"Thank you, sir." The governess gave an awkward little curtsy and almost fell over. She opened the book with relish. "There is just something glorious about a new book. The way the spine cracks perhaps. Or maybe the scent. It is the scent of potential adventure, do not you think?"
She offered the book around for olfactory inspection. Darcy and Henrietta agreed with Miss Hopkins's whimsical assertion, but Belinda said, "It just smells like paper."
While Miss Hopkins's life was surely comfortable enough there must be few indulgences in it, I realized. Darcy had realized that, too. My husband could be not only pleasant but thoughtful. I did not know why I should feel surprised by this revelation. I had witnessed it before. He had cared for me on our unfortunate wedding night.
But I had convinced myself his kindness was an aberration. Apparently not. I am not exactly certain how to feel about this information. I am not exactly certain how to feel about anything.
Seven
6thDecember, 1811
Afternoon
There is a bird on my head.
It ought to be on Mrs. Vane's head. Nay, it ought to in a tree somewhere in the West Indies looking after its nest and doing whatever else birds do with their time. Instead its mate has been left a widow and it finds itself an adornment upon the ugliest headdress ever made. It is a tragedy for the bird and a tragedy for me.
Mostly for me.
"See how imposing you look? It is exactly what we want."
I squinted into mirror just in case it was my vision that was failing rather than Mrs. Vane's. No, there it is, a scarlet, green, and yellow bird of paradise, wings outstretched, its sightless glass eyes staring out from the side of my head.
The milliner's assistant who is holding up the mirror gave me a pitying look, she a least knows how absurd her employer's creation is. I do not deserve her pity however. Like everything in my life this my own fault. When I am dead I am certain my headstone will read, "She brought it on herself."
I was trying to bond with my sister-in-law. When my sisters and I would go shopping we would always try to find the ugliest thing in the shop—make it a competition of sorts. We could usually get a few minutes of amusement making derisive comments about the item and then when we would later see the ugly thing on some tasteless poor soul—usually Mrs. Long—have all the merriment of trying to suppress our laughter and when someone inevitably burst out in a fit of giggles—usually Kitty—someone—always me—would have to produce an outlandish excuse for our mirth. Hilarity all around.
I thought that I might continue this tradition with Georgiana and, indeed, when I pointed the headdress out to her she stifled a chuckle and whispered "Who would wear that?" even though she had been endeavoring not to speak to me all day. Thrilled to have elicited a comment from her I exclaimed, "I know!" just a little too loudly, garnering Mrs. Vane'sattention.
And now I have a dead bird pinned to my head.
It is most unfortunate, for before Mrs. Vane interrupted I really think Georgiana and I were on the cusp of friendship. I have been wearing her down with my wit and charm since the dressmaker arrived this morning and Mrs. Vane declared it a ladies' day in (isn't every day a ladies' day in for Mrs. Vane?—But I digress).
In the beginning Georgiana was as cold as ever and, though she made no illusions to it, I could tell she was smarting from whatever scolding Darcy had given her for her attempted weaponization ofLady Whisperton's Society Pages. However as the day progressed and I endured a million little remarks by Mrs. Vane about my figure, hair, skin, posture, bearing (which I was certain was the same thing as posture but according to Mrs. Vane is not), address, taste in fashion, and that "mad-looking face you keep making" (but, I am glad to mention, not my teeth which as I have said are my best feature) all the while remaining perfectly amiable, she began to warm to me (Georgiana, I mean—I doubt Mrs. Vane will ever warm to me).
At luncheon she smiled at an amusing comment I had made (Mrs. Vane frowned, Dora made an unrelated remark about beetles). Later, when the tedious measurements had been taken and the orders for gowns completed, she produced a commiserating little groan when I, rejoicing prematurely, made as if to escape Mrs. Vane's dressing room only to be told our day of consumerism was just half complete.
We did at least get to leave Mrs. Vane's dressing room, relocating to the drawing room which had been transformed into the Hat House of Horrors it is now (I wonder what the name of the milliner's shop really is—he should consider changing to Hat House of Horrors, it has a certain ring to it). Honestly, of the selection of hats and headdresses he brought with him, only the bird is truly terrible and if things had gone to plan I would have been quite grateful for it. As I said I had very nearly broken through Georgiana's determination to hate me. She had finally spoken to me! I am certain one good session of brutally mocking the poor fashion sense of other ladies would have solidified our friendship.
"Do you not think it striking, Georgiana?" Mrs. Vane asked, turning to her niece.
Georgiana's internal struggle was so obvious, I could see it playing out on her face. On one hand I am the fool who compromised her brother, forever ruining his hopes of making a love match (or—if he never had any interest in such an irrational, mawkish entanglement—an advantageous match) on the other hand I am ever so kind and amusing and, really, the whole compromise thing was an accident—it could have happened toanyone.
Finally she replied most diplomatically, "I'm not certain it is the right selection for Elizabeth."
If this question had been asked of me and someone I mildly loathed—for instance Miss Bingley—was wearing a taxidermal parakeet I think it would have been impossible for me to say anything other than, "Most striking. You simply must purchase it." So Georgiana must not loathe me anymore! Or perhaps she is just a less vindictive person than me.
This was clearly not the answer Mrs. Vane wanted. Misguidedly she turned to Dora for support.
"What do you think, Dora?"
Without looking up from her sketching Dora said, "I think, though Reaumur's discoveries concerning the affects of temperature upon insect populations are very admirable, his complete neglect of the beetle in his writings on natural history is disgraceful."
"About the headpiece," Mrs. Vane ground out impatiently. She gestured at my head as if Dora might not notice the monstrosity without prompting (though knowing Dora it is possible she might not).
Dora shrugged and went back to her work.
"Do you know what sort of bird this is, Dora?" I asked.
