Chapter 19
T he weather had slowly begun to cooperate, and the unceasing rains had reportedly moved to Scotland, where they rightfully belonged.
It had been a lovely warm morning some days after the Queen’s drawing room when a letter came for Georgiana.
We were sitting at breakfast, largely silent for having been out late again the previous night.
She was so seldom the recipient of a letter, my sister’s face lit with wonder as Stevens set a silver salver before her.
“It is from Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” she exclaimed.
I smiled indulgently at her surprise. “Did you think she would not write to you after such a long letter as you wrote to her last week?”
Forgetting to beg pardon for ignoring me, she set down her fork and broke the wax seal.
She read eagerly and in complete absorption, while all I could do was partake of her happiness by merely watching her face.
My heart, which ached constantly as it was, throbbed more painfully than ever. Would that I could read such a letter.
Though I was not a man to pry, I suddenly blurted out, “What has she to say? You look enthralled.”
“Yes, tell us,” Mrs Annesley said with an encouraging smile as she sipped her tea.
“Would you like me to-to read it to you?”
“If you do not, I shall be greatly disappointed,” Mrs Annesley said.
“But it dwells principally upon my presentation,” she said, glancing apologetically at me.
“You forget I was there,” I said a touch drily, “and in consequence, I am deeply invested in talk of court dresses and feathers.”
She blushed, and with some pleasure overriding her shyness of me, she began to read.
Dear Miss Darcy,
With what joy did I receive news you have been presented to the Queen and are now out in society.
I am all admiration, for you explained so well every detail, from the moment the central doors were thrown open, and Her Majesty arrived in the company of the princesses and every other notable.
You must have been quaking when the Lord Chamberlain waved his wand to begin.
I own, I would have been. Yet as daunting as that must have been, my greatest fear would have been a sudden urge to cough.
Do you know? If I am told I cannot cough, such as in church, my throat begins to tickle, and the urge becomes truly unbearable.
How you persevered, while also curtseying almost to the ground, I do not rightly know, and I am smiling to think of the relief you must have felt when the last of so many introductions were made.
Now, upon the behest of my mother and sisters, I must also remark upon the details of your dress.
Mama was shocked to hear that the fashion now is for the fabric of the petticoat to be of the same colour as the overdress.
She was slightly offended for her generation, which considered it the height of luxury to have a coloured velvet over a white or ivory petticoat.
Only your description of the silver and gold embroidery around the edge of your gown salvaged her feelings.
And then, when I described your colouring to her more completely, she was tearfully relieved, saying you must have looked like an angel in such a creation of ivory silk with silver leaves and golden roses.
She had much more to say with regard to your lappet, which she speculated was made of such fine lace as must spark envy with the ladies in waiting.
As I said I would be, I was forced to read your letter aloud three times in one day.
On the third recital, however, my father declared he could withstand no more and left in disgust, roaring he would not come out of his book-room until we had all recovered from our fever of drapery.
But we are none of us overawed by his miffs, because we know he must come out to eat eventually, and besides, we took such enjoyment from our so-called fever that we prolonged it through our intention to indulge it for as long as we could.
The next day, Kitty went to the table and attempted to draw what your court dress must have looked like, while Lydia sat beside her and assisted her with cries of ‘No, no, stupid! She must have had a more fashionable mantua’ and the like.
They enjoyed themselves immensely while asserting they each had a clearer picture than the other.
Meanwhile, my mother talked liberally of your presentation with her friends.
Most principally, she spoke of it with Lady Lucas, with whom she imagines a vicious rivalry.
Sir William and Lady Lucas’s daughter, you see, married our cousin, Mr Collins, upon whom Longbourn is entailed.
It will fall to their daughter, Charlotte, to be kind to us, you understand, if we are still at home when our cousin assumes ownership.
And though that is hard for her to swallow, Mama most resents those little glances and remarks from Lady Lucas that hint at such a time when her daughter will be mistress of our house.
But I digress, for what I really wanted to tell you is that Mama recited so many details of your presentation, Lady Lucas replied in a tone of irate jealousy that my mother was going on as though she had been there, which—she hotly declared—she had not!
Are you tired of our silliness? I hope not, because by way of introduction, I must also add that even my sister Jane, who is the only one of us with any qualities which would recommend us in the world, was quite taken.
She made a fair copy of your letter to read, she said, when the winter becomes oppressive and we have nothing to occupy ourselves.
My middle sister, Mary, meanwhile, who is not in love with the court or fashion, was interested to hear your impressions of the song played from the anteroom behind the throne.
She then searched through our musical scores to discover if we have ‘Ode for the New Year’, determined to learn it.
Thankfully—and most mysteriously—she somehow never found the music or the words.
Now, my friend, I must close or else miss the opportunity to see this letter posted before next week.
If it is not too much, I fear I must now ask you to continue to regale us with such news of balls and parties and of beaus and dancing and even, per the particular request of Kitty Bennet, describe to us what is served at supper.
Do you know? The name of ‘Miss Darcy’ has caused us so much joy. Bless you.
I was left somewhat at a loss for words.
How had she done it? How had she taken a simple letter of description and helped us to see my sister’s presentation retrospectively, and in such a light as to make the affair almost glorious?
Georgiana was left beaming, and I was left a little shattered, though I was not quite certain as to why.
In spite of this, however, I was eventually able to say, “Thank you, Georgie. Unlike Mr Bennet would have, I enjoyed that letter very much.”
She quickly finished eating and drank up her tea, asking if she might be excused for the morning so that she could write to her friend.