“What is it?” Spinner said, alarmed.
I said, “I don’t know—I have never suffered like this when I bled, before,” and a look of comprehension came over her face.
“It’s quite normal,” she said, then hesitated before adding, “I think perhaps—you did not suffer so because your drops kept you from suffering. Laudanum is . . . often prescribed for ladies during their turns. But I do not suppose you would want—”
“No,” I said, blade-sharp, and she nodded, looking relieved.
Chapter Eighteen
Spring’s warm breath crept in through the open drawing room window the day the Amherst ladies came to call.
I had so far managed to avoid going out, though John, when he was not in busy correspondence with his steward in Surrey, asked me often whether I would like to venture outside with him. Mr. Watters, too, enquired each morning if I felt well enough to sample London’s amusements; but each time, I demurred, Rosings Park’s imagined voice murmuring in my head like the rustle of leaves: Not yet. Not yet.
But I was finding that, when several hours were not spent in a state of half-consciousness, there was so much time to fill each day, and so little with which to fill it. I had no responsibilities here in London, no friends. I could work more diligently on my stitching, now I’d the ability to concentrate for longer stretches of time. I could, like Mrs. Fitzwilliam at her writing desk, write to my mother, and to Mr. Colt. I could . . . But I found my imagination here went empty. I slumped a little on my sofa and listened to the knell of the hall clock as it struck the hour.
And then, with a feeling like fingers trailing upward from the base of my spine, my back straightened abruptly. The front door opened and closed—the butler spoke, and feminine voices answered. Frozen in place, I looked at Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and she, setting aside her letter, gave me a rainwater-cool look back.
“Ah, callers,” she said, rising from her chair just as the butler entered.
“The Misses Amherst, ma’am,” he said.
In an instant, Mrs. Fitzwilliam transformed herself into someone entirely unfamiliar. In all the days I had spent in her home, she had been stiff as a newly starched collar. Now it was as if her mask cracked open, unexpected warmth shining through the crevices.
“Eliza, Julia!” she said as two young ladies, bright as flowers incongruously blooming in winter, appeared in the doorway behind the butler. Mrs. Fitzwilliam clasped their hands. “It has been ages—is your father recovered from his illness, then?”
“Quite recovered,” said the taller of the ladies. “He ordered us out of the house, saying he could bear our fussing no longer.”
The other lady, though, had caught sight of me where I still sat perfectly motionless at one end of the sofa. She blinked and tilted her head, upon which she wore a magnificent hat, high and plumed, with a brown velvet ribbon that looked so lush I had the disconcerting urge to stroke it. My fingers wove together in my lap; my eyes dropped away from hers.
“Harriet,” she said.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam looked around at her, and said easily, “Forgive me—I quite forgot myself in the excitement of seeing you both. Miss de Bourgh,” and here she gave me an odd, pointed look, “may I introduce my friends from school: Miss Amherst”—gesturing at the shorter lady in the lovely hat—“and Miss Julia Amherst. Eliza, Julia, this is Miss de Bourgh, the colonel’s cousin.”
The ladies made their curtsies, and I nodded to them both, my mouth too dry for words, nerves tautening the line of my shoulders. Miss Amherst seated herself on the other end of the sofa, while Miss Julia and Mrs. Fitzwilliam took the chairs. After a moment’s silence, Miss Julia began to speak, and soon enough they were all chattering, eager as songbirds. I sat silent and listened to them, self-consciousness flowing through my body like blood, unable to figure out how to add my own chirping to theirs.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam, having become accustomed, I suppose, to my awkward manners, paid me no mind, and Miss Julia, after a little hesitation, followed her example. It was very like what I was accustomed to, sitting quiet and forgotten while everyone else conversed, but now I’d no laudanum haze, no Rosings Park pressing up against my feet like a nudging friend. My drops made me buoyant, my attention shifting languidly from face to face, from object to object, in a happy heedless dance. Sometimes my attention would snag on something—our tea caddy’s intricate filigree paperwork, for instance, whose loops and whorls I traced with my eyes, a sensation, I imagined, like sliding down a bannister. Without them, I was rigid as wood, and remembered too well why I had not yet accepted any offers to go out into society.
Miss Amherst flicked glances at me like marbles while I sat straight and knot-fingered. She and her sister were rather bewildering in their physical differences, Miss Julia tall and slim as a sapling, her nose and chin narrow and sharp, as if chiseled by an expert hand; Miss Amherst, shorter and fuller, with curving shoulders and blunt, irregular features—small eyes, round nose, soft, receding chin. Both had hair of an unfortunate shade of orange, though Miss Julia wore it better, her skin pale and smooth enough that the contrast was dramatic. Miss Amherst’s skin was covered in freckles so scattered and numerous they looked like droplets of paint. She was elegance and irreverence at once, one foot, in its neat green slipper, swinging lightly as she sat. I watched it move, the better to keep my eyes from wandering over all the oddly appealing, clashing parts of her.
“How long have you been in London, Miss de Bourgh?”
I looked up from that swinging foot to find Miss Amherst watching me openly—it was she who spoke—and her sister and Mrs. Fitzwilliam paused in their conversation to look my way, as well. My cheeks burned.
“About a fortnight,” I said.
“And is this your first trip to Town?”
“It is, yes.”
She smiled. Her mouth was large, and her teeth, too, but still her smile made her almost handsome in a way that her mismatched features should not allow. Something dark flashed with her smile, and I blinked. “How exciting! What have you seen so far?”
I looked at Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who wore her polite not-quite-smile. “Nothing yet,” I said, turning back to Miss Amherst. “I was—ah—ill when I first arrived, and have been regaining my strength.”
Her sister answered, “Oh, so that is why you were still seated when we arrived. How unfortunate that you have been unwell! But at least most of the Season is still before us—there is plenty of time for you to enjoy its delights.”
I was glad my gown’s high neck hid the warmth that rushed downward from my face, staining my throat and chest. Mamma never expected me to exert myself to rise when callers arrived, and though Miss Hall had taught me all the usual rules of etiquette, they often seemed not to apply to me. I remembered, with sudden vividness, the way Miss Bennet—now Mrs. Darcy—looked at me with laughter at the corners of her mouth when we were introduced, one brow arched just a little in a way that I did not like, as if she found it amusing that I felt too off-balance to stand and bow. My smile now felt as false as Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s, though Miss Julia seemed not to notice. Miss Amherst, though, continued to watch me for a moment, frank curiosity in her face.
When they took their leave, I made sure to stand to say farewell. Miss Amherst shook my hand, smiling into my face, and said, “I hope you will visit us in Cavendish Square. I would so like to learn more about you—I fear we three rather ran on today in our excitement to see each other again. I am sorry if you felt left out of the conversation; it cannot be very interesting to hear gossip about our schoolmates when you have never met them.”
I shook my head, and then said, all in a rush, “I’m sorry—but—you have something caught between your teeth.”
Miss Amherst stared at me; I felt my own mouth press closed, and longed to let my eyes close as well, blotting out the sight of her shock at my rudeness. But then she laughed, full-throated as a diving bird, the sort of laugh my mother would revile and Miss Hall would censure as being unladylike. Her teeth show
ed when she laughed, with that little dark speck between them, and her tongue, pink and startling. Then she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Thank you, Miss de Bourgh; Julia and Harriet were content to leave me in ignorance, it seems. Where is it exactly, if you don’t mind . . . ?”
I touched my own teeth in the same spot, tentatively, and she scratched between hers, her other hand still acting as shield. Then she smiled at me again, quick and large, and said, “Is it gone?”
“Yes,” I said, faint as a breeze.
We returned the call a few days later. Mrs. Fitzwilliam, over breakfast, announced her intention of visiting the Amhersts, and I was seized with simultaneous urges—to flee back to my chamber, and to rush outside. The muscles of my legs bunched as if in preparation to leap up, and I knew not in which direction they would carry me. But there was a slight warning note to Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s tone as she said, “Will you join me, Miss de Bourgh?”, and I thought of how I did not rise to greet the Misses Amherst when they came. I could not refuse to return a call without it being seen as a snub.
“That would be lovely,” I said.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam nodded. “Good,” she said, her voice relaying none of her thoughts.
Mr. Watters emerged from behind his newspaper. “I’m glad to hear you are well enough to venture out at last,” he said. “I hope you know I will not let you off your promise to let me show you some of the best amusements in London.”
“Of course, Mr. Watters,” I heard myself say. “I will be delighted.”
The butler held open the door when we left, and I followed Mrs. Fitzwilliam outside. I stepped, one foot and then the other, onto the scrubbed front steps with their pretty black and white tiles; I felt the bracing air with its breath of smoke. Raising my eyes to the rooftops with their pouring chimneys, and higher, to the cloud-white sky, I almost smiled.
Despite spring’s arrival, the air was still brisk, but our capes and muffs kept us warm enough for the short carriage ride, passing through streets very much like the one we left, all high handsome houses. I thought at first that we would not speak at all, and turned my head to the window; I felt quite outside myself, watching the buildings flash by. With each clop of the horses’ hooves, I heard an old familiar refrain—London, London, London beat inside me like a second heart.
But Mrs. Fitzwilliam startled me by speaking. “I suppose Eliza and Julia are not quite the sort of company you usually keep.”
I could not think how to respond beyond a shake of the head.
“They are very rich, for all that they come from trade,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said, a little color in her cheeks. “Their house is larger than ours, even. I hope they will make matches as good as mine. This is Eliza’s third Season, though, and she has yet to receive a single proposal. Julia has a better chance, I think.” She fidgeted with the string of her reticule. “They are not the sort of people about whose friendship one would boast, but we have known each other a very long time. Julia and I formed a bond in our first days at school, and Eliza—well, she is a dear, despite her tendency toward . . . loudness.” A glance at me. “I hope she did not offend you; sometimes I think she is unrefined on purpose.”
I remembered Miss Amherst’s unreserved laughter. “I liked them both very well,” I said, and looked away from her in confusion. It had not occurred to me that John’s wife might be self-conscious of her background, or of the friends she retained from girlhood; she wore condescension almost as well as Mamma did.
“Of course,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam added after a moment, “Eliza is also more accomplished than any of the rest of us. She positively outshone us all when it came to drawing, and her singing voice is unsurpassed except by the most classically trained musicians. It would be enough to make one hate her, were she not so completely indifferent to it all. I do not think she has touched a drawing pad or instrument since we left school; so really, what was it all for?”
I had no response.
The house at which we alighted was fronted with pale cream stucco that was tinted slightly gray, like linen in need of washing. The neighborhood was clearly genteel, pale brick and stucco houses with wrought iron fences. I turned while we waited to be admitted, looking out over the square’s even pavement and the pretty circular garden at its center. Whatever the Amhersts’ origins, they were clearly rising.
The butler took Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s calling card and nodded at her murmured explanation of my cardless presence. “You will, of course, have some cards printed if you mean to stay long in Town,” she whispered. I nodded, but my reticule hung light at my wrist, testament to its meager contents. I must write to Mr. Colt and ask how I can access my money. The very thought made my heart thud arrhythmically within my breast.
The butler returned and led us to the drawing room, where a fitted carpet muffled our footsteps. Both the Misses Amhersts and their mother stood as we entered. Mrs. Amherst and Miss Julia were blandly polite in their greetings, but Miss Amherst flashed her teeth at me.
“All clean, Miss de Bourgh?” she said, and I nearly laughed in astonishment.
“Yes,” I said, and she smiled again, more naturally this time.
“I am glad you came,” she said. “Please—sit.”
I was led to a low sofa, and for a few minutes the talk was of a party to which they were all invited. I, of course, had not been introduced to the hosts, and so was not included in the invitation my cousin received. I was glad of the excuse to sit quietly now and accustom myself to the company. The tea in my cup was too hot to drink; I held the cup gingerly on its saucer, breathed in the steadying aroma, and tried to think of something—anything—to add to the conversation.
Before I was ready, Mrs. Amherst turned to me, all bright inquisitiveness. “My daughters tell me you’ve not long been in London, Miss de Bourgh. Where do you come from?”
“Kent,” I said. “My father’s estate—” I paused. “Ah, that is, my estate is near the village of Hunsford.”
“A beautiful county.”
“It is,” I said, and for a moment my mind was full of sloping farmland and murmuring forests.
“And with whom did you travel? Your mother?”
My throat managed a series of beetle-clicks, but nothing more for several seconds. Then I cleared it and said, “Ah, no one.” And at her expression of surprise, “I—had a companion, but she was . . . unable to accompany me. And I was very unwell—”
“Oh, yes, we’ve all the best medical men here in Town. But how courageous you were, to travel all on your own, and while ill!” Mrs. Amherst looked at Mrs. Fitzwilliam, a strange eagerness in her posture. “With all your husband’s connections, you will be able to introduce Miss de Bourgh to the very best of London society.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s expression twisted a little, but she said, “Of course. She has been unwell, but now that she is feeling better I hope she will be able to accompany us to all manner of amusements. My brother, I know, is eager to shepherd Miss de Bourgh about.”
Miss Amherst, I noticed, raised her eyebrows at this but did not speak.
“And of course,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam added, “Miss de Bourgh is the earl’s own niece. It should not be difficult to secure invitations for her.”
“You have come to the right place, then, Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs. Amherst said. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam met the colonel at a ball during the Season; it is now her sworn duty, as one of the lucky ones, to help other young ladies make good matches. I would guess you’ll be engaged by April.”
“Perhaps Miss de Bourgh already has a young man,” Miss Amherst said, looking at me.
I thought of Darcy, and flushed. “Oh—no. There is no one,” I said.
“There now.” Mrs. Amherst nodded. “Of course, she has also promised to find husbands for my girls—you will be very busy these next few months, Mrs. Fitzwilliam!”
She launched into a discussion of the likeliest events at which to meet suitable gentlemen. After a moment, Miss Amherst scooted along the length of the
sofa to sit nearer to me.
“Since you are so new to Town, I hope you will come shopping with me,” she said. And then, before I could answer, “I know Mr. Watters has promised to take you about, but though I am sure he will take you to all sorts of interesting sights, a man cannot know the shops that will most interest us ladies.”
I thought again of my few shillings. “I would enjoy that,” I said, though in truth I was not so sure. In the past, Mamma had made all the choices about my attire for me; I merely went along to the Hunsford seamstress to be poked with pins and measured.
“Wonderful,” she said, again with that unreserved smile. It made her almost . . . not handsome, for she was not finely formed enough for true handsomeness, her eyes small, made smaller by the roundness of her cheeks and the size of her nose. Her skin was much too freckled for fashion. But her mouth was wide and attractive, her every movement unselfconscious and sure. I could not fathom what she wanted with my company.
“I will need to figure out how to get money,” I said, and then, quickly, “that is—I have money—plenty of it—but I have never had to access it before. My mother always gave me an allowance, but she is . . . well, she did not give me anything before I came to Town.”
Miss Amherst stared, eyes shining with incredulity; then she laughed. It might have mortified me, but there was no malice in the sound, only true, wholehearted mirth. “Oh my,” she said. “I admire your frankness. Though—and I hope you will not take the advice amiss—you might wish to temper your honesty when Harriet introduces you to other families. I would not want you to be eaten alive before you have had a chance to enjoy yourself.”
I found this strange advice from a young woman whose entire being seemed frank, from her unbleached freckles to her extraordinary laugh. She smiled again.
The Heiress Page 13
