Little Henry settled into life on Gracechurch Street with the placid contentment that had quickly endeared him to his family. He was an easy, gentle baby, and Mrs. Gardiner found herself only mildly fatigued by his care. She chose to nurse him herself, declining the services of a wet nurse, though the Gardiners could easily have afforded one. Elizabeth, observing that most of the household was engaged with Henry, made certain to spend time playing with young Jenny, determined that her cousin would not feel overlooked now that a new baby had joined them. Fortunately, Jenny was of such a sweet temperament that she welcomed her baby brother with an open heart and genuine affection.
Naturally, letters flew back and forth between Gracechurch Street and Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet—Mr. Gardiner’s sister—and her daughters eagerly began embroidering linen longcoats and sewing white cotton caps for little Henry. They had refrained from beginning such work until it was known the child—and his mother—would survive the birth. Recollection of tiny Arthur Long, who had lived but three days, was ever present in the neighbourhood’s memory. Moreover, there were too many children left motherless by puerperal fever.
Naturally, Mrs. Bennet boasted to her neighbours about the sacrifice she had made in allowing Elizabeth to remain in London, helping her Aunt Gardiner through childbirth and recovery. Conveniently, she forgot her previous insistence thatElizabeth accept Mr. Collins’ proposal. Now, she seemed certain the clergyman would turn his attention to the next Bennet daughter, Mary. In her letters to Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bennet recounted that, while Mr. Collins had danced twice with Mary at the Netherfield Ball, he had also danced with Charlotte Lucas, their neighbour—the only woman apart from his Bennet cousins with whom he danced.
Mrs. Bennet was worried that Charlotte might be intent on securing a proposal from him for herself. Miss Lucas knew that Elizabeth had refused Mr. Collins, and, being seven and twenty years old, was viewed in the neighbourhood as very near to being a spinster, if not one already.
Thus, it was with some relief to Mrs. Bennet that Mr. Collins had returned to his parish at Hunsford, intent on informing his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of his decision to marry. Lady Catherine, for her part, was widely expected to insist that Mr. Collins choose a bride from the family whose estate he would one day inherit.
Jane’s letters—one congratulating her aunt and uncle on the new arrival, the other sharing news from the Meryton assembly—were of far greater interest to Elizabeth. To her own surprise, Elizabeth found she was entirely indifferent as to whether Mr. Collins pursued her sister Mary or her close friend Charlotte. In truth, she would have been delighted had he proposed to Charlotte, a sensible and intelligent woman who deserved the comfort of her own home, rather than depending on her father or brothers for support.
Elizabeth’s curiosity was especially piqued by Jane’s account of the Meryton assembly. She had not realised that Mr. Bingley, the young gentleman who had recently leased Netherfield Park, would so quickly become such a favourite in the neighbourhood. Jane described how he had asked her to dance twice, and Elizabeth could easily see that her sister wasbeginning to feel a fondness for him. Jane was tender-hearted and kind—she deserved to be cherished by a man who valued her goodness and could return her affection. That she was also the most beautiful of the five sisters was simply an added blessing for any man lucky enough to win her heart.
* * *
Some six weeks after the birth of little Henry, a note arrived for Elizabeth, carried to the door by a footman in livery, who even now awaited a reply.
“Whoever is it from?” asked Mrs. Gardiner, as she and Elizabeth sat in the parlour. “Your brow is furrowed. But I know of none of our acquaintances who sport footmen in livery.”
“’Tis from Lady Jersey, Aunt. She requests me to attend her at one o’clock on the afternoon of Tuesday next. How singular.” Elizabeth passed the note to her aunt.
“Of course you must attend. Fancy, a countess requesting your presence—though it is rather early for visitors. But who knows the mind of these great people?”
Mrs. Gardiner immediately told Sarah, their maid, who had received the footman at the door, to convey Elizabeth’s acceptance of the invitation.
“Oh, Aunt Madelaine, you sound just like my mother, pushing me out into society. But surely I do not have a day dress fine enough to visit Berkeley Square. My muslin is acceptable for both Longbourn and Gracechurch Street, but likely it will be found wanting in Mayfair.”
“I have a suitable dress, which in my present condition certainly does not fit. I am a little taller than you, Lizzy, and the bodice will need some adjustment, for I was fuller in the bosom; though now, feeding little Henry, I would, perchance, be deemed even more full-figured.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are determined to embarrass me, Aunt. I have not seen that gown—though I suspect the fabric comes direct from Uncle Gardiner’s warehouse; perchance silk from Canton?”
“Oh, Lizzy, it will suit you admirably—the jade will set off your eyes. Now, you will need slippers, and a bonnet or cap to complement the gown. We shall talk to Mrs. Parkin at the milliner’s next to the Three-Tuns Tavern—she keeps a stock of fine bonnets, caps, and slippers. If we have Sarah pin you, we can sew the hems easily by Tuesday.”
The remainder of the day passed in a whirl of anticipation and preparation. Elizabeth, though she affected nonchalance, could not help but wonder at the reason for Lady Jersey’s summons. Lady Jersey was a figure of consequence, notorious for her caprice and her influence among theton, and Elizabeth had never before moved in circles so elevated.
That evening, after Jenny was put to bed and Mr. Gardiner had retired with his ledger, Elizabeth found herself alone with her thoughts. She sat by the window, gazing out at the quiet street below. Cheapside, so different from the green lanes of Hertfordshire—oh, she missed her home dreadfully—yet she could not repine. There was a magic about the City which she couldn’t ignore—indeed, she didn’t wish to—so much more than the quiet predictability of her previous life, where the quarterly assembly was the high point of Meryton society.
She resolved not to trouble herself with anxious speculation. Instead, she turned her mind to the upcoming visit, promising herself to meet whatever awaited her at Berkeley Square with grace and composure. She would represent her family with dignity, even if her hem was hastily sewn and her slippers newly acquired.
At length, when Elizabeth retired to her bed, her slumbers proved most unsettled; visions of a splendid drawing-room danced before her, Lady Jersey’s discerning gaze ever present, while beneath these imaginings lingered a quiet hope that this unexpected summons was more than a polite request for a morning call, confined as they usually were to banal and dull conversation.
* * *
The cab made its way along Berkeley Street, wheels clattering over the flagstones as it entered the broad expanse of Berkeley Square. Sunlight filtered through the plane trees, casting flickering shadows across the park’s lawns, even now being grazed by a few indifferent sheep. Elizabeth hardly noticed, her gaze drawn instead to the view across a private garden, towards Lansdowne House—the building’s classical lines, its pediment resting on four stately Ionic columns, at odds with the city’s crowded, grey tenements. Unexpected, out of place.
The cab rolled along the southwest side of the square, leaving Lansdowne House behind and drawing up before number thirty-eight—a townhouse even grander than she had imagined, its seven-window-wide façade framed by two great bay windows stretching up two stories on either side. The whole edifice was crowned by a portico whose columns lent a sense of strength and purpose, the townhouse of the Child family for over fifty years. Stepping down from the cab, Elizabeth stood nervously on the pavement—acutely aware of the novelty of visiting a countess. If her mother knew, she would be the talk of Meryton for at least the following month. Jacob, her uncle’s footman, stepped ahead and gave the door a confident rap with the knocker.
“I shall wait in the park, Miss,” said Jacob, handing Elizabeth up the steps.
She passed him a coin. “Certainly not, Jacob.The Running Footmantavern in Charles Street is rather famous—the last running footman was employed by the Duke of Queensberry, who lived in the square. Expect my return in a half-hour.”
Shortly, the butler appeared, took her card, and ushered Elizabeth into a cool, marble-tiled vestibule, where the scent of beeswax reminded her of Longbourn. Though the space was lavishly decorated, it still required the diligence of servants to polish and sweep the floors. She waited, her heart calming, as the butler enquired as to whether Lady Jersey was at home.
Elizabeth’s eyes darted over the vestibule’s details: the muted reflections from a crystal chandelier overhead, the intricate marquetry of a mahogany table, atop which rested a blue-and-white porcelain bowl filled with hothouse roses. Her gloved fingers traced the edge of her reticule as she listened for the distant echo of footsteps and the butler’s return.
She could hear, somewhere beyond a pair of double doors, the soft clink of china and the low hum of voices. The distant chatter and the rhythmic tick of a longcase clock seemed to belong to another world—the home of the most influential countess in England. She caught her reflection in a gilt-edged mirror and adjusted her cap, smoothing a stray curl behind her ear, trying to conjure the composure she imagined Lady Jersey’s guests must possess.
A moment later, the butler reappeared. “If you would follow me, Mrs. Bennet,” he intoned, his voice polished by years of discretion. He led her through a doorway flanked by pilasters and into a parlour suffused with late-morning light. The air was faintly redolent of bergamot and lavender, and a pair of spaniels dozed beside the hearth. At the centre of the room, framed by tallwindows, stood Lady Jersey herself, who turned at Elizabeth’s entrance with a smile equal parts curiosity and welcome.
