She departed with a lingering smile—the beginning of something he dared not name.
Nettle woke from her position on the rug, stretched with the full-body satisfaction of a terrier who had slept through an entire revolution in human affairs, and dropped the leather ball at his feet.
He picked it up. Threw it down the corridor. Listened to the small paws on marble that sounded, strangely, like applause.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FOR A COUNTRY GIRL
“Do not gasp, Miss Bennet,”Madame Delacroix instructed, circling the fitting platform with the scrutiny of a sculptor assessing marble. “The bodice is cut to flatter at natural respiration. You are being dressed, not rescued from the sea.”
The finest silk sliding across Elizabeth’s shoulders did little to ease the persistent fluttering in her chest as the Harewood ball approached. Mr. Darcy was improving on her, but now, suspended on the modiste’s fitting platform, she once again began to doubt her standing.
“I have never worn such soft silk before,” Elizabeth said, and watched the admission produce no effect whatsoever on a woman who had dressed duchesses and found their posture wanting. The bigger question wasn’t the silk or the beautiful fabric threaded with gold, but whether the woman beneath the finery was worth not only forgiving, but pursuing—again.
“Oh, the silk is entirely Madame’s victory,” Allegra said from her post near the velvet settee, her sharp eyes mapping the drape of the gold-threaded hem with professional detachment. “But do not let it make you meek, Elizabeth. London is full of very well-dressed simpletons. The ivory merely ensures that when youdeliver a set-down, the gentlemen look at your collarbone while they bleed.”
“I do not think she intends to deliver any set-downs on Saturday, Miss Allegra,” Georgiana countered. “You see, my brother has secured the supper dance, as his role of trustee demands. A placeholder, he professes, until a more suitable gentleman can be entrusted with our Hertfordshire jewel.”
And this was exactly the doubt that threaded through Elizabeth’s nightly awakenings. Hadn’t she granted him for the supper set, not as a placeholder, but with the condition that he dance and enjoy it? Then why had it been conveyed to Lady Sophia and the rest of the household as a duty?
“Turn, please.” Madame was utterly unconcerned with a debutante’s nerves. Her gaze flowed with the silk, which moved with Elizabeth, shimmering and catching the light, liquid and entrancing.
“Again, the other direction,” Madame Delacroix instructed. “Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”
She turned again, slower now, watching the silk catch the light and wondering if it could distract anyone from the uncertainty in her eyes.
Would it be magical enough to catch Mr. Darcy’s eye? To turn a man from rigid, starched duty to passion? Or had all of it—every spark of that fierce, desperate affection he had offered—died the moment she refused him?
“Stand straighter, Miss,” Madame Delacroix said. “Chin up, and bosom out. I am aware that the cut is lower than what you are used to, but this is London, not the moors. The bosom is exposed as much as possible, and the back as well. You have such a fine, even complexion, and it behooves you to show it.”
Elizabeth inhaled and lifted her chin, wondering if this was how princesses felt. The ivory bodice clung to a fuller, more generous curve of hip and breast than was ever permitted byher country dressmaker, who usually bunched muslin up to her collarbone like a hedge against temptation. What would Darcy, with his disapproving glares, believe about her? He, who had berated himself for not counseling his sister, who was, at this moment, thoroughly enjoying her display.
“Miss Elizabeth, when I am presented to the court,” Georgiana said. “I shall wear a dress even more scandalous, without shoulder straps, so that the whole of my figure would be exposed.”
From behind the partition, the soft, hesitant rustle of silk suggested that Jane was suffering a far more acute crisis of modesty.
“Madame, please,” Jane’s sweet voice pleaded softly, accompanied by the frantic snipping of pins. “Perhaps another row of lace? Just at the center? It feels… rather too light.”
“No lace, Miss Bennet,” Madame Delacroix shouted back with the absolute tyranny of her trade. “The pale blue requires the clean line of the throat. Do not slouch to hide yourself, or I shall add bones to the stays until you cannot sit down.”
Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye in the mirror, and the young lady was biting her lip to suppress a laugh.
The threats seemed to work on Jane, as she nodded mutely, her bravery evident as she ventured out despite the unrelenting gossip. Aunt Gardiner had spoken to Jane with a candor that left no room for vanity.
A man who has been once unseated by his family’s noise, Jane, requires a double portion of a woman’s constancy to find his stirrups again,her aunt had argued.If you close your doors and look away because some wretched scribbler hints you are a fortune hunter, Charles will only see your retreat as a confirmation that you do not care. It takes a great deal of courage for a man who has once doubted your affection to step forward. You must stand your ground.
And hence, Jane was standing her ground, even inside the modiste’s shop.
“Do not let Madame intimidate you, Elizabeth,” Allegra said, mistaking her silence for lack of courage. “Jane will look like an angel who has accidentally misplaced her cloud, which is exactly what Charles Bingley requires to shake him out of his lethargy. But you—you look dangerous. And in Mayfair, my dear, dangerous is infinitely superior to modest.”
“Now, Miss Bennet, come out and stand on the platform,” Madame Delacroix commanded Jane. “I need you to turn a full circle. The skirts must flutter just so…”
Elizabeth surrendered the platform to Jane, who emerged in blue silk the color of a Hertfordshire sky before sunrise—cold, clear, and impossibly lovely. The pleats at her bodice curved like seashells, showing off collarbones and a throat that needed no lace to improve upon nature.
Jane turned, hesitant at first, and the skirt unspooled around her like mist curling over river stones. The hem, weighted and clever, made the silk float and whisper with every step—a sound that seemed to hush the whole room.
“Beautiful,” Elizabeth murmured, her hands clasped as Allegra drew a breath by her side.
