Page 22 of The Marriage Articles

“I have not seen a great deal of it yet, ma’am.” Smith worked the last pin free. “But it is an honour to be promoted to lady’s maid, and I mean to be worthy of it.”

“I am sure you will be,” Elizabeth said, sinking at last into the warm water.

Alone at last, Smith dismissed with thanks, Elizabeth settled into a bed more comfortable than any she had slept in and lay looking at the firelight. What a day it had been. What tomorrow would bring she could not guess. She found, to her surprise, that she was willing to wait and see.

Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth woke to a ceiling she did not know. For one long moment she lay watching the pale light at the edge of the curtains and could not have said in what county she was, nor in what house, nor under whose name. The sheets against her hands were finer than any she had slept between in her life, and the bed itself possessed a comfort that seemed to argue with the unease in her mind. London. Darcy House. Mrs Darcy. She had slept exceptionally well, and that was a fact that no reluctance could argue away, so she permitted herself the comfort of it and sat up.

She found the bell pull and rang for Smith, who came so promptly that Elizabeth suspected the girl had been waiting in the corridor since dawn.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Smith set a tray of tea on the table by the fire and went at once to the curtains. “I hope you rested well.”

“Thank you, I did.” Elizabeth took the cup Smith poured for her and held it in both hands. “I mean to walk this morning, if the weather allows it. I cannot be kept indoors on my first morning, whatever the hour.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” Smith was already at the wardrobe, and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile about her as she said it. “The footman is informed and waiting. He is to walk behind you, at whatever distance suits you.”

Elizabeth paused with the cup halfway to her lips. She was uncertain whether to be touched by the attention or annoyed at being so easily read, so she drank her tea and reserved judgement.

The walking dress Smith produced was a simple gown of dark wool, made for weather rather than admiration. Elizabeth submitted to buttons, to pins, to the tying of her bonnet with the patience of a woman accustomed to dressing herself, and she found the surrender oddly pleasant. Smith drew on her gloves and pronounced her ready. In her plain warm way she added that the square was very fine of a morning, and that ma’am would do well to go before the carriages were about.

The air met her at the door, sharp with cold and carrying the damp scent of stone after rain. Something faint and green, the first flowers somewhere out of sight, lingered in the air. It was the kind of morning that refreshes the spirit. Elizabeth set off at her usual pace before she remembered the footman. She had to school her stride to something more befitting a lady of Grosvenor Square.

Her new neighbourhood rose about her in ranks of pale stone, each front fitted with its door painted dark and its railings burnished bright, every house standing with the quiet confidence of a family rooted for centuries. The square garden stood empty at that hour but for a gardener sweeping the paths, who touched his hat to her and went on sweeping. A carriage went over the cobbles beyond the railings. From an upper window across the way a maid parted the heavy drapes to let in the light, and somewhere a dog barked, answered by another further off. The city was waking around her, indifferent to who she was, and Elizabeth found the indifference restful. She was a stranger here, and she was content to be one.

She walked until her cheeks stung pleasantly and her gloves were damp, and then she turned for home. Home. The thought of it felt strange, and yet not entirely unwelcome.

The smell of coffee and toast reached her before she crossed the threshold of the breakfast room. Mr Darcy sat alone at the table, with a cup at his elbow, and the table was laid for three, though only one plate had been touched.

He rose when she came in. “Mrs Darcy. I hope you found the morning agreeable.”

“Very. Your square is handsome, sir, my walk was refreshing.” She sat where the second place was laid and poured herself tea. “Does Georgiana not breakfast?”

“She prefers to sleep. It has been her habit since she was small, and no governess has yet prevailed against it.”

“Not everyone is built to rise with the lark, I suppose.” Elizabeth buttered her toast. “I have a sister who would call my walking a derangement. Perhaps Georgiana and Lydia should correspond.”

Something moved at his mouth that was not quite a smile. “I believe they would be of one mind on that subject, at least.”

They both smiled at that, and for a moment the room was easy. He asked what she meant to do with her day.

“I hardly know. I must be honest with you, sir, I have not the least idea what Mrs Darcy does. I know what Miss Elizabeth Bennet did. She walked, and read, and teased her father, and was of no particular use to anyone. But Mrs Darcy of Darcy House has a great many rooms and a housekeeper who looks as though she was born to govern kings, and I confess I am waiting to be told my duties.”

He looked at her over his cup with an expression she could not immediately name. Surprise, she thought, and behind the surprise something warmer.

“You will find your way,” he said. “And whatever you wish to learn, there are people here who will be glad to teach it. I am one of them.”

“Then my first question is an easy one. I thought I might visit my aunt and uncle. They are in Cheapside. Today, perhaps, or tomorrow.”

“You shall have the carriage whenever you wish it,” he said. “It is at your disposal entirely. And if you will permit me, I should like to accompany you. I have not yet had the honour of knowing your aunt and uncle, and I should like to mend that.”

She watched him say it. He meant it, she decided, or he had determined to mean it. “You are very good. Tomorrow, then. I should like to send my aunt a note first, so she does not fall into hysterics at the sight of your carriage. It would not do to kill her with consequence.”

“I shall endeavour to arrive in a manner calculated to spare her nerves.”

He returned to his coffee then, and she applied herself to her breakfast, and the silence was companionable until she asked what his own day held.

“Estate business, for the most part. Matters that have waited on me since my stay at Netherfield and can wait no longer.” He said it without emphasis. “There are letters to be answered and a steward to be placated. It will occupy me until the afternoon.”