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E lizabeth stood at the window of her bedchamber, absently gazing out at the rain-dampened garden below. Behind her, Arabella reclined on the bed, leafing through a fashion plate from La Belle Assemblée , occasionally offering commentary on the latest London styles that Elizabeth only half heard.

"This one might suit you," Arabella said, holding up an illustration of an evening gown with elaborate embroidery and tassels all around the hem. "Though perhaps with less ornamentation. Your figure is so light that you always look best in simpler styles."

"Hmm," Elizabeth murmured noncommittally, her thoughts on tomorrow's art salon at Matlock House. Lady Matlock had asked them to arrive an hour early, and she could not help but be anxious. Why, she did not know. She still had no intention of going through with this marriage.

Mrs. Abernathy knocked softly before she swept in with her usual graceful efficiency and closed the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, studying them both with an affectionate gaze.

“You are thinking about us as girls again, are you not?” Arabella asked her mother.

“Yes, my dear, I am. It seems only yesterday you were both scampering into the house through the kitchens so that I would not catch you in dresses with ripped hems and muddy skirts.”

“Yes, we come in through the library now,” Arabella said with a smile. Elizabeth shook her head at Belle. They both loved Jane, admired her, sought her opinion, but the two of them understood one another.

"I need to speak with you girls about tomorrow," Mrs. Abernathy said, her usually cheerful countenance taking on a more serious aspect.

"Lady Matlock’s art salon will put you in company with many ladies of the first circles.

Arabella has grown used to this over the past two years, but Lizzy, given your situation, I fear some may not be welcoming. "

Arabella sat up and glanced at Elizabeth.

"You mean they shall despise me on sight," Elizabeth said. "Pray do not mince words, Mrs. Abernathy. I am quite aware that I am hardly the match society expected for Mr. Darcy."

"Lizzy!" Arabella protested, but her mother held up a placating hand.

"Elizabeth is correct in her assessment," Mrs. Abernathy said calmly.

"Though I would not have been so direct.

The truth is, my dear, that several of those ladies have spent years promoting their own daughters as suitable matches for Mr. Darcy.

His sudden engagement to you has caused considerable disappointment in many quarters. "

"And speculation," Arabella added, her expression darkening. "I suppose Lord Ellington's insinuations have not helped matters."

"Indeed not," her mother agreed. "You must prepare yourself, Elizabeth. There will be veiled insults, thinly disguised as pleasantries. There will be scrutiny of your appearance, your manners, your conversation, anything they might use to prove what they already believe: that you are unsuitable."

Elizabeth set down her hairbrush with perhaps more force than was necessary. "Then I shall likely prove them correct, for I have no intention of pretending to be something I am not merely to please a collection of society matrons."

Mrs. Abernathy's chin lifted ever so slightly.

"And that, my dear, is precisely why you shall triumph.

Their pointed insults are meant to wound, but because you truly do not care for their good opinion, their words cannot harm you.

They may sting a bit, I grant you. No one likes to be insulted.

But they will do you no lasting harm. And the best part is that you need not pretend to be anything but yourself, for you already possess everything you require to navigate any social battle. "

"I am not certain I deserve such a compliment," Elizabeth demurred, though a small part of her thrilled at the way Mrs. Abernathy viewed her.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Abernathy waved away her protest. "Do you recall the summer you were sixteen, when Mrs. Vandercross visited Netherfield?"

“Oh, Aunt Vandercross,” moaned Arabella. “What a dreadful creature. Papa ran away and left us to entertain her, even though she is his sister. I am so pleased she married again and settled in Rome. Too bad she could not move even farther away.”

"Arabella,” Mrs. Abernathy warned, before turning back to Elizabeth.

"Count Paternò married her for her substantial dowry, and she married him for his title.

A match that suited them both, though it did little to tame Penelope's natural tendency towards self-importance.

At least she has not been widowed again, so far as we know.

‘I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.’"

Arabella and Elizabeth shared a smile—Aunt Vandercross’s marriage to the count was her third, and Mrs. Abernathy was fond of Shakespeare.

"They were on their way to Rome, were they not?" Elizabeth recalled. "The count insisted on hosting that elaborate dinner party to 'honour' your family before their departure."

"Indeed," Mrs. Abernathy nodded, her expression turning wry. "Where he proceeded to monopolise every conversation with tedious accounts of his ancestral palazzo and the exalted position his family held in Roman society."

"And Aunt Vandercross could speak of nothing but the superiority of everything Italian," Arabella added. "The food, the fashion, the art. Nothing in England could possibly compare."

"Until she turned her attention to you, Elizabeth," Mrs. Abernathy continued. "I shall never forget how she attempted to humiliate you at the dinner table, questioning your position in our family and then examining you on your knowledge of Italian art and culture."

Elizabeth laughed softly at the memory. "She demanded to know if I could even name three Italian masters, as though the mere concept of Renaissance art would be beyond my provincial understanding."

"And instead of becoming flustered or defensive, you engaged her in such a detailed discussion of Raphael's use of perspective compared to his contemporaries that the count himself could scarcely keep pace," Mrs. Abernathy finished with evident satisfaction.

"By the time you inquired whether she preferred Botticelli's early religious works or his later mythological paintings, poor Penelope was utterly lost."

"The look on her face!" Arabella crowed. "And then you asked her, so innocently, which of the Medici patrons she found most fascinating, as if assuming she naturally possessed knowledge of any of them."

"Which she did not," Mrs. Abernathy said approvingly.

"The count was forced to rescue his floundering bride by changing the subject entirely.

You managed, my dear Elizabeth, to reveal her superficial pretensions while never once being disrespectful or unkind.

You were merely engaging in what you assumed would be a welcome topic of conversation for someone so enamoured with Italian culture. "

"I was being rather impertinent," Elizabeth admitted. “Had her husband not turned the conversation in another direction, I should have begun speaking to her in Italian.”

“And I should have helped you,” Arabella said.

“I would have required the help,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh. “Even now I would not like to be examined by a proficient.”

"And you were only sixteen then,” Mrs. Abernathy declared.

“That natural refusal to be intimidated is precisely the skill you must employ tomorrow.

When these ladies attempt to diminish you with their barbs, you must respond with such perfect civility and subtle wit that they find themselves outmanoeuvred without quite understanding how. "

Elizabeth sighed. "It sounds exhausting."

"It is at first," Mrs. Abernathy agreed frankly. "But recall three things. First, it will become easier with practice. Two, once they realise you are capable, they will not be so willing to attack.”

“And three?” Elizabeth asked.

“The Countess of Matlock has invited you into her home. That alone will give you standing that these ladies must respect, whatever their private opinions."

"I shall perform to the best of my abilities," Elizabeth promised, though her heart was not in it.

Mrs. Abernathy rose to her feet. "I must check on dinner arrangements. Arabella, perhaps you might help Elizabeth select her gown for tomorrow? The rose silk, I think, would be most becoming."

After her mother had departed, Arabella turned to Elizabeth with a knowing look. "You are planning to be deliberately stupid tomorrow, are you not?"

Elizabeth feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

"You do," Arabella insisted. "You think if you appear sufficiently ill-suited to Mr. Darcy's station, he will release you from the engagement."

"Would that be so terrible?" Elizabeth demanded, abandoning all pretence.

"I have said it before, and I still believe it.

He cannot truly wish to marry me, Belle.

He requires a wife who not only understands his world but wishes to be a part of it.

The ton will never accept me; why should he saddle himself with a lifetime of social embarrassment merely because Lord Ellington caught us in an awkward moment and circulated his slander? "

"Because Mr. Darcy admires you," Arabella said simply.

"He does not even know me."

"He knows enough. He watches you and listens to you as though every word you utter reveals some new wonder to him."

"That is a rather romantic assessment." Elizabeth rose to pace the room restlessly. "Besides, what does it matter if he fancies himself in love with me? I should be miserable married to a man who will come to resent me.”

"Are you quite finished?" Arabella asked cheerily when Elizabeth paused for breath."Yes," Elizabeth replied after a moment, though in truth she could have continued her litany of protests indefinitely.

"Good. Now perhaps you might consider being a grown woman instead of a petulant girl and show these London ladies who is in charge of your life," Arabella said briskly. "If nothing else, your father will enjoy hearing about it when you write to him."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes but could not entirely suppress a smile. "I doubt Papa would recognise me playing the part of a society hostess."

"He would absolutely recognise his daughter putting pretentious fools in their place with a smile and a well-turned phrase," Arabella countered. "That is all Mamma is asking of you. Be yourself. Your best self. The rest will follow."

"I shall try," Elizabeth said with a sigh of resignation. "Though I maintain this entire exercise is futile."

"If you truly do your best, Lizzy, you shall be the toast of London in no time," Arabella predicted with a satisfied nod.

"I do not know how often I must say this. I do not want to be the toast of London," Elizabeth replied. "I thought you said you would help me."

"I am helping you," Arabella said innocently. "Are you married yet?"

“No.” And then, despite herself, Elizabeth laughed. "You are impossible."

"And you, my dearest friend, are avoiding the truth that is right before your eyes," Arabella replied, suddenly serious. "Mr. Darcy is a good man, a far better man than either of us initially believed. Would it truly be so dreadful to consider that he might make you happy?"

Elizabeth had no answer for that, and as Arabella moved to the wardrobe to examine the rose silk gown, she found herself contemplating the question with unexpected gravity.

Belle was enamoured of the colonel. She was not going to do anything that would embarrass his cousin. Elizabeth would have to do this on her own.

How difficult could it be to not do what Mrs. Abernathy had asked? That Arabella had demanded? All she need do was to flounder in the face of the ton’s scrutiny. The earl and countess would talk Mr. Darcy out of marrying her, and that would be that.