“I am wearing my new sprigged gown,” Kitty countered. “The seamstress in Westport did excellent work on the hem.”
“But you wore that to the assembly two days ago,” Lydia replied.
“Then people will remember how well it suited me.”
Effie laughed. “I care less about what I wear than who I shall dance with. Do you suppose this wealthy gentleman will prove handsome as well as rich?”
“One can only hope,” Lydia said. “Though I confess I should accept him even if he possessed the face of a toad, provided his fortune was large enough.”
“Lydia!” Jane’s reproach came unbidden.
Behind them, Elizabeth fell into step next to Mary, with Jane on her other side.
“You have been uncommonly quiet these past few days,” Jane observed. “Indeed, one might almost mistake you for Mary.”
“I heard that,” Mary called. “There is room for only one silent daughter in this family, Lizzy. Why have you decided to usurp my role?”
Elizabeth manufactured a smile. “I have not been silent. Merely thoughtful.”
“You were engrossed in your books for the entire journey from Hertfordshire, unless you were asleep,” Mary continued. “Ordinarily you would have been remarking upon the countryside, or speculating about people we passed, or championing some cause. Instead, you barely spoke.”
“I was reading.”
“Yes, but that is not like you. Even at the assembly, you danced when asked but contributed little to the conversation.” Mary paused. “Does this have to do with the dinner party at Lucas Lodge? The one where Mr Fletcher—”
Elizabeth rounded on them. “No. It has nothing to do with that day. I am enjoying the novelty of our surroundings and looking forward to this evening’s entertainment. Truly.”
She could see that neither Jane nor Mary believed her, but they had the grace not to press the matter further. The truth was that Elizabeth had spent the better part of a month attempting to master a habit she had never needed to cultivate: Restraint. At a recent dinner at Lucas Lodge, she had dominated the conversation with observations that, in retrospect, had been too pointed, too much. Too unlike a young lady.
She had hoped to impress a visiting playwright whom she had long admired but had made a spectacle of herself. For several days afterwards, people had looked at her as though she were a mirage. Or an outright fool. Even at church she had heard whispers aboutElizabeth Bennet’s quick mouth.
She had seen the expressions on the faces of the people present—amusement mixed with something less flattering, as if they regarded her as a curiosity rather than a lady of substance.
The memory stung more than she cared to admit.
Since that evening, she had been practising silence, or at least its approximation. She listened more than she spoke. She smiled and nodded and offered brief comments instead of lengthy observations. It felt unnatural, as though she were wearing a gown that did not quite fit, but she told herself it was necessary. If she wished to avoid being dismissed as too opinionated, too much trouble, then she must learn to moderate herself.
The ladies dressed with assistance from one another, taking turns with stays and ribbons while Lydia maintained commentary on which gentlemen she hoped to encounter.
As Elizabeth made final adjustments to her gown, she caught sight of her reflection. She appeared perfectly presentable in a flattering gown and her hair arranged becomingly.
The evening stretched ahead of them, full of possibility and peril in equal measure. She would smile and only speak when spoken to. She would be agreeable and pleasant and unremarkable.
And perhaps, if she succeeded, no one would notice the effort it required.
Chapter Two
Darcy
“You will be thoroughly besieged, sir.”
Darcy glanced at his valet, Thom, who stood near the window of Glenmont Hall’s master bedchamber. The warning had been delivered in Thom’s customary deadpan manner, which made it difficult to discern whether he spoke in jest or earnest.
Darcy examined his reflection in the looking glass. “I have weathered ambitious mothers in London. I suspect I shall manage Irish ones also.”
“London ladies possess a certain subtlety, if you’ll pardon my saying so.” Thom stepped back, satisfied with his work. “Mrs Kane was quite insistent when she spoke to you yesterday. She said the local fortune hunters descend like gulls on a fishing boat the moment word spreads of a gentleman with prospects.”
Mrs Kane, the housekeeper of Glenmont Hall, had indeed been emphatic in her cautions. The estate itself had proven a pleasant surprise since Darcy’s arrival a few days ago. He had inherited the property through his late mother’s family—a sprawling affair of grey stone and well-maintained grounds, with productive farmland extending across several hundred acres. The house, whilst not as grand as Pemberley, possessed good bones and excellent prospects.
