“What a relief that is over.” She collapsed on her bed back at Carlton House, groaning. Elizabeth pressed her face briefly into the pillows, savoring the privacy of exhaustion. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind overstimulated by the careful scrutiny of the afternoon.
Baker helped her change into a simpler gown; her efficient hands were a comfort, loosening stays, smoothing fabric, grounding her in the ordinary rituals of dressing and undressing that reminded her she was still herself beneath the layers of expectation. Soon Charlotte knocked on her door and joined her.
“We have been summoned to supper with my father.” The princess sounded rather petulant. “Why can he not leave us alone? He has shown little interest in our lives until now.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly at Charlotte’s tone, though it did not reach her eyes.Interest is rarely benign when it arrives late,she thought.
“He is your father, dearest, and also the crown prince. We are at his mercy.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. “Will Lady Hertford join us?”
She kept her voice steady, though inwardly she braced herself.Nothing good ever followed a summons delivered without explanation.
“That is my understanding. Her husband is busy with Parliament—as my father should be—”
“Pray, be careful. The walls have ears.”
Charlotte giggled but ceased speaking ill of her elders. The sound was light, youthful, and Elizabeth envied it. Charlotte had not yet learned how carefully words must be chosen, nor how often silence was safer than speech.
“You must tell me about tea with my grandmother. Was it terribly boring?”
“Queen Charlotte is very gracious. I believe she approves and will not protest my staying here with you.”
Elizabeth chose her phrasing with care.Approval was not affection,she reminded herself.But it was enough—for now.
“She could press my father into sending you away. I should not like that at all. You and Jane are my only friends.”
Jane was currently out. Lady Matlock had collected her from Hertford House that afternoon for a trip to Bond Street. If Elizabeth had a guess, Lady Matlock was thrilled at the idea of potentially having a daughter to spoil. She was a bit overeager, for an engagement was not yet final,
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a small smile at the thought.Jane deserves to be cherished,she reflected.She has been misunderstood far too often.
“She is to dine at Matlock House this evening. You and I will be required to support each other throughout supper.”
Elizabeth exhaled slowly. It was not very often the prince required his daughter’s presence at an evening meal, let alone Elizabeth’s. Such summons usually came with demands and requirements, unspoken expectations that must be deciphered and met without error.Tonight will be no different,she thought.
It had been three weeks since Viscount Bramley had secured Mr. Bennet’s permission to court Jane. The prince had expressed his utter delight at the arrangement, taking all the credit for the match. He claimed it was due to his magnanimous invitation that Miss Bennet’s happiness was secured. Jane had merely thanked him deferentially in her usual calm manner.
Elizabeth had watched Jane through it all, proud of her composure and secretly furious on her behalf.Even happiness is claimed by others here,she thought.Nothing is allowed to be wholly one’s own.
Of the prince’s approved suitors, most had faded away when Elizabeth’s manner had maintained a polite, formal air—all but Viscount Winslow. Darcy continued to call as well, his friendship a boon amongst all the posturing and false modesty sheencountered. They managed semi-private conversations every time, and with each meeting, she felt she knew him a little better.
In the weeks following the gathering at Hertford House, Elizabeth and Darcy encountered one another frequently at fashionable events—assemblies, musicales, and small evening parties arranged by Lady Hertford. Their interactions were never private. A watchful eye was always near, a conversation drifting too close, a chaperone’s timely cough or a hostess’s intervention.
Yet familiarity grew in the margins: a glance held a moment too long across a crowded room, a brief exchange during a dance, a quiet conversation interrupted just as it threatened to deepen.
Elizabeth soon became aware there was a competition for her favor. The presence of Mr. Darcy and Lord Winslow was unmistakably deliberate.
Lord Winslow offered what Darcy could not easily rival: unquestioned rank, political usefulness, and the unmistakable stamp of royal approval. His attentions were not ungentlemanly, but they were purposeful in a way that left her little room to breathe.
He could not love her. She was a prize to be won—and she knew it.
Darcy, by contrast, surprised her.
Freed from the defensiveness that had once marked their acquaintance, he revealed a quieter attentiveness. He listened rather than lectured. While others spoke at her, Darcy spoke with her, as though her thoughts were not merely tolerated but sought.
His concern for her comfort was never conspicuous, yet she noticed how he positioned himself when conversation grew crowded or redirected discourse when it veered toward speculation. Most striking of all was his respect for herautonomy. He neither pressed nor presumed, and in a season filled with subtle coercion, that restraint stood out.
Elizabeth also became aware—more keenly than she wished—of his unease when others claimed her attention. He did not sulk or attempt to dominate the room. Instead there was a quiet tension about him, a tightening of the jaw, a watchfulness in his gaze that betrayed feeling he made no effort to conceal.
It was not jealousy alone she saw there, but apprehension.
