Elizabeth's Good Fortune
Chapter 1 Elizabeth
Istand before De Bourgh House, my small trunk already whisked away by a footman whose name I have yet to learn, and find myself seized by an uncomfortable awareness of my own insignificance. The house—nay, mansion—towers above me, its Georgian splendor making Longbourn appear a mere cottage in comparison. The windows, reaching from floor to ceiling on each of its four stories, gleam in the weak London sunshine, and I cannot help but count them: twelve across on each level, their symmetry speaking to a precision I suspect I shall find echoed in every aspect of life within these walls.
My father’s words echo in my memory: “My Lizzy, are you certain you wish to take this position? You need not leave home.”
But I did need to leave, though I could scarcely explain it to him. After Jane’s marriage to Mr. Bingley and their removal to the North, Longbourn had grown stifling, my mother’s nerves more pronounced than ever, and my younger sisters’ behavior increasingly mortifying. When my mother heard that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was seeking a companion for her daughter during the season in London, it seemed Providence itself had provided an escape.
The morning of my departure still weighs heavy in my mind: Kitty and Lydia barely stirring from their beds to bid me farewell, Mary offering a few words on the virtues of honest labor, and my mother alternating between lamentations over my lowering myself to take a position and pride that her daughter should be employed by such an esteemed personage as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Only my father’s quiet “Remember who you are, my Lizzy”
gave me the strength I needed to step into the hired carriage.
Now, as a uniformed butler opens the massive front door, I straighten my spine and lift my chin. I may be entering this house as a paid companion rather than a guest, but I am still a gentleman’s daughter, and I shall comport myself with dignity. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,”
I announce, my voice steady despite the flutter in my stomach. “I believe I am expected.”
Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper, appears almost immediately, her iron-gray hair and austere black dress lending her an air of authority that brooks no argument. “You are punctual, Miss Bennet,”
she says, and though her words are merely factual, I sense approval in them. “That will serve you well here. Lady Catherine insists upon strict adherence to schedules.”
As she leads me through the house, I struggle to maintain my composure in the face of such overwhelming grandeur. The entrance hall alone contains more wealth than all of Longbourn, with its marble floors and gilded mirrors reflecting the light from crystal chandeliers. Mrs. Jenkins maintains a running commentary as we proceed, her voice carrying the weight of someone who has seen decades of service. “The blue morning room is reserved for Lady Catherine’s personal use. Miss de Bourgh takes her breakfast in the small dining room at precisely eight o’clock. You will be expected to join her. The large dining room is used only for formal occasions. The music room—Miss de Bourgh no longer plays, but Lady Catherine insists the pianoforte be kept in perfect tune...”
Each doorway we pass reveals another scene of elegance. There are drawing rooms with silk-covered walls, a library whose shelves reach to the ceiling, and parlors furnished in what I imagine must be latest London fashion. The paintings alone must be worth a king’s ransom, looming from every wall panel with their heavy gilt frames. I find myself creating a mental map, knowing how essential it will be to master the geography of this place that is to be my home for the foreseeable future.
Mrs. Jenkins’ litany of rules continues as we ascend the grand staircase. “The third floor is strictly for family and guests of appropriate rank. The servants’ stairs are located at the back of the house. You, Miss Bennet, as companion, may use the main stairs when accompanying Miss de Bourgh, but otherwise...”
She leaves the sentence hanging, but her meaning is clear enough. I am neither fish nor fowl in this household—above the servants but below the family. It shall require all my wit to navigate these waters successfully.
The first sight of my new charge nearly stops me in my tracks, though I manage to maintain my composure. Miss Anne de Bourgh sits in a richly upholstered chair by the window of her private sitting room, her slight frame nearly swallowed by the fabric. She is pale—paler even than I expected from Lady Catherine’s letters—but as I enter, she turns to face me, and I see an alertness in her eyes that takes me by surprise.
“Miss Bennet,”
she says, her voice soft but clear. “I hope Mrs. Jenkins has not overwhelmed you with too many rules and regulations all at once.”
There is a hint of humor in her tone that I would never have expected from Lady Catherine’s daughter, and I find myself warming to her immediately.
“Not at all, Miss de Bourgh,”
I reply, though in truth my head is spinning with the multitude of instructions I have received. “I have an excellent memory for detail.”
This draws a smile from her—a real smile that transforms her face from merely pleasant to genuinely pretty.
The room itself reflects its occupant in ways I find intriguing. While the furniture is as fine as any I have seen thus far, there are personal touches that speak of a private nature at odds with Lady Catherine’s overwhelming presence. There is a small writing desk with well-used items arranged just so, a shelf of books that show signs of frequent handling rather than mere display, and a delicate watercolor of what I recognize as Rosings Park hanging in a simple frame. Most telling of all is the embroidery hoop resting on a side table, the work within showing far more creativity than the standard flowers and birds young ladies are expected to produce.
“You are examining my sanctum, Miss Bennet,”
Anne observes, and I detect no censure in her voice. “What do you make of it?”
My conversation with Miss de Bourgh is interrupted by the sound of quick, purposeful footsteps in the hallway. I notice immediately how Anne’s posture changes—straightening yet somehow diminishing at the same time—before Lady Catherine sweeps into the room like a galleon under full sail. Her ladyship is dressed in rich purple silk, and her cap is adorned with ostrich feathers that bob with each decisive movement of her head.
“So, Miss Bennet, you have arrived.”
Lady Catherine fixes me with a penetrating stare that I suspect is meant to remind me of my place in her household. “I trust Mrs. Jenkins has made clear the expectations we have of our companions? We have been most fortunate in securing someone of your... connections... for Anne.”
The pause before “connections”
speaks volumes, and I feel my chin lift slightly in response. “Indeed, your ladyship. Mrs. Jenkins has been most thorough in her explanations.”
“Good. Now then, tell me, what experience have you in the management of a young lady’s schedule? I require complete attention to Anne’s needs. Her constitution, you understand, is delicate.”
Lady Catherine settles herself in the largest chair in the room, arranging her skirts with practiced precision. “I must know everything about your qualifications. Your father is a gentleman, I understand, though your mother’s family...”
She lets the sentence hang meaningfully in the air.
I stand my ground, keeping my voice level despite the flush I can feel rising in my cheeks. “My education has been comprehensive, your ladyship, including music, French, and Italian. I have assisted in the education of my younger sisters and have always taken an active role in managing our household affairs.”
What follows is an interrogation worthy of the most zealous magistrate, covering everything from my knowledge of proper letter-writing to my ability to read aloud “in a manner that will not aggravate Anne’s nerves.”
Throughout it all, I catch occasional glimpses of Anne’s face, which shows a mixture of resignation and—unless I am mistaken—amusement.
After what feels like hours but must have been only thirty minutes, Lady Catherine finally deems the interview complete and directs Mrs. Jenkins to show me to my quarters. We climb to the fourth floor, where the housekeeper unlocks a door that opens into a surprisingly generous suite of rooms. The sitting room is furnished in shades of green and cream, with windows overlooking the garden behind the house. A door to the left leads to a modestly sized but well-appointed bedchamber, while another door opens into what Mrs. Jenkins informs me is a private staircase connecting to Miss de Bourgh’s apartments.
“This arrangement allows you to be available to Miss Anne at any hour,”
Mrs. Jenkins explains, demonstrating the bell pull that connects directly to Anne’s room. “Her previous companion found it most convenient.”
The housekeeper pauses, then adds in a lower voice, “Though I should mention that Lady Catherine has been known to check these rooms personally when she feels the need to ensure all is in order.”
I survey the rooms with mixed feelings. The furnishings are far more luxurious than anything I have known at Longbourn, yet the knowledge that my private space might be invaded at any moment by Lady Catherine casts a shadow over their elegance. Still, the view from the windows is charming, and I can already envision myself reading in the window seat during what free time I might have.
At last, I am left alone to unpack my modest belongings and collect my thoughts. My small trunk looks almost apologetic sitting beside the magnificent mahogany wardrobe, but I refuse to let that intimidate me. Instead, I busy myself with arranging my few possessions. My books go on the shelf, dresses in the wardrobe, and my mother’s old writing desk is set upon the small table by the window.
As I work, I find my mind returning to the contrasts I have observed in this household. Lady Catherine’s overwhelming personality seems to fill every corner of the house, yet in Anne’s sitting room, I detected a different atmosphere entirely. There is more to my young charge than her mother’s description of a sickly, docile creature would suggest. The spark of intelligence I glimpsed in her eyes, the subtle humor in her manner—these hint at depths that Lady Catherine either cannot or will not see.
The sound of carriage wheels on the street below draws me to the window, and I watch as a handsome curricle passes by, its occupant a well-dressed gentleman whose bearing speaks of both wealth and good breeding. This, I remind myself, is London, where such sights will become commonplace. Yet I cannot help but wonder what other surprises await me in this new chapter of my life. Jane would tell me to look for the best in everyone and every situation, while my father would advise me to find amusement where I can.
I am determined to do both, though I suspect it will require all my wit and patience to navigate the complexities of my position in this household. At least, I think with a small smile, I shall not want for entertainment in observing Lady Catherine’s magnificent ability to direct everyone’s lives but her own.?