3. An Evening in Town
three
An Evening in Town
Thursday arrived sooner than Elizabeth expected. Mrs. Gardiner began the campaign directly after breakfast.
“You cannot wear the white muslin,” she said, standing before Elizabeth’s open wardrobe with the sober authority of a general inspecting insufficient troops.
Elizabeth, who had been writing a letter to Jane at the small desk by the window, lowered her pen. “I had not yet proposed the white muslin.”
“You were thinking of it.”
“I may have been thinking of my blue sprigged gown.”
“Which you wore to Mrs. Harris’s card party.”
“Then the lilac.”
Mrs. Gardiner shut the wardrobe door with decisive calm. “My dear, Mr. Darcy has invited us to dine at his house. You are not going to Darcy House looking as though you have dressed for an evening at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth twisted in her chair, amused despite herself. “I had not thought Longbourn a place of such disgrace.”
“Longbourn is not in disgrace. Your Hertfordshire gowns, however, are not all prepared for London scrutiny.”
“Is Mr. Darcy so severe a judge of gowns?”
“No,” her aunt replied, which somehow made the matter worse. “But his housekeeper, his servants, and any lady of his circle who hears of the dinner may be. Besides, I have long wished to see this gown worn by someone who will do it justice, and you are not to rob me of my pleasure.”
Elizabeth laid her pen aside. “This has less to do with Mr. Darcy than I had supposed.”
“Everything has to do with Mr. Darcy tonight,” Mrs. Gardiner said, crossing to the bell. “We shall pretend otherwise, of course.”
“Aunt!”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed and rang for her maid.
By the time the carriage was called that evening, Elizabeth had endured more attention to her appearance than she had considered strictly necessary for dining with a gentleman who already knew her capable of criticizing paintings in public.
Her aunt’s maid had worked with astonishing industry, arranging Elizabeth’s dark hair into a coiffure of loops and curls that left the nape of her neck feeling curiously exposed.
A narrow silver ribbon had been woven among the curls, so fine that it caught the candlelight when she moved.
The gown was ice blue silk overlaid with delicate silver embroidery, the bodice trimmed with lace so fine Elizabeth hardly dared breathe when it was fastened.
Intricate beading caught at the sleeves and hem, not enough to dazzle, but enough to remind her that she was in London and very far from the muddy paths of Hertfordshire.
When she stood before the glass, she did not see herself at first.
Or rather, she saw herself altered.
The same eyes.
The same mouth too inclined to amusement.
The same figure, though presented with far more consequence than usual.
Mrs. Gardiner came to stand behind her and adjusted one small curl near Elizabeth’s temple. “There. You look very well.”
“I look like a town lady.”
“You are a young lady in town.”
“For several weeks.”
“Then we must make excellent use of them.”
Mr. Gardiner, when admitted a few minutes later, stopped at the threshold and put a hand to his heart. “I beg your pardon. I was looking for my niece.”
Elizabeth gave him a look of warning. “If you say anything foolish, Uncle, I shall tell Aunt you ate the last of the preserved apricots.”
His solemnity vanished. “I would never trifle with so dangerous a woman. You look lovely, my dear.”
Mrs. Gardiner was plainly satisfied. “Now, into the carriage before one of us wrinkles something.”
Darcy House stood in a fashionable square, handsome without ostentation, the sort of house that suggested wealth so assured it had no need to announce itself.
Elizabeth had expected elegance. She had not expected warmth.
The entrance hall was spacious, lit by lamps that cast gold over polished wood and marble, but the flowers arranged near the staircase kept the place from feeling severe.
A footman took their wraps, and the butler led them through to a drawing room where Mr. Darcy stood beside the hearth.
He came forward.
“Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner. Miss Bennet. I am very glad you could come.”
Elizabeth curtseyed, conscious of the silk whispering about her ankles. “Mr. Darcy.”
His eyes rested on her a moment before he resumed his attention properly to the party, but that moment was enough.
Elizabeth had never been vain about dress, not beyond the ordinary pleasure any young woman might take in knowing she did not appear ill, but she was suddenly grateful for her aunt’s tyranny.
“My sister is very eager to meet you,” Darcy said. “She has heard your names often.”
A young lady rose from a chair near the pianoforte.
Miss Darcy was tall for her age, fair, and very pretty, though her beauty had the fragile quality of a flower brought indoors too early in spring. She approached with an air of apprehension that made Elizabeth soften her manner before a word was spoken.
“Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said warmly, taking both the girl’s hands. “How you have grown.”
Miss Darcy’s face brightened. “Mrs. Gardiner. I am so happy to see you again.”
“And I you. My dear, allow me to present my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtseyed. “Miss Darcy, I have heard good things of you.”
The girl blushed. “Then my brother has been kinder than truthful. I hope he did not say I practice as much as I ought.”
“I believe he spoke of your music with admiration and your character with affection. He was wise enough to avoid subjects on which he might be contradicted.”
Miss Darcy looked toward her brother, startled into a small laugh, then covered the sound with her hand. Darcy’s expression altered in a way Elizabeth could not quite name, though she understood it well enough. He loved his sister deeply, and it pleased him to see her amused.
A woman seated farther from the hearth stood as the introductions continued. She was perhaps thirty, fashionably dressed, with pale hair arranged with precision and a manner that gave very little away.
“Mrs. Younge,” Darcy said, “Miss Darcy’s companion.”
Mrs. Younge curtseyed with correct civility. “Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner. Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth returned the courtesy. She could not have explained why, but Mrs. Younge’s smile seemed practiced rather than warm. It was an absurd impression, founded upon nothing more than instinct, and Elizabeth dismissed it as soon as it arose. Many perfectly respectable people were merely reserved.
Dinner was announced soon after, and Darcy offered his arm to Mrs. Gardiner while Mr. Gardiner escorted Georgiana. Elizabeth walked beside Mrs. Younge, who made one remark on the weather and another upon the inconvenience of London smoke before giving herself over to silence.
The dining room was smaller than Elizabeth had expected, or perhaps arranged to feel so.
Candlelight warmed the table, silver gleamed among the glass and porcelain, and the meal proceeded with an elegance that never crossed into display.
Soup was followed by fish, then roast fowl, lamb, vegetables, creams, and dishes Elizabeth could admire without knowing how they had been prepared.
Mr. Gardiner and Darcy soon fell into conversation concerning Derbyshire. Mrs. Gardiner asked after several Lambton families, and Georgiana, seated beside Elizabeth, gradually lost some of her timidity.
“My aunt tells me you play very well,” Elizabeth said, when there came a convenient opening.
Georgiana lowered her eyes to her plate. “I enjoy it very much.”
“That is not quite the same answer.”
“No,” Georgiana admitted, gaining courage enough to look up. “But it is safer.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I see we shall do very well together. I enjoy walking, which is also safer than claiming to walk beautifully.”
“You walk beautifully?” Darcy asked from across the table.
“I believe the claim was that I do not.”
“Ah. I stand corrected.”
Georgiana hid another smile behind her glass.
“Miss Bennet is an excellent walker,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “She considers three miles before breakfast a moderate beginning to the day.”
“That is a calumny,” Elizabeth protested. “I would never impose three miles upon anyone before breakfast unless the weather particularly recommended it.”
Darcy carved a piece of fowl with great attention. “And if the weather did recommend it?”
“Then any reasonable person would agree with me.”
“I have known very few reasonable persons so early in the day.”
“Perhaps Derbyshire has been unfortunate in its inhabitants.”
“My tenants would object to that.”
“Then I shall amend the statement. Perhaps Mr. Darcy has been unfortunate in his early-morning companions.”
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “I have long suspected that Elizabeth would reform the habits of any household she entered.”
“Just the inferior habits, Uncle.”
“And who determines which habits are inferior?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth accepted a dish from the footman before answering. “That is the difficulty. I have found people very reluctant to submit the question to my judgment.”
Mrs. Gardiner gave Darcy a look across the table, amused and faintly apologetic, but he did not appear in need of rescue. Indeed, he appeared to enjoy himself far more than a gentleman of such consequence had any obligation to do.
After the second course, the conversation moved to travel.
Mr. Gardiner spoke of a journey he and his wife hoped one day to make into the North, perhaps to the Lakes if business and children permitted.
Elizabeth declared herself shamefully eager to accompany them, and Georgiana asked what places she had already seen.
“Very few,” Elizabeth replied. “Hertfordshire, London, a little of Kent when visiting relations, and Bath many years ago, though I was too young to appreciate it properly. I have never seen the sea.”
“You have never seen the sea?” Georgiana’s astonishment overcame her reserve. “Oh, you must. It is quite different from any description.”
“I am prepared to believe every traveler has failed me, then.”