Chapter Two
Elizabeth had scarcely finished her tea when the bell rang and the upstairs maid entered with soft steps, curtsied, and made her way to the wardrobe.
“Madam says you are to wear the ivory muslin, miss. I have pressed it and laid out the pale blue ribbon she thought might suit.”
Elizabeth offered her thanks and allowed herself to be dressed.
The attentiveness of it, the pressed gown laid out the night before, the ribbon already chosen, was not a thing she knew how to receive without a small, private discomfort.
In truth, the gown was her best, reserved for Sundays and special occasions, and she had always considered it sufficient.
In the Gardiner household, she was less certain.
By the time she descended, Mrs. Gardiner was waiting in the morning room, composed and lovely in dove grey with a fine white fichu. A small box sat on the table near her elbow, from which she withdrew a pair of kid gloves and offered them with a smile.
“We shall take proper advantage of the warehouse today,” she said, her tone warm but brisk. “The modiste cannot work miracles unless we give her something to begin with, and Edward is determined you shall not lift a finger unless it is to point to something you desire.”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “I cannot imagine I should know what to ask for. I do not think I ever pointed at a gown in my life.”
“Then today shall be your first. You must begin to think of yourself as a lady with means, for you shall have no shortage of opportunity to play the part this summer.”
Their destination was not far, only a few streets west, but Mr. Gardiner insisted they go by carriage.
The route carried them through Cheapside, noisy and various, hawkers calling from shaded corners and apprentices darting between the wheels with armfuls of packages.
Elizabeth watched from the window without quite seeing it.
She was thinking, in spite of herself, about slippers.
They arrived within ten minutes. Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse stood on a clean and orderly street, set back just slightly from the main thoroughfare.
Its front windows gleamed in the sun and displayed carefully arranged wares with practiced elegance.
Across the glass, the gold-stamped letters read: Gardiner & Co. , Fine Goods and Haberdashery.
Two clerks waited just within the open doorway. Both stood at attention and bowed respectfully as Mr. Gardiner himself stepped forward to greet them.
“My ladies,” he said with a broad grin, taking each of their gloved hands in turn. “How fine you look. Lizzy, I believe we shall make a merchant’s daughter of you yet. Come in. Come in.”
Elizabeth blushed and returned his smile. It was impossible not to.
They were led through the main warehouse, a space of high ceilings, polished wood floors, and shelves stacked with neatly arranged bolts of fabric.
A velvet curtain separated it from a private salon beyond.
Within was a tasteful sitting area, a writing desk with a catalogue open upon it, and a series of large panels bearing samples of muslin, cambric, lawn, sarsenet, and dimity.
The air carried the subtle scent of lavender.
The faint sound of footsteps and voices from the main room gave the place a comforting hum of enterprise.
“I thought it best to begin with the essentials,” said Mr. Gardiner, drawing open a drawer and revealing a set of colour cards and swatches. “You shall want enough to see you through London and the whole of Brinmouth. Two months, is it still?”
Mrs. Gardiner gave a decisive nod. “Yes. We shall leave at the end of next week. Lizzy, I have spoken with Madame Charpentier, and she shall take us this afternoon. She has excellent taste and understands young ladies’ needs perfectly.”
“I confess I do not know what my needs are,” Elizabeth murmured, as she reached out to touch a length of sprigged muslin in a soft coral pink. The fabric was light and finely woven, and she imagined it fluttering in the sea breeze.
“Then we shall guide you,” her aunt replied. “Four day dresses, at least, perhaps five. You must have two evening gowns, one walking dress with matching pelisse, a spencer jacket or two, and accessories enough to carry you through changeable weather.”
"Surely that is more than—"
Elizabeth stopped. Mrs. Gardiner had already turned to the panels and was drawing a length of pale blue sarsenet toward the light with the brisk efficiency of someone who considered the matter settled.
"Are you quite sure I need so much?"
"Your uncle is quite sure," said Mrs. Gardiner, without turning round. "And so am I."
“No choosing anything like that pale apricot you wore last Easter,” said Mrs. Gardiner as she turned to examine a bolt of palest green. “It sapped every ounce of colour from your face. This, however, will do very nicely.”
Elizabeth looked at the green. It was very fine, which was precisely the difficulty, and she found herself looking away again.
It was the coral muslin that undid her. She had not meant to reach for it, having in fact been studying the catalogue with great attention to avoid reaching for anything, but her hand moved before she considered it, and the fabric was lighter than she had expected, almost nothing between her fingers, and she stood there holding it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
"That one," said Mrs. Gardiner quietly, from somewhere to her left, "will be made up into the walking dress."
Elizabeth set it down. Then, after a moment, picked it up again. When a tray of ribbons was produced, Elizabeth reached automatically for the plainest. Mrs. Gardiner selected another before she could speak.
"That one."
"It must be twice the price."
Mrs. Gardiner laughed.
"My dear Lizzy, if I wished to economise, I should not have brought you here."
Elizabeth suspected this was not an argument she was likely to win. Mrs. Gardiner continued her inspection of fabrics with quiet determination, while Mr. Gardiner declared himself pleased with nearly everything placed before him.
By the end of the hour she had, without entirely meaning to, expressed a preference for the ivory over the cream, asked twice about the sea-blue ribbon, and pointed at a figured muslin from Manchester, once tentatively and then with considerably more conviction, that she had no business wanting and wanted very much indeed.
As they settled once more into the carriage, Mrs. Gardiner gave a satisfied nod. “You shall be well prepared when the time comes to leave.”
“I feel rather like a duchess in disguise,” Elizabeth said, clutching the small swatch book she had been allowed to keep. “What would Jane say, I wonder, if she could see me now?”
“She would say you deserved every bit of it,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “And she would be right.”
The carriage turned into a quieter lane. Elizabeth had been looking out the window with the swatch book open on her lap, not reading it, only looking, when the familiar shopfront came into view. She sat up straighter. "The bookseller."
“I thought you might like a visit,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I took the liberty of asking if he still keeps the corner window display. He says he does.”
They alighted moments later, and Elizabeth hurried toward the shopfront, the bell above the door ringing merrily as she entered.
The scent of ink, fine paper, and old bindings greeted her like an old friend.
It was the same in every shop she had ever entered, that smell, and it always did the same thing to her, loosened something she had not known she was holding.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Delaney from behind his desk, rising with a smile. “You have grown. But I knew it must be you. You have the same eyes.”
Elizabeth returned his smile with true warmth. “It is a pleasure to be remembered.”
“You used to sit on that stool with your nose in The Vicar of Wakefield, and I believe once I caught you reciting Pope to the window.”
“She still does,” said Mrs. Gardiner dryly, stepping inside behind her. “Though nowadays she is more inclined to correct the meter.”
Elizabeth laughed with them and turned at once toward the nearest shelf, her fingers finding the spines before she had quite decided to move, reading titles in the half-light the way another person might breathe.
“I shall give you ten minutes,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “No more, or we shall miss our appointment with Madame Charpentier.”
The sun had dipped below the rooftops by the time they returned to Gracechurch Street, and the parlour lamps had already been lit.
A light supper had been laid in the small dining room.
Cold beef, cheese, stewed fruit, and a pot of strong tea suited them all very well after the day's exertions.
The children had long since gone to bed, and the household had settled into its evening hush.
Mrs. Gardiner passed Elizabeth a dish of gooseberries and regarded her with evident satisfaction.
"I believe the day was a success."
"I believe," said Elizabeth, "that I have somehow acquired half a wardrobe without ever intending to do so."
"That was because you made the mistake of expressing an opinion."
Mr. Gardiner laughed.
"Your aunt has been trying to discover your preferences for years. Once she found them, you were lost."
Elizabeth shook her head, though she could not help smiling.
Her uncle poured himself another cup of tea.
"Well, you shall have occasion to make use of it all.
Four gentlemen are expected to join me during our stay.
I have letters from Mr. John Hargrave and Sir Thomas Ellison confirming their interest. Captain Montjoy wrote last week to say he intends to attend as well.
He left the service with considerable prize money but has not, I think, entirely reconciled himself to retirement.
Uncle Henry also mentioned that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy may wish to speak with me while we are there. "
Mrs. Gardiner looked up. "Darcy is coming to Brinmouth?" She set down her cup and let her gaze settle just beyond the candle flame. "Dear sweet boy. I have not seen him since he was thirteen."
“You were close?”
“Very much so. His mother, Lady Anne, was my godmother. She stood as my sponsor at birth and treated me as one of her own from my earliest years. I spent many days at Pemberley as a girl, often during holidays. She would take me into the music room and sit beside me at the pianoforte, or walk with me through the gardens, asking questions about my lessons. Her kindness was never condescending. I admired her greatly.”
"You have never mentioned any of this before."
"There was little occasion to do so."
"You were truly that close?"
"I remember him when he scarcely spoke to anyone.
There was a summer when he followed me about the house in silence.
Once, when I was playing scales, he climbed onto the bench beside me and sat there without saying a word.
The next day, he did it again. After a week, he said Maddie.
Just once. After that, he always found me, wherever I was.
We hardly spoke, but there was no need. He was a thoughtful little boy. Earnest, and very quiet."
"You speak of him almost as a younger brother."
"Perhaps that is not so far from the truth.
We were related, though the connection was never a simple one.
My father was Aunt Anne's cousin, but they were raised almost as brother and sister.
When his parents died, my father was brought up at Matlock House by the Earl of Matlock.
He grew up alongside Henry and Anne Fitzwilliam, and remained close to them all his life.
Through Anne's influence he later received the living at Lambton, and so we found ourselves often at Pemberley. "
"If you were all so close, what happened?"
Mrs. Gardiner lowered her eyes to her plate.
“The year I turned eighteen, the scarlet fever swept through England. Ours was not exempt. My father was the first to pass. In the fear that followed, it suited Aunt Anne’s husband to believe the illness had entered his household by my father’s hand.
As a clergyman, he had ministered where he was most needed, and Aunt Anne, from kindness and duty, had often accompanied him. ”
For a moment she fell silent. Mr. Gardiner reached across the table and closed his hand over hers. She returned the pressure briefly before drawing a steadying breath.
“Aunt Anne was taken ill soon after. The child followed her within days.
Baby Georgiana did not survive it. When Aunt Anne herself died not long after, grief settled into certainty, and certainty into blame.
He could not bear that so much should be taken from him at once, and so he fixed upon a cause. My father's name answered the need.”
“His grief turned outward. Before I fully understood what was happening, we were urged to remove ourselves to London.”
“I was grateful, at least, that my father had left provision enough that we were not wholly unprotected, and that he had placed trust in your uncle long before. Old Mr. Darcy's anger did not soften with time. Communication was cut off entirely, and without ceremony.”
“For a time, I believed the same fate might follow elsewhere. Uncle Henry was an Earl, and I had chosen to marry a man in trade. It would not have surprised me had the connection been allowed to lapse. But Aunt Deborah would not permit it. She loved my mother, and she was resolute in that regard.”
“I know Uncle Henry, Aunt Deborah, and especially their son Richard were all hurt by Mr. Darcy's decision. Yet I do not think old Mr. Darcy fully considered the consequences, for Richard and Will were sent to the same schools, and it was there that their acquaintance was renewed.”
“When old Mr. Darcy died, not long after Will came of age, Uncle Henry and Aunt Deborah received him readily. He was very young to bear such losses.”
“But I was a woman with two small children, and I doubt I had much place in the life of a newly bereaved bachelor. We moved in different circles by then. I suppose, if I were to write, he would answer. He hears of me from time to time, and I of him. But for the most part, our lives have altered beyond easy return.”
“And now he may invest in the Brinmouth venture?”
“So Uncle Henry believes,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Though I shall know better once we speak.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled faintly.
“Perhaps we shall all know better once we do.”