Chapter 1 #2
Much to Darcy’s amazement, at some point during the evening dinner with the Bennets two nights ago, his shy sister had invited Jane and Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy House for an afternoon of female gossip and food.
Based on her terrified expression when she told him of it, Darcy deduced her invitation wasn’t the result of extended forethought.
With his own emotions in turmoil after his passionate exchange with Elizabeth on the terrace, he hadn’t been in the proper state of mind to ease Georgiana’s concerns.
Fortunately, yesterday had changed everything, enabling him to soothe Georgiana’s fears over hosting a party solo for the first time in her life.
Still, aware of Georgiana’s timidity, and equally aware of Mrs. Smyth’s bossiness, he listened from behind the door for a few more minutes, feeling not at all guilty to be eavesdropping.
Once assured Georgiana was holding her own well enough, Darcy decided to leave them be.
Later he would talk to the housekeeper privately, adding a handful of his own requests for the party, but primarily to clarify that Miss Darcy had his unwavering support and was ultimately in charge.
From time to time Mrs. Smyth needed to be reminded that he was the master of Darcy House, not her.
Another reason to postpone what could be a lengthy conversation with Georgiana or Mrs. Smyth was his eagerness to embark upon his quest for the day. He was determined to unearth the perfect wedding gift for Elizabeth.
Attacking the job with his thus-far-reliable logic and superb organizational skills, Darcy climbed into his waiting carriage at nine o’clock sharp.
With most of the elite still abed or barely sitting down to breakfast, the street traffic was thin as the hordes had yet to descend upon the shops, which were just opening their doors.
Additionally, Darcy wanted to make sure he completed his mission before Mrs. Gardiner and the Bennet brides-to-be commenced their planned shopping day.
Running into his betrothed with her gift in his hands would not be ideal.
All in all, his ideas were solid—the execution of them was not.
The first indication of poor preparedness was deciding upon Conduit, Bond, and Savile Streets for his shopping destination—force of habit, as this is where Darcy’s tailors were located and where he acquired the bulk of his personal items. After more than a decade, how had he never noticed there literally was not a single store selling products for the female gender?
On the heels of that failure, Darcy directed the driver to Oxford Street.
Multiple stops later and long before reaching the last business—presuming there was an end to the row of merchants—Darcy was grasping his second error.
By the time the carriage traversed a third of Piccadilly and Pall Mall, his predicament was glaringly obvious.
In contrast to the precinct dedicated to men’s requirements, these shopping zones were primarily dedicated to women.
While this might sound like a boon, where does one begin when the possibilities are endless and, quite frankly, every retailer looks identical?
For most gentlemen, buying a gift for a lady was a straightforward task.
Jewelry is always a safe bet, so Darcy had been told, as was perfume or anything made of fur.
Unfortunately, this was the extent of what Darcy had learned from those scarce occasions when he had paid attention to what his friends said about their ladies.
Only in recent weeks had the folly of his indifference occurred to him.
Nevertheless, surely it could not be that difficult to find a necklace or broach worthy of his future wife.
It sounded simple enough until faced with a half dozen jewelers on one block alone, each with hundreds of gorgeous pieces to choose from.
And who knew there were scads of perfumers and furriers?
If that had been the end of his options, maybe he would have muddled through and settled on something.
To his dismay, there were milliners, haberdashers, hosiers, hatters, cobblers, and innumerable other specialty stores.
Three hours later, with not a single object purchased, Darcy was beginning to fear he had discovered the one challenge destined to be his defeat.
The breadth of his ignorance was boundless.
He painfully admitted this to himself, but the embarrassment of confessing his inexperience publicly and ask for help was a blow his ego couldn’t take.
Then, amid his self-pity, Darcy remembered a conversation several months past. One night, while dining at the Matlock residence, he overheard a conversation between his aunt and another guest. This was during the period of Darcy’s despair over losing Elizabeth Bennet, so while he recalled the guest was a woman, he drew a blank on her name or face.
At any rate, the pertinent point for his current dilemma was that the topic involved shopping.
“Harding and Howell is by far the best London shopping mall,” Lady Matlock had gushed.
“It has everything one needs all in one central location, and as a mall, it is much nicer than the Pantheon Bazaar. Unless you are shopping for an exotic product or specialty children’s item, of course.
Then the Pantheon is preferred. Otherwise, I save my efforts and patronize Harding and Howell. ”
It was worth a shot.
A short time later, Darcy paused on a walkway across the busy street from the massive building with windows spanning the entire front facade.
An enormous sign nearly the width of the building declared in bold lettering: Harding, Howell & Co.
Below the sign and between the expanse of clear glass panes stood a gaping portal where a veritable sea of people poured in and out.
Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration, he thought, although not by much.
The bustling throngs were reminiscent of the Royal Exchange.
However, at the Exchange men were the predominant sex and the seriousness of financial business yielded an air of hushed solemnity, no matter how large the crowd.
At Harding and Howell, the swarm of shoppers were principally female, although there were enough males mingled in to prevent him attracting undue attention.
The chief difference was the audible gay chatter and laughter, and kaleidoscopic colors from the variety of garments worn to the brightly decorated boxes and bags carried by trailing servants.
So much for missing the hordes of shoppers. Flipping open his pocket watch, Darcy noted the hour hand closer to the one than the twelve. Time was ticking away. Get on with it already. How bad can it possibly be?
Inhaling deeply, he squared his shoulders, stepped off the curb, and marched across the street toward the doors.
Once over the threshold and into the entrance foyer, he halted in stunned awe as waves of sensation deluged his senses.
First was the steady rumble of hundreds of voices from every direction, at times ringing and then dropping into a constant hum.
Wafts of smells pricked his nostril, the majority pleasant, such as the aromas of perfumes and clean fabrics, though interspersed with the intermittent stench of perspiration, dust, and other scents best left unnamed.
The greatest assault to his faculties, however, was the profuse array of merchandise lining every inch of available space.
Wall to ceiling, case upon case, stretching on with no end in sight.
With a one-hundred-fifty square feet interior, the mall was gigantic by any standards.
The mathematical computation of how many items it was possible to fit into a building that size was beyond his capacity.
How will I ever find the perfect wedding gift for Elizabeth?
Scanning the quantity of furs and fans proudly displayed in the partitioned section closest to the main entrance—a mere drop in the bucket—Darcy felt the edges of panic creeping in.
It will take me weeks to search the entire store. Why have I paid scant attention to the unique requirements for a woman?
As if by chance, his gaze was captured by an exquisite ermine muff and stole paired together on a wooden mannequin. A sudden epiphany restored clarity to his jumbled mind.
Why limit himself to purchasing only one gift for his beloved Elizabeth?
Until now, he had resisted showering her with presents, aware that outward displays of his wealth made her uncomfortable.
He had vowed to wait until after they married and she had adjusted to a higher standard of living before letting loose his innate desire to express his love and appreciation through gift giving.
After all, he had it on good authority—his sister—that all women adored jewels, dresses, and other pretty accessories.
Anything he purchased now could be sent off to Pemberley to await his new wife, thus not breaking his self-imposed vow.
In a flash, his mindset shifted. He no longer wondered why inclusive shopping malls existed.
In one afternoon, he could acquire an abundance of women’s accouterments certain to please Elizabeth, and surely one would speak to him as the ideal wedding present.
Also in his favor were the dozens of knowledgeable salesmen and milling women, any of whom could remedy his pathetic lack of education, provided he bravely risked embarrassment or being branded a fool for asking imbecilic questions.
For Elizabeth, he would gamble his reputation.