“The horses are very well-trained,” Sir Weston said. “They have a bay in the current spectacle that can march in perfect time to the drums. Very steady. He doesn’t shy away from the crowds.”
Elizabeth caught Allegra’s eye across the tea tray. Her mouth was a razor-thin line, but her eyes were positively waltzing.
“A virtue in a horse,” Elizabeth said, her voice dry. “And, I imagine, in a husband.”
Lady Prideaux let out a sharp, brittle laugh. “Is she not charming, Weston? Such a quick wit. It is a rare gift, Miss Bennet, though one must be careful not to sharpen it too often—it can be so fatiguing for the gentlemen.”
“I shall keep my whetstone out of sight, then,” Elizabeth murmured.
Lady Sophia intervened with the effortless grace of a master fencer, steering the conversation toward the Matlocks and the upcoming opera, leaving Sir Weston to subside into a state of quiet, handsome bewilderment.
When the door finally closed behind the purple silks, the room seemed to exhale.
“You survived,” Allegra whispered, leaning close as she reached for a cold lemon cake. “Though I fear Sir Weston may need a nap after such an exhausting display of oratory.”
“Is it always like this?” Elizabeth asked, her shoulders finally dropping. “Am I to be interrogated about my health and my reaction to the weather by every man with a stable and a mother?”
“It is worse,” Allegra warned, her eyes dancing. “Sir Weston is merely the advance guard sent to test the fortifications. You are new, you are wealthy, and you are currently the most interesting ledger in the West End. In a fortnight, the street will be choked with carriages of every mother whose son has more debt than sense.”
“How reassuring.” Elizabeth fortified herself with a sip of tea that was no longer quite hot. “Then I shall have to ensure my wit is as sharp as Lady Prideaux fears.”
As if affirming her mistress, Nettle crawled out from beneath the sofa and gave a low, growling bark of approval before settling back onto Elizabeth’s foot.
“I survived seven Seasons of it; you will manage.” Something beneath Allegra’s lightness—a glimmer of past battle scars—gave the words weight. “The trick is to appear flattered while revealing absolutely nothing. I learned that from Godmama.”
“Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst,” Mrs. Alford announced, startling Elizabeth.
She carefully set her teacup on the saucer and stiffened her posture without a reminder from her mother.
Caroline Bingley swept into the drawing room in canary yellow silk—a color intended to command the sun itself. Her warmth was as manufactured as Elizabeth remembered from Netherfield—the bright smile, the effusive greeting, and the invisible calculation behind every syllable. Louisa Hurst followed placidly in her sister’s wake.
“Miss Elizabeth! What a delightful surprise. We heard of your extraordinary good fortune and simply had to call.” Caroline clasped Elizabeth’s hands with a pressure that suggested a lifelong intimacy she had never once practiced. “What a charming house. So tastefully appointed. And Mayfair! How very… convenient for you.”
“Miss Bingley. Mrs. Hurst. How kind of you to call.” Elizabeth retrieved her hands. “May I introduce you to Lady Sophia Mottistone, my godmother, and Miss Allegra Courtenay?”
Caroline’s curtsy to Lady Sophia carried the extra depth she reserved for women of rank, and her glance at Allegra performed the swift, ruthless feminine assessment that appraised gown, jewels, posture, and threat level in under two seconds. Allegra returned it with a smile so serene and so effortless that Caroline’s smile stiffened. It was the look of a woman who was born to the room, facing a woman who had merely bought her way into it.
“Lady Sophia,” Caroline gushed as the tea service was renewed. “We have heard so much of your exquisite taste. To think that our dear Elizabeth has been under your wing all this time! We were just saying, were we not, Louisa? That Elizabeth always had a certain…potentialthat the country could not quite contain.”
“Potential is such a versatile word, Miss Bingley,” Lady Sophia remarked. “One uses it for both a promising colt and a half-finished building. I find Elizabeth is neither. She is quite complete as she is.”
“Oh, indeed, and we have been so eager to renew our acquaintance.” Caroline’s laugh was like the tinkling of cheap glass. “Hertfordshire seems an age ago, does it not? How different your circumstances are now. I confess, I hardly know what to say.”
“How unusual for you, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “You have always struck me as a woman of considerable resources in conversation.”
Allegra’s gaze sharpened. “Perhaps Miss Bingley finds it difficult when faced with such dramatic surroundings. Although I find Elizabeth blends in with Mayfair as if she were born to it.”
“You are too kind,” Caroline effused, acting oblivious to the cut. “Charles was so pleased to hear of your good fortune. He has spoken of you and your family with such warmth. Such particular warmth.”
“Has he indeed. And where is Mr. Bingley at present?”
“Oh, he is in the north. Business. So tedious. But he often speaks of Hertfordshire, and of the charming society he encountered there.” Caroline’s tone held affection Elizabeth had never heard before. “He mentionsyourname particularly, Miss Elizabeth. I believe he found your conversation most stimulating.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea and saw straight through Caroline’s ploy. She was dangling Charles as bait—implying his interest in her, not Jane—either to ingratiate herself into Elizabeth’s new circle or to steer Elizabeth away from a certain other gentleman whose ten thousand a year Caroline still coveted.
“I am surprised to hear he is so occupied with trade,” Lady Sophia remarked, her voice cutting through the room with the effortless authority of a duke’s daughter. “I was under the impression Mr. Bingley was looking for an estate of his own. Has he abandoned the desire to be a gentleman of the soil for the comforts of the counting-house?”
Caroline blinked, caught between her desire to boast of wealth and her need to appear aristocratic. “Oh, no, Lady Sophia. It is merely… a sojourn at a friend’s country estate. He is always happy in the country, calling often on Miss Bennet’s family at Longbourn.”
