18. Gracechurch Street—Monday, 25 December 1809
Elizabeth awoke on Christmas morning with her thoughts whirling with the wonders of Christmas Eve.
William had been very thoughtful and caring of Ellen’s and Margaret’s comfort, and playful with Stephen.
Georgiana had been enchanted with their little church and contented to be with another young lady and children, instead of mired in a family of almost entire men, with everyone else more than a decade older than she.
The dinner with the Gardiners and the Darcys had felt rare and precious—although it might be replicated many times in the future.
William told her that he truly enjoyed both her uncle and aunt.
’Tis too much happiness! she thought. Why am I allowed to be so happy? Why is not everybody as happy?
But then Elizabeth remembered: not only was today Christmas Day, but it was also the day she would descend into the lion’s den. It might not be the happiest Christmas dinner of her life.
I shall face every lion with courage and honour, she promised herself. Although I do hope there are no spiders. If there are large spiders, I suspect I shall face them with shrieks and screams.
Elizabeth rose, washed, dressed, and then set about spreading Christmas cheer to her young cousins and providing whatever services her uncle and aunt may need. It was likely they missed quite a bit of sleep, given the fact that Tommy seemed to wish to eat every moment of every day…and night.
Hours later, wearing the most exquisite dark blue silk evening gown her aunt owned, Elizabeth allowed Becky, her aunt’s maid, to dress her hair in a complex style studded with pearl-tipped pins.
The only pieces of jewellery she wore were her aunt’s strand of perfectly matched pearls and the five stacked rings her aunt had given her.
“I feel like I am a little girl dressing up in her auntie’s clothes, pretending to be someone she is not.” Elizabeth smiled to show Becky that her self-deprecation was out of humour, not insecurity.
“You look lovely, miss, and when you are Mistress of Pemberley, I imagine you will have clothes just as beautiful as this gown.”
“I imagine you are correct,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you, Becky. You have done a wonderful job.”
William looked quite transfixed as she went down the stairs to meet him. “Oh, my! You look—bewitching!”
“Is it appropriate for dinner at an earl’s house?” she asked, twinkling up at him.
He laughed and hurried her to his carriage since Georgiana and Mrs Annesley awaited them there.
Georgiana gave Elizabeth a sideways hug. “I brought you my nicest fur cloak, in case you needed it, but you look stunning, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you. Almost everything I am wearing belongs to my aunt.”
“She has wonderful taste.”
When the carriage reached Matlock House, William helped Mrs Annesley and Georgiana down but then leant into the carriage so he could speak privately for a moment.
“I have no idea how you will be treated, Elizabeth. I wish I could guarantee that you will be treated well, but I cannot. That said, I wish to make clear to you that I chose you—I choose you—and nobody other than you may influence the outcome. I know that Mrs Darcy should be respected, the Mistress of Pemberley should be respected—and that means that you should be respected. If not, we will take our leave. I know it might feel horrible to take such a stance, but I feel strongly that I must. Do you think you can stand for me to…take a stand?”
Elizabeth thought for a few moments. She was immediately certain of her answer, but it was a solemn question about a serious issue, and she knew it deserved some thought.
Her careful consideration resulted in the same answer, so she spoke with assurance: “It is your family, William. Just as you feel strongly, I feel strongly that you must do as your honour and conscience dictates, and in this matter, with your own family, I will support you, whether silently or aloud.”
“Good,” he said.
He escorted Elizabeth and Georgiana into the town house, and the colonel immediately joined them, offering his arm to Mrs Annesley.
He looked less carefree—to tell the truth, more grim—than two days before, when Elizabeth had met him.
She heard the colonel mutter to William, “I do not know what Mother is planning, but I think it is clear that she is hatching some sort of scheme. There are a lot of places set at the dining table.”
Elizabeth felt William flinch, as if his cousin’s words outlined some danger they must escape.
“Should we—” he started to ask.
Holding on tight and allowing the forward pressure of her continuing to walk forward convince her intended to keep walking as well, Elizabeth whispered, “We cannot flee because she invited more people than you expected at her own dinner party. We have to wait for behaviour that is clearly disrespectful, or our leaving will be a cowardly retreat rather than a principled stand.”
“She is very correct, Coz.” The colonel’s smile was restored, and William squeezed the hand on his arm and thanked her.
It looked to be just the family party that Elizabeth had expected, and she responded to William’s introductions just as she had planned to—friendly and warm, but also bending towards humour as was her wont.
She would wish for William’s noble relations to like her, but she was determined that, if they did come to like her, they would like her for her actual personality rather than for a false front she had devised to gain their favour.
After half an hour of relatively pleasant chats with the earl about the last few plays Elizabeth had seen and with the countess about Napoleon’s divorce of Josephine—of all topics!
—Elizabeth noticed that newcomers had started to arrive in the drawing room.
It turned out to be a series of beautiful young women, each with a parent, and she was surprised that not one of them was introduced to her.
As the guests were called in to dine, and the sound of movement towards the doors provided the opportunity to not be overheard, Elizabeth murmured to William, “I believe I can see a pattern to our new guests.”
He looked around, apparently for the first time noticing all the young ladies. His face briefly looked thunderous.
“Do not forget, my love,” Elizabeth said, taking his offered arm, “we will behave well and only leave if we are treated poorly.”
The countess approached and murmured, “For shame, Darcy, you know the rules of precedence as well anyone. You must offer your arm to Mrs Westing.”
“As I always meant to,” William said smoothly. With another few steps, they reached a handsome woman in her forties or fifties. William bowed to her and said, “Mrs Westing. A pleasure. May I have the honour of presenting Miss Elizabeth Bennet to you?”
Mrs Westing studied Elizabeth with narrowed eyes, smiled insincerely, and nodded. Darcy proceeded with the introduction, and Elizabeth curtseyed to the older woman, saying, “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Westing.”
William offered his other arm to the lady. “Mrs Westing, I beg your indulgence that I also wish to escort my lovely bride-to-be. We have only been betrothed for two days, and I have spent the better part of a month in a state of most continuous besottedness.”
Mrs Westing looked quite disturbed by his words, but Elizabeth decided that it would do no harm to play the part of a grateful recipient of her forbearance.
“Thank you, Mrs Westing,” she said with as much genuine good will as she could muster.
“We do so appreciate others’ tolerance of our discomposure. ”
“Indeed!” Mrs Westing did not sound at all accepting, but she was not precisely rude.
The countess firmly directed Elizabeth and William to seats far from one another, and Elizabeth caught William’s eye and nodded a tiny bit in an attempt to communicate that they should cooperate.
He helped her into her seat in the middle of the table before moving off to sit between two beautiful young ladies near his aunt.
Elizabeth could not help but smile at the transparency of Lady Matlock’s attempted interference.
Normally, with twenty people at table, several discussions occur with low enough voices that everyone can comfortably hear those nearest themselves without having a far-away conversation intrude.
However, just as the soup was brought in, the blonde lady sitting on William’s right used a loud enough voice to address the entire table: “I had been so interested to see Baron Fletcher wed a commoner of no fortune, and I found myself wondering what arts and allurements she could have used to make him forget his duty. Miss Bennet, do you have any insight on the matter?”
Gasps could be heard, and William’s face shut down so swiftly, Elizabeth was afraid he might decide to leave because of the guest’s audacity—and Elizabeth had only agreed to leave if their hosts were rude.
She sent a beseeching glance to William but then answered the question with composure.
“I am frankly astonished to be addressed by name by someone to whom I have not been introduced. Furthermore, I do not know Baron Fletcher nor the woman he wed, so I am afraid I have no sensible answer for your question.”