The Eldest | F. Darcy

Chapter 16: Netherfield Ball

Why had he come with a red carnation?

Adele knew the meaning of the flower all too well. Deep love. Admiration. The thought unsettled her. Did Fitzwilliam intend to court someone? Was there a lady in the county who had captured his heart? The possibility made her stomach twist uncomfortably. She had known him for over a decade and had loved him for just as long. Yet, she also knew his ignorance regarding the language of flowers. Could it be that he had chosen the carnation without understanding its meaning? Or had he indeed formed an attachment?

Lost in thought, she made her way back to Longbourn, barely aware of the bustle around her. She felt rather than saw her way to the study, where her father sat enduring what seemed to be a long-winded monologue from Mr. Collins. Well—only Mr. Collins talked. Mr. Bennet bore his boredom with admirable patience, though Adele, knowing him well, detected the thinly veiled look of suffering on his face.

She had no pity for him. He had invited the man into their house.

"Mr. Collins," she interrupted, her voice calm but firm, "may I have a moment alone with my father?"

Mr. Collins sprang to his feet with alacrity, bowed, and scurried from the room, clearly taking her words as permission to escape rather than an imposition.

Mr. Bennet sighed in relief and turned to his daughter with a smile. However, the expression faded when he saw the hesitation on her face.

"Adele," he said, straightening slightly. "What is the matter?"

She hesitated for a moment before finally asking, "May I have some money?"

He raised a brow. "For?"

She clasped her hands together and looked down, as though embarrassed. "I thought I would make myself a dress or make some alterations to an older gown. For the ball."

Mr. Bennet's frown deepened. Adele never asked for pin money. If she ever needed anything—quills, parchment, or books—she asked him, and he always obliged without hesitation. But she had never once requested money for dresses or fripperies. If ever her gowns needed mending, she repurposed fabric from her mother's and sisters' cast-offs, never thinking to spend extra on herself.

"Why, my dear?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Adele's blush deepened, and she fiddled with the lace at her sleeve. "I want to look beautiful," she murmured.

His expression softened. "My dear, who has told you that you are not already beautiful?"

She smiled faintly. "That is not what I meant. I want to dress beautifully. Miss Bingley is always looking down upon me, and I find her disdain... tiresome. I want to prove that I can dress as finely as any woman of her station."

There was a pause. Adele bit her lip, debating whether or not to continue.

"Besides—"

Mr. Bennet's sharp gaze caught the hesitation. "Besides what?"

She exhaled and finally admitted, "Mr. Darcy has asked me for the first two dances."

His brow arched. "Has he now?"

She shifted uncomfortably under his knowing gaze.

"Adele," he said slowly, "what are you not telling me?"

She sighed in defeat and sank onto a chair across from him. For a long moment, she said nothing, then—almost in a whisper—she confessed, "I love him, Father."

The admission hung in the air, and Mr. Bennet sucked in a breath, utterly stunned.

Adele in love? The idea was as foreign to him as Lydia reading sermons.