22. Three Sisters in Silk
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THREE SISTERS IN SILK
Elizabeth licked her lips at the ivory silk, threaded with gold, lying across her bed.
She had bathed and washed her hair carefully, and now, she stood in her chemise, stays, and stockings, wondering if this life she had walked into was truly hers.
The fashions she had never dreamt about, the dance slippers smuggled in from Paris, and the lace decorating the sleeves.
There had been a fracas next door at Darcy House.
Georgiana had reported it with breathless excitement of a child who had witnessed two bulls fighting.
Lady Matlock had descended on Darcy with all the authority of a countess and aunt, demanding that Darcy move Lord Coke from the cotillion to the supper waltz.
Georgiana, who was not attending the ball, made Mary swear to report to her the last detail, whether Elizabeth and Lord Coke, the cousin she always admired, would end the evening with an engagement announcement.
Was Lord Coke truly the summit of her prospects?
Elizabeth closed her eyes, half amused, half appalled.
From walking through the Meryton mud to the sudden, staggering wealth of Lady Sophia’s gift, the path to a coronet was laid out before her like a polished highway.
Meanwhile, Darcy had set his sights on a ducal connection.
Could it be possible that he had already made an alliance?
He was under no obligation as her trustee to discuss his personal life.
Unlike Bingley, Darcy possessed yards of discretion.
“Lizzy, are you well?” Jane appeared in the doorway of the adjoining room. Her fair hair was already half-pinned in a style that looked both effortless and elegant. “You have been staring at that gown for five minutes without moving.”
“I am merely contemplating the sheer volume of fabric Madame Delacroix expects me to move in without tripping.” Elizabeth turned from the bed with a brightness she did not entirely feel. “Or perhaps which gentleman would place his hand on the cinched waist for a waltz I barely know how to dance.”
“The dancing master Lady Sophia retained was most thorough, Lizzy. I am certain you shall sweep through the floor like a princess.”
“Although countess is apparently a position I can reasonably claim.” She turned her gaze on her beautiful sister.
“Truly, is this what the Season is about? Landing a husband, estates, and titles with the efficiency of a parish beadle collecting the Easter dues. Allegra survived seven seasons without a commitment, yet everyone, it seems, is pushing me toward a selection.”
Jane blushed most becomingly. “Be glad Mamma is not circulating betwixt the bedchambers telling you to stand straighter and smile more. I believe we should savor the entire season, dance with as many gentlemen, converse at the musicales, orchid showings, garden tours, and operas. The gentlemen will come and go, but we must guard our reputations and not allow any one gentleman to monopolize our attentions.”
“Is this what you are doing with Bingley?” Elizabeth’s hand paused on her hairbrush.
“I shall enjoy Bingley’s company, but if he is not forthcoming with a proposal, I will not retreat with a broken heart like I did last winter.
Affections cannot be forced, Lizzy, and whether it is fortune, connections, or any other form of persuasion, I shall not maneuver any gentleman into a position he does not hope for. ”
“You are wise.” Elizabeth couldn’t help sighing. “Bingley has left his calling card. I believe he will request a set or two.”
“And I shall dance with him,” Jane said cheerfully, her hands working through Elizabeth’s dark curls with a touch both familiar and steadying. “Come, let us see how Mary is faring. I believe the maid is dressing her, and Georgiana is with her.”
“Yes, Georgiana.” Elizabeth suspected the younger Darcy had more gossip tucked away, and besides, if she stared at that dress any longer, her eyes might cross permanently.
They shrugged on dressing gowns over their chemises and stays, then crossed to Mary’s bedchamber. She stood on a small stool while the maid smoothed the hem of her deep rose silk.
Mary’s shoulders hunched, shrinking herself as if she could disappear into the carpet. Elizabeth bit back a comment—no need to channel Mrs. Bennet. Georgiana, meanwhile, circled like a kitten, fussing with pleats and silk, all bright-eyed delight.
“The sleeves are perfect,” Georgiana declared. “And the color—Mary, you must promise never to wear brown again. Brown should be outlawed. Parliament should pass a law.”
“But is this really me?” Mary’s cheeks flushed to match her gown. “I feel there are altogether too many reddish tones. I should feel more comfortable in something less vibrant. Maybe my lavender silk?”
“You look gorgeous,” Elizabeth said from the doorway. “The lavender was for the musicale, so you would not outshine the pianoforte. The ball is for you to radiate.”
At this, Mary stood a bit taller, her chin lifting so that she met her own eyes in the mirror instead of looking away. “But would anyone wish to look at me? What if my dance card is empty? Have you checked with Lady Sophia?”
“Her dance card.” Georgiana produced the item in question with a flourish. “Lady Sophia arranged most of it, but there are two country dances still open, and Mary gets to choose.”
“How remarkable,” Jane said. “Should you require my advice, maybe we can compare.”
“Wait, are you two saying Lady Sophia has not vetted every gentleman on your cards?” Elizabeth felt a pang of envy.
“We are not the wealthy sister,” Mary said. “Lady Sophia gave guidance, but she told me I could put John Lucas on the card, even if he is not titled—that Sir William Lucas’s knighthood was not hereditary.”
“And yes, that is true,” Georgiana said wistfully. “My brother will be adamant to choose every single position for me when I come out in a few years. He will, of course, consult with Aunt Catherine and Lady Matlock… well, perhaps after tempers have cooled.”
Elizabeth was about to ask about the outcome of the altercation, but Georgiana drew a small pouch from her pocket. “Mary, I wanted to give it to you before the ball, because I cannot be there, and I thought—well. Open it.”
Mary unwrapped the tissue with careful fingers. Inside lay a hairpin—slender, silver, with a single seed pearl at its head. “What? I cannot wear this.”
“You will,” Georgiana said. “It was my mother’s.
“She wore it to her first ball at Almack’s, when she was eighteen.
I have been saving it for—” She drew a breath.
“I cannot attend tonight. But this pin should be at a ball. And I thought, if you wore it, then part of me would be there too. And part of her.”
Mary stared at the pin as though it might dissolve if she blinked. “Georgiana, I cannot accept this. It is too precious.”
“It is precious because it is worn, not because it sits in a drawer.” Georgiana took the pin gently from Mary’s hand and moved behind her to slide it into the elaborate arrangement of curls.
“There. Now you have Lady Anne Darcy’s blessing for your first London ball, and I shall expect a full report tomorrow—every piece of music, every partner, every scandalous whisper you overhear. ”
“I do not eavesdrop on scandalous whispers.”
“Then you must learn. It is the only interesting part of balls, according to Allegra.” Georgiana stepped back to admire her work.
“Perfect. Now, come with me. Lady Sophia wants to review your card one more time before we add the final names. She said something about the strategic placement of country dances.”
Mary glanced at Elizabeth, uncertain and a little guilty, as if she knew she’d been handed a freedom Elizabeth could only envy.
“Go on,” Elizabeth said, her smile brittle. “Enjoy Lady Sophia’s plotting, and remember, Mary, you’re beautiful and accomplished, no matter what the dance card says.”
Georgiana and Mary departed in a rustle of rose fabric and girlish chatter, and Elizabeth and Jane returned to Elizabeth’s bedchamber to contemplate the ivory silk while Jane completed dressing Elizabeth’s hair.
Allegra swept in as Jane put the finishing pins. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes brightened with delight. “Elizabeth, you look devilishly charming tonight. Your maid will dress you while I detail the strict choreography of a London ball.”
“I wasn’t aware that the steps to the cotillion are any different in town.” Elizabeth held her arms up as the maid lifted the entire silk contraption over her head while Allegra positioned herself where Elizabeth could see her in the mirror.
“London is not Hertfordshire, where one simply turns up at the assembly rooms and dances with whichever squire happens to be sober. The sequence from your entrance to each dance, conversation, greeting, or curtsy will be studied and noted. In the provinces, a gentleman asks you because he likes your face. In Mayfair, he asks you because he wishes to advertise his consequence or measure yours.”
Elizabeth stood so the maid could tug the bodice into place and adjust the fit of her sleeves. “Start with the entrance, then. Will Mr. Darcy be escorting us in?”
“No, but Lady Sophia has arranged everything. You will arrive in your carriages with your prearranged escorts. Lord Fusington will escort you into the ballroom. Sixty, gout-ridden, and entirely harmless, which makes him perfect. He will deliver you to the edge of the floor and retreat to the card room, and you will not see him again until the carriage is called. Lord Willets will lead Jane into the room, and young Mr. Davenport with Mary. No Bennet sister shall stand by the wall looking like an orphan.”
“And you?”
“Lord Coke will escort me, as agreed. I am a friend of the family, and will dance the second set with him.”