Gowns & Pistols
The corridors of Darcy House were alive with quiet movement. Lamps had been lit, though the last of the daylight still lingered, and the faint scent of beeswax and pressed linen filled the air. Servants moved with careful haste, carrying ribbons, gloves, and boxes of jewellery between rooms.
In Miss Darcy’s chamber, several gowns lay across the bed: pale blue satin, soft ivory muslin, a lilac silk trimmed with seed pearls, and one of silvered gauze that shimmered faintly in the lamplight. The maids smoothed the folds, whispering as they prepared pins and thread.
Miss Darcy stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped before her.
“Most of these were made last summer,” she said softly.
“My brother had them prepared when he commissioned my portrait for my sixteenth birthday. He said I ought to have something fine to wear, though I have had little occasion for such things since.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Then he was right. They are all beautiful.”
“The blue satin was for the painting,” Miss Darcy said. “It is heavy, and I remember longing to move while the artist begged me to be still. The ivory muslin is lighter and will be easier for you to wear.”
Elizabeth’s eyes rested on the gown. “You are sure?”
“I am,” Miss Darcy replied. “We are near enough in height, and Mary can loosen the ties if need be.”
The maid stepped forward to assist. Elizabeth raised her arms, and the muslin fell about her in soft folds. Miss Darcy adjusted the waist and smoothed the sleeves herself, her touch light and deliberate. When she stepped back, the gown seemed to belong to her guest entirely.
“It suits you,” she said in a low voice. “Better than it ever did me.”
Elizabeth looked toward the mirror. The reflection that met her gaze was unfamiliar, pale gown, dark hair, eyes shadowed with thought. “You are very kind, Miss Darcy. I fear I shall look out of place among so much splendour.”
Miss Darcy shook her head quickly. “No one will think so. You have a calmness about you that no gown could ever lend.”
At the dressing table, Miss Bennet stood before the glass while her maid fastened the last ribbon of her rose-coloured silk. It was one of her own gowns, brought from Longbourn in expectation of the regiment’s assemblies.
“I am glad I packed at least two ball dresses,” Jane said with a small smile. “Mama insisted I might need it if there were officers in the neighbourhood. For once, she was not mistaken.”
Elizabeth gave a soft laugh. “She would be insufferable if she knew she had been right.”
Jane’s eyes softened. “I wish you could wear one of mine, but we have not shared gowns since we were girls. I fear the fit would not flatter either of us.”
“It matters little,” Elizabeth replied. “Everything I owned was lost at the bridge. This is kindness enough.”
Miss Darcy looked up, startled. “You truly lost all your things?”
Elizabeth hesitated before nodding. “Trunk, letters, even my cloak. If anyone asks, it will serve as our explanation for why we are here. I was travelling to meet my cousin and sister when the attack came, and my belongings were swept away in the river. That much, at least, is true.”
The words left a trace of guilt upon her tongue. Georgiana’s gentle face, so open and sincere, made the falsehood feel heavier than it had when first agreed upon.
Miss Darcy’s eyes softened with sympathy. “That must have been dreadful. I cannot imagine losing so much.”
Elizabeth forced a small smile. “It was only clothing. I am fortunate to have found safety here.”
“I am glad you did,” Miss Darcy said quietly. “My brother would not have forgiven himself if you had not.”
Jane, watching them both, smiled faintly. “He is a good man.”
“The best,” said Miss Darcy with quiet conviction. “I could never have had a kinder or a better brother. He has been all that is good to me.”
Elizabeth regarded her with a softer expression. “You make him sound the ideal older brother,” she said.
Miss Darcy’s blush deepened, though her smile remained. “He is. I sometimes think there can be no other like him. He has always known what is right, even when others did not wish to hear it. I owe him everything.”
Elizabeth’s gaze fell to the ribbons in her lap. “He is fortunate to have your love,” she said quietly.
“And I to have his,” Miss Darcy replied. She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “Yet I have often wished for a sister. Someone nearer my own age, to speak with and confide in. It must be a very happy thing.”
Jane smiled gently. “Then tonight you may think of us as sisters too.”
Miss Darcy looked between them, her eyes bright. “I shall,” she said simply.
Elizabeth felt the truth of it pierce her, this girl’s open heart, her trust so freely given, and her own deceit lying silent beneath borrowed silk.
Miss Darcy hesitated once more, then crossed to the dressing table. From a small casket lined in blue velvet, she lifted a necklace of pearls and a pair of delicate drop earrings.
“These were my mother’s,” she said quietly. “My brother keeps them for me, but she would have wished them to be worn, not shut away. Will you take them, for tonight?”
Elizabeth started. “I could not; they are too precious.”
Miss Darcy shook her head. “Please. Only for the evening. I think they would suit you, and my brother would be glad to see them worn again.”
Her tone was soft but certain. Elizabeth yielded, bowing her head so the younger girl might clasp the necklace about her throat. The pearls lay cool against her skin.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I will guard them as if they were my own.”
Miss Darcy smiled, though her eyes glistened. “They suit you far better than they ever suited me.”
Jane turned from the mirror, her expression gentle. “You look lovely, Lizzy. No one would think you had been ill so lately.”
“That will be our secret,” Elizabeth said, though her voice wavered slightly.
Miss Darcy reached to the dressing table and took up a small reticule of ivory silk, embroidered with a pattern of forget-me-nots. “You must have something to carry, Miss Elizabeth. This one will suit your gown, if you will take it. I never use it; the clasp is a little stiff.”
Elizabeth accepted it with a faint smile. “It is very pretty.”
“I hope it will bring you luck tonight,” Miss Darcy said softly.
A knock came at the door. A servant’s voice announced that the carriages waited below.
Jane gathered her gloves. “Then we had best not keep them waiting.”
Miss Darcy embraced them both, her composure trembling. “Come back safely,” she whispered.
“We shall,” Elizabeth said.
Miss Darcy drew back with a brave smile. “I shall wait for news before I rest.”
When she was alone for a moment before descending the stairs, Elizabeth slipped her father’s pistol into the reticule.
The metal was cool beneath her fingers. She tightened the clasp carefully until it clicked shut.
It felt strange, that such a gentle gift should hold such a thing, yet she was grateful for it all the same.
The maids curtsied as the sisters passed. Their steps echoed softly down the corridor, silk against pale stone, the sound fading as they descended the stair.
Below, torches flared against the railings, and the last of the daylight had vanished from the square. Somewhere beyond, church bells rang for peace, bright, heedless, and unaware of the danger still to come.
The house below was hushed, yet charged with quiet expectancy. The low murmur of servants, the faint rustle of uniforms, and the scent of wax and pressed linen hung in the air.
Elizabeth paused with her sister at the top of the stair. The pale stone steps, veined faintly like marble, curved gracefully downward, their polished surface catching the lamplight. At the foot of the stair, three figures stood waiting.
Major Darcy, Captain Bingley, and William were in full dress uniform.
The deep scarlet of their coats gleamed beneath the lamps, silver braid and bright buttons glinting whenever they moved.
Their swords hung at their sides, and the faint glimmer of steel in the chandelier’s light lent the scene a solemn splendour.
Jane drew a quiet breath. “I think I have never seen them look so grand,” she whispered.
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly. “Nor so serious.”
Together they began their descent. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, the soft whisper of silk the only other sound.
The men turned as one. Captain Bingley smiled first, open and warm, while Major Darcy remained still, though his gaze lifted to meet Elizabeth’s, and for an instant she could not look away.
His eyes held her with an intensity that unsettled her composure. She knew he saw his sister’s gown and his mother’s pearls, yet there was something deeper in that look, something she could neither define nor wholly bear.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said at last, his voice calm but softened. “You do my sister’s kindness great credit.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, conscious of the pearls cool against her throat. “Miss Darcy has been most generous. I only hope I shall not disgrace her good taste.”
His expression did not change, yet she thought she caught the faintest warmth beneath the restraint. “You could not,” he said simply.
Jane reached the final step. Bingley bowed over her hand, his smile bright. “Miss Bennet, you are a vision. I doubt even the Regent himself will command more admiration this evening.”
Jane laughed softly. “You are far too gallant, Captain. I am certain the Regent’s jewels will outshine us all.”
Before they could move toward the door, a voice carried from the drawing room beyond the hall.
“There you are at last.”
Miss Bingley rose from a small sofa as they entered, her amber silk perfectly ordered, her gloves already buttoned. A footman stood discreetly by with her wrap. “I began to fear we should miss the first set.”
Captain Bingley smiled. “You have not waited long, Caroline.”
“Long enough to wonder,” she returned pleasantly. Her gaze moved over the party with careful interest, resting a moment on Elizabeth before she looked to Major Darcy. Brief introductions followed, conducted with the civility required of strangers bound for the same carriage.
“I had supposed Miss Elizabeth might travel with Lieutenant Lucas, given the limits upon this evening.”
Major Darcy’s composure did not alter. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is under my protection, and her sister under Captain Bingley’s. You will attend with Lieutenant Lucas, as arranged.”
A faint colour touched Miss Bingley’s cheek, but her smile remained. “As you wish.” She inclined her head toward Elizabeth. “How fortunate that London dressmakers can work such wonders, even at short notice.”
Elizabeth met her look calmly. “You are very kind.”
William Lucas stepped forward with an easy bow. “Shall we, Miss Bingley? The hour grows late.”
“By all means,” she said, accepting his arm with graceful reluctance. “Let us not keep the Prince waiting.”
Major Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth. “Shall we?”
She placed her hand upon his sleeve, the scarlet cloth warm beneath her fingers. Jane followed with Captain Bingley, and Miss Bingley accepted William Lucas’s arm with visible reluctance.
They crossed the hall together. The servants held the great doors wide, and the night air drifted in, cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of rain.
Beyond the threshold the square was alive with light.
Carriage lamps gleamed, torches flared along the railings, and the rhythmic sound of hooves struck against the cobbles.
Major Darcy handed Elizabeth carefully into the waiting carriage, his hand firm beneath hers. Jane followed, and Captain Bingley took the seat opposite.
William Lucas assisted Miss Bingley with formal courtesy, her smile returning only when she was certain Major Darcy could see it.
The door closed. The carriage lurched forward, wheels rolling steady over the stones.
Elizabeth settled back against the seat.
Outside, London swept past in a blur of lamplight and banners; within, the faint scent of lavender and polished leather mingled with the rhythmic hum of motion.
The city was awake, bright, and heedless, a world preparing to celebrate peace while she could not forget how near the shadows still lingered.
Outside, the escort rode in measured formation, hooves striking sparks from the cobbles. At their head, Major Darcy’s dark horse moved with easy strength, the lamplight sliding over its sleek flank. Wicked tossed his head once, snorting softly as the carriage drew alongside.
Through the window, Elizabeth glimpsed the animal’s familiar outline. She lowered the glass a little, letting the cold air brush her cheek. Wicked turned toward her at once, ears pricking, and pressed his muzzle against the frame in gentle search.
She smiled despite herself. “You have no apple tonight, sir,” she whispered.
From the saddle came Major Darcy’s quiet answer, almost lost beneath the wheels: “He remembers kindness. It seems we are both guilty of that.”
Their eyes met briefly in the lamplight before the carriage moved on. The sound of hooves faded into the night, leaving only the rhythmic roll of wheels and the distant toll of bells.
London waited ahead, bright, glittering, and unknowing. Within the carriage, Elizabeth’s hand rested lightly upon the reticule in her lap, the weight of the pistol hidden within was no heavier than the promise it carried.