The Royal Summons #2
The day was clear and cold when the Gardiners’ carriage drew up before Carlton House.
Frost clung to the railings, and the air held the bright sting of winter.
Along the courtyard, drawn up in perfect order, stood a company of the Forty-Fourth Regiment—the very men Elizabeth had marched beside beneath another name.
Before the footman could lower the step, a familiar figure detached himself from the line of scarlet coats.
“Allow me, miss,” said Sergeant Barrow, his voice steady but kind.
Elizabeth placed her hand in his and stepped down carefully. “Sergeant Barrow,” she said softly. “It is good to see you.”
“And you, ma’am,” he replied, bowing slightly. “We are proud to be here.”
Jane followed, offering him a quiet word of thanks as Captain Bennet descended behind them, his walking stick striking the stones.
As Elizabeth passed between the ranks, every man raised his hand to his cap in unison. The salute rippled down the line, silent but strong. Her steps slowed. She had faced battle and fear, but never this. Her breath caught with a feeling that was not pride so much as remembrance.
Captain Bennet inclined his head. “They remember,” he said quietly.
She drew a steady breath. “Then I must remember them.”
Within, the grand hall glowed with candlelight reflected from marble and mirrored glass. The air was rich with polish and perfume, the measured murmur of courtiers moving through ceremony.
At last the chamberlain’s voice carried across the hall, measured and resonant.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy, officers and men of the Forty-Fourth Regiment, Captain Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
The great doors opened.
His Royal Highness the Duke of York stood before the hearth, tall and dignified, the embodiment of command.
Beside him was His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, glittering in braid and jewels, his expression one of gracious self-satisfaction.
Beyond them, upon a raised dais, sat Her Majesty the Queen with Her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte at her side, her youthful gaze bright with curiosity.
The assembled company bowed and curtsied in turn. Elizabeth’s breath caught as she felt the weight of eyes upon her, yet her step did not falter.
“The Crown is pleased to commend the officers and men of the Forty-Fourth Regiment for their conduct at Kingston Bridge and for their service in the recent disturbances at Carlton House,” said the Duke, his voice clear and steady.
“Their names will be entered in the rolls of honour, and their courage remembered in the annals of the Army.”
He turned first to the assembled officers. An equerry stepped forward bearing a cushion of blue velvet.
“Captain Charles Bingley,” said the Duke, “for steadfastness under fire and devotion to duty, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Major.”
Major Bingley stepped forward, bowed low, and received his commission with visible pride.
“Lieutenant Lucas,” the Duke continued, “for gallantry in defence of the bridge and loyalty to your command, you are raised to the rank of Captain.”
William’s face was composed, but his eyes gleamed. He bowed deeply before stepping back into line.
“Sergeant Barrow,” the Duke went on, “for distinguished bravery and the rescue of wounded men under fire, you are advanced to the rank of Lieutenant, and a silver medal is struck in your name by command of His Royal Highness.”
A murmur of approval followed as Barrow stepped forward, saluting smartly, pride and humility warring in his expression.
Then the Duke addressed Colonel Darcy. “Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy, for distinguished conduct in the field and for service rendered in defence of the Crown itself, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent is pleased to confer upon you the honour of knighthood.”
Darcy advanced, knelt upon one knee, and the Regent touched his shoulder lightly with the ceremonial sword. “Rise, Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
A low ripple of approval passed through the room. Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy rose, composed as ever, though faint colour touched his cheek. Elizabeth’s heart swelled at the sight.
The Duke’s gaze swept the assembled ranks.
“There are names we cannot call today,” he said gravely, “for they fell at Haslemere, and England will not soon forget them. General Fitzwilliam, and the men of the Forty-Fourth who stood with him to the end, have earned a glory beyond reward. Their courage made this day possible.”
A murmur passed through the hall. The officers bowed their heads, the clink of metal subdued to silence. Darcy’s throat tightened; he could see the ridge again, the smoke, the waiting stillness before the volley. If honour meant remembrance, then Haslemere would never fade.
The Duke then looked toward Captain Bennet.
“Captain Bennet, you stand here not only as father to a most courageous daughter, but as the near kinsman of the late Lieutenant Thomas Bennet, whose valour at Kingston Bridge saved many lives. His conduct brought honour to his regiment and to England. By command of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, a medal is struck in his name, and a pension settled upon his surviving family.”
An equerry stepped forward bearing a small case upon a velvet cushion. The Duke opened it, revealing a silver medal engraved with the regiment’s crest.
“Accept this on behalf of his kin,” he said. “England remembers her sons.”
Captain Bennet bowed deeply, his voice low but clear. “Your Royal Highness, I thank you. He was a good man. England may be proud of him, as I am.”
“Indeed,” said the Duke gravely. “England is.”
Then, turning again, he addressed Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you have rendered another kind of service, no less deserving of England’s gratitude.
By command of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, you are created Lady Elizabeth Bennet, in recognition of distinguished service to the Crown, and are appointed to the household of Her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte upon the court’s return to Windsor. ”
For a heartbeat Elizabeth could not speak. The sound of her new name was almost unreal. Then she curtsied deeply. “Your Royal Highness, you do me honour beyond deserving. I ask only that the names of those who fell be remembered before my own.”
The Duke inclined his head. “They shall be, Lady Elizabeth.”
The Prince’s smile gentled. “Then England is well served indeed. I think we may say the age of heroes has not yet passed—only changed its attire.”
Applause followed, restrained yet sincere. The Regent smiled, evidently pleased with the effect, and signalled the close of the audience.
The chamber murmured with quiet approval. Elizabeth straightened and glanced across the line of men beside her. Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eyes met hers, and for the briefest instant, the solemnity of the moment was touched by something warmer than ceremony.
Outside, the winter light glimmered on the courtyard stones.
The regiment still stood waiting. As she stepped forward, the line of men presented arms, their salute crisp and perfectly timed.
For a moment the world seemed to still. Elizabeth inclined her head to them, her chest tightening with emotion.
Captain Bennet’s voice was dry but affectionate. “Well, Lizzy, it seems our family has risen in the world.”
“Only for a day, I think,” she said, smiling faintly.
“Then we must make the most of it,” he replied.
Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy turned to her, bowing with quiet amusement. “Lady Elizabeth, I find myself quite at a loss. I had meant to seek out Miss Elizabeth Bennet today, but she appears to have vanished entirely.”
Her eyes brightened. “Then I trust you will not find her replacement too formidable.”
“Formidable?” he repeated. “No. But she will require a great deal of study.”
“I am told I am to go to Windsor,” she said softly.
“So I heard,” Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy replied. “It seems England is determined not to lose you again.”
“Then I must obey,” she said. “Though I had hoped to see a little of Hertfordshire first.”
His smile deepened. “As it happens, Lady Elizabeth, I am to pass that way myself. Perhaps I might begin my study there.”
She met his gaze. “Then I hope the country will suit you, Sir Fitzwilliam.”
“I have every reason to think it will,” he said quietly.
As the formal presentations concluded, the Duke stepped back and gestured toward the dais. “Her Majesty wishes to speak with you, Lady Elizabeth.”
The murmur of the assembly hushed. Elizabeth’s heart quickened as she curtsied once more and crossed the long, gleaming floor.
Queen Charlotte sat beneath a canopy of embroidered silk, the light from the tall windows catching upon the pearls that edged her gown.
Though age had traced its marks upon her face, her bearing was serene, every line of her posture shaped by years of command.
Beside her sat Princess Charlotte, radiant in pale blue satin, her curls bound with a circlet of diamonds.
The youth and brightness of the one seemed to soften the solemn dignity of the other.
“You have shown courage uncommon in any station, my dear,” said the Queen, her accent faintly touched with the tones of her native Mecklenburg. Her voice was low but carried clear across the hall, composed and commanding. “England owes much to women of sense as well as spirit.”
Elizabeth bowed her head. “Your Majesty is gracious. I only did what duty required.”
Princess Charlotte leaned forward, her expression open and eager. “And more than most would have dared,” she said with youthful fervour. “I am glad to know that you will join my household when we return to Windsor. My governess says that courage is the rarest virtue in peace.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly. “Then I hope I may learn from Your Royal Highness how to practise it.”
The Princess smiled, a little shyly, but with genuine warmth.
Queen Charlotte regarded Elizabeth for a moment longer, her dark eyes softening. “You are young, and have seen much. Go home, Lady Elizabeth. Rest, and remember that service is not only in arms, but in patience.”
Elizabeth curtsied deeply. “I shall remember, Your Majesty.”
As she withdrew, the light from the great windows fell across the polished floor, blurring the glitter of jewels and uniforms into a single golden haze. Captain Bennet waited near the door, pride quiet but unmistakable in his eyes.
The air outside was sharp and cold, the sky pale as frost. The regiment saluted once more as they descended the steps, and Elizabeth thought the Queen’s words lingered in the wind: Go home, and rest.