“Oh no, I have come to keep you company, Brother. I would just be in the way at the shops.”
Miss Darcy’s unassuming and gentle manners were endearing, and Elizabeth quashed a sigh of relief. It was a comfort to like those with whom one was to share a house.
“You would be most welcome to join us,” Elizabeth said.
“You could purchase something for yourself,” Darcy suggested to his sister.
“I have no need at present,” Miss Darcy demurred. “Besides, I have something for you.” She retrieved a card that looked like an invitation from her reticule and handed it to Darcy.
“Then I am most obliged you are condescending to entertain your brother.”
Darcy tucked the invitation into his coat pocket without looking at it.
“It is good of you to keep Mr Darcy company whilst Lady Matlock and I are occupied plundering London’s shops,” Elizabeth remarked, fighting a twitch at the corners of her mouth.
The brother and sister had not seen each other for over a month and must have much to relate. Elizabeth left the house with Lady Matlock, assured that her husband would not lack entertainment whilst she was away.
They arrived at Mrs Bean’s Magazin des Modes on 32 Albemarle Street[1]shortly thereafter. Elizabeth had read about the woman, two years prior, when her apprentice’s unfortunate demise after a bout of measles had concluded in a group of resurrection men being apprehended.
Stepping out of the carriage, she narrowly escaped colliding with an older gentleman whose reddish eyes must have been more or less blind to have missed noticing her. He stared at her for an uncomfortable moment without as much as a pardon me before tipping his hat at Lady Matlock, revealing a bald head.
“Mrs Darcy, I presume?”
Elizabeth was uncertain as to whether she should acknowledge the fact to a random man she had not met before, but as her ladyship seemed to know him, she overlooked the impropriety.
“Yes, I am she.”
The gentleman nodded and continued down the street. Lady Matlock pretended she had not witnessed the mishap or the greeting and made no remark upon either.
The shop was impressive in size, and the spectacular selection of fabrics, which even included luxurious illicit French lace, made it difficult to choose.
Agreeing upon styles and fabrics for the various occasions spurred debate. Elizabeth was not accustomed to ordering so many dresses at once and certainly not choosing the most expensive silks and muslins. A short dispute arose over a particular costly Dhaka muslin. The lightweight and transparent fabric was woven in Bengal from the fine Phuti karpas cotton, and cost twenty-six times more than silk.
“I could not possibly saddle Mr Darcy with such an expense,” she protested in a tone that brooked no opposition.
“It is a gift from Lord Matlock and me,” the countess argued.
“I cannot possibly accept!”
“You have no choice in the matter. You must remember that you are no longer the daughter of a lowly country squire but Mrs Darcy of an ancient though untitled line and the niece of the Earl of Matlock. What would suffice in the country will not do in town, and for the grace of God, do not ever mention money again. It is vulgar to voice one’s concern for an expense,” Lady Matlock snarled with disgust.
The reprimand was most keenly felt; Elizabeth abhorred displaying any kind of ignorance and had to defer to the countess’s superior knowledge.
The muslin was to be the overlay of a ball gown that was fit for a queen rather than plain old Elizabeth Bennet. But she was Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley now and shook off her feelings of inferiority.
“Thank you, Lady Matlock,” she managed to say—it was to be hoped without revealing her dismay.
The next moment she was whisked away to have her measurements taken. The dressmakers in town were much more thorough than the one in Meryton because they made an exact copy of the dress in inexpensive linen. It would be used as a model to cut all of her gowns, and she stood pinned with short whites and middlings while the seamstresses adjusted the size. Two hours later, Elizabeth emerged from the back room. Their next stop was Cranbourne Street to see a specialist hat maker before they continued on to the cobbler. It was past the fashionable hour to be seen out and about when the ladies finally returned to Darcy House.
“You will be much occupied in the coming weeks, Elizabeth. I shall provide you with callers, beginning three days hence when the simplest of your morning gowns will be ready.”
“So soon?” Elizabeth asked in surprise. “That is much quicker than Mrs Elliston in Meryton.”
“Mrs Bean has thirteen seamstresses in her employ. I suppose Mrs Elliston has none.”
“Not permanently, no, though she does employ women in the neighbourhood when she is overrun with work.”
“Mrs Bean’s seamstresses are highly efficient, especially when you pay extra to have your garments finished as soon as possible. It is worth the additional expense in view of your social events. The rest of your morning gowns will be finished in the course of the week, your evening attire the following week. Only your finest ball gown will not be ready in less than a fortnight due to the delicate muslin. She promised to complete it in time for the ball I am hosting in honour of your marriage. It may even be as late as the very same day, but they have your measurements. One of the seamstresses will deliver it, so any minor alterations can be made at home, which should take an hour at the most. She will also bring the matching stays, petticoats, and slippers.”
