Chapter Three
The morning of her departure arrived far sooner than Elizabeth liked. It seemed to her that there ought to have been more time given to recognise such an occasion, or at least enough time to determine whether she was leaving voluntarily or under protest.
She rose before the sun, determined to spend her last quiet moments in the company of those she loved most. The air in her bedchamber was sharp with January cold; her breath hung faintly before her as Sarah, the maid she shared with her sisters, helped her dress in her dark blue travelling gown.
The house was unnervingly still. There was no clatter of pots from the kitchen where Cook would soon begin her morning preparations, no shrieks from Lydia somewhere in the garden pursuing some imagined adventure, no brisk footsteps from her mother in pursuit of a misplaced sewing project or mislaid ribbon.
The hush seemed to belong to some other house entirely, not the warm, bustling Longbourn she had always known.
Each familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sounded amplified in the silence, as though the very walls were holding their breath.
Her boots creaked faintly upon the stairs as she descended, the familiar sound strangely magnified in the quiet. She found Jane in the parlour, already awake and dressed in her morning gown, a skein of blue embroidery silk trailing forgotten from her lap as she stared into the fire.
“You are awake early,” Elizabeth observed with a faint smile as she crossed the room, her skirts rustling softly against the worn carpet.
Jane looked up, her eyes bright in the lamplight, though Elizabeth could perceive the shadows beneath them that spoke of a sleepless night. “I could not sleep. I thought . . . I hoped I might have you to myself for a little while before anyone else claims you.”
Elizabeth seated herself beside her sister on the familiar sofa where they had shared so many confidences, allowing the fire’s meagre warmth to reach her chilled fingers. “A selfish request,” she replied with mock severity, “which I am very glad to grant.”
Jane’s smile was soft and genuine. “I know you have not yet determined whether you will remain in Thurnia, but once you depart, it may be some time before I see you again. The letters Sir Reginald left spoke of court seasons and duties that might keep you occupied for months.”
Elizabeth endeavoured to keep her tone light, though the word “duties” sat uneasily in her mind.
What duties could she possibly be fitted for?
She who had never been presented at court, who knew nothing of court protocol beyond what she had gleaned from novels and her mother’s breathless speculations.
“Then you must come in the spring, when the roads are not an instrument of torture and the weather is fit for travelling.”
“I do wish your family had allowed you to wait until the weather was more hospitable.”
“As do I.” Elizabeth took Jane’s hand. “You will come in the spring, will you not?”
“If you truly want me, of course I will come.”
“I shall make it my first royal decree. Decrees two through four shall concern the outlawing of draughty bedchambers, overcooked vegetables, and men who quote Plato out of context.”
Jane’s smile deepened and she nudged Elizabeth with her elbow. “I confess I am not certain how one addresses a princess. Will you require me to curtsy?”
“If you curtsy to me, Jane Bennet, I shall never speak to you again,” Elizabeth declared with such vehemence that Jane laughed aloud.
They sat for some minutes in the silence, the popping of the wood in the fire and the faint ticking of the mantel clock filling the space between them.
Elizabeth wished to tell Jane how her quiet steadiness had always been the anchor of her life, and how she dreaded the ache of not seeing her every day, not knowing when Jane felt troubled, not being able to receive Jane’s comfort when their mother’s nerves grew particularly trying, not sharing the small daily observations that had helped form the foundation of their sisterly bond.
But the words would not arrange themselves without threatening tears, and she had resolved not to weep on her last morning at home.
Instead, she squeezed Jane’s hand with a tenderness that she hoped conveyed everything she felt without the necessity of speech and laid her head on Jane’s shoulder. Eventually, they heard the house beginning to stir.
“Come,” Jane said finally, in her gentle way. “Let us face the rest of them together.”
They stepped into the front hall to find the rest of the household already assembled to see Elizabeth off, despite the early hour.
Lydia and Kitty were swaddled in shawls and looking as though they might burst from the effort of containing their excitement.
Their cheeks were pink with cold and anticipation, and Elizabeth was struck by how young they appeared in the grey morning light.
“You must send us something from Thurnia,” Lydia declared at once, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Something fashionable that will make Maria Lucas absolutely wild with envy.”
“Yes!” Kitty added, hopping from foot to foot for warmth. “Something we may show to prove our sister is truly a princess.”
Elizabeth laughed, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “I shall consider it, but only if you behave for Jane in my absence and do not drive her to distraction with your schemes.”
“We always behave,” Lydia returned with mock innocence, which earned her a snort from Kitty and a raised brow from Mary.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, “your behaviour has always been a model of propriety and restraint.”
Mary regarded Elizabeth with an air that might have belonged to a clergyman preparing to deliver a particularly important sermon. Her expression was solemn, befitting what she clearly considered a momentous occasion.
“I hope you will remember, Lizzy,” she said, “that vanity is unbecoming in anyone, but particularly in those placed in positions of power. It would be a great tragedy if you allowed royal attention to corrupt your good sense, or if you began to think yourself above others.”
Elizabeth took Mary’s hands and met her gaze. She recognised both the sincerity of the advice and the fear that propelled it. “I shall guard against it with all vigilance, Mary. You may depend upon me not to forget where I am from and who loved me before I took on this title.”
Mary blinked as though she was holding in tears, but she smiled a little too.
Then came Mamma. She fussed with the lapels of Elizabeth’s woollen pelisse, then her hair, then her scarf, murmuring a breathless catalogue of gowns, jewels, and eligible young men who might be found at the royal court.
“Imagine the invitations, Lizzy! The dancing! Why, you might even catch the eye of some foreign prince, or perhaps a duke. The pin money alone would be enough to see your sisters all married respectably, and perhaps we might even—”
“Mamma,” Elizabeth interposed with affectionate exasperation, “you have me married to a duke before I have even crossed the county line. And do not forget that Thurnia is smaller than England. It will not be as wealthy. At best, I might secure a baron with good teeth, a tolerable library, and a particularly prosperous flock of sheep.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy,” her mother declared. “Aim for a husband with a title, a good house, and a tolerable fortune in ready coin.” She leaned in to place a kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek. “Much more reliable than livestock.” She touched a hand to Elizabeth’s cheek before stepping back.
Elizabeth knew it was her mother’s way of saying that she would be missed.
She smiled and stepped back, looking to Papa for her final farewell. He had made an effort to tame his wild hair and was wearing his Sunday coat. He took Elizabeth a little apart from the group, his voice lowered so that only she might hear.
“You know that this is not an adventure I would have chosen for you, Lizzy. I had rather hoped to keep you safe at Longbourn for many years yet, laughing with you at the world’s folly.
But I know also that you go because you believe it will help those you love, and because you possess too much courage to refuse when you are offered the chance.
For that reason, and many others, I am proud of you. ”
Elizabeth swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “You will always be my Papa.”
“And you, always my daughter. I loved my sister, and she delivered to me one of the five best gifts of my life.” His eyes searched hers. “Do remember that, if the world of courts and princes proves less agreeable than your mother imagines.”
He pressed a small, wrapped parcel into her hands. “A few favourite books,” he explained gruffly. “I thought you might find comfort in familiar words when surrounded by unfamiliar faces.”
His voice fell low. “Do you have the purse?”
He had given it to her when they were alone the night before. She nodded.
“I do not know when you shall receive your first allowance from the king. Keep it well hidden, for there are thieves everywhere.”
“I love you, Papa.”
He kissed her hand. “God be with you, Elizabeth.”
The black carriage waiting in the lane was not the same as the one Sir Reginald had arrived in the week before; it was smaller, and there was no crest on the door.
He had explained to Papa that his orders were to travel without drawing undue notice.
The horses stamped and snorted in the cold, their breath forming great clouds of vapour, while the coachman adjusted their harnesses.
Beside the carriage, a woman in a severe travelling cloak was conferring with the driver in low, authoritative tones.
It must be Mrs. Hobart, the companion Sir Reginald had brought back from London to see Elizabeth safely north.