“Dear Lizzy,” Mamma said with a firm embrace. “Oh, and Mr. Darcy!” She curtsied as he joined us, and he bowed gravely, which never failed to leave my mother clucking with delight. She peered around the museum’s massive entry hall. “Is this your London house?”
“This is themuseum, Mamma,” Kitty chortled, “You know that! How are you, Lizzy?”
She hugged me, and I was in ecstasies to have all my family together, then shot through with loss because Papa would not insert a dry remark, nor Lydia her laugh—the Lydia I cherished in my memories, younger and more innocent than what she became.
Kitty introduced the companion on her arm, a clean-shaven young gentleman in a naval officer’s uniform of dark blue tailcoat with gold buttons, white waistcoat, and white breeches. He had a reckless grin, and Kitty whispered proudly—and far too loudly—“He is apurser!”
“To think I used to like a red coat,” Mamma exclaimed. “Blue is much more handsome.”
That comment came while the officer bowed to me. He rose with a good-natured chuckle and confided, “My mother has been saying the same thing ever since I received my Navy coat.” I decided I liked him.
Both officers met Darcy and Charles, and then I drew Emma and Harriet into the muddle, as they had been watching with polite smiles at a distance. The entire group—even Kitty—became reserved while greeting Emma. Ihad seen this effect before, but this time I tried to put my finger on why. Emma was a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown, but the room had more spectacular gowns and more daringly dressed ladies. It was something particular to her, an eerie perfection of presentation. Her smiles and greetings were pleasant, but her person seemed untouchable. Ethereal.
Out of curiosity, I closed my eyes and sought the perspective of a ferretworm perched on the second-floor banister. The flood of detail from ladies’ lace and gentlemen’s cravats was astonishing, but once I dragged my attention past that, Emma and I were obvious in the crowd, shining with the aura of great wyves.
Opening my eyes, I found Harriet and Kitty heads-together in intimate discussion.
“I read the most wonderful novel about a dusky heroine!” Kitty said. “I sat in the sun for days, but it was hopeless! I hardly tanned at all. That was silly of me, but I do so envy you. You must have all the gentlemen in pursuit.”
“That has not happened yet,” Harriet said, thankfully looking flattered rather than offended. “There are few single gentlemen in Highbury. And they shoot all day.”
“All gentlemen shoot,” Kitty commiserated. “I do not understand why. They cannot do it with ladies. Do you have officers in Highbury?”
“Not one,” said Harriet.
“You poor thing!” She called to the second officer, “Henry, would you not like to accompany Miss Smith?”
My eyebrows rose at Kitty tossing gentlemen’s Christian names about—perhaps she was under the influence of the navy’s famously rough language—but the fellow stepped forward smartly. “It would be my honor, Miss Smith.” Judging from his uniform, he was another warrant officer, although I did not know navy ranks as well as army. Exact rank aside, he cut an impressive figure in his coat and snug breeches, and he offered his arm handsomely. Harriet smiled shyly, and the four of them vanished toward a table with punch bowls.
“That was quick,” I observed, as it turned out, only to Emma. Everyone else had been claimed by surrounding conversations.
Emma did not answer. She was staring at the room and still as a statue.
Softly, I said, “Are you well?”
“Of course,” she answered immediately with a charming smile, but I was unconvinced.
There was a flurry at the entrance, and an aged, stentorian lady’s voice sliced through the babble. “What can you possibly intend by speaking ‘Hello’to me?”
“Ah,” I said. “She has arrived.”
The crowd parted, and Lady Catherine sailed forth, an eighteen-inch ostrich plume cutting the air above her hair. She spotted me and changed course with resolute disdain.
“Aunt.” I greeted her with a curtsy.
“Hmm,” she said, ignoring me and studying Emma. “Who is this?”
“Lady Catherine,” I said, “may I present Miss Woodhouse of Surrey.”
“You are smartly put together,” Lady Catherine declared. “And Surrey is tolerable.”
“Your ladyship,” Emma said, rising from her curtsy. “I am fond of Surrey myself.” She looked both unintimidated and friendly. In my experience, that was an unprecedented combination when encountering Lady Catherine.
“Indeed.” Her ladyship scowled at me. “And have you filled the museum with bolts? Recall that I do not share your fascination.”
“There are none, madam. Our featured exhibit is a dagger.”
“Weapons? That is more practical.” There was a shocked cry behind her, and people scrambled apart. Her ladyship smiled in triumph. “I am attended by my wyvern. London has been too long without the presence of a truly magnificent draca.”
