The 26th of November E-book

Elizabeth Bennet has just lived through the most humiliating night of her life. Then by some strange twist of fate, she is forced to live it again. And again. If ever a night refused to end, why must it be that of the Netherfield Ball?

The indignity of constantly reliving the same day forces her to question things she thought she knew. Things like the function of time. Her father’s qualities as a parent. Mr. Darcy’s disagreeable personality, and how proud and bad tempered he is.

She does not know why this is happening, but she is sure of one thing. Somehow, it's all Mr. Darcy’s fault.

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.