Page 129 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“I rather hoped to absent myself from the entire thing.”

“Of course you did.”

“Pemberley in January is very fine,” Fitzwilliam said, his words just a bit too eager. “Cold, so we may sit by the fire together. My uncle and cousins are in town, and my mother and Georgiana have their own house.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that reminded her of his cousin the colonel. “We are entirely redundant.”

“Pemberley will be warmer in April.”

“You are missing my point.”

“I am not. We shall be alone here in London too, now that your sister is living with your mother. And you are happily wed, which keeps us off her invitation list for everything but family dinners.” Elizabeth patted his arm. “Your mother has waited years for this evening. So tonight, you will be gracious.” She put her hand flat against his chest, briefly, when nobody could see it. “And afterward, I shall allow you to complain in the carriage all the way home.”

His mouth moved up at the corners. “That is a poor bargain.”

She lifted herself on the tips of her toes and whispered, “It is not the only one on offer.”

Lady Anne met them at the bottom of the stairs. “You are late,” she said. “The Gardiners are already here.”

“Please accept our apologies,” Elizabeth said. She offered no explanation for their delay, for the truth was that her husband had seen her in her new gown and had then wished to see her out of it. She was sorry to be late but could not regret the cause.

Fortunately, Lady Anne was not at all curious about the delays of married couples.

“Good evening, Mother.”

“Fitzwilliam.” She kissed his cheek. “Elizabeth. Come and look at what I have done with the house.”

What Lady Anne had done with the house was considerable, even in the fortnight since Elizabeth had last called.

“The dining room chimney smoked, as you recall,” Lady Anne said. “We had to take down half the stack to discover why. You may guess what was in it.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “A bird’s nest?”

“A jackdaw’s nest, according to Mr. Prior, and two feet of fallen brick besides.”

Fitzwilliam frowned. He had wanted the structural repairs seen to himself and had offered to pay for them. His mother had refused.

“And the chimneys now?” he inquired in a serious voice.

“Altered upon Count Rumford’s principles,” Lady Anne said. “Every one of them is now quite new. You should consider doing the same.” She stopped and put her hand upon a bell pull, which she did not ring. “Do you know that not one of these worked until December?”

They did know. She had told them.

“For six weeks I could not call a servant from any room I stood in. I was reduced to walking down to the kitchen myself.” She chuckled. “I sent Cook into a terrible panic, poor woman.”

She led them to the back wall where four long windows overlooked the garden. Or they would when it was daylight and one could see it.

“Your great-uncle had these bricked up to lessen his assessment. I have opened all four. The tax is a scandal, but I must have light.” She frowned then, and Elizabeth marvelled, as she always did, at how much her husband’s mannerisms resembled his mother. “I do not like it. Light ought to be free. I have written several letters to the Gazette about it.”

Elizabeth had read them aloud over breakfast. They were very good letters, and Fitzwilliam had been quietly proud.

They were next shown the supper room, where a long table had been laid with sandwiches, sliced cold meats, jellies, preserved fruits, rout cakes, and small pastries. Early guests were already helping themselves or accepting plates from the servants stationed behind it, then standing in agreeable groups or carrying their refreshments into the adjoining room.

“As you know,” Lady Anne said, leading them across the passage to where the principal drawing rooms had been opened into one another, their carpets taken up and much of the furniture removed, “the pianoforte has been set up and tuned since last week. It is a beautiful and thoughtful gift, and we could not be more appreciative.”

The pianoforte had been Fitzwilliam’s idea. They had spent many happy hours together on this surprise for Georgiana. They had written to musicians, discussed the letters, and come to town early for the express purpose of selecting an instrument. They had settled at last upon a Clementi for the clarity of its tone.

Mary was standing beside the instrument with Georgiana. A few months in Gracechurch Street had done a great deal for Elizabeth’s younger sister. Her hair had been dressed properly, and her gown was both modest and becoming.

“Lizzy,” Georgiana said. “Good evening.” She took Elizabeth’s hand and leaned in. “There are to be two hundred people here tonight.”