“Lucinda, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Derby? A long way from Cirencester.”
“We are visiting a cousin. Please introduce me to this young lady. We were too far to the rear of the gallery, as we arrived late, but she seems to have made quite an impression.”
Elizabeth stood and gave a perfect curtsey to Lady Bathurst—ah, the wife of Lord Bathurst, with whom William had much correspondence from New South Wales.
“My dear, delighted to meet you. This may be crass, but what a magnificent sapphire.” Elizabeth blushed; she knew nothing of its history or value. ‘Tis a Darcy jewel, ma’am.”
“And your dress. Why, it is the height of fashion, so finely embroidered.”
Elizabeth blushed again, but she could not dissemble. Lady Matlock was observing her most closely.
“You are too kind, my lady. A little out of fashion, for I have not worn this for some four years, since my wedding. Sewn for me by the girls of the orphanage. At the time, I was Matron—but now, as the wife of the lieutenant governor, I am Patroness.”
“Très bien, Mme. Darcy, c’est très seyant.”
“Toutes nos excuses, nous sommes allés à l’école ensemble et parlons souvent français—our apologies, we went to school together and often speak French.
Elizabeth could not help but smile to herself in amusement. These ladies, at the very pinnacle of society, were testingher—she, a mere colonial. She replied in her perfect French.
“Naturellement, Madame, I too enjoy the French language. With Napoleon abdicated, we will be able to return to la France and visit le Musée du Louvre. Quelle joie!”
The ladies reverted to English.
“You have a fine ear; do you speak other languages?” asked Lady Bathurst, with sincere interest, for she was something of a bluestocking.
“I am fluent in ten, though Afrikaans and Flemish are, perhaps, dialects of Dutch, as is Portuguese a dialect of Spanish, though further removed. Perhaps the language I enjoy the most is Marathi, native to western India. I found it most useful when visiting with Sir Evan Nepean, the Governor of Bombay.” Oh,Lizzie Darcy, you naughty girl, playing games with two countesses. What else, I wonder—shall we talk of covering screens and netting purses?
Lady Matlock laughed. “Mrs. Darcy, I can see why Fitzwilliam married you. You have a quickness about you—indeed, I believe Lady Bathurst and I are outclassed. But my question remains unanswered. While you have had much exposure to the sun on the journey to England, your skin is so smooth—oh, that I could turn back the clock. Why, you must not yet be five and twenty.”
“I am one and twenty, my lady.”
“I shall be impertinent—when, pray, is your birthday?”
For the third time, Elizabeth blushed. “I share that with His Majesty; ‘tis today.”
Lady Matlock regarded her for some time. “Indeed, truly full young when you married. I see a story here, but let us leave it for another time.”
At that moment, a footman came up and passed the lady a note. Her eyes widened as she read it, glancing at Elizabeth. Abruptly, she stood. Taken by surprise, Elizabeth and Lady Bathurst followed a few moments later.
“Lucinda, I apologise for myappalling lack of etiquette, but my introduction to my niece was badly done.” Her voice carried across the courtyard. All of the ladies and the few gentlemen at the other tables ceased their conversation, for it was highly unusual for a countess to confess such in a public place.
“My lady,” she held Elizabeth’s eye, “may I perform the introduction—Lady Bathurst, the Lady Darcy.”
“Lady Darcy, whatever can you mean?” gasped Elizabeth, as both countesses lent her a deep curtsey.
“’Tis simple,” replied Lady Matlock. “Lord Eldon, the Lord High Chancellor, has decreed your husband is become Lord Darcy—formally, the Most Honourable the Marquess Darcy. You, my dear niece, are a marchioness.“
“Oh, no,” cried Elizabeth, bursting into tears. “You were born to this, Lady Matlock, whereas I was justLizzie Bennetfrom Meryton. Oh, that silly, silly man—I shall never forgive him, forLizzie Darcysounds well enough,butLady Darcyhas not the same appeal.”
***
“My pardon, Mrs. Reynolds, Lady Georgiana, but I’m so very tired. Please forgive my lack of propriety.” The landau was now beyond the buildings of Derby, affording some privacy, but ‘twas far too hot to lower the canopy. Elizabeth leant into Darcy; she lifted her slippered feet onto the bench and instantly fell asleep. His arm around her, for the first time in over a year, Darcy felt whole, the last piece of a dissected map falling into place.
Georgiana looked on with awe. William’s eyes were closed—never before had she seen such contentment cross his face. Elizabeth was so lovely, just as he had described her. There was so much to think about, a day so full of emotion—of heralmost being taken away from William as though she were nothing more than a piece of furniture; of that striking, elegant lady entering the courthouse with the comportment of a marchioness, only to discover she truly was one; and William, a marquess, higher even than her uncle; of William’s son… her nephew. Mrs. Reynolds, sitting beside her, placed a hand on her arm,
“I had thought, Miss Georgiana… oh my, Lady Georgiana,” said she, quietly so as not to wake the sleeping child cradled in her arms, “that there were none good enough for Master William. But, with the Lady Elizabeth, I do believe Pemberley will come alive as it was when your dear mother, Lady Anne, was mistress.”
***
