and helped her latch her necklace moments before they rushed out the door.
The evening progressed as she knew it would, Elizabeth left the ball more discouraged than ever, and she once more went to bed fervently praying this strangeness would end.
Chapter 3
In Which Elizabeth Tells Many Falsehoods
The oddity that had become Elizabeth’s life continued for three more days before she decided to do something about it. She would not normally be so slow to act, but she had been so very befuddled, so utterly flummoxed, that she could not think what she could do, nor what she should.
She began to think of her dilemma as a puzzle. Every puzzle had an answer, an ending of some sort. Was there an answer to the question of why she was repeating the same day over and over? She did not know if there was one, but if there was the slightest chance that there was a method to all this madness, she would find it out.
She thought of the first ball. It had been an enjoyable evening until it had not. Jane had had a lovely time, but Elizabeth had gone from one humiliation to the next. However, none of this was terribly unexpected. The first ball had been followed by two days into the future, as she now began to think of it (and desperately long for it).
She analyzed those days, thinking the answer may lie there since she had only experienced them once. Of course, it was just as likely that the answer was not in those two days and that was why she did not repeat them, but she made a list of everything that had happened regardless.
It had been an eventful time. Mr. Bingley left for what was supposed to be a short trip to London. Mr. Collins presented Elizabeth with an unwanted proposal, and the Netherfield party left Hertfordshire for an indefinite period of time. The most innocuous occurrence was Mr. Bingley’s leaving. It had been planned for some time, and she supposed he had not gone before the ball because he was needed for preparations or perhaps because of the week of rain they had experienced.
The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions Page 1