“And now he may invest in the Brinmouth venture?”
“So Uncle Henry believes,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Though I shall know better once we speak.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled faintly.
“Perhaps we shall all know better once we do.”
Chapter Three
It was not merely that Elizabeth had never been to the theatre in London. She had never been anywhere of such polish and grandeur. The drawing rooms of the fashionable world, the towering houses of Mayfair, the painted halls of galleries and learned societies, all were vague to her as a child’s picture book. Her understanding of the capital had been shaped by the modest parlours of Gracechurch Street, the quiet bookshops her uncle favoured, and the neat stalls and cheerful exchanges of respectable tradesmen.
And yet now she stood in a gown of soft pale sarsenet, her arms wrapped in a new shawl of silk and fringe, her hair drawn up by a maid, and her slippers too fine for any road but this one. The footman offered his arm, and she stepped from the carriage into a lighted crowd.
Covent Garden blazed with life. Lanterns swung on their chains. Carriages jostled for place along the pavement. The stone steps leading into the vestibule were filled with gentlemen and ladies moving at leisure. No one was in haste. It was understood that one lingered before the bell; it was part of the evening’s charm to be seen, to observe, to converse.
Mrs. Gardiner took Elizabeth’s arm as they entered, her expression fond and amused. “You need not say a word, my dear. Just smile. That is all that is required tonight.”
Elizabeth returned a breathless laugh. “I believe I can manage that much.”
They made their way slowly through the crowd. Mr. Gardiner was detained more than once by acquaintances; Mrs. Gardiner was recognised by a pair of ladies engaged in the charities of St. Luke’s parish. Elizabeth had scarcely finished admiring the carved plasterwork above the lobby doors when a tall gentleman stepped toward them with composed familiarity.
“Madeline,” he said, his tone warm though quiet. “And Edward. You are both in fine health, I hope?”
Mrs. Gardiner turned with evident pleasure. “Uncle Henry. We had not expected to see you tonight.”
Lord Matlock bowed to her and shook Mr. Gardiner’s hand with sincere regard. “I understand your niece has been in town nearly a week. I am glad to have caught you before your departure.”
A woman now stepped forward beside the Earl. She was dressed in violet silk, her bearing graceful and assured. Her features, though touched by time, retained the dignity of former beauty and the calm assurance of a woman long accustomed to her position. She extended her hand to Madeline with quiet warmth.
“We missed you at the Duchess’s tea last week,” she said. “I trust there was no difficulty?”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “I had been all set to come, but Freddie was cutting his back teeth. Poor thing wanted only me, and I could not leave him.”
“Quite understandable,” said the Countess. “You have always managed more than most, and with fewer complaints.”
Just then her eyes, which had rested fondly on Madeline’s face, shifted to the young lady standing just behind her. She stilled. Her gaze fixed upon Elizabeth with a sudden, unwilled attention, as though some recollection had stirred before it could be examined.
Mrs. Gardiner, catching the pause but unaware of its cause, turned slightly and said with quiet composure, “Elizabeth, may I present the Earl and Countess of Matlock, Lord Henry Fitzwilliam and Deborah Fitzwilliam? Lord Matlock is my father’s cousin, and Lady Matlock has ever shown me kindness. My lord, my lady, this is my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth stepped forward and curtsied with grace. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Lady Matlock inclined her head. “And I yours.”
The words were perfectly chosen, and her manner entirely correct. Yet Elizabeth felt, with a small inward unease, that she had not been greeted so much as observed. The Countess’s attention lingered a moment longer than courtesy required, deliberate without being discourteous, and left Elizabeth with the curious sense of having been noted rather than received.
At that moment, another familiar pair made their way through the vestibule. The Viscount and Viscountess Ashford, Basil Fitzwilliam and his wife Amelia, were both dressed witha fashionable yet unpretentious elegance. Viscount Ashford bowed to the Gardiners, while Lady Ashford came directly toward Mrs. Gardiner.
“I am very glad to find you, Madeline. We had hoped to call earlier this week, but our time has not been our own.”
“I should have liked that. The children were quite ready to invade your nursery.”
“Are they to travel with you to Brinmouth? Mine were very cross to learn they would be parted for the summer.”
“We could not manage it. Edward shall have work there, and we expect little quiet. They will remain in London with their grandmother.”
“I think Margaret and Frederick would far prefer it if they stayed with us.”
“You are kind, but two months is rather too long to burden you with so many little feet and hands.”
