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Lydia had been to Selfridges once before, but it was some time ago, and Jane convinced Elizabeth that a tour of their place of work might awaken some enthusiasm in Lydia.

Her Aunt Gardiner was more than happy to oblige.

Elizabeth spoke with Mr Goldsman about Lydia, and he in turn with Mr Aubrey, and she was soon offered a position behind the counter at the front of the store in cosmetics.

Jane had also spoken to Mrs Clarke and a cot was moved into their already small room, in place of the writing desk and chairs.

It would have to do until either one of the larger rooms was vacated or they found another place to stay that could accommodate all three of them.

When Lydia heard that she would be working in cosmetics, she was over the moon. “I shall wear lip rouge every day,” she said to Lizzy and Jane.

“ You will wear what the head of department tells you to wear. You know that you also have to attend class four nights per week.” Elizabeth straightened the errant strands of her coif. She could still use the mirror that was now over Lydia’s cot.

“ What? Why?”

“ Anyone under the age of eighteen that works for Mr Selfridge has to attend classes.”

Lydia crossed her arms and pouted. Elizabeth shook her head.

“You know that your display does absolutely nothing for Jane and me. Mama and Papa aren’t here to witness your tantrums.” Lydia looked up at her, uncrossed her arms, and sighed.

“You know you can win prizes if you do well. Sometimes they even have parties.” Jane sat next to her and put her arm around her shoulders.

“ Parties? Oh, that does sound jolly, but I don’t suppose they have parties very often.”

“ No, probably not, but you can make new friends there. There will be lots of people your age taking the same courses.” Jane was trying to cajole her. After all, what were they to do with her if she rebelled?

“ I suppose I’ll try it since you and Lizzy have made such a great effort for me. London might be fun.”

Lizzy sent a skeptical look Jane’s way. Oh, Lydia. Wait. The new adventure of work has just begun.

***

Having set some of the more pressing problems at the estate to rights, Darcy returned to town.

He had been ruminating on many things, not the least of which was the offer of a seat on the board that Harry Gordon Selfridge made to him so many months before.

Times, indeed, were changing. The installation of plumbing, electricity, telephone, and other modern and expensive conveniences along with upkeep of the manor and its lands all took money.

He refused to let his estate, his inheritance, go to wrack and ruin, even parts of it.

There had always been a policy of letting select members of the public into the house to see some of what he considered the public rooms, but now he followed the example of many of his aristocratic friends of employing a tour guide and charging the public for a look.

That change proved to be a godsend, as the money paid some of the daily upkeep and allowed him to keep more of his staff.

Still, four thousand a year from Selfridge would do him good, and the work would not be onerous.

He could simply give his proxy to Selfridge and be done with it, or he could put some effort into his position and learn something of the life of commerce from one of the age’s great innovators.

Harry Selfridge disliked long meetings with a passion, so Darcy needn’t fear he would be trapped for hours in a stuffy room filled with cigar smoke and men who couldn’t stay on the subject.

Bingley was right once again. He should avail himself of the opportunity.

He had to admit that there was another, perhaps more pressing reason to visit the store.

He couldn’t get Elizabeth out of his thoughts.

After meeting her rowdy family, taking into consideration that she and her sister were employed for wages, that she brought with her no wealth save her fine mind and strength of character (which might be more of a liability than an asset), that she was a handsome woman, but no great beauty, his logical side told him that she would be a completely unsuitable wife for him.

An American heiress, the daughter of a patrician family, even Bingley’s sister Caroline made more sense, but no, his heart wanted what it wanted, and it wanted Elizabeth Bennet.

As he walked through the door on Oxford Street, he wondered if part of the reason he was saying yes to Selfridge was a chance to see her again.

Darcy arrived at the store and marvelled at the changes that had been made since his last visit.

A lovely scent wafted from the store the minute he opened the door.

Counter upon counter of perfumes, soaps, and ladies’ cosmetics were now set up to greet customers upon entering.

His heart beat a little faster. Perhaps he would see Elizabeth today.

As he passed a counter laid out with lip rouge and face powder, a young girl behind the counter smiled his way.

He stopped in his tracks.

That face. She looked so familiar. Had he seen her before? He couldn’t imagine where.

“ Ah, Mr Darcy, how nice of you to come early.”

The familiar voice assailed him from behind, and Darcy turned to find Mr Selfridge extending his hand.

“ Come, come.” Selfridge smiled at him. “I am making my morning rounds. We can talk as we go, and you can get a feel for the business.” He looked over the cosmetic counter.

“ Miss Bennet, how are your evening classes coming along?”

That was it—she was one of Elizabeth’s sisters. He must have seen her at the regatta.

“ I believe I am doing very well, thank you, Mr Selfridge.”

“ Splendid. Splendid. Glad to hear it. Carry on.”

Elizabeth’s sister had powder on her face, rouge on her cheeks, and her lips were a vivid shade of red.

She wore the cosmetics that she was selling: a good sales tactic.

A girl of her youth needed no enhancements, but wearing them might convince a more matronly customer that these augmentations on display might restore her youthful beauty.

This Selfridge fellow was a clever one, to be sure.

After their walk about the store, which took the better part of an hour, they concluded their business in a matter of moments.

Selfridge was not so crude, even being an American, as to write out a check and hand it to Darcy.

He would have the money discreetly deposited in Darcy’s account.

Before Darcy knew it, he was riding the lift down to the main floor.

On that short trip, he resolved to talk to Elizabeth about a matter of utmost importance to his happiness.

***

Elizabeth and Jane worked inside a curtained window facing Oxford Street. They were hanging and draping furs, ermine, mink, and of course, sable. Jane looked about and then clutched a lovely sable stole in her arms and rubbed it against her cheek.

“ Could you imagine owning such a thing?”

“ No, I really can’t. They are lovely, though. So soft.” Lizzy ran her hand over a floor-length mink, all black with an ermine collar. “I’m sure it would keep out the damp.”

“ Oh, Lizzy. I’m sure the last thing that women who receive such a gift are thinking of is keeping out the damp.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Maybe so, but that’s what I’d be thinking about.

” She arranged a tremendous black hat with a veil, looking like a small dirigible: all festooned with white ostrich feathers, on a stand nearby.

“This hat would arrive five minutes before its wearer. Could you imagine this on the Underground? One would need a whole car entirely to oneself.”

“ Women who wear that never set foot in the Underground.”

“ True enough.”

“ Ladies.” Mr Goldsman popped his head in a few minutes later to peruse the progress. “Isn’t it time you visited the canteen for a cup of tea?”

“ We are nearly finished,” Jane said, and Mr Goldsmith disappeared, the door closing again.

Jane opened the hidden door that separated the display window from the floor, and who should come through it but Mr Darcy.

“ Oh.” Jane stepped back, caught off guard for a moment. She soon recovered herself. “Hello, Mr Darcy. What a surprise. Lizzy, I will see you in the canteen.” She made her escape with the alacrity of Harry Houdini.

“ Jane,” Elizabeth called. Too late. She was gone.

It was just as well. Lizzy had waited a long time to tell this Mr Darcy what she thought of him and his high and mighty attitude, his treatment of Mr Wickham, and most of all, for breaking Jane’s heart regarding Mr Bingley.

“Hello, Mr Darcy.” She turned her back on him and pulled a sable stole over a Greek balustrade so that it cascaded and puddled on the floor.

“ Miss Bennet, I must speak to you.”

She wouldn’t look back at him. “Well, speak. We are quite alone.” She busied herself with the stole, and from behind her, a chair dragged across the floor.

“ If you would sit down, Miss Bennet… please.”

Now she raised her eyes to his. He appeared to be nervous or in pain or both. No matter. She would sit and listen to what he had to say. He stood behind the chair so she couldn’t see his expression, and thankfully, he couldn’t see hers.

He hesitated. He cleared his throat. Finally, he spoke. “I have tried to talk sense to myself and convince myself that my head should rule my heart, but it is no use. Miss Elizabeth, I love you… I can’t get you out of my mind. I want you to be my wife. There, I’ve said it.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe her ears. What was he saying? And how, in God’s name, was he saying it? He, who objected to the fact that she and her sister were employed… objected to Jane as too lowly for his friend Bingley, who was himself in trade… he now professed to love her? It made no sense.

“ What do you mean that your head should rule your heart?” She turned in the chair to look up at him, and then stood so that they were face-to-face. He didn’t flinch.

“ You must understand that I have many obligations of rank and family… that marriage with a woman who would bring her own fortune would be more suitable… that your family is hardly of an aristocratic bent… that you and your sister are employed for wages… that—”

“ All right, all right. Enough. I’ve heard enough. I will be frank with you, Mr Darcy. I am surprised by this declaration… and shocked at what followed. How can you possibly expect me to… what? Fall into your arms after you so meticulously insulted both me and my family?”

“ So, you object to my being honest and frank, is that it?” The colour rose in his face.

The softness in his eyes disappeared and anger replaced it.

“You who are so frank on every occasion whether it is seemly or not? I can’t believe that my mode of expression is what has caused you to be so rude to me. ”

“ Rude? Rude to you? I have heard nothing but disparaging remarks about my family, of my profession, my lowly social status…”

He seemed quite taken aback. She could see it in his face. “You have to admit, though, that I have softened my views somewhat since meeting you.” He tempered both his voice and his expression. “I thought… after we saved Bingley together, that we—”

“ Stop.” She didn’t let him finish. The entirety of that day flashed before her, how it ended…

how Col Fitzwilliam bragged about how his cousin was so clever.

“How could you ever believe that I would think well of you, could ever love you, after you deliberately set out to ruin the happiness of my sister?”

He stepped back, the colour draining from his face. He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “I admit to that. I won’t deny it. I could not believe, at the beginning, that your sister really loved Charles and not his money.”

“ And what of me? Aren’t you worried that I might accept your proposal because I am interested in your money?”

“ In that regard, I have shown more concern for my friend than I have for myself.”

She stared at him. Any slight cracks in the facade of her dislike of him were filling in with impenetrable cement. She didn’t stop to take a breath. “Be that as it may, your treatment of poor Mr Wickham—”

“ Mr Wickham. You should not speak of something of which you know nothing.”

“ Know nothing? You forget that Mr Wickham has revealed all to me. How you deprived him of his due, of his living. You are a bully, Mr Darcy.”

“ So, this is what you think of me.”

“ It is what I thought of you from the start. Your snobbish, archaic attitudes… your disdain for those of us who work for a living… your use of the power and privilege that was handed to you from birth to make the lives of others miserable. I knew from the beginning that you would be the last man on earth whom I would consider marrying.”

He stood silently for a moment, all the ire and combative energy gone from his posture and his face.

“Well, that is quite enough. You need not say more. I am sorry now, for ever having brought up the subject and feel quite humiliated in revealing my feelings to you.” He turned to go and try to negotiate the hidden door in the display window.

When he got it to open, he turned and looked at her, a sagging defeat emanating from him.

“I am sorry that I took up your teatime, Miss Bennet. Be well. I wish you happiness.” With that, he passed through the door and was gone.

Elizabeth waited a moment or two, then head swimming and heart racing, she ran to the door and opened it. He’d disappeared.

What had just happened? Tears streamed down her face.

Wiping them away, they reappeared. She needed to be alone somewhere to try to digest what had just occurred.

Mr Darcy wanted to marry her . He was capable of such heroism, as he displayed by saving his friend’s life, but at the same time, he’d nearly ruined Jane’s and admitted it.

No explanation of what happened with Mr Wickham.

No apology. Yet, here was this man, a snob and a nob to be sure, but he was in love with her, and had been for a long time.

She needed time to think. She sat down in the chair he moved for her and wrapped herself in ermine. It was suddenly cold.