Page 32 of The Marriage Articles

There was a step in the corridor, light and quick and then arrested. Georgiana stood in the doorway with her hand on the frame, drawn no doubt by the crates and the paper and the two of them talking over the spoils. She did not come in. Her eyes went from the bed to the wardrobe room and back, and Elizabeth watched her gather herself, the way one gathers oneself before cold water.

“I only wondered...” Georgiana began, her voice dropping almost to a whisper as she looked down at her shoes. “That is, if the deliveries have arrived, I wondered if I might be permitted to see them?” Then she braced, very slightly, her fingers tightening on the frame.

“Of course you may. Come and look at the green silk, and tell me what you think of it.”

For a moment Georgiana did not move. Then she smiled and stepped into the room. They unfolded the green silk together on the bed. It came out of its paper in a long dark fall, the figured pattern catching the light, and Georgiana’s hands went to it at once, smoothing the fabric flat with a patience that spoke of pleasure rather than caution.

Elizabeth thought of the first morning, when she had come upon Georgiana at the piano and the playing had stopped at once, and the girl had risen and offered her the instrument with a courtesy so stiff it had read as coldness. She had come to understand how wrong she had been: the girl was not cold but shy, exceedingly shy, making overtures in the only manner she knew.

“My aunt and uncle are coming to town next week,” Georgiana said, still smoothing the silk. “Lord and Lady Matlock. They bring my cousin Anne with them, from Rosings.”

“I shall look forward to the pleasure of their acquaintance.”

“There will be dinners, I expect. There are always dinners when my aunt is in town.” Georgiana’s voice was low, but it did not falter. “You will like my uncle, I think. My aunt is a little formidable at first.”

“So is your brother,” said Elizabeth, “and I have grown accustomed to him.”

“Will you wear the green to Matlock House?”

“If you think it appropriate.”

“It will suit you.” The words came out in a rush. “The colour, I mean. With your eyes.”

“Then I shall wear it, and if Lady Matlock disapproves of me I shall tell her the dress was chosen by committee, and the committee has excellent taste.”

Georgiana laughed at that. Elizabeth realized that she looked much more like a sixteen-year-old girl than the accomplished lady she usually presented.

“It is very strange,” she said, “to have so many dresses. At Longbourn my wardrobe was modest even by the standard of modest wardrobes, and what I had was plundered regularly. Lydia took my best bonnet the week before my wedding and returned it with the ribbon gone. Kitty took the ribbon.” She ran her hand over the figured pattern. “I confess that one of the things I like about being Mrs Darcy is that nothing I own is stolen from me by my sisters.”

Georgiana was quiet for a moment. Then, almost to herself, “I wish I had sisters.”

“You have a sister now,” Elizabeth said. “And you may steal dresses from me whenever you like. I am hardened to theft. Lydia and Kitty have given me years of practice.”

Georgiana’s hand stopped on the silk. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Forgive me. I was teasing, and you are not obliged to find it amusing.”

Georgiana was quiet. From the corner came the faint rustle of fabric as Smith folded the gowns, and the light moved a little further across the bed. Elizabeth waited, having learned that this girl could not be hurried.

“Did you mean it?” Georgiana asked at last. “About the dresses. That I might borrow them.”

“Every word. Though I reserve the green silk until after Matlock House, on grounds of national importance.”

That won her the smile, the true one, small and quick and gone almost before it came.

Smith hung the last gown in the wardrobe room and came back to fold the wrapping paper into squares, unhurried, the day nearly done around her. Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the wardrobe room and looked at the row of them. Muslin, cambric, and at the end the green, where the light from the corridor could just reach it. They were hers. She was not yet used to it.

Chapter Eighteen

Elizabeth had been sitting at the table for ten minutes before she quite took in that she was at its head. Her hands were in her lap, where the cloth of her new dinner dress lay smooth over her knees, the first of the Bond Street things she had ventured to put on. The table was laid for four, but not in the dining room. That morning, with the terror of a woman giving her first command, she had told the housekeeper that the family would dine in the breakfast room from now on, and leave the dining room for formal occasions. The proof or the ruin of it was on its way from the kitchen.

Georgiana sat to her right, at the side of the table, with her hands folded and her eyes on the candles. Mrs Annesley sat to her left, already settled to be quiet. Mr Darcy was not yet come. His valet had sent word that he was returned from his club and would join them for dinner momentarily, as soon as he had changed. Elizabeth, with her hands in her lap, waited.

The door opened and Mr Darcy came in. At the far end of the table he took his place and unfolded his napkin.

“How was your club, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth said. “I hope it answered your expectations of it.”

“It did, thank you.” He reached for the wine. “There was a round at the pugilistic club after the usual business. I stayed to watch it through.”