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"Every young woman with any imagination has possessed it. We simply do not write it upon our visiting cards."

Elizabeth reached for her locket. She had considered leaving it behind, afraid it might be improper beneath the formal dress, but Lady Matlock had helped arrange it discreetly beneath the neckline where only its fine chain showed.

"I should like to have Mama with me," Elizabeth said.

"You have something of her with you already."

"I know." Elizabeth touched the chain. "But I should have liked to hear what she thought of all this."

"If she possessed your talent for amusement, she might have made a very good joke about the feathers."

"She did," Elizabeth answered softly. "She once told me that the most important part of court dress was the ability to take it off afterward. I had thought it one of her peculiar remarks. Now I begin to understand."

Lady Matlock's smile faded into gentleness. "Your mother must have been a remarkable woman."

Elizabeth nodded, though the familiar ache returned. She knew Minna's voice and her hands and the little German songs she sang while fastening ribbons. She did not know where her mother had learned to move with such graceful ease or why a lady who had been unable to name her childhood home had possessed an understanding of formal etiquette that Elizabeth now found unexpectedly useful.

At the last fitting Lady Matlock had made her practise the backward steps once again. With the full train attached, each movement required a small, deliberate calculation: do not hurry; take the fabric in hand without bunching it clumsily; keep the shoulders straight; remember the Queen is still before you. Elizabeth had discovered that the manoeuvre was harder than the curtsy itself. Now, with her maid fastening the final clasp, she resolved not to allow a yard of silk to defeat her before all England.

The carriage journey to St James's Palace left ample time for apprehension. Lady Matlock kept the conversation pleasantly ordinary, speaking of Saye's latest letters and Richard's efforts to persuade his commanding officer that a visit to his parents was essential to the welfare of the regiment.

"His commanding officer answered that the regiment had survived his visits before," the countess said.

"A sensible gentleman," Elizabeth replied. "Lord Saye would approve of him."

"Saye approves of nearly anyone who expects Richard to be punctual."

The streets grew busier as they approached St James's Palace. Carriages waited in a long succession, and richly dressed ladies descended with expressions ranging from satisfaction to concealed panic. Elizabeth noticed a young woman struggling to keep her train free of a carriage step, while her companion negotiated the width of a doorway in a pair of formidable hoops. Elizabeth felt immediate sympathy.

Inside, there were antechambers crowded with standing ladies, high feathers, lappets of fine lace, and the brightness of jewels upon silk. A footman guided the women toward the place where those awaiting presentation were assembled. Lady Matlock, who had herself long been received at court, explained the order once more: Elizabeth was to wait until introduced, advance when directed, make her lowest curtsy without allowing the train to entangle her heels, and withdraw backwards until she had left the immediate royal presence. The solemnity of the occasion rendered everyone strangely quiet. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth found herself reluctant to make a jest.

When her turn came, Lady Matlock stood ready to sponsor her. Elizabeth heard her name formally announced, advanced over the polished floor, and felt the wide hoops resist her instinct to walk as she did in an ordinary gown. Queen Charlotte stood receiving the company, attended by members of her household. Elizabeth released her train as she had been taught and sank into her practiced court curtsy, keeping her back straight even while her heart beat at a most unreasonable rate. She rose without assistance, kissed the hand offered to her, and waited respectfully for Her Majesty to speak.

"Miss Bennet," Her Majesty said. "You are a member of Lady Matlock's household, I understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Elizabeth answered.

"I trust you find yourself happy with your relations."

"They have shown me extraordinary kindness, Your Majesty."

The Queen inclined her head. "I am glad to hear it."

"I am very fortunate, Your Majesty."

The exchange lasted only moments. Elizabeth gave a second reverence and began the retreat she had rehearsed so diligently. The full hoops obliged her to take smaller steps than she wished, and the train seemed determined to remain beneath her heels. She gathered enough of it to prevent a misstep and moved backwards without turning her back upon the Queen. Only once she had passed clear of the royal presence did she turn toward the exit. The floor remained under her feet, her feathers remained in place, and no one had been required to rescue her.

Outside the immediate crush, Lady Matlock pressed her gloved hand. "Very well done."

"I believe I shall live to see another day," Elizabeth murmured.

"If you remain sufficiently quiet until we reach the carriage, you may even have the strength to enjoy it."

Only once she had reached the quieter passage did Elizabeth recognize how frightened she had been. She could still feel the train pulling at her waist during each backward step, and the feathers seemed to sway even while she stood perfectly still. She had practiced the retreat so often that she ought to have felt merely relieved. Instead she wanted, with an urgency that surprised her, the reassurance of one familiar hand.

She found Lady Matlock's hand when they were permitted to withdraw. The countess did not take hold as though guiding a child. She offered her fingers, and Elizabeth accepted them. Only once they had passed beyond the press of the room did her ladyship brush an errant feather away from Elizabeth's cheek.

"You managed admirably," she said.