“Come, Lizzy,” Jane said, linking their arms. “The ladies are all taking turns upstairs to dress, and we’ve all so much to do before the evening begins.”
Ahead of them, Kitty and Lydia were already halfway up the staircase, their laughter echoing through the hall as they chattered about ribbons and shoe roses. Elizabeth glanced back toward the ballroom door, the temptation still pulling at her. But Jane was right—tonight, there were no “lessers and betters.” There was no one to trim the candles and sweep the floors while others loitered upstairs. Everyone had a role to play, and she had come to make herself useful.
Besides, Darcy was busy, too. The thought of the embarrassment she might cause him with such a poorly timed intrusion was enough to stop her.
“Yes, of course,” she said softly, allowing Jane to guide her toward the stairs. “There will be time enough later.”
As they ascended, the faint sounds of the ballroom faded, replaced by the bustling commotion of the upstairs rooms. Here, the air was charged with nervous energy. Young women—Sir Thomas’s household—stood in clusters, fidgeting with borrowed gowns, smoothing skirts, and anxiously adjusting their hair.
Elizabeth took it all in with a pang. These women, more than anyone, deserved to feel radiant tonight. Whatever their pasts, tonight they would be honored guests, and she was determined to help them shine.
“Lizzy?” Kitty called fromacross the room. She was trying to untangle a knot in Mrs. Jackson’s hair, and it looked as though the knot was prevailing. “Would you come help me? I tried to pin it, but I cannot manage her curls, but your hair is a little similar, so perhaps you know better how to manage.”
“Let us have a look.” Elizabeth took the brush from Kitty’s hand and shook her head with a tsk. “Here is your first problem. This brush is all wrong for curls. Mrs. Jackson, what sort of style do you fancy? I think a high twist, with your curls loose to frame your face would look terribly fetching.”
Mrs. Jackson turned her head from side to side, inspecting her reflection. “My husband likes my curls.”
“I think they all do,” Elizabeth chuckled. “That settles it. Oh! We have some primroses here. They would look lovely with your eyes and complexion. What do you think?”
At Mrs. Jackson’s blushing agreement, Elizabeth set to work.
As the sisters moved from one young woman to another, lending combs and sashes and words of encouragement and praise, the atmosphere began to shift. Nervous glances turned into tentative smiles. Lydia was offering ribbons from her own collection, exclaiming, “This blue will be perfect for you! You must wear it!”
“Perfectly chaotic,” Mary muttered as she hemmed a gown for yet another girl. “But there, I daresay you will not trip.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly, pressing a hand to her cheek as she finished pinning another girl’s hair. It was good to see her sisters pitching in, however clumsily. For once, they felt like a true family—a united front determined to make this evening as magical as it deserved to be.
Behind her, Jane was trying to take in the bodice of Elizabeth’s own plum-colored gown for a freckled girl named Clara, who stood uncertainly near a dressing table, her trembling fingers struggling with the buttons so Jane could fit it properly.
“Here, allow me,” Elizabeth said, taking the task into her own hands, since Jane was busy with the needle.
The girl glanced up in surprise. “Thank you, Miss Lizzy. I was afraid I might tear it.”
Elizabeth smiled as she worked the buttons, smoothing the back of the gown once it was secured. “Nonsense. This color suits you beautifully—truly! You shall be the envy of everyone in the ballroom.”
The girl blushed and glanced shyly toward the mirror, as though daring to believe Elizabeth’s words.
A moment later, Elizabeth was tightening the last ribbon on Miss Flora’s gown and stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “There,” she said, smiling. “It fits you perfectly.”
“Miss Elizabeth, is this too much?” a shy voice asked. Elizabeth turned to see Maryanne, a dark-haired young woman holding up a string of pearls with trembling hands. “I have never worn anything so fine.”
Elizabeth smiled warmly, crossing the room to take the necklace from her. “It is perfect, Maryanne. Here, let me.”
As she fastened the pearls around the girl’s neck, Maryanne glanced at her reflection, her face a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Mr. Darcy insisted I wear it,” she murmured. “I told him it was too grand, but he said… he said everyone deserves to feel beautiful tonight.”
Elizabeth’s fingers stilled briefly before she gave the clasp a final turn. “Did he?” she asked softly, her voice carefully even.
Maryanne nodded, her cheeks pinkening. “I… I always thought him so stern. But then he came to the kitchens last evening and spoke to all of us. And he gave each of us a necklace, brought new from London. Every one of us, miss!”
Elizabeth tilted her head to have a better look at the necklace in the mirror. “Did he? That was very sweet of him.”
“Aye, miss. He asked about my family, my hopes… no one ever asks those things.”
Elizabeth stepped back, her throat tight as she took in the girl’s expression—an odd mixture of joy and gratitude that spoke volumes. How many lives had Mr. Darcy touched in ways she had not imagined?
Maryanne caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I picked the pearls. There were others, you know—gold pendants, some with jewels—but I liked these…” She brushed her fingertips over the pearls. “Pearls are for tears, but they don’t have to be for sad tears, do they?”
Elizabeth smiled. “No, they do not. They can just as well be for happy tears.”
