Gracechurch Street, Cheapside, London, July 1811
E lizabeth Bennet was about to cry.
The mirror offered no kindness as she stared at her reflection, her lips trembling and her hands clutching the sides of the dress as though it might somehow reshape itself.
She had trusted Madame Dupont’s expertise, had even looked forward to this fitting with her usual sense of optimism. Shopping with her fashionable aunt Gardiner in London was always so much more enjoyable than in Meryton with her mother’s insistence of more lace and a lower neckline.
Yet now, standing in the modiste’s elegant fitting room surrounded by gilt-framed mirrors and the gentle rustle of silk, she could only think one thing: she looked like a squash.
A frilly, feathered squash.
Staring at herself in the full-length mirror in the fitting room, Elizabeth could scarcely believe what she saw. Lace cascaded from the bodice like a frothy waterfall, feathers bristled from the shoulders in an affront to all sense of decorum, and embroidery in garish gold swirls sprawled across the skirt like a map to some imaginary treasure.
The thought of the gown being stolen by a pirate to seek out gold nearly caused Elizabeth to lose control of her last threads of sanity. She pushed back the tears of laughter that had formed in her eyes and turned around to address the other person in the room.
“This,” she declared to her aunt, who was perched on a nearby chaise, her lips twitching dangerously, “is not what I ordered.”
Mrs. Gardiner coughed delicately into her handkerchief, though it did little to hide her amusement. “I should say not, my dear.”
“I am not certain why the waist is so loose.” Elizabeth gestured at the drooping fabric. “Surely I do not look as though I require this… extra room.”
“And yet the bust and hips are tight,” Mrs. Gardiner added, her amusement growing. “The dress seems to have no idea what it wants to be. Unless, of course, you secretly aspire to be a particularly flamboyant bird of paradise.”
Elizabeth threw her an incredulous look. “I hardly think even a bird of paradise would wear this.”
She turned back to the mirror, grimacing as she attempted to adjust the waistline, which hung awkwardly loose while the bodice strained precariously. The skirt, pooling at her feet in an alarming volume, seemed designed for a woman several inches taller and quite differently proportioned. While Elizabeth’s waist was kept trim from her usual ramblings throughout Hertfordshire, her hips and bust had become quite… curvier over the last year or so.
This dress was made for a woman who was built like a twig, not a pear.
Mrs. Gardiner stood, circling her niece with a critical eye. “Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully, “the modiste mistook you for a dowager duchess who fancies herself a fashion icon. Or a guest at a masquerade ball—one where peacocks are the theme.”
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Or someone who wishes to frighten small children,” she said, her voice muffled by laughter. “Truly, Aunt, it is a crime against fabric.”
“I must admit,” Mrs. Gardiner said, her composure wavering, “the color alone is enough to make one reconsider the merits of sight.”
“It would certainly frighten any foxes out of the henhouse. Perhaps I ought to recommend it to Hill for each of the maids?”
Mrs. Gardiner pressed a hand to her lips, her shoulders shaking. “Or perhaps to Jane, in order to ensure no suitor with bad poetry ever dares to call again,” she managed, her voice muffled with barely contained laughter.
Elizabeth let out a half-sob, half-laugh, her composure teetering on the edge. “Do you think... do you think Madame Dupont hates me?”
Mrs. Gardiner stepped closer, circling Elizabeth as if examining a particularly curious painting. “I think,” she said solemnly, “she may have mistaken you for someone attempting to impersonate a particularly flamboyant canary.”
That was too much. Elizabeth clutched the sides of the monstrosity as laughter bubbled out of her, mingling with her earlier despair. “It is awful,” she gasped. “It is so awful I do not even know where to begin.”
Mrs. Gardiner tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps with the feathers. I am not certain why anyone would think shoulders need plumes.”
The sound of their mirth echoed through the small fitting room. Just as Elizabeth was about to attempt an escape from the lace prison, the door swung open, and Madame Dupont herself bustled in.
“Ah, mademoiselle!” the modiste exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. “Oh, mon Dieu! Non, non, non, this is all wrong!”
Elizabeth turned, still shaking with laughter. “I should say so.”
Madame Dupont clasped her hands to her cheeks, the picture of dismay. “Forgive me, please! That dress—it is not yours!”
“Is it not?”
Mrs. Gardiner arched a brow. “I should hope not. My niece has better taste.”
“No, no, no! This was for another client—a much taller client! I am mortified, mademoiselle. Please, allow me to help you out of it at once.” The modiste flushed but hurried forward, flapping her hands as though she might shoo the dress off Elizabeth. “I tried to dissuade the other customer, truly. I told her the orange—it does not suit her complexion, nor anyone’s, but she insisted it was the height of fashion.”
Elizabeth stepped out of the gown with relief, her laughter subsiding into a bright smile. “Perhaps she thought it might distract from her other faults.”
Madame Dupont chuckled nervously, shaking her head as she hung the offending dress on a nearby stand. “She is… très particular. But you, mademoiselle, shall have the gown you ordered. And this one—” She gestured at the orange creation with a dramatic flourish. “This one, I shall pretend I never saw on you.”
Elizabeth exchanged a conspiratorial glance with her aunt. “An excellent idea.”
As Madame Dupont disappeared to retrieve the correct gown, Mrs. Gardiner sat back down, her eyes twinkling. “Well, Lizzy, if nothing else, this will make a delightful story.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, I fully intend to tell it. The trick, of course, will be deciding whether to include the part about the feathers.”
∞∞∞
As Elizabeth sat down with the Gardiners for dinner that evening, she looked wistfully around the dining room. It had always been a warm, bustling space, but now it felt oddly bare. The shelves that once held polished silver and colorful crockery stood empty, their contents packed away in neat crates lining the far wall. The absence of familiar trinkets and framed prints gave the room an unfamiliar hollowness, and there was a distinct musty smell in the air.
“Although I am excited for you to relocate to Hertfordshire, I must admit that I will miss your home here in town,” she said. “It is almost as if this room is saying goodbye before you do.”
Madeline Gardiner followed her gaze and sighed. “Yes, it does, does it not? Packing has a way of hollowing out a house, even before you leave it.”
“Will you miss being here in London?” Elizabeth asked curiously. “Having lived my entire life in at Longbourn, I cannot imagine moving somewhere else.”
“I will miss my friends, and there are quite a lot of conveniences here in town. But I definitely will not miss the terrible air and smells. I look forward to living in the country once again, and I keep reminding myself that Stoke House will soon feel like my own.”
Mr. Gardiner looked up from his plate, a glint of humor in his eye as he spoke for the first time after tucking in. “Lizzy, you must not let her talk you into believing she’s entirely resigned to the move. She’s still mourning the loss of Derbyshire.”
Elizabeth grinned. “I suspected as much. But think, Aunt, about how lovely it will be to have you settled so near to us. I look forward to seeing what you do with the estate, both the house and park, as well as the empty tenant farms you purchased. You have a talent for making spaces feel warm and inviting, no matter where they are.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled, her expression softening. “Thank you, my dear. That means a great deal to me. I must confess, though, the drawing room will take some effort. It is a touch smaller than I would like.”
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “It is quite large enough for our purposes, my love. Besides, the children will be too busy exploring the grounds to notice its size.”
“What do you children think?” Elizabeth smiled at the four young Gardiner children, who had been wiggling on their seats, eager to be invited to participate in the discussion. “Will you all enjoy being near us in the country, or will you miss the city?”
“I want to see cows!”
“And sheep!” another child added enthusiastically.
The table erupted in laughter, but the children’s attention soon turned back to Elizabeth. “Cousin Lizzy,” the eldest began, leaning forward eagerly, “can we play the game now?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, feigning confusion. “The game? What game could you possibly mean?”
“The guessing game!” the child exclaimed. “You close your eyes, and we bring you the next course. You have to guess what it is by the smell.”
Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “Oh, very well. But only because you’ve asked so sweetly.”
The children cheered, and Mr. Gardiner chuckled as Elizabeth obediently closed her eyes. The clink of plates and hushed whispers signaled the arrival of the next course. Elizabeth inhaled deeply and a smile crept across her lips.
“Roast duck,” she declared confidently. “With rosemary.”
The children gasped in awe, and the youngest one cried, “She’s a magician!”
“Not a magician,” Mr. Gardiner said, shaking his head. “Simply a woman with an extraordinary sense of smell. Lizzy, if you ever grow tired of Hertfordshire, I daresay you could make a fortune in the perfume trade.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and laughed. “I will keep that in mind, Uncle. Though I imagine your children would be far less enthusiastic about smelling perfumes than roasted duck.”
“Indeed!” one of the children exclaimed, already reaching for another piece of bread.
“You spoil them, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, a smile softening her words.
“And that is precisely why you decided to relocate closer to Meryton,” retorted Elizabeth with a cheeky grin.
Mrs. Gardiner laughed and shook her head, then tucked into the poultry on her plate. As the meal continued, the room filled with laughter and warmth.
It will be wonderful having them so nearby .
Once the meal was completed, Mrs. Gardiner shooed her children towards their nurse. “Time for bed, now, my dear ones.”
Elizabeth turned to Mr. Gardiner. “Uncle, do you mind if I retire as well?”
Mr. Gardiner smiled fondly at Elizabeth. “Not in the slightest. We had quite the busy day, and there is still one more week of overseeing the packing until we officially leave. I think an early bedtime is a wise choice for all of us.”
“Do not stay up too late reading,” she said, nodding at the book that had somehow appeared in his hand once the family had left the table.
“I might say the same to you,” he responded with a wink and jovial grin.
Elizabeth smiled in response, then excused herself from the table and made her way up the stairs, not far behind the Gardiner children, their mother, and the nurse. Their playful chatter echoed down the hallway as they continued on to the third floor, while she made her way to the guest room that had been hers to use during her visit.
Once inside, she shut the door gently, taking a moment to breathe in the stillness. As much as she loved the Gardiners and enjoyed spending time with them, one of the difficulties of Gracechurch Street was the lack of solitude. At Longbourn, if her family became too loud and overwhelming, she could retreat to the familiar paths that wound their way through the property and up to Oakham Mount.
No matter, Lizzy. Only one more week, and you will be back to your ramblings again.
Crossing to the vanity, she ignored the bellpull on the side of the wall and began moving the hairpins that held her coiffure in place. Though the Gardiners had a maid who might assist with her toilette, Elizabeth preferred to manage her routine herself unless she was preparing for a formal engagement. No servant could replace her beloved sister Jane’s attendance, and tonight especially, Elizabeth welcomed solitude.
As she laid each pin on the small tray before her, Elizabeth’s dark curls tumbled free, the weight lifting from her scalp. She reached for her small silver brush— a gift from the Gardiners two Christmases ago— and ran it through her hair in slow, deliberate strokes until the curls shone in the candlelight.
Once the one-hundred strokes her mother insisted upon each night were complete, Elizabeth dipped a soft cloth into a small porcelain bowl of warm water. She gently wiped away the day’s dust and faint traces of soot from their excursions in the city. A jar of rosewater infused cream was next, its delicate scent soothing as she massaged it into her skin.
Her face now clean, Elizabeth stood from the small stool and reached behind her to begin unfastening the buttons of her gown. She wore no stays this evening, as the loose day dress she had chosen required none. Had she been wearing a more formal gown, she might have needed assistance unlacing her stays, which would have been a task for the maid. But tonight, the simplicity of her attire allowed her to manage alone.
She slipped into a linen bedgown—a simple garment, soft and flowing, that fell just past her knees. Its design was modest but comfortable, with long sleeves to ward off the night’s chill. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and padded to the small fireplace in the corner of the room. The faint glow of embers remained, and she added a piece of kindling to ensure the room stayed warm through the night.
Finally, Elizabeth knelt by the low bed, clasping her hands in her lap. Her nightly prayers were a private ritual, a moment to reflect on the day and seek guidance for the next. She murmured softly, the words of gratitude and hope rising in the quiet.
Rising, she slipped under the heavy coverlet, sinking into the feather-stuffed mattress with a sigh of contentment. The fire’s soft crackling and the distant sounds of the city lulled her into a state of calm, and the last conscious thought she had before drifting off was a simple one.
How wonderful it will be to return to Hertfordshire with all of my family settled near one another. Things truly could not be any better than this.
∞∞∞
Several hours later, Elizabeth awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, and as she blearily rubbed her eyes, she became aware of a faint, acrid scent that was tickling her nose. She blinked around in the darkness, disoriented and still foggy-headed from slumber.
The moonlight streaming through the window told her that morning was still quite some time away. She laid down again and rolled to her side, pulling the counterpane closer.
But sleep would not come. Instead of drifting off again, Elizabeth’s nose wrinkled as the odd smell grew sharper, tugging at her attention.
Her brow furrowed. Smoke? At this hour of the night?
Perhaps one of the maids had risen early to stoke the fire in the hearth. It would be a bit unusual, but not unheard of. She listened closely, but the house was as silent as a tomb— no scurrying footsteps, no faint clatter of pots or the hiss of water being warmed.
Elizabeth sat up again, her heart beginning to beat more quickly as all drowsiness vanished entirely. It could be a candle , she reasoned, her mind reaching for an explanation. Perhaps someone lit a candle on the stairs and snuffed it out, leaving behind a tuft of smoke… The nurse fetching something for one of the children?
She pressed her lips together, her unease growing. There was no reason for anyone to be awake at this hour, and the smell… It just does not fit .
Rising from her bed, she reached for her dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. The cool air of the room sent a shiver down her spine as her bare feet touched the wooden floorboards.
Opening the bedroom door cautiously, she peered out into the hallway, which was dim and still. Her pulse raced as the scent grew stronger, though it was still faint enough that she doubted herself. Stepping through, Elizabeth closed the door softly behind her and moved through the shadows, her ears straining for any sound that might alleviate her fears.
The darkened staircase loomed ahead, and she descended it slowly, the air became more frigid with every step. By the time she reached the ground floor, the smoky scent was undeniably sharper, especially given that she was now fully alert. It swirled through her nostrils with each inhale, curling into her lungs like an unseen specter, lingering and oppressive.
Perhaps it is coming from the kitchens? Maybe the fire there was not extinguished properly?
She made her way down the servant’s corridor, past the housekeeper’s office, and into the cook’s domain. To her dismay, she found the hearth cold— no sign of flame, ash, or smoke.
Nothing.
The unease in her chest tightened, and she returned to the main corridor, walking quickly towards the front of the house. It is possible there is still a fire burning in my uncle’s study or another room.
As she passed the drawing room, a faint orange glow caught her eye. It spilled into the hallway through the window far window, casting long, flickering shadows across the wall. Her breath caught as she pushed her way through the door and look southward out of the glass towards Gracechurch Street and the docks beyond.
Her heart dropped, and she gasped for breath.
Not far in the distance, past Gracechurch Street and down towards the river, the horizon was swallowed up in an inferno.
The flickering light she had prayed was the sunrise was, in fact, the ominous, jagged movement of tremendous flames licking upward. The sky above was streaked with thick, curling smoke that sought to swallow the stars. A thick haze was spreading, made all the more malevolent with the eerie glow of the roaring blaze.
Panic prickled at the edges of her mind, but she fought them back as she turned and bolted up the stairs towards her uncle’s room. She began to pound on the door, her voice urgent. “Uncle Gardiner! Please, wake up!”
After a moment, the door opened, and Mr. Gardiner— his hair tousled and his expression groggy— blinked at her in confusion. “Lizzy? What on earth is the matter?”
“Uncle, please, you must come,” she urged, tugging at his sleeve. “There is a fire— I saw it from the window. It is down at the docks.”
His expression darkened, the last vestiges of sleep falling away as he ran down the stairs after her to the closest window facing the flames. One look was enough to send him into action. “Gather your things, then wake the nurse and the children. They need to dress— quickly! Help them collect what they can, but only what can be carried. Then go to the servants and tell them the same.”
Elizabeth nodded and hurried off as Mr. Gardiner disappeared back into his chamber to rouse his wife. Moments later, Elizabeth could hear his voice giving calm but urgent instructions. Elizabeth returned to her room, grabbing her small carpet bag and stuffing it with what little she could think to take— her writing case that was a gift from Jane, a spare gown, and a few other sentimental trinkets.
Pausing for a moment to steady herself, she drew in a sharp breath. There was no time to waste, but she could not help the cold fear that spread through her veins.
Please, God, keep us safe.