Chapter Twenty-Three #2
As Christmas approached, snow fell at last, light and clean, blanketing the grounds and lending the world an air of promise.
Elizabeth stood at an upstairs window one evening, watching Jane walk slowly along the path below with her youngest cousin, speaking softly and smiling at something the child said. The sight eased her heart a little.
Christmas would come, with its traditions and comforts. And whatever the new year held, Elizabeth resolved, they would meet it together.
On Boxing Day, an express arrived for Mr. Bennet. He took it to his study upon viewing the sender and closed the door. Elizabeth and her cousins glanced at each other, expressions of curiosity mirrored on their faces.
The timing alone was enough to unsettle her. Expresses were not sent lightly, and never for trivial matters—least of all on a day customarily reserved for visiting, charity, and quiet familial cheer. Elizabeth felt a faint tightening in her chest as the door shut with a decisive click.
After around fifteen minutes, Hill appeared.
“Mr. Bennet would like to see you in his study, Miss Lizzy.”
Her heart sank. An express from Town? What was amiss? “Thank you, Hill.” She stood and walked sedately out of the parlor and to her uncle’s study, her steps measured despite the growing unease that prickled along her spine.
“Close the door, my dear.” She obliged and took a seat across from Mr. Bennet.
“I am sure you are curious, and so I shall not waste time. This letter is from our Prince Regent’s undersecretary, sent on his behalf.” He shook the letter once, as if its weight offended him, and opened it. “Allow me to read the contents.”
He did so with deliberate clarity, his voice steady even as the words themselves pressed heavily upon the room.
Sir,
I am directed by His Royal Highness the Prince Regent to inform you that it is His Royal Highness’s pleasure and command that Miss Elizabeth de Bourgh do immediately return to Town.
A carriage appointed by the Household will attend at Longbourn on the morning of the twenty-eighth instant, at which time Miss de Bourgh is expected to be in readiness to depart without delay. She is to be conveyed directly to Carlton House, where her apartments have been prepared for her arrival.
Upon her arrival, Miss de Bourgh will be placed under the supervision of the appropriate officers of the Household and will undergo such preparations as are deemed necessary for her proper presentation and participation in the forthcoming Season.
These arrangements are to be considered a matter of royal convenience, and no deviation from them is anticipated or permitted.
His Royal Highness relies upon your immediate compliance in this matter and expects that all necessary preparations will be made forthwith to ensure Miss de Bourgh’s punctual attendance.
I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient and most humble servant,
Edmund Hawthorne, Under-Secretary to His Royal Highness The Prince Regent
“Aunt Caroline was successful, then.” She frowned. “But not in the way she imagined.”
“Yes, it sounds as though the prince will oversee your coming out.” Mr. Bennet looked dismal. He folded the letter with care, though his hands betrayed a faint tension. “I have no doubt that he has a political match in mind for you. I am sorry, my dear.”
Elizabeth drew a slow breath, forcing her thoughts into order. “I knew after our conversation that such was a possibility. I am nearly one-and-twenty. If I can resist until then, I can marry where I choose.”
“That is the letter of the law, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied in frustration, “but I believe you underestimate the power my co-guardian wields. He has his ways of achieving your compliance.” He shook his head.
“I do not know what can be done. You had best instruct Baker, Jones, and Weston to prepare. Prepare yourself—it will likely be a battle.”
The word seemed insufficient. Elizabeth knew enough about the ton to suspect she was being cast into a den of wild beasts—one in which beauty was currency, obedience was expected, and refusal rarely accepted.
“I had best inform my aunt and cousins.” She stood, clasping her shaking hands in front of her before departing.
Elizabeth paused just beyond the study door, steadying herself before reentering the warmth of the family circle. The sound of laughter from the parlor struck her as oddly distant, as though she were already half removed from it. When she returned, all eyes turned to her at once.
Jane rose immediately. “Lizzy?”
Elizabeth forced a small smile. “We must speak.”
They withdrew together, joined by Mrs. Gardiner, whose expression sharpened the moment Elizabeth explained. No exclamation escaped her aunt—only a slow, thoughtful silence.
“So,” Mrs. Gardiner said at last, “the summons has come.”
“Yes.”
Jane’s face had gone pale. “You must leave so soon? Are you not usually allowed to stay until Twelfth Night?”
“On the twenty-eighth.”
“That is scarcely two days hence,” Jane whispered.
Elizabeth reached for her cousin’s hand. “I will write. Often. And I will not be so easily cowed as they expect.”
Mrs. Gardiner studied her closely. “You will be watched.”
“I know.”
“You will be pressured.”
“I expect it.”
“And you will be alone.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered for just a moment. “Then I must be stronger.”
That evening passed in subdued tones. Preparations began immediately—lists made, trunks opened, garments reviewed with an eye toward both propriety and strategy.
Elizabeth moved through it all with deliberate calm, though her thoughts raced ahead to candlelit salons, appraising eyes, and a prince who believed himself entitled to arrange her future.
When she finally retired, she stood at her window for a long while, staring out at the frost-bright lawn.
Two days.
Carlton House awaited. And whatever battle lay ahead, she resolved she would not enter it unarmed.
Elizabeth rose before dawn on the twenty-eighth, the house still wrapped in a hush broken only by the crackle of her fire.
Frost traced the windowpanes in delicate patterns, and the air held that sharp, expectant chill peculiar to winter mornings when change feels imminent.
She dressed deliberately, each motion precise, as though calm could be summoned by order alone.
Baker moved about the room, fastening hooks and smoothing seams, her expression grave but resolute.
Downstairs, the fires burned low. The carriage appointed by the Household waited in the drive, its dark lines stark against the pale sweep of the lawn.
Elizabeth paused at the threshold, taking in the familiar lines of Longbourn—the worn stone, the sheltering trees, the windows that had so often glowed with warmth against the dark.
She had never thought to leave it thus, under summons rather than choice.
Jane met her first, wrapping her in a tight embrace that lingered longer than she usually would. “Write to me,” she whispered, as though repetition could make the promise safer. Elizabeth pressed her forehead briefly to Jane’s and nodded. There were no clever words that could soften this parting.
Mrs. Bennet held herself with commendable composure, offering practical instructions and reminding Elizabeth to eat regularly, to rest when she could, to remember that she was loved.
Mr. Bennet stood slightly apart, his gaze steady and searching.
When Elizabeth approached him, he took her hands in his own, squeezing once.
“Be observant,” he said quietly. “Be patient. And remember that wit, when properly employed, is a shield as well as a sword.”
Mrs. Gardiner embraced her next, slipping a small packet into Elizabeth’s gloved hand—letters of introduction, carefully chosen. “You are not without allies,” she murmured. “Even there.”
Mary, Kitty, and Lydia hovered nearby, solemn in their farewells. Elizabeth hugged, accepting their earnest wishes and promising to write before the spring had fully taken hold. Rising, she drew a steadying breath and turned towards the carriage.
The footman opened the door. Elizabeth climbed inside, arranging her skirts with practiced grace. As the door closed, the familiar world narrowed to a framed view of faces she loved. The carriage lurched forwards, wheels crunching over frost, and Longbourn began to recede.
She did not look away at once. She fixed her gaze upon the house until it slipped behind the curve of the drive and vanished among the trees. Only then did she lean back against the squab, exhaling slowly.
Ahead lay Town, with its glittering rooms and watchful eyes, its expectations sharpened into commands.
She felt the weight of it settle upon her shoulders—and then, just as firmly, she felt her resolve rise to meet it.
She would go because she must. She would listen, observe, and endure. But she would not surrender herself.
Whatever awaited her beyond the city gates, she would meet it on her own terms.