“I thought it best to begin with the essentials,” said Mr. Gardiner, drawing open a drawer and revealing a set of colour cards and swatches. “You shall want enough to see you through London and the whole of Brinmouth. Two months, is it still?”
Mrs. Gardiner gave a decisive nod. “Yes. We shall leave at the end of next week. Lizzy, I have spoken with Madame Charpentier, and she shall take us this afternoon. She has excellent taste and understands young ladies’ needs perfectly.”
“I confess I do not know what my needs are,” Elizabeth murmured, as she reached out to touch a length of sprigged muslin in a soft coral pink. The fabric was light and finely woven, and she imagined it fluttering in the sea breeze.
“Then we shall guide you,” her aunt replied. “Four day dresses, at least, perhaps five. You must have two evening gowns, one walking dress with matching pelisse, a spencer jacket or two, and accessories enough to carry you through changeable weather.”
"Surely that is more than—"
Elizabeth stopped. Mrs. Gardiner had already turned to the panels and was drawing a length of pale blue sarsenet toward the light with the brisk efficiency of someone who considered the matter settled.
"Are you quite sure I need so much?"
"Your uncle is quite sure," said Mrs. Gardiner, without turning round. "And so am I."
“No choosing anything like that pale apricot you wore last Easter,” said Mrs. Gardiner as she turned to examine a bolt of palest green. “It sapped every ounce of colour from your face. This, however, will do very nicely.”
Elizabeth looked at the green. It was very fine, which was precisely the difficulty, and she found herself looking away again.
It was the coral muslin that undid her. She had not meant to reach for it, having in fact been studying the catalogue with great attention to avoid reaching for anything, but her hand moved before she considered it, and the fabric was lighter than she had expected, almost nothing between her fingers, and she stood there holding it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
"That one," said Mrs. Gardiner quietly, from somewhere to her left, "will be made up into the walking dress."
Elizabeth set it down. Then, after a moment, picked it up again. When a tray of ribbons was produced, Elizabeth reachedautomatically for the plainest. Mrs. Gardiner selected another before she could speak.
"That one."
"It must be twice the price."
Mrs. Gardiner laughed.
"My dear Lizzy, if I wished to economise, I should not have brought you here."
Elizabeth suspected this was not an argument she was likely to win. Mrs. Gardiner continued her inspection of fabrics with quiet determination, while Mr. Gardiner declared himself pleased with nearly everything placed before him.
By the end of the hour she had, without entirely meaning to, expressed a preference for the ivory over the cream, asked twice about the sea-blue ribbon, and pointed at a figured muslin from Manchester, once tentatively and then with considerably more conviction, that she had no business wanting and wanted very much indeed.
As they settled once more into the carriage, Mrs. Gardiner gave a satisfied nod. “You shall be well prepared when the time comes to leave.”
“I feel rather like a duchess in disguise,” Elizabeth said, clutching the small swatch book she had been allowed to keep. “What would Jane say, I wonder, if she could see me now?”
“She would say you deserved every bit of it,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “And she would be right.”
The carriage turned into a quieter lane. Elizabeth had been looking out the window with the swatch book open on her lap, not reading it, only looking, when the familiar shopfront came into view. She sat up straighter. "The bookseller."
“I thought you might like a visit,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I took the liberty of asking if he still keeps the corner window display. He says he does.”
They alighted moments later, and Elizabeth hurried toward the shopfront, the bell above the door ringing merrily as she entered. The scent of ink, fine paper, and old bindings greeted her like an old friend. It was the same in every shop she had ever entered, that smell, and it always did the same thing to her, loosened something she had not known she was holding.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Delaney from behind his desk, rising with a smile. “You have grown. But I knew it must be you. You have the same eyes.”
Elizabeth returned his smile with true warmth. “It is a pleasure to be remembered.”
“You used to sit on that stool with your nose in The Vicar of Wakefield, and I believe once I caught you reciting Pope to the window.”
“She still does,” said Mrs. Gardiner dryly, stepping inside behind her. “Though nowadays she is more inclined to correct the meter.”
Elizabeth laughed with them and turned at once toward the nearest shelf, her fingers finding the spines before she had quite decided to move, reading titles in the half-light the way another person might breathe.
