“How very generous, Mr. Darcy,” she said in a parched tone. “I wasn’t aware that this, too, would be part of your duties.”
She turned away, leaving him to the silence of the garden. Darcy watched her go, a slow, dazed warmth spreading through his chest. He had told himself that his role was professional, to be performed with detached competency. But as he stood there, he realized with a sinking heart that he was quite simply a man completely at her mercy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ADVANCED CALLING
“The card is lefton the salver,” Lady Sophia said, placing a rectangle of cream-colored paper on the silver tray beside the front door with the reverence of a vicar handling the sacrament. “Corner turned down indicates the caller came in person rather than sending a servant. Two corners means she is calling on behalf of herself and her husband. The upper right corner—pay attention, Elizabeth, this is critical—indicates a congratulatory visit. The lower left, a condolence.”
“And if all four corners are turned down?”
“Then the woman has confused her calling card with a napkin and should not be admitted.”
Elizabeth studied the salver, which already held seven cards from callers who had arrived during the past week—each one a declaration of intent that required—Lady Sophia had been very clear on this point—a reciprocal visit within three days or the omission would be noted, discussed, and interpreted as a deliberate slight.
“Three days,” Elizabeth repeated. “For each card?”
“For each card. You may combine calls if the addresses are near one another—efficiency is not merely permitted, it is expected. A morning of calls typically involves four to six visitsof fifteen to twenty minutes each, conducted between one and three o’clock, at which point you return home, change your dress, and prepare for whatever evening engagement has been arranged.”
“I have three dresses, Lady Sophia.”
“Yes. We shall address that presently.” Lady Sophia picked up the first card with the delicacy of a woman handling evidence. “Lady Prideaux. Her son, Sir Weston, is twenty-six, recently come into his title, and possesses the conversational range of a moderately well-trained spaniel. She will inquire about your fortune with questions disguised as compliments. You will answer none of them.”
“And if she speaks plainly?”
“She will not. Directness is a privilege reserved for women of my age and rank. Women of Lady Prideaux’s station communicate through implication, and you must learn to hear what is not being said.” Lady Sophia set the card down. “I expect several callers this morning. Amongst them will be my grandniece, Miss Allegra Courtenay. She has been in Bath and has only just returned to town.”
“Your grandniece?”
“My late sister’s grandchild. Her father was Sir Anthony Courtenay of Devon. He died when Allegra was quite young, and her stepmother has raised her admirably, though I flatter myself, as her godmother, that I have contributed to her education in the ways that matter most.” Lady Sophia’s voice carried a warmth Elizabeth had not heard her apply to anyone else. “She is four-and-twenty, accomplished, and kind. She knows London better than most people twice her age, and she has been a great comfort to me over the years.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
“I am glad, because I have a favor to ask.” Lady Sophia adjusted the cards on the salver. “These old bones are notequal to Bond Street. I cannot take you and your sisters to the modistes, or to Gerrard’s for ices, or promenading in Hyde Park, or to any of the hundred places you will need to go to equip yourselves for the Season. I therefore impose upon Allegra to take you under her wing. She would be an excellent guide. She knows every dressmaker in London and has impeccable taste. I should feel considerably more at ease knowing the three of you were in her company rather than navigating alone.”
“That is a great deal to ask of her.”
“Allegra has a generous heart. She will enjoy shepherding three lambs from the countryside admirably.” Lady Sophia looked bemused that Elizabeth should suppose her grandniece would consider shopping too much of a chore. “You will get on, I think. She has something of your quickness, though she expresses it differently.”
With impeccable timing, Mrs. Alford announced. “Miss Courtenay, my lady.”
Allegra Courtenay entered Number 33 the way sunlight enters a room—naturally, without effort. She was tall, fair-haired, dressed in a walking costume of dove gray that made Elizabeth’s sprigged muslin look like something retrieved from the bottom of a trunk in a Hertfordshire attic, which it was.
“Godmama.” She kissed Lady Sophia’s cheek, and Lady Sophia’s hand came up to touch her grand niece’s face with a tenderness that spoke of years.
“My dear. How was Bath?”
“Tedious. The waters were foul, the company was worse, and Lady Pennycuick’s daughter performed the same sonata at three consecutive assemblies without improving it in the slightest.” Allegra turned to Elizabeth, and her smile was gracious. “And you must be Miss Bennet. Godmama has written to me about you with an enthusiasm I have rarely seen her commit to paper.”
“I hope the reality is not too disappointing after the advertisement,” Elizabeth said.
“On the contrary. She described your wit, and I see it is not exaggerated.” Allegra took a seat. “How do you find Mayfair?”
“Astonishing. I keep expecting someone to tap me on the shoulder and explain there has been a terrible misunderstanding.”
Allegra laughed—musical and genuine. “I felt the same when I came here as a girl. I spent the entire afternoon convinced the footman would ask me to leave. The library was what won me over. Have you seen it?”
“I have, and I may never leave it.”
