Chapter 35
Madame Beaumont’s Dressmaker Shop
Bond Street
London
Two Hours Later
12th December, 1811
Kitty and Lydia Bennet stepped down onto the street while Lady Bennet waited until a manservant, who had been perched at the back of the carriage, arrived and held out his hand.
She took it, descended gracefully to the street, and looked around with interest. She had never been to this street, which boasted some of the most expensive stores in all of London.
Sir Thomas disliked Town and had certainly never been enthusiastic about sending his wife and daughters to visit the Metropolis and buy clothing.
When Lizzy had taken over the reins of spending, Lady Bennet had briefly hoped that the purse strings would loosen.
This turned out to be a forlorn hope, and thus it was that she and her daughters had been forced to make do with the dresses sewed by Mrs. Simmons in Meryton.
“Come along, Mamma!” Lydia cried out. “I see Jane within.”
Lady Bennet obediently stepped onto the sidewalk and took a moment to admire the sign on the shop.
Madame Beaumont was an émigré who had fled the Corsican tyrant, and she had a very select clientele.
Fortunately, Lady Keaton was one of those clients and had paved the way for Jane to have her wedding dress made up by one of the most elegant and gifted dressmakers in all of London.
She climbed the steps and followed her two youngest daughters into the shop.
For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the showroom.
It was an expansive space, with a great many mirrors, and an elegant Persian carpet in reds and oranges and gold, and a roaring fire in the hearth, and a number of chairs sprinkled about the room.
“Good morning, Mamma,” a familiar voice said.
She turned and beamed proudly as Jane stepped into the room through a doorway, which led to a back room. The eldest Miss Bennet was dressed in a glorious gown composed of white lace over white satin. Her blond hair was held back by a blue ribbon, and she was exquisite.
“My dear,” she cried out, hurrying forward with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Jane, how well you look!”
“She does indeed, Madame,” a new, lightly accented voice said, and Lady Bennet turned as Elizabeth and an unknown woman walked through the same doorway.
“Mamma, Sisters,” Jane said, “May I please introduce you to Madame Beaumont? Madame, our mother, Lady Bennet and my two youngest sisters, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia.”
The dressmaker curtsied and said, “It is an honor to meet you, my lady. Your eldest daughter is indeed most handsome. I wonder if perhaps she would benefit from a different underdress, however. Perhaps light blue to match her eyes, or yellow to match her hair?”
“What do you think, Lydia?” Jane asked, and Lady Bennet turned a respectful look on her youngest, as it was generally accepted that Lydia had the best eye of all the Bennet ladies.
Lydia tilted her head, her eyes narrowed, and then said, “I think a light blue underdress would look very well. Regarding the lace overdress, I believe some embroidery would make it look better. Do you have embroidered lace with yellow or blue figuring, perhaps?”
Madame Beaumont cast an impressed look on Lydia and said, “That is an excellent idea, Miss Lydia. I have a bolt of lace that might well be perfect. Would you and Miss Bennet care to come into the back room with me, or shall I have one of my assistants bring it into the main showroom?”
“Let us go with you,” Jane suggested, taking a few steps toward the doorway that led to the back. “Come along, Lydia, Kitty.”
Lady Bennet was surprised and a trifle hurt by this obvious dismissal, but as soon as the dressmaker and three of her daughters had disappeared, Elizabeth said, “Mamma, I need to tell you something.”
She turned an irritable look on her second daughter and straightened her back.
“What is it, Lizzy? Are you now regretting your foolish decision to spurn Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth sighed, shook her head, and said, “No, I will never regret that, but I am now in a courtship with Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, and he is, you will agree, an even more eligible gentleman than Mr. Collins.”
Lady Bennet stared at her daughter, her mouth gaping in wonder, the blood suddenly thundering through her veins to the point that she suddenly felt faint.
“Mamma, are you well?” Elizabeth demanded, now looking alarmed. “Sit down, please. Sit down!”
Lady Bennet allowed herself to be guided over to one of the chairs, and she sat down with a rather inelegant thump. She leaned back as Elizabeth took a fan from her reticule and began fanning her.
“Mamma?” Elizabeth asked worriedly.
“Good gracious!” Lady Bennet suddenly cried out.
“Mr. Darcy? Lord bless me! Only to think! Dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it? And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane’s is nothing to it, nothing at all.
I am so pleased, so happy. Such a charming man!
So handsome! So tall! Oh, my dear Lizzy! ”
“Mamma,” Elizabeth replied, “We are only courting, not engaged.”
The older lady waved this away with an extravagant gesture, which resulted in the fan in Elizabeth’s hand being knocked to the floor.
“You will marry him,” she declared, leaping to her feet.
“A man like that does not ask for a courtship without intending to marry, and given your foolish ... well, perhaps your rejection of Mr. Collins was not so foolish! I am confident you would not accept a courtship if you did not plan to marry the man.”
Elizabeth looked surprised and then smiled ruefully. “You may be correct about that, Mamma.”
“Of course I am. Well, come along, my dear. You will be wanting your own wedding gown, and we might as well see what Madame Beaumont has that will suit your complexion!”
***
Merlin’s Mechanical Museum
11 Princes Street
Hanover Square
The Next Day
Friday, 13th December, 1811
The room was empty except for Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, who stood side by side gazing at the wonderful silver swan automaton in front of them.
Tinkling, chiming music filled the air, the shining beak swinging to and fro over gleaming, rippling glass water.
Bronze and silver fish shimmered, a delectable swimming buffet for the hungry swan.
It caught one fish that flashed golden in the polished beak, the long graceful neck straightening as the swan 'swallowed' its meal and stilled again, neck arched gracefully.
When the swan had completed its movement, and the music had died away, Elizabeth turned an ecstatic look on her suitor and said, “Oh, Mr. Darcy, it is amazing, is it not?”
He smiled at her, as pleased by her response as by the swan itself. “Indeed it is, Miss Bennet. Mr. Merlin was obviously an incredibly gifted individual.”
“He was,” Miss Elizabeth replied fervently, allowing herself to be drawn away from the swan and toward a door which led to a hitherto unexplored room. “I greatly respect men and women who possess gifted hands, so to speak. It must take so much … oh, how marvelous!”
Darcy had been too focused on his charming companion to pay much attention to his surroundings, but now he looked about to discover that they were surrounded by tables with clocks on them.
Some of the clocks were large, some were small, but all were beautiful and, based on the ticking and whirring, in excellent working order.
“They are,” he agreed, even as he congratulated himself on his decision to accompany Miss Elizabeth to Merlin’s Mechanical Museum today.
A more conventional lady would probably prefer St. Paul’s Cathedral or the British Museum, and indeed they might visit both places in the coming days, but he had guessed that a woman whose father and sister were enthusiastic astronomers might enjoy a more unusual museum.
Given the time of the year, the museum was empty save for the young man who had taken their money, and he relished this opportunity to spend time alone with the woman he loved.
“Look at this!” Elizabeth exclaimed, stopping to inspect a tall, wooden clock set up in pride of place in one corner of the room. “It claims to be a perpetual motion clock!”
Darcy frowned, his mind shifting back to long ago studies at Cambridge, and said, “Is that even possible?”
She turned an arch look on him, the kind that made his heart melt, and she said, “As to that, I do not know. I will have to ask my father.”
“Is Sir Thomas also an expert on clocks?” he asked as they wandered toward a door which led into yet another unknown room.
“Not as much as telescopes, of course, but Mr. Nathaniel Bowditch of America is an astronomer, though he is more concerned about navigation on ships, and he has spoken of the need for excellent clocks for determining a ship’s position.
Mr. Bowditch wrote The American Practical Navigator perhaps ten years ago, and my father and Mary are exceedingly pleased with it. ”
They entered the next room, which was filled with a variety of peculiar inventions, and Darcy looked with interest at a chair near him which, according to the placard, was a ‘Gouty Chair’ for lame individuals.
“Was it difficult?” he asked suddenly.
She turned a curious look on him. “Was what difficult?”
“To grow up in a house with astronomical geniuses?”
Her pretty brow furrowed, and she said after a moment of cogitation, “Yes, it was at times. But it is all I have known, of course. I do not think that my father’s genius is the problem so much as his penchant for thinking more about planets and moons and asteroids than about his family.”
“That must have been difficult,” he said sympathetically, guiding her over to inspect an automatic revolving tea table with twelve teacups.
“There are many gentlemen who ignore their families in favor of gambling and drinking and other vices,” Miss Elizabeth remarked. “Now, Mr. Darcy, would you be willing to tell me about your father? I know you lost him many years ago, but what was he like?”
He nodded. “Of course. He was an admirable man, my father…”
***
Dining Room
Longbourn
Dinner Time
Saturday, 14th December, 1811
Mary Bennet took a bite of potatoes, chewed, swallowed, and then took a bite of ham. It was well cooked and tasty, as usual, and she paused a moment to be thankful for Cook, who always produced excellent fare regardless of who was in residence.
Her eyes roved over the table, which had but a few dishes on it. With only Sir Thomas and Mary at Longbourn, and Mr. Collins dining at Lucas Lodge most of the time, Mary had thought it sensible to request simple meals.
Sir Thomas sat at her side, reading through some correspondence as he absently ate his own meal.
She was thankful that he was reading letters instead of setting them aside entirely.
Given that Elizabeth was away in London, it was important that the master of Longbourn be at least somewhat aware of what was happening with Emerald Island in particular and the world in general.
The door opened, and Mary turned in surprise as Mr. Collins entered the room, his round face even more solemn than usual.
“Good evening, Mr. Collins,” she said and gestured toward the chair across from her. “Would you care to sit down, sir?”
“Thank you, Cousin Mary,” the parson replied, and then cleared his throat so ostentatiously that even Sir Thomas looked up.
“I wish to announce a most wonderful thing,” Collins continued. “I have the honor of informing you that Miss Charlotte Lucas has accepted an offer of my hand in marriage.”
Mary glanced at her father, who, to her relief, produced an appropriate smile and said, “That is excellent news. Many congratulations.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, “I am certain you and Charlotte are well suited and will be happy together.”
The gentleman looked pleased, straightened his back, and lifted his chin.
“I am extremely gratified as well, Sir Thomas, Cousin Mary. I have come to the happy conclusion that Charlotte and I have but one mind between us and but one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other. I can, in fact, only be grateful that Miss Elizabeth chose not to bestow her hand on me, as I am confident she would not have fulfilled her marital duties with the same devotion and diligence as my Charlotte will.”
Mary’s lips tightened at these words, and she suppressed a desire to give Mr. Collins an appropriate tongue-lashing. If Elizabeth ever married, she would be as wonderful a wife as any gentleman could desire. But when a man was stupid, and arrogant, and…
“You never had any chance with Elizabeth anyway,” Sir Thomas said. “She is being courted by Mr. Darcy, and even he may not be able to win her hand. My Lizzy is very particular, you know.”
Mary turned a shocked look on her sire. Elizabeth was being courted by Mr. Darcy?
A loud gasp drew her attention back to her cousin, and she was alarmed to observe that her cousin’s face was now bright red, and his eyes were bulging.
“Mr. Collins!” she cried out, leaping to her feet. “Are you unwell?”
“Mr. Darcy cannot,” the rector gasped, coughed, and then sputtered, “he cannot! That is, he is engaged to the fairest flower in all of Kent, Miss de Bourgh, the only daughter of my most esteemed patroness! Mr. Darcy cannot be courting my cousin Elizabeth. It is absolutely impossible!”