“Very good, Elizabeth.”
At the sound of Lady Matlock’s approval, she inclined her head politely. Behind her, William made a small, strangled sound which she suspected was an effort to stifle a chuckle. She turned and met his gaze with a wry look.
“Thank you, Aunt Matlock.”
Her lips curved into a smile, her restraint keeping her from further comment.
Lady Matlock harrumphed at their shared amusement and swept towards the door, clearly intent upon departing in haste. Elizabeth had taken no more than two steps when William caught her hand and drew her back. The kiss he pressed toher lips was brief but entirely deliberate, offered without the slightest regard for his aunt’s presence or that of any servants, in the entry.
“I shall miss you, dearest,” he murmured against her temple.
“And I you.” She lifted her gloved hand to his cheek, her touch lingering a fraction longer than prudence required.
Another pointed sound from Lady Matlock prompted their reluctant separation. Elizabeth followed her aunt towards the waiting carriage while William retreated towards his study. He had declared his intention of attending to neglected business during her absence, yet she knew him well enough by now to recognise that the separation displeased him nearly as much as it did her.
“You have been alone for ten days,” Lady Matlock observed, lowering her voice as they stepped outside. “It will not harm you to be apart long enough for our trip to the modiste.”
Though her tone suggested admonishment, Elizabeth detected unmistakable satisfaction in her expression. “I am delighted that, thus far, nothing is known of your marriage. The reaction at my ball shall be most intriguing. I am certain the event will be spoken of for months, if not years, as the greatest surprise in recent memory.”
“William will be thrilled with the attention,” Elizabeth returned drily as she entered the carriage.
Within, she greeted Georgiana warmly, and before long they arrived at the modiste’s establishment. It was early, and few among thetonhad yet ventured out, precisely as Lady Matlock intended. They were admitted at once and conducted to a private room, where offers of refreshment were briskly declined.
Moments later,Madameentered with an assistant close behind her, bearing over her arm a gown of peacock blue silk. Elizabeth’s measurements had been sent to the shop prior to the wedding, and the gown requested to be completed by this date; it required only fitting before it would be ready.
Even in the subdued morning light, the colour possessed depth and quiet brilliance, the silk falling in graceful lines that promised elegance without ostentation. As Madame lifted the fabric, the faint sheen revealed subtle silver embroidery along the hem and sleeves—restrained, yet unmistakably deliberate.
“There is a set of diamonds, mounted in silver, that belongs to the Darcy family,” Lady Matlock observed, examining the workmanship with deliberate care. “The rivière will sit most becomingly at your throat. The stones will provide all the light required.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in acknowledgement, her gaze lingering upon the silk. She could not help but imagine how the colour would appear in candlelight, nor how William’s expression might alter when he first beheld her in it. The thought sent a warmth through her that had little to do with fashion, but reminded her of how she had been occupying her time since arriving in London.
“They will harmonise perfectly with the slippers we have ordered,” her aunt continued. “Silver silk, with modest rosettes. They were commissioned some days ago.”
Elizabeth had not been consulted in the matter of her gown or its accoutrements; she suspected such consultation would have altered very little. These decisions had all been made since her wedding, but she found she did not care.
“We must call upon the cordwainer next to ensure the fit, and then we shall stop at the glover. Your gloves must be beyond reproach.”
“And ivory kid,” Lady Matlock added decisively after a moment of apparent reflection. “White is too severe in candlelight.”
Elizabeth had scarcely a moment to reply before she was ushered into the adjoining room to try on the gown. The fit proved nearly perfect, requiring only the slightest adjustments.
“Send it to Matlock House tomorrow,” Lady Matlock directed, without turning from her inspection of the hem.
Stepping down carefully from the platform, Elizabeth remained still whileMadameand her assistant marked the final alterations, chiefly at the hem and along the sleeves. Within moments, the gown was lifted away and borne from the room, one assistant lingering behind to help her dress once more.
As she resumed her own attire, she considered the next occasion upon which she would wear that silk. She would stand before theton, or at least those whom the countess deemed worthy of inclusion, openly acknowledged as Mrs Darcy. The prospect did not intimidate her; on the contrary, it stirred a quiet satisfaction.
Whatever surprise Lady Matlock anticipated in the announcement, Elizabeth felt no apprehension. She looked forward to meeting these people, some who might become friends, others who certainly would not, and she could already imagine the rumours that would circulate upon their arrival.
She was of their world, even if she was unfamiliar within it. As the granddaughter of an earl, and more importantly as Mrs Darcy, she did not question her position. She belonged there and intended to assume it with calm assurance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The evening of the ball arrived at last. In accordance with Lady Matlock’s carefully contrived plan, Elizabeth and William dressed at Matlock House, so that they might not be observed arriving together from Darcy House. The element of surprise was to be preserved until the precise moment Lady Matlock chose to reveal it.
Even here, the countess had sought drama. She insisted they dress in separate rooms, that William might not see Elizabeth until she was fully prepared. Just as the final diamond pin was secured in her hair, the door opened.
“Elizabeth,” he called, no longer willing to wait.
