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figure to some particular evil, be it thickened waist, drooping bosom, or stooped shoulders. The only form to escape the rages of revolving seasons was her husband. Paunch would never trouble his midsection. Each year he stood a little straighter, forestalling maturity through will alone. He remained as impeccably fit as the first evening they met. Just the thought of dancing with him again made her heart leap.
    “Is this to your liking, Ma’am?” inquired the seamstress. “If I do say so myself, the colour flatters you.”
    She held out her new bisque-coloured gown, seams basted and ready for the final fitting. It was very pretty, if a bit subdued. Elizabeth could hear ladies tittering behind their fans even then of how Mrs. Darcy had lost her bloom. “Vanity, thy name is Elizabeth,” she silently reminded herself.
    It was imperative that she cease fretting. If she did not, she knew that she would be beside herself with nerves by the time she stepped onto the ballroom floor.
    As was her husband’s wish, she meant to crown her ensemble by donning the pearls he had bestowed her just prior to their wedding. They were a family piece—a double strand with a diamond and sapphire clasp. The Darcy jewels would improve general opinion of any gown she wore.
    This was not a spiteful conclusion; it was fact. The crass were always well-represented at any affair.
    Whereas the ball was meant to honour the Bingleys, the guest list had to include Charles’s sisters, Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. Mr. Hurst was tolerable in that he over-imbibed and was customarily semi-comatose soon after dinner. Louisa and Caroline were not at all agreeable. They were alternately fawning, demeaning, and outright abusive—particularly to Jane. After Darcy apprised her of their refusal to reduce their own indulgences during Bingley’s retrenchment, Elizabeth’s dislike was sharpened into outright abhorrence. Indeed, she had not a good thought for either of them. The only consolation was that Bingley no longer harboured any misconceptions concerning his sisters’ integrity.
    As Miss Bingley was invited, so would be Sir Winton Beecher. Their engagement had been formed the previous year, although they seemed in no hurry to marry. Elizabeth had supposed that as a well-established husband-hunter of unparalleled determination, Caroline was happier to parade a fiancé around the monde of London and Bath rather than a husband. Once they wed, the couple would slide into the semi-obscurity of a married couple.
    Jane was apprehensive of the match. Word had it that Beecher was in no way but name a gentleman. Jane (who was in no way a gossip) feared for her sister-in-law’s reputation. Fingers clutching his elbow, Caroline followed Beecher into gambling halls of every sort. Darcy had been quite appalled by the man and took the exceptional step of informing Bingley that he considered Beecher little above a fortune-hunter. Bingley shrugged his shoulders. Caroline had her twenty thousand pounds and could essentially marry whom she pleased. He could disapprove of it, but she held the emotional whip-hand over her younger brother.
    In allying herself with Beecher so hastily after Lady Anne’s death, Caroline had incurred Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s keenly-expressed disapproval. Upon any other occasion, such censure would have sent poor Caroline into paroxysms of fear and despair. Teetering on the brink of spinsterhood, it appeared she would brook castigation long before she would forego a marriageable man.
    It was another matter whether Beecher might sacrifice his love for his dear Caroline to the Gods of Credit.
    Although it was not her place to make a conjecture about another’s pecuniary situation, Elizabeth was quite certain that Beecher was financially bound to Lady Catherine. If the mood struck her, her ladyship could cut him off without a cent. As to why she had not done so was a puzzlement to some. Every step that lady took was a manoeuvre; every