Page 7

THE MANCUNIAN MANTUA-MAKER

Last evening, when Elizabeth had brought him near a most desperately welcome moment, she had requested he leave her at Himdale House, remain in the carriage, and continue on to his club.

In the heat of the moment he had of course agreed, but this morning, returned to his senses, he was uneasy.

It was not only the reception he feared she would receive from his imperious aunt; after all, he had been assured the presence of Lady Matlock would ensure Elizabeth’s dignity was not trampled upon.

He had not confessed to his darling wife the specific reasons for his disinclination for the company at White’s, where he knew his status as a newly wed man would stir up barbs and toasts that were less celebratory than lascivious.

He would not stand for any man to think of, let alone comment on, Elizabeth’s person; any man who even looked as if he were imagining her in any way that was not proper risked a hard pop to his nose.

“Are you well, dearest? Has the coffee gone cold?”

At last! Darcy turned to his wife as she emerged from her rooms and, seeing her concerned expression, immediately stepped towards her.

How beautiful she was! Her new lady’s maid—too shy to brush and fashion Elizabeth’s hair in his presence—was remarkably adept at creating a coiffure any woman would envy.

“Or is it your impatience for my company?” When she smiled, every bit of frustration he had felt disappeared, and every memory of how she felt in his arms returned.

“I am well, my dear, and you are magnificent.” Darcy lifted her hand to his lips.

Sighing, Elizabeth glanced at the windows, almost squinting at the glare. “It is a lovely day for a long walk in the park, but we must forge ahead with our duties.”

“You have no duty towards Lady Catherine,” he reminded her.

“But I do,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

“As do you towards your friends in town. Much as we share a mutual wish to spend all our time together, I must devote my afternoon to your aunt—our aunts—and you must occupy yourself outside the house in one of those exclusive clubs no one named Bennet or Gardiner has ever entered. Later I shall need the entertainment of your conversations—those that are suitable, of course, for my delicate ears—about the war and Parliament and whether fawn remains the colour of choice for trousers. In turn, you will hear of pinched bodices, the horrors of a poorly arranged fichu, and the true purposes of feathers and lace.”

Dash it but his wife was the cleverest of creatures, purposely tantalising him with the image of her in a pinched bodice and devoid of feathers, laces, and fichus. “Elizabeth, my club—you understand the fellows there will make sport of me as a green new husband.”

“Oh yes, as well they should, no matter how perfect you are.” She laughed. “They will enquire as to whether you have tamed your shrewish country wife and when you plan to release her onto society.”

“Dear heavens, that is not at all what I meant,” he sputtered.

She leant towards him and kissed his cheek.

“No, I suppose their questions will be of a far less proper kind, and your cheeks will redden with anger on my behalf. Pray do not challenge any of them to a duel or any such nonsense. If I can tolerate your aunt and her modiste, you can withstand silly men and their ridiculous comments.”

Together they walked down the stairs and towards the front door of Darcy House. He bent his head and whispered, “A mutual promise to kiss away any injuries, to our pride or my knuckles, and to tell all of what occurs today?”

“Indeed. If I am to risk being pinched and pricked, kissing will be much needed.”

The carriage drew up outside a building whose gaudy facade appeared to be made entirely of gold.

It positively shone with the ostentatious wealth and bad taste Elizabeth remembered at Rosings.

As the footman opened the door to Madame Badeaux’s shop, the bell tinkling, Lady Catherine stalked inside, pointing with her jewelled walking stick to various gowns and fabrics as they went.

Gesturing at a bilious green brocade, she commented, “There. That one would make a tasteful and attractive spencer. And that silk toile there will do for making calls. The jonquil will bring out the pallor of your complexion. Just see how it has worked wonders for Anne.”

Elizabeth quickly peered at Anne and noted that it did indeed erase all colour from her countenance, though a faint blush appeared in her cheeks when all eyes were on her. How well she would look in a celestial blue bonnet or spencer!

As they walked farther into the shop, Lady Matlock leant close and whispered to Elizabeth, “I have seen that coquelicot toile before, on an exiled Bourbon princess.”

“It does seem a bit old-fashioned,” Elizabeth whispered back, her eyes wide.

“I shall do my best to limit the damage, my dear,” her aunt murmured.

“What is that you are saying?” interjected Lady Catherine.

“Merely admiring the fabrics. ”

A bony woman in an unseemly amount of lace and a fichu that appeared to be choking her bustled towards them from the rear of the shop.

She dropped a deep curtsey and gasped, “Lady Catherine, quelle surprise ! C’est un honneur de vous revoir en ma humble boutique .

’Ow may I be of assistance today?” She managed her conjugations all right, but Elizabeth thought there was something suspicious about the rest of it.

Lady Catherine gestured at Elizabeth. “This lady is my nephew’s new wife.

She wishes to purchase half a dozen day gowns for receiving visitors, another five for making visits, a dozen proper petticoats—none of the thin, limp things ladies of ostensible fashion are wearing these days—and pantaloons, chemises, and several stout corsets to cinch down her bountiful assets and create the illusion of a waist. Oh, and a handful of evening gowns.

We must have something spectacular for the opera.

All in gold, perhaps, with a martial Persian theme.

The opera is Artaxerxes , of course, on Tuesday next. ”

The modiste’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open as Lady Catherine’s list went on and on. Elizabeth, certain she looked much the same—albeit perhaps for different reasons—darted a glance at an appalled-looking Lady Matlock before protesting.

“No, that is too much,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“My trunks and closets will be full with the orders I placed weeks ago with my aunt Gardiner and Lady Matlock. I cannot possibly require more than one additional day gown, perhaps another for the opera.” Seeing Madame Badeaux’s almost relieved expression, she continued, “And perhaps some stockings and gloves.”

Before Lady Catherine could speak, Lady Matlock did. “Mr and Mrs Darcy are to leave town shortly, and her wardrobe has already been purchased.”

Elizabeth smiled at a clearly furious Lady Catherine. “I would not wish to distress my husband and exceed my allowance.”

Lady Catherine looked somewhat mollified by that explanation, at least, and turned back to the dressmaker. “Bring us your thickest cotton nightgowns and robes. She goes north for the winter months and will need to be warm whilst discouraging her husband’s visits to her bed.”

“I do not think?—”

Lady Catherine paid Lady Matlock no mind, declaring, “A wife must always refuse her husband’s advances during the colder months, lest she sap his manly energies entirely and leave him to freeze to death.

But she must allow him to see her swaddled form before she sends him away, so that his inner fires will be stoked high. ”

Soon Lady Catherine was well satisfied that the girl would hardly even need a fire to stay warm in a Derbyshire winter, let alone seek warmth from her husband.

Miss Bennet turned to her and said, “Thank you, Lady Catherine. May I ask for your guidance in selecting a day-dress for making afternoon calls?”

Lady Catherine stopped short and looked at her with some suspicion. What is the grasping little schemer up to? Requesting my advice rather than parrying it?

“As I said before, the jonquil will do. It will make your complexion appear sufficiently pale that you will not even need to wear powder,” she sniffed, “to achieve a properly alabaster appearance.”

Miss Bennet nodded. “Yes, I see. My sister Jane has always said she prefers me in green, as she believes it looks well with my darker hair. Do you suppose any particular shade of green might have the same effect?”

Lady Matlock immediately interjected, “That is a lovely idea, my dear. Pomona green, perhaps?”

“Oh yes. I think it might. What do you think, Miss de Bourgh?” said Miss Bennet. Lady Catherine watched as her daughter nodded silently and walked over to a stack of silk gauze, pointing to the suggested shade of green.

The presumptuous little milkmaid joined her and held the fabric close to her face. “What say you, Lady Catherine? Will this do?”

In truth, she did not think the colour would sufficiently wash out the girl’s unseemly tan. Still, it might be passable. And at last, the disgraceful chit was deferring to her expertise. It would do indeed.

But then the boorish girl spoke again. Lord, but she talks too much and too often. How does Darcy stand it?

“My colouring is so different from Miss de Bourgh’s. Whilst I am tanned, often even through the autumn, she is more delicately complectioned, so beautifully fair,” she said, an observation Lady Catherine could not but agree with.

“Perhaps,” continued Miss Bennet, “her complexion, and her lovely eyes, might be especially enhanced by a light shade of blue?” She gestured at a beaded blue bonnet, too plain for Lady Catherine’s taste, but Anne appeared intrigued.

Lady Catherine squinted at her daughter, then at the bonnet. Seeing that Anne awaited her decision, she nodded. “Do try it on, Anne, if it amuses you. Miss Bennet cannot demand all my attention.”

Hours later, back at Darcy House, Elizabeth and her darling husband were once again sitting in front of the fire wearing their nightclothes, her head on his shoulder.

“Dearest, are you well?” Darcy asked. “You seem in oddly good spirits considering you passed the afternoon with my aunt. Did she abuse you less?”

“It went rather well, I think. With Lady Matlock’s assistance, we managed to avoid the most unflattering colours and designs. Yet I believe we also convinced Lady Catherine that it was all her idea. I count that as a success.”

“Surely it was not so easy.”

“No, indeed! But in the end, I shall have two new day-dresses that are not too appalling and that I shall never wear outside Rosings or Himdale House, and even then only in her presence. But your aunt also seems to feel she has been useful, and who among us does not like to feel useful?”

“Yes, of course. But in my experience, for her, ‘feeling useful’ is primarily achieved through bullying sycophants such as your cousin Collins. I can hardly imagine you fawning over her in that way,” he said, stroking her hair with great fondness.

“You are correct, I did not. But Lady Matlock and I conspired to redirect and distract her when she seemed inclined to demand obeisance. The countess is quite skilled in that way.”

“I still do not trust Lady Catherine. Perhaps she is lulling you into complacency and will attack or embarrass you in public. I cannot feel easy about this.”

Elizabeth ruffled his locks and laughed.

“I must admit to a bit of subterfuge of my own. She insisted I order a special gown to wear to the opera. It is gold and covered in lace and furbelows with a boned bodice stretching from neck to waist. Truly ghastly. But after we departed the shop, Lady Matlock returned on the pretext of fetching a forgotten handkerchief and slipped Madame Badeaux five guineas to accidentally spill red wine down the front of the gown just before it is to be picked up. There will not be enough time to make up a replacement. I shall simply have to wear the perfectly lovely green dress you purchased for me, the one that goes so beautifully with your mother’s necklace and earrings. ”

“The countess is indeed a master tactician. Brava.”

“And you, sweetheart?” Elizabeth reached for his hands and looked at them carefully, turning each over and inspecting his palms, knuckles, and fingers. “No bruises or spilt blood? Your friends behaved better than you feared?”

Darcy shook his head in that grave manner that she knew concealed mischief—she could see the mirth in his eyes!

He placed her hands on his chest, his heart beating steadily underneath the soft linen.

“There was neither insult nor injury to my pride or your goodness, my love. Rather, my throat is bruised from a too eager swallow of brandy, my neck is sore from the abuse of a tightly knotted cravat, my chest aches from missing you all afternoon…”

“A woman’s work is never done,” she said, leaning into his embrace.