“More of what?”
She pulled his mouth down to her and showed him.
“…Andofcourse,you will need a summer wardrobe. There is an exceptionally fine dressmaker in Chelsea, but… Elizabeth, are you listening to me?” Lady Matlock lowered her pen and gave Elizabeth a look of chagrin.
“She has not been listening to you for the past quarter of an hour,” answered the dowager. “Another moment and the girl’s eyes would have been frozen open.”
“I did not mean to be rude,” Elizabeth protested. “It’s just that this is all so overwhelming—you speak of fine wardrobes and fashionable neighbourhoods and taking tea with the wealthiest ladies in the country, but a mere two weeks ago I was only a case for charity.”
“You are still a case for charity,” sniffed the dowager. “But I never backed down from a challenge before. Sheila, we must take her firmly in hand if she is to be any credit to herself and to us. You are not marrying a wandering soldier this time, my dear Elizabeth. To become the mistress of Pemberley and the next Mrs Darcy is, I daresay, the aspiration of half the well-bred girls of London, and you must out-shine them all.”
“With all due respect, I have never even been able to ‘out-shine’ my own sister—nor has it been my desire.”
“Oh, think nothing of it, Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock said airily. “Darcy might have had any of them, but he took a fancy to you, so do not forget that. Besides, you have a very fetching face, a lovely figure, and a pleasing way about you. We have but to paint and drape you in the highest fashion, and… my dear, how shall I say it? I am afraid you must entirely re-learn your mannerisms.”
Elizabeth shifted in her seat; her cheeks uncomfortably warm. “I will try, Lady Matlock. I do not wish to be an embarrassment, but I cannot promise success. I do appreciate your kind efforts more than you can know.”
“Of course, you do,” the countess decided, “for you have not a vain or foolish bone in your body,but, we must somehow achieve theimpressionof vanity. That, my girl, is the ticket to convincing those gussied-up cats that you belong. Now about your hair—I think the frizzy, blowsy look is becoming quite fashionable, do not you? We will not touch your hair for now. Leave it to me, Elizabeth, simply everyone in Grosvenor will be dying to have an introduction to you, and I wager next year’s debutantes will be trying to emulate your way of walking by the time we are finished making you over.”
“I am not certain I wish to be made over,” Elizabeth objected weakly.
“Oh, but you will see. Why, simply trust me with the details. You will still be yourself, quite yourself, my dear, but even Darcy will be nearly faint when we present you. Just let me work my magic—I did not go to Boston’s finest finishing school for nothing, you know.”
Elizabeth made a tight smile. “I remain sceptical, but you have yet to steer me wrong, my lady.”
“Of course not, of course not. Now, has Darcy said when he will be going to London next? I am afraid it is not so simple as just hanging you on his arm and announcing your name. We must handle your introductions with care—”
She broke off at a hurried knock on the door. “Come in?”
It was Jane, looking pale and anxious. “Lord Matlock said I should come, my lady. He has just had a telegram from London. The queen—Queen Victoria has died.”
London
February 1901
Itseemedthewholeworld had converged upon Westminster. Elizabeth clung to William’s arm, more out of a fear of becoming lost than a display of affection. The crowd fell silent as dozens of sailors pulled the queen’s funeral carriage from the train to St. George’s Chapel. Elizabeth watched it all in awe—the precision, the utter dignity and humility as noble and common alike gathered to pay final respects to England’s longest-reigning monarch.
“The queen is dead. Long live the king,” William murmured as the final honour guard passed. He replaced his hat and looked down at her. “And there we are—the end of our present age and the dawn of the next. Why is it that all new beginnings must be preceded by the death of something else?”
She considered for a moment. Richard’s death had left a void for them both—as had the loss of her home, her family—but still, there was no choice but to continue setting one foot in front of the other. To live, so long as life was given them. “I suppose,” she answered, “because we would never let go of the familiar and the beloved. It is hard turning loose of what is dear and comfortable, and trusting to something new.”
He smiled and squeezed the hand resting on his arm. “I ask one question, and you answer a different one. But come, everyone will be trying to leave at once. It will be all we can do to make it out of this crush and back to the house.”
She tightened her fingers on his arm. “I have sturdy walking boots. Which way?”
He threaded them between the other onlookers, ever considerate of her shorter strides and slighter frame amid the crowd. Elizabeth decided, for perhaps the first time in her life, that it was a fine thing to be coddled and tended in such a way. Other men had protected her, but only William could make her feel like his honoured treasure, rather than a weaker member. It was pleasant, also, that the demands of working their way through meant that more often than not, they were pressed together in far closer contact than public scenes usually permitted.
Nearly everyone was polite, the sombre occasion leaving a lingering aura of respectfulness among the onlookers, but just when Elizabeth felt they must be nearing a cross-street, someone bumped her from behind. William turned to address the matter at once, and she heard a hasty, “Beg yer pardon, Ma’am.”
William cast an unhappy eye over the heads of the crowd, then turned them another direction, threading partly back from whence they had come. Most gave way willingly enough when they saw a lady on the arm of the very tall, very determined-looking gentleman, but one person caught Elizabeth’s notice. He was not moving like all the rest—only standing to the side of the walk with arms crossed and hat pulled low over his eyes. He lifted his face, however, when she glanced his way. He was grinning.
It was only an instant—just enough to desire a second glance to verify what she had seen, but by the time she tried to turn back, he was gone.
“GeorgeWickham?”Darcyrepeated.“You thought you saw him?”
“I could not be sure,” Elizabeth confessed. “I just saw a flash of someone who looked familiar, and when I tried to match a name to the face, his was the first that came to mind.”
“Wickham has brown eyes, high cheekbones and a nose that is more round than straight.”
