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UNCOMMONLY IMPROVED

F earing Lady Catherine’s grim eagerness might portend an early arrival for their meeting and preferring the lady to present her wishes privately, Elizabeth ordered Darcy to ‘go off and be busy elsewhere’ for a few hours.

Somewhat morose to once again vacate his comfortable house and wary of abandoning his lovely wife to his vexatious aunt, he offered to make a final visit to the bookseller and call on Georgiana at Matlock House.

As he donned his hat and coat, Elizabeth saw her husband whisper to Parsons; the white-haired butler’s brows rose, and he glanced towards her before dropping his gaze and quietly saying, “Yes, sir.”

I shall be well-protected. I wonder whether he armed the footmen.

True to her character, Lady Catherine burst through the doors as the clock struck one. Her face powder was less garish than in days prior, and her beauty mark had migrated to her left cheek.

“Good afternoon, madam.” She examined Elizabeth closely, from head to hem, squinting as she inspected her face and chest.

Squirming under the kind of scrutiny rarely bestowed even by her own mother, Elizabeth clasped her hands together and asked whether Lady Catherine would join her on the settee for tea to discuss arrangements for the dinner party.

The dowager made no move and remained standing as she dismissed the invitation.

“Darcy House has always set a fine table. All will be well if the household follows the direction of its former mistress. My late sister, Anne, was a lady of great taste and discernment, and as you have not had time to redecorate or replace her fine dishes and vases, ensuring all is polished and gleaming will suffice.” She held out a card.

“Give this to the cook. It contains instructions on those dishes that may affect Cad’s gout or Anne’s complexion. ”

Mutely, Elizabeth took the card.

“Now, I wish to speak to you on a private matter. Is Darcy about?”

Elizabeth felt a small moment of panic. Had she misjudged what Lady Catherine truly wished to speak on? Had she in fact come to berate her? Or was she concerned her nephew would be amused by the goings-on?

“He is out for the afternoon.”

“Perfect. Shall we adjourn to your dressing room? I have, ah—questions on some of the newer fashions.” Her voice rose, and she pounded her cane on the gleaming wood floor. “Come, Dawson!”

Lady Catherine’s lady’s maid entered the drawing room, her eyes darting about worriedly before meeting Elizabeth’s. They stared at one another for a moment until Elizabeth, feeling a mixture of pity and amusement, gestured towards the doorway. “Shall we?”

Lady Catherine struggled not to notice the small changes wrought in her sister’s former chambers.

It had been closer to two decades than one since she had last entered Anne’s private rooms, and yet it felt eerily similar to her memories.

Had it always lacked the elegance of her own apartment at Rosings?

Had the curtains and counterpane been this shade of blue?

And why , she thought, sniffing, is the air so redolent of sandalwood and bergamot?

“What, exactly, is it you wish to see, Lady Catherine?” The intruder—er, Miss Elizabeth Bennet—stood in the dressing room.

It was sparsely filled, hardly befitting the needs of any Mrs Darcy.

No feathers, no embroidered velvet, no furs—and why was it all so pale? Not a purple or red gown to be seen!

Before she could inform the ignorant girl of the inadequacy of her wardrobe, Darcy’s wife gestured behind her. “We began packing my trunks yesterday to send ahead to Pemberley with our other purchases so that I have warm gowns awaiting me.”

Lady Catherine nodded her approval and stepped into the small room.

Best to get to the point. “How is it—” She waved her hand as she did when she felt others should understand without words.

The brazen mouse only stared at her, evidently less clever than she had thought.

Lady Catherine directed her gaze at the upstart’s impertinent mounds.

“How is it your bosom, which should be here”—she made a flourish towards her stomach—“is up here. Perhaps it is the backwardness of your country upbringing, but such shamelessness was frowned upon when I was your age.”

Her critique earned a smile. Such insolence! Does she not understand what I must know?

“My mother often has spoken, nay complained, of the same thing. She laments the styles, colours, and fastenings of her youth,” the girl said, that cursed smirk upon her lips.

“And yet, as in all things, fashions have changed.” She pinched the fabric of her plain yellow gown.

“My chest may be more pronounced, but my waist is hidden. A few years ago, a lady’s waist was considered far more important in exhibiting her figure. ”

“Certainly a more desirable form.” Lady Catherine gestured at her neck. “Your flesh is bare. Have you not learnt that jewels are an important aspect of your station? Whether at home or out in company, you must exhibit yourself.”

“At home, Mr Darcy is well-pleased to see me adorned comfortably in little more than pearls.” The minx blushed and appeared to be holding back a laugh; Lady Catherine could see the familiar mirth in her excessively expressive, albeit beautiful, eyes.

What on earth is so humorous?

A little vexed, she said rather pointedly, “Your eyes are always so bright, giving the appearance of impertinence.”

Now a laugh escaped the girl’s equally impertinent lips. “Again, your thoughts match those of my mother.”

Lady Catherine shuddered. As if she , the daughter of an earl, would be of a mind with a country wife who had birthed five daughters and neglected to hire a governess! She managed to swallow her thoughts before she could voice them. Patience! Gain the information that you seek.

“You there, Mrs Darcy’s maid,” she called out to a wide-eyed girl.

“Fetch some pins and assist Dawson in arranging my gown in the style of that one of your mistress’s.

” She pointed to the light-blue gown she had admired on a previous evening.

It was in dire need of lace trimmings, jewels, and buttons, but its shape was flattering and would emphasise her own not insubstantial female attributes.

Yes, Cad would like that. He should not be required to squint to see her finest qualities.

“Now then,” she said, turning away, “shall we look at your dressing table? I do not need to be excessively painted like those other supposed ladies in town,” she added as she stepped towards the mirrored table she recognised as having once been her elder sister’s.

“My steadfast use of pimpernel water has kept my complexion free of creases, thus I require only a light touch of powder and rouge. However, I believe that in the feeble lighting of town, my friend Lord Cadbury may require that I accent my features a little more. I prefer a white mask of clay with a tint of vermillion, as in my youth.”

“Oh, but Lady Catherine, your aspect is too fine to require such a heavy application,” said Mrs Darcy. “Rather than hide your complexion, you should enhance it with some talc powders, and perhaps a little rouge. You do not wish to be too French, I would think. ”

The great lady looked approvingly at her nephew’s wife. Yes, I think she may be a helpful relation after all.

It was Elizabeth’s choices in creams and perfumes that seemed most to delight Lady Catherine. She was particularly pleased with the rosewater and lavender oils she had created with Kitty and Jane in Longbourn’s still-room.

“I knew the English could produce scents that would match those of the French dastards,” the lady crowed as she drained a second glass of sherry.

Much as Elizabeth preferred honesty in her dealings with anyone—especially Darcy’s family—this pronouncement called for no more than a nod, and an offer to procure more of the scents for the lady.

By the time the second hour of Lady Catherine’s visit ticked by, Elizabeth had discovered her husband’s aunt enjoyed pampering; the attentions paid to her—and the sherry bottle that had supplanted the teapot—had loosened both her tongue and her inhibitions.

“You ladies today in your chemises! What of your stays and corsets? Hoydens with neither petticoats nor pantaloons!”

And so she went on as her heavy velvet gown was stripped of jewelled adornments and tucked and pinned to better display her voluminous allurements.

Elizabeth averted her eyes more than once and envied Lord Cadbury’s deafness when Lady Catherine, fortified by a fourth glass of sherry, smiled rather coyly at her reflection in the mirror and cooed.

But that was nothing to the gasp the lady emitted after Dawson washed away her white lead face powder and Elizabeth’s abigail gently applied a lighter cream, powder, and rouge.

“Oh…I look like a girl of seventeen!” the dowager cried.

Even when Elizabeth squinted, Lady Catherine looked at least three decades past that, but Elizabeth had a kind heart and a growing wish for her visitor to leave before Darcy arrived home. “You look beautiful, madam. It is a more natural look for a lady with such a delicate complexion.”

“I am not a common woman. I have never been tanned by the sun or burnt by winds. My mama would not permit it,” she said, leaning uncomfortably close to peer at Elizabeth’s face.

“You, my dear, had freckles when first we met. I told Mrs Collins to ensure you wore a large bonnet in Kent, yet I see that, even in winter, a few spots remain on your nose. You must listen to me if you wish to retain your youthful looks.”

With that, Lady Catherine emitted an unladylike yawn.

She stood, instructed Dawson to gather their things—chiefly the baubles, buttons, and feathers removed from her gown and cap—and patted Elizabeth’s cheek.

“No one, particularly Lady Matlock, must ever know of this visit, Mrs Darcy,” she whispered before tottering towards the doorway, humming happily.