Page 9 of The Earl’s Second Chance

The family’s mourning ended in February. Black softened to grey, then lavender. Invitations accumulated at Grosvenor Square. Modistes were engaged. Jewellers opened old family cases and reset stones for younger women.

On the last night before they left Herfershire Hall for the Season, Lord and Lady Herfershire stood in the gallery while their daughters descended the staircase.

Jane wore pearl-grey silk, Elizabeth deep violet, Mary blue, and Kitty rose. Their training had not made them less themselves. It had made each more distinctly herself.

Fanny slipped her hand into her husband’s.

“Do you remember the assembly at Meryton?” she whispered.

“With painful clarity.”

“I shouted across the room.”

“You did.”

“Will you be ashamed of me in London?”

Thomas turned to her. “I was ashamed of you when I ought often to have been ashamed of myself. I will tell you privately if your conduct alarms a duchess. I will not make you small for my amusement.”

She pressed her lips together.

“And if I become foolish?”

“Then I shall love you foolish.”

“That is not grammar.”

“I am an earl. Grammar must accommodate me.”

Her laughter followed their daughters down the stairs.

CHAPTER SIX

Bond Street

Grosvenor Square received the Bennets beneath a cold March sun.

Their house stood directly opposite the London residence of the Earl of Matlock: white stone, black railings, polished brass, and windows behind which an observant person might detect a great many curtains moving.

Mrs. Gardiner came for the first week and accompanied her sister to Bond Street. The expedition required two carriages, Lady Susan, Jane, Elizabeth, Kitty, Mary, a lady’s maid, and more patience than Lord Herfershire possessed.

“I should rather debate three bishops,” he said from the steps.

Lady Herfershire adjusted his cravat with an affectionate hand. “Then go do so. We shall spend your money.”

“At last, a parliamentary policy I understand.”

Inside Madame Lavalle’s establishment, bolts of silk covered every surface. Mourning had delayed fashion, and Fanny now approached wardrobes with determination rather than desperation. She listened when the modiste recommended restraint. She considered her daughters’ complexions instead of selecting the brightest cloth.

Jane chose a pale green silk embroidered with seed pearls and a cream satin for court. Elizabeth preferred deep blue, amber, and a dark red that made her eyes brilliant. Mary’s gowns were elegant but quiet. Kitty selected soft blues and dusky rose, then asked whether a pocket could be hidden inside a walking dress for charcoal pencils.

“A pocket?” Madame Lavalle repeated, as if asked to sew in a stable.

“Two,” Kitty said firmly.

Elizabeth kissed her cheek.

They had just emerged from the shop when Caroline Bingley swept toward them with Mrs. Hurst.