8. Advanced Calling
CHAPTER EIGHT
ADVANCED CALLING
“The card is left on the salver,” Lady Sophia said, placing a rectangle of cream-colored paper on the silver tray beside the front door with the reverence of a vicar handling the sacrament.
“Corner turned down indicates the caller came in person rather than sending a servant. Two corners means she is calling on behalf of herself and her husband. The upper right corner—pay attention, Elizabeth, this is critical—indicates a congratulatory visit. The lower left, a condolence.”
“And if all four corners are turned down?”
“Then the woman has confused her calling card with a napkin and should not be admitted.”
Elizabeth studied the salver, which already held seven cards from callers who had arrived during the past week—each one a declaration of intent that required—Lady Sophia had been very clear on this point—a reciprocal visit within three days or the omission would be noted, discussed, and interpreted as a deliberate slight.
“Three days,” Elizabeth repeated. “For each card?”
“For each card. You may combine calls if the addresses are near one another—efficiency is not merely permitted, it is expected. A morning of calls typically involves four to six visits of fifteen to twenty minutes each, conducted between one and three o’clock, at which point you return home, change your dress, and prepare for whatever evening engagement has been arranged. ”
“I have three dresses, Lady Sophia.”
“Yes. We shall address that presently.” Lady Sophia picked up the first card with the delicacy of a woman handling evidence.
“Lady Prideaux. Her son, Sir Weston, is twenty-six, recently come into his title, and possesses the conversational range of a moderately well-trained spaniel. She will inquire about your fortune with questions disguised as compliments. You will answer none of them.”
“And if she speaks plainly?”
“She will not. Directness is a privilege reserved for women of my age and rank. Women of Lady Prideaux’s station communicate through implication, and you must learn to hear what is not being said.
” Lady Sophia set the card down. “I expect several callers this morning. Amongst them will be my grandniece, Miss Allegra Courtenay. She has been in Bath and has only just returned to town.”
“Your grandniece?”
“My late sister’s grandchild. Her father was Sir Anthony Courtenay of Devon.
He died when Allegra was quite young, and her stepmother has raised her admirably, though I flatter myself, as her godmother, that I have contributed to her education in the ways that matter most.” Lady Sophia’s voice carried a warmth Elizabeth had not heard her apply to anyone else.
“She is four-and-twenty, accomplished, and kind. She knows London better than most people twice her age, and she has been a great comfort to me over the years.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
“I am glad, because I have a favor to ask.” Lady Sophia adjusted the cards on the salver.
“These old bones are not equal to Bond Street. I cannot take you and your sisters to the modistes, or to Gerrard’s for ices, or promenading in Hyde Park, or to any of the hundred places you will need to go to equip yourselves for the Season.
I therefore impose upon Allegra to take you under her wing.
She would be an excellent guide. She knows every dressmaker in London and has impeccable taste.
I should feel considerably more at ease knowing the three of you were in her company rather than navigating alone. ”
“That is a great deal to ask of her.”
“Allegra has a generous heart. She will enjoy shepherding three lambs from the countryside admirably.” Lady Sophia looked bemused that Elizabeth should suppose her grandniece would consider shopping too much of a chore.
“You will get on, I think. She has something of your quickness, though she expresses it differently.”
With impeccable timing, Mrs. Alford announced. “Miss Courtenay, my lady.”
Allegra Courtenay entered Number 33 the way sunlight enters a room—naturally, without effort. She was tall, fair-haired, dressed in a walking costume of dove gray that made Elizabeth’s sprigged muslin look like something retrieved from the bottom of a trunk in a Hertfordshire attic, which it was.
“Godmama.” She kissed Lady Sophia’s cheek, and Lady Sophia’s hand came up to touch her grand niece’s face with a tenderness that spoke of years.
“My dear. How was Bath?”
“Tedious. The waters were foul, the company was worse, and Lady Pennycuick’s daughter performed the same sonata at three consecutive assemblies without improving it in the slightest.” Allegra turned to Elizabeth, and her smile was gracious.
“And you must be Miss Bennet. Godmama has written to me about you with an enthusiasm I have rarely seen her commit to paper.”
“I hope the reality is not too disappointing after the advertisement,” Elizabeth said.
“On the contrary. She described your wit, and I see it is not exaggerated.” Allegra took a seat. “How do you find Mayfair?”
“Astonishing. I keep expecting someone to tap me on the shoulder and explain there has been a terrible misunderstanding.”
Allegra laughed—musical and genuine. “I felt the same when I came here as a girl. I spent the entire afternoon convinced the footman would ask me to leave. The library was what won me over. Have you seen it?”
“I have, and I may never leave it.”
“Nor should you. The third shelf on the east wall, behind the Gibbon, there is a collection of French fairy tales that Godmama pretends she does not own. They are wonderful.”
“You have exposed my only secret, Allegra,” Lady Sophia said. “I shall have to find a new hiding place.”
“You have been hiding them there since I was nine. I believe they are quite settled.” Allegra turned back to Elizabeth with the frank, open manner of a woman who made friends easily. “Godmama tells me you have two sisters here as well? Miss Bennet and Miss Mary?”
“Jane is upstairs, and Mary is at the pianoforte with Miss Darcy. They have become inseparable.”
“Georgiana Darcy? Oh, how lovely. She is the sweetest creature—painfully shy, but so talented. I am glad she has a friend her own age.” Allegra’s face brightened with a pleasant smile. “And who is this dog?”
“Nettle.” Elizabeth looked down at the terrier, who was investigating the hem of Allegra’s dove-gray skirt. “She bites people who deserve it and licks people who don’t. She appears to be reserving judgment on you.”
Allegra extended her hand. Nettle sniffed it, considered, and wagged her tail—a measured wag, not the full surrender she had given Lady Sophia, but a provisional approval that suggested she was willing to be persuaded.
“I shall earn my way into her good graces,” Allegra said. “I am told it is worth the effort.”
“Allegra, my dear,” Lady Sophia said, “I wonder if I might impose upon you. My bones are not equal to Bond Street, and these girls need wardrobes. The modistes, Gerrard’s, Hyde Park—everything they will need for the Season. I should not ask, but I cannot think of anyone better suited.”
“Godmama, I should love nothing more.” Allegra turned to Elizabeth with an eagerness that was, as far as Elizabeth could detect, entirely sincere.
“The styles this Season are quite forgiving—empire waist is still the thing, thank heaven, and the muslins are beautiful. I know a dressmaker on Bruton Street who does the most exquisite work and will not bankrupt you, though I suppose bankrupting you is rather more difficult now than it would have been a month ago.”
“Considerably more difficult,” Elizabeth agreed, and the shared amusement that passed between them felt natural and uncomplicated in a way that surprised her in its generosity.
“Tomorrow, then. We can make a day of it—the modiste first, then Bond Street for gloves and ribbons, and Gerrard’s for ices if you survive the fitting.”
“I should like that very much,” Elizabeth said, her mind already wandering toward the delightful frivolity of silk and sugar.
Mrs. Alford again appeared at the doorway. “I beg your pardon, Madam. Lady Prideaux and Sir Weston have arrived for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth felt the sudden splash of the marriage market—the appearance of a suitor she was ill-prepared for. What was she expected to say or do? She’d always counted on her mother to make all the remarks and ask all the questions at Longbourn.
Lady Prideaux entered with the momentum of a tall sailing ship, her purple silks rustling.
“Lady Sophia! You look remarkably well,” Lady Prideaux began, her gaze already sweeping the room to calculate the cost of the draperies before settling on Elizabeth with a predatory gleam.
“And this must be Miss Elizabeth Bennet. My dear, your complexion is quite… healthy. The country air, no doubt. It is a pity it so rarely survives a month in town.”
“I shall endeavor to keep my complexion as long as the London soot allows, Ma’am,” Elizabeth replied, the dip of her curtsy as precise as if she had been born to it.
“And may I present my son?” Lady Prideaux said, her voice swelling with the pride of a merchant displaying a prized clock. “Sir Weston.”
The young man bowed with a stiffness that suggested his coat was too tight across the shoulders, then resumed a posture of such alarming rectitude that Elizabeth wondered if he breathed at all.
“Will you please be seated?” Lady Sophia smoothed over the silence.
Lady Prideaux settled herself as she looked about the room.
“It is a triumph, Sophia. Truly. To open a house in such a manner after so long a retreat! One hears the most extraordinary rumors about the renovations. I suppose with the New Drury Lane rising from its ashes like a great, expensive phoenix, everyone feels the need to polish their own facades.”
The tea service was set out, and Elizabeth busied herself with pouring the tea. A thin stream of fragrant Hyson trickled from the fluted spout of the silver teapot into fine china teacups.