Page 13 of The Power of Refusal

A s it happened, Paul took it upon himself to inform Mr Gardiner of the incident with Mr Baxter when he returned to the warehouses. By the time Mr Gardiner arrived home for dinner, his business connections with Mr Baxter were severed.

Elizabeth worried she had somehow caused Mr Baxter to view her as a flirt. Her playful tone was innate, and she had yet to learn to conceal it. Her new sense of being unprotected curtailed her excursions. The encounter had shaken her sense of her safety in her little world.

Elizabeth’s pastel gowns, never in the first fashion and reworked several times, now resided in a trunk in the attic. A few gowns of drab browns and greys occupied her closet. The neckline of the gown she donned rose high, concealing even the slightest hint of collarbone. She tucked a plain fichu around her neck. The shapeless dress had no trace of the lace trim or delicate embroidery that had once adorned her clothes. The dull brown gown, serviceable and devoid of attractive furbelows, hung limply, its lack of adornment matched her subdued expression. She even donned spectacles, the unneeded wire frames perched on her nose. It would be best if she were neither seen nor noticed.

She gathered her chestnut locks, twisting them into a severe knot at the nape of her neck as a servant might. Then she reached for the plain starched white linen cap and secured it in place. She studied her reflection, noting how the cap’s wide brim cast shadows across her face, dulling the sparkle in her eyes. Whatever beauty she might once have had—the glow of her skin, the sparkle in her eyes—she no longer cared about. She saw no advantage to being a beautiful spinster. It merely made her a curiosity, or a topic of gossip, or worse.

She gazed at her transformed self in the mirror. The vibrant, lively girl who had once twirled before this same glass was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a woman prematurely aged, her youth and vitality hidden beneath layers of propriety and caution.

Uncle spared Paul from time to time to allow her a walk, but Elizabeth’s fear grew that she was a burden to her relations. She doubled her efforts to entertain the children and to attend to small tasks for her aunt. At home, she sewed far more than she wished to lighten her aunt’s load. In her free time, she often sat with her pencils and paints.

Elizabeth leant over the writing table in the parlour, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully applied the finishing touches to her latest caricature. The soft scratching of her pencil against the paper mingled with the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the distant sounds of the bustling household.

The warm glow of the lamp cast a golden hue over the drawing, illuminating the intricate details of the outlandish hats she had sketched. Elizabeth’s fingers moved deftly, adding a touch of shading here, a flourish of line there, bringing the characters to life with each stroke. As she worked, the feel of the smooth paper beneath her fingertips soothed her, allowing her mind to wander.

Mr Gardiner’s voice broke through her reverie, his tone warm and amused. “Who do you lampoon this evening?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at her work.

Elizabeth smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I am attempting to be kind, whilst drawing some of the outlandish hats I have seen worn in town for Lydia’s amusement,” she replied, her voice tinged with mirth.

Mr Gardiner moved closer, his eyes scanning the caricature with interest. The drawing, entitled Too Much and Too Little, featured two women facing one another, their hats a stark contrast of excess and austerity.

One woman wore a plain, severe poke bonnet, its solid green fabric and large brim obscuring her features. The other sported an enormous monstrosity, adorned with a riot of ostrich plumes, fancy feathers, fruit, and flowers. Elizabeth’s hand hovered over the drawing, sketching a small rabbit peeking out from the brim’s many ribboned bows.

Mr Gardiner’s laughter filled the room, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shook his head in amusement. “Lizzy, you have an exceptional gift,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “I ought to display such a drawing in my warehouse. Though perhaps it would discourage some of my more lucrative lady customers from purchasing every ornament I stock.”

Mrs Gardiner, drawn by the sound of their laughter, approached the table, her skirts rustling softly as she moved. She leant in, her eyes widening as she took in the caricature. “Lizzy, that is perfect,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration. “I think I know just the lady who inspired it. I feared her little stuffed animal would tumble from her bonnet into her tea.”

Elizabeth nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she acknowledged her aunt’s observation. The memory of the lady in question, with her precariously perched menagerie, had been the spark that ignited her creative fire.

Mr Gardiner’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Tell me, Lizzy, do your talents extend to illustration, or only for making sport?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.

Elizabeth paused, considering her answer carefully. “I find I am less skilled at true representational drawing,” she admitted with a hint of self-deprecation. “I can never get the eyes and nose to look right to my eye, let alone form a realistic set of lips. I do better with a more

stylised format. If the lady’s nose turns out to look like one that might not occur in nature, I can pretend it was intentionally so.”

As she spoke, her mind drifted to the drawings hidden deep within her trunk, the ones she had sketched in moments of weakness. A handsome man whose features she could never quite capture to her satisfaction. The memory of his piercing eyes and strong jawline sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the feelings she had once, no, still, harboured for him.

Mr Gardiner, unaware of her inner turmoil, leant forward, his expression eager. “What say you to a little commercial endeavor?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement. “I have unwrapped some bolts of figured silk that I think will make up into exquisite gowns. They are an unusual design, and I know not everyone has the vision to see how beautifully they will look when finished. Might you complete some drawings of gowns in figured silk on your made-up fashionable ladies? To show how well they will look to customers without great imagination.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Her heart swelled with gratitude for her uncle’s faith in her abilities. The idea of using her talents to benefit the family who had shown her such kindness and support filled her with a sense of purpose and belonging.

Elizabeth readily agreed to walk to the warehouse with the escort of Paul the following day. She was eager to see the fabrics her uncle wished to feature and to work on the project for him. She had her aunt’s collection of La Belle Assemblée and their shared knowledge of current fashion. Elizabeth was confident she could create drawings to showcase the beauty and potential of the silks.

As she gathered her materials and prepared to retire for the evening, Elizabeth was excited, some excitement that she had long lacked rising in her. The chance to contribute to the family business, to use her skills, and to prove her worth beyond the confines of her social status and gender elated her.

With a last glance at her caricature, Elizabeth smiled. As she blew out the lamp, she had a modicum of hope for the future. She might never have the love of the man she cared for, but she would at least have some purpose.

∞∞∞

Darcy’s rebellious mind declared perhaps he need not settle. Perhaps Elizabeth remained unwed, and if he were unthinkably fortunate, perhaps she might consider him. He was a changed man. Whilst he still recognised his flaws, the arrogance and disdain that had doomed his efforts were nearly vanquished. After so many years, might she think differently about his suit? After some days of ruminating, he consulted his solicitor.

“I require information about a family I encountered in Meryton some years ago. How could I go about determining their situation? There was an entail on the estate, and the heir was truly a fool who would run the estate into debt. It might be an excellent investment if the current estate holder and his heir agreed to sell at a reasonable price. There were several unmarried daughters, which will bear on a decision of disposing of the property.” Darcy could not in good conscience simply ask to find a young lady unrelated to himself. It would raise too many questions about his reasons for seeking her out. He hoped his solicitor would know of a discreet man who could gather all the information he needed in the guise of assessing a potential investment.

Mr Ashcroft provided him with a few names, and Darcy interviewed them. None were precisely brilliant, but one had a manner that would allow him to make acquaintance among the populace without raising questions. He retained Mr Hunt, deciding his name would portend well.

As Darcy directed him regarding his assignment, Mr Hunt scribbled notes in pencil on a scrap of paper. He dressed as a tradesman, a not terribly successful one, but not a schemer. For a price, he would go to Meryton on the pretext of seeking custom. There, he would stay at the inn and associate with the merchants and the gentlefolk. He would discreetly gather the requested information about the family Bennet and their financial situation.

Darcy was anxious for Mr Hunt’s return, and attended to his estate business from London with half his mind wondering what his agent would discover. He would by far prefer to be at Pemberley for the planting season, but it was not to be. He ran through stacks of hot-pressed paper and engaged many riders to communicate with his stewards. His place was in London with his sister, both to await Mr Hunt and to ensure he wrung every last moment of joy from Georgiana’s presence for as long as she remained under his care.