Page 23

SO, GEORGIANA WAS indeed enrolled in a day school in London. It was actually just an afternoon activity, a group of girls who would meet for a lesson in various subjects, from languages to painting to poetry recital, and then have tea together before heading back home.

She did also move into the Darcy town house, and her own household was shuttered for the time being.

Within only a few weeks, Georgiana seemed less like a frightened squirrel, more relaxed, happier. Elizabeth was glad.

Within this time, however, she was not only focused on Georgiana, because she was preparing for a ball.

Mr. Darcy was reticent to attend one, but she had finally gotten him to explain that this had little to do with any of the things she had worried it might be about and was only because he didn’t really like balls or large social gatherings.

He was not a gregarious sort of person, when all was said and done.

So, no, he had not been hiding her away because he was ashamed of her and no, he had not been protecting them both from the censure of others. He just didn’t like balls.

Anyway, he needed to come to this one, however.

She would need to be introduced widely, to everyone.

Once she’d had a few balls, it might be possible that she could attend balls on her own.

It was not out of the bounds of propriety for a married woman to do such things, even if it were rare.

Since she was cultivating an image of being a bit eccentric, she supposed it might work out just fine.

They had not discussed the image she was cultivating since she had brought it to him in pursuit of his sister’s match, but she felt she would still need to employ this ruse in order to see to Caroline’s match, so she was still committed to it.

She had not brought the subject back up because she didn’t wish to be drawn into another argument with her husband on whether or not matchmaking was possible or not. It was not something she found she could be objective about. Every one of his arguments felt personal to her.

Georgiana would not be attending this ball, it had been decided.

After Georgiana had been enrolled in the day school, after she had moved in with her brother and his wife, she had declared that she would not mind waiting until the following year to come out in society, something that her brother had been relieved about.

Elizabeth thought it was a good thing as well, giving Georgiana more time to herself to grow up.

Elizabeth did not have time to have the kind of wardrobe she would need eventually made up before this first ball, but she did order one dress to her specifications, and if it went as well as she hoped, she thought she might end up with more dresses like it.

The day of the ball, she climbed into a carriage with her husband feeling alternately thrilled and excited and then full of horror and dread.

She could not be sure if things would go well that night or not.

They might go rather badly. She had only her speculation on the way it would play out to lean on.

She wished she could go into it with cool surety, but it was simply not possible. No one predicted the future that accurately.

However, she knew she must act with cool surety when the time came.

In preparation, then, the entire way in the carriage, she was nothing but jitters.

Her husband spoke to her; she could hardly respond. She had to ask him to repeat anything he said several times, and then she would realize he was only making commentary like, “Beautiful night, is it not?”

She would then, after he had said it to her thrice, respond limply, “Oh, yes, very beautiful.”

After several of these interactions, he said to her, “Lizzy, are you all right?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” she said faintly.

“We do not have to do this, you know. I would be happy enough staying home.”

“We do indeed have to do it,” she said with a sigh, though at that moment, she was so full of nerves, she would have welcomed the respite.

Eventually, they arrived at the ball. They dismounted from the carriage, and she squared her shoulders, heart in her throat, looking up the expanse of stairs to the front door. She felt a bit like turning and running, but she took her husband’s arm and they ascended the steps together.

Then, as she walked in the front door, it happened, like magic.

She could not say how she did it, or from whence it came, but when she had told herself she must be cool surety when the time came, some part of her rose to it.

Inside the doorway, her nerves melted away.

Well, they did not. They were there, but she somehow blocked them, made it so that she could not access them—she knew not how; her body did it on command. She needed to be calm and self-assured for this, so she was.

She and her husband were announced upon entering the first room of the ball.

There was no dancing here, though she could hear the strains of the musicians in a room over.

Instead, here, people stood in groups of three or four, chatting with each other.

They all looked up at the announcement of herself and her husband, however, which Elizabeth thought boded well.

At least, it was as she had expected it would be, anyway… whether it was well or not depended on perspective, she supposed. People knew of the marriage, but they had not come to meet her. They had not invited them to dine at their house. They had shunned her and Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy hadn’t noticed, but he’d likely been relieved, as he would just as soon avoid most social activity.

However, they were curious.

She lifted her chin, holding her head up high, looking around the room with an expression on her face that she hoped conveyed a sense of amused superiority. She made sure that her dress was not at all obscured, though no one would quite understand what it was about it yet.

Her dress was made with a clever decorative feature that was also useful.

It had little decorative buttons just beneath her bust, at the place where the skirt of her empire waist began.

She was carrying a reticule that had been made with button holes.

When she was ready to dance, or—indeed—whenever she wanted use of both hands, she could button the reticule to the dress.

It could have been made in such a way where it was nearly invisible, of course, if she had chosen to have a reticule made out of the same fabric as her dress, but she wanted everyone to see it, so she had the reticule made out of a bright floral pattern, and her dress was pale, pale ivory.

The reticule was a splash of color as it hung from her arm.

“Let’s get some lemonade,” she said to her husband with an air of bright gaiety. She wanted to show everyone this while they were still staring at her.

She moved the reticule, buttoning it in place, securing it away, and then received the glass of lemonade, smiling up at her husband.

“This is what you were saying,” he said. “A useful dress.” He tilted his head. “I like it. It’s smart, Lizzy.”

“It’s not that smart,” she said. “I’m sure anyone could have thought of it.”

“But I thought this was something you were doing for Georgiana. Is it still necessary?”

“It is,” she said. “For Caroline. ”

He looked around the room. “Is Miss Bingley coming tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth. “But we spoke about timing our entries just so.”

Her husband let out a little laugh. “It is very complicated being a woman in society, I suppose. I had no notion of the complexities.”

Everyone in the room had noticed the dress, the buttoned reticule, and they were all talking in low voices to each other now, but casting glances at the two of them now and again.

“It is, in fact, complicated,” she rejoined. “I know all men are convinced that they are doing all the important things for the world, but the complexities of female social structure are important to society as a whole, as I think you know.”

He considered and then nodded. “It is, in fact, something that terrifies men, I think. But we do respect it. I am glad to see you have it well in hand.” He paused. “Is everyone staring at us?”

“That’s by design,” she said. “Sip your lemonade, and let’s talk of something else, rather loudly, so that if anyone overhears they think we are not noticing the fact they’re all talking about us.”

He shifted on his feet. “Why didn’t I ever think of doing that? ” He cleared his throat. “I must say,” he said in a clear and cold voice, “I cannot think that I’ve seen such a lovely painting.” He gestured at a painting that was hanging on the far wall.

Elizabeth did not think there was anything overly lovely about it.

It seemed rather typical. It was of a woman with a towering wig and an elaborate dress, holding hands with a child—perhaps a girl or boy, too young to quite say—wearing a little gown.

It must have been one of the former owners of the house.

“Oh, yes, I quite agree,” she said, however, her voice also clear.

“It’s the composition, you see,” said Mr. Darcy. “Do you note how the figures are not exactly center, but over to the left? This highlights that flowering tree in the background.”

He was right. Elizabeth didn’t know anything about the composition of paintings, but she could see that he was correct, and she wondered if this was something he’d been taught or if it was just the kinds of things that people speculated on in the higher echelons of society.

“Quite masterfully done,” she said. “I wonder who the artist is.”

“Let us go closer and look for a signature,” said Mr. Darcy.

Everyone moved out of the way, like The Red Sea parting, as they crossed the room to examine the painting.

They had not made it halfway across the room before someone greeted Mr. Darcy.

“Oh,” said Mr. Darcy with a smile. “This is Mr. Graceling. Mr. Graceling, my wife.”

The man shook hands with her. “Mrs. Darcy, I must say it is an honor to finally meet you. And now that I have, I can see why your husband has been keeping you locked up away from us all this time.”

“Hardly locked up,” she said, giving him a smile. “Only busy, I suppose.”

Mr. Graceling grinned widely at that.

Mr. Darcy glared at her. “We’ll talk later, shall we, sir? Excuse us.”

“Oh, of course,” said Mr. Graceling, who looked as if he would have liked to have continued the conversation.

“What was that?” Mr. Darcy whispered to her. “That wasn’t proper.”

“I told you, I’m being highly improper.”

“With men?” he said.

“He’s single, isn’t he? I need to make the acquaintance of single men for Caroline!”

“Don’t flirt with people in front of me.”

“That wasn’t flirting!”

They were to the painting by now.

They looked up at it.

“You can’t actually think I would ever prefer anyone to you,” she said, but wondering if, in fact, her husband were a jealous and competitive type, just as she’d suspected from the very beginning. He’d denied it about himself, but perhaps he was simply in denial, and she should trust her instincts.

“No, I trust you implicitly, my darling,” he said. “It’s Graceling, though. I don’t like him leering at you in that manner. It makes me want to knock him down. And it would be highly improper for me to engage in fisticuffs at a ball.”

“I see,” she said.

“Graceling is not for Caroline, anyway,” said Mr. Darcy. “I wouldn’t wish him on any woman, truly, not even her.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t like my best friend, do you?”

He sighed. “The sooner you marry her off, the sooner all this nonsense dies down, I suppose.” He looked her over. “Of course, I do like seeing you like this, in your element. You’re something to behold.” He offered her his arm. “I am going to claim your first two dances, I think.”

“That’s a bit uncouth, I should think. We are married, and we should not be monopolizing each other’s attention.”

“We are newlyweds, and everyone will think it’s charming. Besides, I insist. I am mad for you.”

She flushed. Would she never grow tired of her own husband desiring her? She rather hoped she would not, actually. She did not wish to be tired of it. She wished it always to go through her like the rush of a spring rain.