Chapter 3
“Mrs. Elizabeth, delighted that you could come.” Lady Jersey beamed, genuine pleasure marking her countenance.
“The honour is mine, my lady,” said Elizabeth, giving the countess a respectful curtsey—as taught by their dancing master at Longbourn.
Lady Jersey sat on a satin brocade settee, indicating that Elizabeth should sit on the seat opposite.
“You must wonder, Mrs. Elizabeth,” said the lady, “why I have invited you to Berkeley Square. But, by the bye, how did you find my house? Perhaps not as grand as Lansdowne, I presume?”
“While Lansdowne House is—as you say—very grand, it does not seem to be a home,” replied Elizabeth.
“Whereas, while this house is very fine, I could easily see a family being raised here, not only in comfort, but also with some affection, particularly since Gunter’s Tea Shop is situated across the way at number seven. ”
“Oh, so delightful!” cried Lady Jersey, with a twinkle in her eye. “You certainly have that spark of—what shall I say?—respectful impertinence. Yet, perhaps a little more flattery, for I do enjoy it so.”
“Then I should say, ma’am, that your good nature in overlooking my impudence shows a lack of conceit that I can only aspire to, for it is often said that, though I have some wit, I am a prideful person, beyond my station.”
Lady Jersey’s gaze was as discerning as that in Elizabeth’s dreams, prior to her visit. Had she overstepped the mark? But she detected in Lady Jersey a woman of spirit and good nature—she must have understood something of Elizabeth’s character from their meeting at Child and Mrs. Bennet’s fortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of Mr. Bennet, were he to predecease her.
Her father had been an attorney in Meryton—also qualified as a barrister—and had left her four thousand pounds, possibly five thousand, for the will mentioned both sums. Each of your sisters will receive only fifty pounds a year, and one thousand pounds on your mother’s passing. Is this a fair account?”
“Indeed, ma’am. Your agent has been most thorough.” Elizabeth blushed, for it was mortifying to have her father’s failure to provide for his daughters open to such scrutiny—and now known to Lady Jersey, who occupied such a leading position in society.
“Oh, do not fret, Mrs. Elizabeth. The bank is known for being discreet. Mayhap I am less so, but only to those who flaunt their connections. You are aware that I am a patroness of Almack’s, where I am in the privileged position of not only knowing those who apply for vouchers through their reputation in the ton, but also their reputation in the City—whether they gamble, owe debts of honour, are impecunious, or otherwise have pockets to let.
Certainly, we could not allow bankrupts and such like to pollute our assembly rooms.”
She laughed. “Why, Mrs. Elizabeth, you have me ever so loquacious. But soon enough you will learn why my friend Lady Harriet calls me Silence—for I tend to talk too much. But, let me continue.
“The bank has many customers from all walks of life. Certainly, those from the ton and upper circles are known to me, and through gossip and discreet enquiries it is straightforward to learn of their business affairs—in particular, do they wish to borrow money from the bank to repay other debts, is the dispersion of the funds prudent, or otherwise? Similarly, for those among lower levels, below that of your uncle—small merchants, shopkeepers, and the like. Often, they will seek funds to expand their business or buy out a partner who wishes to retire. These are dealt with through brokers, to maintain a certain exclusivity of the bank’s reputation.
But nevertheless, such people work hard, are scrupulously honest, and repay their debts promptly—excellent clients. ”
She paused, refilling her and Elizabeth’s cups.
“No, we lack intelligence of the middle ranks. Those who would aspire to the higher circles. Likely members of the smaller estates such as Longbourn, and those we disparagingly call nouveau riche, though many have more wealth in their mills and mines than will ever be seen in agriculture, which underpins the wealth of most of the haut ton.”
Whatever could the lady be about, thought Elizabeth. Why should she talk to me about such things?
“Here is my proposal, Mrs. Elizabeth.” Lady Jersey set her cup back on the tray.
“I wish to sponsor you. No, not your curtsey to Her Majesty—though you are certainly more worthy than most of the simpering misses who are presented at a Drawing Room. I wish to offer you two positions: firstly, as a private secretary to accompany me to meetings of Child and, secondly, to attend balls, assemblies, soirées, and such other events to which you are invited; you shall go as my representative, for my rank certainly precludes my attendance.”
Elizabeth’s wit deserted her; indeed, her mind had gone outside for a walk in the park. She stared at Lady Jersey without comprehension. Such a request was beyond her imaginings.
“My lady, surely you have mistook me for someone else. I am just Lizzy Bennet, from Hertfordshire. What do I know of commerce—to act as your private secretary? I believe you have markedly overestimated my abilities. To attend balls and the like—London parties are so much more fashionable than the muslins my sisters and I wear to the assemblies in Meryton. Oh, please, ma’am, do not joke with me! ”
“Ah, I have confounded you at last, Mrs. Elizabeth. I had thought that I had met my match. Please stand a moment. Come, let us look into that rather overlarge mirror, whose intrusion I reluctantly allow in my drawing room—many of my visitors spend so much time preening and viewing their own likeness that I can avoid the unpleasantness of conversing with them.”
“Ma’am, what do you wish me to see?”
“Yourself, Mrs. Elizabeth. You wear an elegant jade silk morning dress. I daresay there are few in society who could afford such fine cloth. Your cap is delightful, no doubt embroidered and trimmed with lace by your own hand; you possess chestnut curls framing a clear, unmarked, very pleasing countenance—and your eyes, so fine and intelligent, brightened by your dismay at my praise! Were I so inclined, I would be quite jealous, for while it is said I am handsome, I was never a beauty such as yourself.”
There was such a stillness in the room that Elizabeth could hear her heart beating against her chest. What dream was this? Was she to awaken in her bed at Longbourn, dragged to the altar to marry Collins? Such condescension from Lady Jersey she could scarce comprehend.
“Good. I can see you have come to terms with my proposal. I have settled for us to meet Thursday at ten o’clock, at Fleet Street, where we shall discuss the particulars of your sponsorship—certainly, as a gentlewoman, you will not be an employee.
Perhaps, though it will annoy my male colleagues, as private secretary you should enjoy the same respect as my head clerk. Yes, that will do very well, indeed.
“Now, there are several ladies I wish you to meet. They should, by now, have completed their nuncheon and will shortly retire to the drawing room. Let me warn you, my dear, they hold themselves very high as they are also Patronesses of Almack’s: Lady Castlereagh, Lady Cowper, and Lady Sefton; Princess Esterhazy and Countess Lieven are not in Town.
“Excellent, I can see your courage rising to the occasion, Mrs. Elizabeth. While they are daunting ladies, I am sure your wit and vivacity will charm them.”
At that moment, the door opened once more, and the rustle of silk and the low hum of conversation drifted into the chamber. Lady Jersey rose with a motion both dignified and affectionate, extending her hand to Elizabeth.
“Come, Mrs. Elizabeth. Let us brave the lions’ den together.”
Elizabeth steadied herself, rising and smoothing her skirt with a self-consciousness that exposed her nervousness.
As they crossed the threshold into the adjoining drawing room, the brilliance of the late noon sun filtered through tall windows, illuminating a tableau of elegant ladies, each distinct in dress and bearing.
Conversation paused, eyes—some cool, some curious—turned upon the newcomers.
“Ladies,” Lady Jersey announced, her tone light but commanding, “may I present Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, in Hertfordshire. Mrs. Elizabeth is lately arrived in Town and is, I assure you, possessed of both sense and spirit. You may be astonished by her youth. If she were merely a gentlewoman, I would speak of Miss Bennet—but she is a lady who understands mercantile affairs. A rare gift.”
A delicate, appraising silence followed.
Lady Castlereagh, tall and severe, inclined her head; Lady Cowper, with a lively air, offered a faint smile; Lady Sefton, plump and cheerful, graced Elizabeth with an encouraging nod.
It was an assembly as formidable as any court.
Elizabeth dipped a curtsey, conscious of the scrutiny but determined to comport herself with dignity.
“We are always pleased to meet new faces,” Lady Cowper said, her accent the purest London. “Mrs. Elizabeth, do you mean to remain long in Town?”
“I am uncertain, ma’am,” replied Elizabeth, careful to keep her tone unruffled. “I suspect my fate rests in the hands of Lady Jersey—though I trust she shall not lead me too far astray.”
A ripple of genuine laughter passed among the ladies. Lady Sefton beamed. “You are fortunate in your patroness. Lady Jersey’s protégées never want for adventure—nor, it is said, for invitations.”
Lady Castlereagh’s eyes narrowed, not unkindly. “Longbourn, you say? I do not recall the name among our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth smiled. “It is a small estate, ma’am, and its reputation has not yet travelled beyond Hertfordshire—except, perhaps, on the wings of rumour.”
“Fama, malum qua non aliud velocius ullum,” Lady Cowper muttered, her eyes twinkling. “But I daresay you shall find London society a curious beast. It admires novelty, so long as it does not threaten its order.”
“Rumour, than which no other evil is faster,” said Elizabeth, gaining a surprised look of acknowledgement from Lady Cowper. “But there is little evil in Meryton, save, perhaps, too much sugar dusting the pastries in the tea shop.”
Lady Jersey placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Mrs. Elizabeth is to assist me at Child & Co. and accompany me in society. I trust you will all make her welcome—for my sake, if not for her own.”
Elizabeth, feeling the tension ebb, allowed herself a breath. These were women of power, yes, but also of humour and perception. She sensed, not for the first time, that her life was on the verge of tumbling into a new and unexpected chapter.
“If I may,” Elizabeth ventured, “I hope, in time, to acquit myself in such company as well as my patroness imagines. At the very least, I shall strive not to disgrace her—nor, I hope, myself.”
Lady Jersey laughed aloud, her mirth infectious. “Well said! And now, ladies, let us have our tea. Mrs. Elizabeth, you shall pour, for I am quite certain your hand will not tremble.”
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