Page 16 of The Power of Refusal
E lizabeth’s little sketches of new fabrics and gowns continued to be well received at Mr Gardiner’s warehouses, some ladies even purchasing the illustrations to take to the modiste with them. Elizabeth spent most of her spare time drawing, and Mr Gardiner insisted on providing her with compensation for her work. Given that her father had been less than reliable in providing her pin money whilst she sojourned in London, Elizabeth welcomed the coins.
In a world where ladies were not expected to earn their keep, Elizabeth had not signed her work until Mr Gardiner had relayed the request from customers for the identity of the artist.
“I cannot sign my name, it is unseemly. Gaining a livelihood by work is not quite respectable. Can I merely write ‘A Lady?’” Elizabeth asked.
“I think not, my dear. First, it is unlikely the ton expects a woman is doing this work. Second, it is best to establish one source for the artwork. I have been asked whether a given sketch was an original and who the artist might be. I think we need to identify a creator for your work.”
“A male creator,” Elizabeth said.
Her aunt and uncle agreed she would best use a name that gave the appearance of being that of a man.
“I shall sign them with Bennet as a given name. What might I use for a surname? Perhaps something starting with ‘E.’”
“Let us look in Debrett’s for something that sounds lofty,” Aunt Gardiner suggested.
After consideration, they settled on Bennet Ellis. Elizabeth liked that the name was very close to her own but reversed.
Elizabeth sat at the desk in her uncle’s study, the warm glow of the oil lamp casting a soft light over the array of papers and drawing implements spread out before her. The room was quiet, save for the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional scratching of her pencil against the smooth surface of the paper. The comforting atmosphere of peace encouraged her creativity.
She had spent countless hours in this room, bent over her sketches, her hand moving with practiced precision as she brought to life the latest fashions and fabrics from her uncle’s warehouses. Mr Gardiner was nothing if not an accomplished salesman. He used her sketches to increase the popularity of his warehouses.
As she worked, Elizabeth’s mind wandered to the unexpected success of her drawings. The idea that ladies of the ton were clamouring to purchase her illustrations and take them to their modistes as inspiration for their own gowns filled her with a mixture of pride and disbelief. She would not be destined to be an unnecessary burden on the benevolence of her various relations. She would use her talents and abilities to contribute something of value to society.
The compensation her uncle insisted on providing for her work represented a measure of independence and self-sufficiency Elizabeth had never before experienced. That she was capable of making her way by her own endeavours, of supporting herself through her own talents and efforts, was a heady feeling.
“Seeing your illustrations really inspires some ladies to buy. Not everyone has the imagination to see how a fabric will work up. And for gentlemen, they will point to your picture and say, ‘Give me a dress length of that one,’ without even looking at the bolts. The drawings have inspired many more sales than I expected.” Mr Gardiner beamed at Elizabeth as he reported her success.
Elizabeth accompanied her uncle to the warehouse from time to time to see the newest imports and find inspiration for her drawings. The vast space hummed with activity, the air thick with the scent of exotic spices and the musty aroma of unpacked textiles. Elizabeth browsed the aisles, stacked high with bolts of imported fabrics in a dizzying array of colours and patterns.
The warehouse men kindly extracted bolts for her inspection.
“What think you of this silk, Paul?” Elizabeth asked the burly man who dwarfed the bolt of sage green silk.
Paul scratched his head. “It seems nice,” he said uncertainly.
Elizabeth laughed. She pulled a length from the bolt and draped it over her plain muslin gown.
“Would it make a fine evening gown, then? I think it would be lovely with just a simple sleeve, perhaps a bit of gathering and a train?” Elizabeth stood before the new pier glass Mr Gardiner had installed for the benefit of his customers.
Paul shook his head. “It is soft, shiny, and not too heavy. That is my measure. None of these hefty velvets and brocades that weigh as much as a cask of rum. It looks well on you, miss.”
Elizabeth made a curtsey, then they rewound the bolt. Paul clipped a sample of the silk which she pinned into her notebook. She would sketch the design she imagined for display near the bolt in the warehouse.
∞∞∞
Early spring sunlight dappled the grounds of Pemberley, where the first brave crocuses pushed through melting snow. The ancient oaks, their branches still bare but softened by swelling buds, swayed in the mild breeze. The subtle scent of thawing earth and the distant sound of laughter was a testament to the success of Georgiana's first society house party. In the gardens, snowdrops nodded their delicate heads whilst daffodils thrust green spears toward the strengthening sun.
“Please, brother,” she had begged. “Lady Julia says mixed parties are all the fashion now.” He had acquiesced, knowing she must learn to manage such events. For a fortnight, he endured the company of six young ladies and their accompanying brothers or cousins, making conversation over billiards and breakfast, organising riding parties and picnics. The mothers who had contrived to include their daughters watched him hopefully. He found refuge in estate business, emerging only when duty - or Georgiana's pleading glance - required his presence.
Darcy sat in his study, the rich, dark wood panelling and the crackling fire in the hearth creating a comfortable, inviting atmosphere. The familiar scent of leatherbound books, and the faint aroma of brandy reminded him of the many hours he had spent in quiet contemplation within these walls. Despite the warmth and solace of his surroundings, Darcy could not shake the melancholy that had settled over him like a heavy blanket.
Only Lady Julia remained now with Georgiana, their presence a balm after the strain of constant society. Their laughter and cheerful conversation drifted through the halls, filling the grand house with a sense of joy and vitality that had been absent for far too long. Darcy relished these moments, knowing they were fleeting.
Since her come-out, Georgiana had narrowed her legion of admirers to two beaux, both of whom he struggled to find reasons to dislike. Georgiana’s suitors, Mr Lawrence and Henry Halliday, Viscount Grethem, might both be worthy of her affections.
Mr Lawrence, handsome, charming, smart, and possessed of a pleasing dash of impudence, was the scion of a well-connected family. He and Georgiana shared a great love of music. The two could often be found playing duets together, their voices and instruments blending in perfect harmony. Lawrence, whose parents had died when he was young, had been raised by his grandfather. Darcy sensed the tension between the two men. The grandfather’s expectations that Lawrence would attend more to estate business and less to his music caused Lawrence to chafe. Was it because of rebellion he spent his time as he pleased? Would he be capable of managing the estate well when the elder man passed away? Would the conflict between the two men discomfort peace-loving Georgiana? As wife to such a man, Georgiana would be well provided for, but would she have tranquillity? Darcy worried that the grandfather, who placed more value on estate business than on the arts, would not be welcoming. He could not stomach the thought of Georgiana being anything less than cherished by all around her.
Henry Halliday, the Viscount Grethem, offered Georgiana the prospect of joining the congenial family of her dear friends, Lady Julia and Lady Harriet. The Hallidays were kind, intelligent, and good humoured. Darcy knew they were excellent people who would love and support her. As a future countess, Georgiana would have the life she deserved, one filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities. His sister deserved nothing less. But Darcy could only hope for the result he preferred. Georgiana would decide her own future.
When Viscount Grethem arrived at Pemberley to escort his sister home, Darcy greeted him with a mix of wariness and resignation. That the viscount had made the journey himself, rather than sending a manned coach as was customary, spoke volumes about his intentions towards Georgiana. As they walked into the drawing room, Darcy’s apprehension rose, knowing the moment he had been dreading was fast approaching.
“Good afternoon. I came to fetch your sister—that is, my sister. How are you today?”said the viscount, a trifle flustered as his eyes darted around the grand vaulted hall with its spectacular collection of art.
“Pray come sit. I will send for her.” Darcy’s dismay slowed his steps as he walked him into the drawing room and sent for the ladies. Darcy made wooden inquiries about the roads as he studied the viscount.
The ladies entered the room, their faces flushed with joy and excitement. Grethem embraced his sister, then, holding Georgiana’s small hand fast in both his own, he looked down at her with so much longing in his eyes that her face grew red. She looked about as if she both longed to run away and to come closer to him, but her eyes sparkled, and her hand trembled slightly. A lump formed in Darcy’s throat at the tender exchange. He swallowed hard and spoke nonsense about the weather to break the moment.
After tea, the ladies retired to finish their packing, leaving Darcy and the viscount alone. Darcy invited the young man to stay for dinner. Upon seeing disappointment in his eyes, he then suggested he might wish to stay the night to rest after his “long journey.” The serious expression on his face told Darcy a conversation he had been dreading was about to occur.
“Darcy, I understand you are Miss Darcy’s guardian,” the viscount began, his voice steady and confident.
Darcy nodded. His throat was tight with emotion. “I am, with my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” he managed to say.
The viscount’s expression softened, and he leant forward, his eyes filled with sincerity. “Ah, I was not aware. Well, at this moment, I only wish to assure you I have only the most honourable intentions regarding George— Miss Darcy. I need not tell you what a wonderful young lady she is. As a brother, I know how protective one is of a young sister. I do not want you to be concerned about my attention to her.”
A wave of relief washed over him, tempered by the knowledge his time with Georgiana was drawing to a close. “My sister has been my responsibility since she was six years old,. I confess I still see her as very young,” he said, his voice wavering with emotion.
“She will nonetheless reach her majority in some months,” her suitor reminded him gently.
Darcy closed his eyes. The weight of this truth pressed down on his shoulders. “I fear I am not ready to let her go. How can she be— Well, I shall not get maudlin. Have you spoken with her?”
He shook his head. “I have not. I would not approach a young lady without first speaking with her father or guardian. Not that I have a habit of doing so, but as a matter of honour,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush of nervous energy.
Darcy’s respect for the man swelled. “I thank you. I cannot object to you, not at all. It is rather I am unprepared for what I suppose is inevitable.”
The younger man nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I will wait, and in the meantime, you might learn to reconcile yourself to the idea. I hope you will allow me to call when you return to London.”
“Of course, of course. And I will speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam, to allow him to be prepared.” Darcy smiled, imagining the bluster that might erupt when Richard learnt of the viscount’s intentions.
“I shall refrain from mentioning anything to him before you have discussed it with him. I see him from time to time in town,” Grethem said, his tone reassuring.
Unease settled over him, with the realisation his world was no longer under his control.Grethem and Richard were well-acquainted. Perhaps he would not have the pleasure of disturbing Richard’s equanimity. His own equanimity, he could not vouch for. The looming emptiness of life without his sister was like a weight on his chest. Her life was taking shape without his constant guidance and protection. The idea of an empty Pemberley without her filled him with a profound ache of loss that seemed to seep into his very bones.
He shook himself from his thoughts. He must trust in the love and happiness awaiting Georgiana in her new life. Though the thought of losing her was almost too much to bear, he would do anything to ensure her happiness. Even if it meant facing the loneliness looming on the horizon.
Georgiana deserved all the happiness in the world. He had watched her grow into a beautiful, accomplished young woman, and now he struggled to come to terms with the fact she was ready to spread her wings and leave the Pemberley nest. The very idea of facing the lonely halls of Pemberley without her gentle presence filled him with dread.