Chapter 30 Presentations
PRESENTATIONS
The carriage rocked steadily through the frosted streets, the sound of wheels and hooves muffled by the crush of others bound the same way. Elizabeth sat opposite Darcy, her gloved hand resting lightly upon Kitty’s arm, while Georgiana kept her eyes fixed upon the window.
“You need not look so grave,” Kitty whispered at last. “You look beautiful. Everyone will see it at once.”
Georgiana’s lips curved faintly, though her fingers twisted in her lap. “I hope they see more than the gown.”
Darcy reached across and stilled her hand. “They will see you, Georgiana. And they will be proud.”
The bustle outside grew louder as they neared St James’s. Gentlemen dismounted, footmen hurried to assist, and a glittering stream of ladies swept toward the palace doors. Within, the corridors rang with the murmur of voices, silks brushing, and the clatter of shoe buckles.
Lord and Lady Matlock awaited them just inside the great chamber. His lordship greeted Darcy with a quiet clasp of the hand, while her ladyship, serene and unhurried, extended her arms to Georgiana.
“My dear child, you are come at last. How very pretty you look,” Lady Matlock said, with more warmth than ceremony.
Her touch steadied Georgiana more than any lecture could have done. She drew a breath and nodded. “Thank you, aunt.”
Elizabeth’s smile deepened, but before more could be said a familiar, sharper voice cut through the throng.
“I am astonished,” declared Lady Catherine, advancing with her usual air of command. “That my niece should be presented without me at her side is unthinkable. It was her mother’s dearest wish that her own sister should stand for her.”
Darcy stiffened, but Lord Matlock spoke first, his tone mild but unyielding. “Her father’s will placed her in the care of her brother and her cousin. That duty has been rightly fulfilled, and my wife is entirely proper in standing with her today.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up, affronted, but the tide of gowns swept between them and she was obliged to fall back with a sniff of disdain. Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye and gave the faintest shake of her head. He let his shoulders ease, though the colour in his cheek betrayed his temper.
The line moved forward. When Georgiana’s turn came, Lady Matlock laid a gentle hand on her arm and guided her into the chamber. A herald’s voice rang clear above the hush.
“Miss Georgiana Darcy, presented by the Countess of Matlock.”
The Queen sat in state, stiff and splendid in her jewels, while courtiers bent their heads in grave attention.
Georgiana advanced with steady steps, her train borne gracefully behind.
At the appointed spot she paused, opened her fan, and sank carefully into the required curtsey.
The feathers trembled, the pearls gleamed, but she herself did not falter.
Rising again, she withdrew with composure, the faintest blush colouring her cheeks.
From his place at the side, Darcy exhaled at last. She had done it, not as a girl pushed forward, but as a young woman who had claimed her place. Elizabeth’s eyes met his across the chamber, shining with the same pride.
When Georgiana rejoined them, Kitty seized her hand. “You were perfect!” she whispered.
Georgiana laughed, soft and incredulous. “It was not so dreadful after all.”
The crowd pressed onward, another lady advancing to curtsey, another sponsor waiting her turn. Yet for Darcy, the moment had already been made. His sister was presented, and she had stood with dignity.
When Georgiana withdrew, she was met in the anteroom by Lady Matlock’s warm approval, Lord Matlock’s nod of satisfaction, and Richard’s mischievous bow that made her laugh despite herself.
Elizabeth and Kitty embraced her at once, the latter whispering with all the force of conviction that she had never seen anyone look so regal.
Even Bingley, who had contrived to press forward with Jane at his side, declared that no debutante in the kingdom had moved with more grace.
Lady Catherine was heard sniffing her disapproval somewhere in the crowd, but Georgiana had no ears for her. Fitzwilliam himself was at her side, offering his arm as if she were already a woman fully launched, and she felt a thrill of pride that steadied her trembling hands.
Together they left the palace, the winter light glancing on carriage wheels and white plumes as the great crowd dispersed.
By late afternoon the family was gathered again at Darcy House.
Gowns were laid aside and fresh toilettes chosen for the evening, for friends and relations were expected at dinner.
The household carried the air of quiet celebration: the day had demanded all of Georgiana’s composure, and now there was nothing left but satisfaction and relief.
Darcy had gone to his study before the dinner hour, glad of a little quiet after the day’s splendour.
The house was stirring with preparation below, Williams moving with his usual composure to direct the final arrangements, but here there was stillness.
He stood by the window, gazing out at the lamps being lit in the square, his thoughts lingering on Georgiana’s curtsey and the relief that had followed.
A light knock interrupted him. He turned as the door opened, and to his surprise it was Elizabeth and Georgiana together. Georgiana carried a small box in both hands, her expression determined though faintly coloured with nervousness.
“Brother,” she began, her voice gentle but clear, “before we go down to dinner, I hoped to give you this. It is my gift, in honour of the day.”
She held out the box. Darcy took it, unfastened the clasp, and saw within the miniature he had not expected. The likeness of Elizabeth, holding their son, executed with delicacy and truth. For a moment he could not speak, his throat tight with a rush of feeling.
“Georgiana,” he said at last, his voice low, “this is… more than I deserve. You have given me a treasure beyond measure.”
Her smile trembled but held, and she seemed satisfied enough to see his eyes still resting on the little painting.
Darcy turned at once to Elizabeth, wonder plain upon his face. “When did you sit for this?” he asked, astonished.
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with quiet mischief. “While you were in London in the autumn. Georgiana contrived it, and the painter was discreet.”
He shook his head slowly, still gazing at the likeness. “And all this was kept from me.”
Elizabeth touched his arm lightly. “Some surprises are worth the keeping.”
She laid a small parcel on the table. “And I too must offer something, Fitzwilliam. Not painted, but written. A book you know well, though it now carries my thoughts among its pages.”
He unwrapped it, and at once recognised the volume. But it was no longer only a favourite text; her hand filled the margins, her ribbon lay ready to guide his reading.
As he turned a few leaves, something slipped softly to the floor.
Darcy bent to retrieve it and found a length of silk, narrow and finely stitched.
At first he thought it no more than a pretty bookmark, but when he held it to the light he saw the truth of it: a tiny footprint, its outline traced in thread, filled within by flowers worked with Elizabeth’s delicate hand.
Violets curved into the arch, primroses marked the heel, and at the toe a sprig of myrtle unfurled, as though Thomas’s small step had blossomed into devotion, youth, and constancy.
Elizabeth coloured as he studied it. “I pressed his foot upon a scrap and copied it before it faded. He will never be so small again, but now you may keep him always close, even among your books.”
Darcy’s throat tightened. He touched the stitched flowers as reverently as if they had been his son’s own toes. “Elizabeth… you have turned his first step into a treasure beyond any jewel.”
She coloured more deeply, but her eyes were bright. Georgiana, watching them both, seemed content.
For a moment Darcy stood with them in perfect quiet, his hand lingering on the book, his heart fuller than it had ever been. This was what his life had become, his sister confident, his wife thoughtful and loving, his son asleep upstairs.
Georgiana smiled at them both, her relief from the day plain in every line of her face.
“I should see how Kitty is doing. She was rather overwhelmed by the crowd, and I promised not to leave her long.” With a grateful glance at Elizabeth, and one last smile for her brother, she slipped from the room.
Elizabeth lingered by the table, her fingers brushing the closed volume. When Darcy met her eyes, he saw in them a brightness that had nothing to do with the gifts upon the table.
“There is one more thing,” she said softly, so low that only he could hear. “But this gift is not for today alone. It will take some months before you may fully see it.”
Darcy stilled, searching her face. Then understanding dawned, swift and overwhelming. His breath caught, and he could not speak for an instant.
Elizabeth’s smile was tender, her fingers tightening over his. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. By next summer, God willing, Thomas will not be our only child.”
Joy struck through him with such force he had to steady himself against the table.
The miniature, the book, the thought of their son upstairs, all these gifts had filled him already, yet this promise eclipsed them all.
Darcy closed the book with care, setting it beside the miniature, though his hand lingered a moment over Elizabeth’s.
He looked at her, wonder still in his voice.
A discreet knock sounded again. Williams opened the door. “Sir, your guests have arrived.”
Darcy closed the book with care, setting it beside the miniature. He looked at the woman who had altered his life so entirely and offered his arm.
“Then let us go down together. It is time.”
~ The End ~