Lizzy shook her head, reaching to toy carefully with the ruffled cravat. "It is extremely unfair actually. You wear this frippery, an antiquated affectation, and look regally urbane and suitable. I am a player in a costume."
He bent, kissing her polished lips gingerly. "Nonsense. You are my wife and dressed as you should be. However, I know this is not your real concern and I want you to know how deeply I appreciate you suffering this agony on my account. It is more than just a duty for me, as you know. To hear your name, Elizabeth Darcy, called by Lord Chamberlain; to see you standing in Court before the Prince; to know that my excellent wife is formally acknowledged before all in Society on the Court List will be an exalting experience for me. I am honored that you are my wife, Elizabeth, and want the entire breadth of England to witness my good fortune."
"But, Fitzwilliam, that is precisely why I tremble as never in my life! What if I fail you in some way? Stumble or curtsy inadequately or..."
"Elizabeth, if I imagined for one tiny second that you would do any of those things, my pride and confidence would not be so towering. It is distinctly because I am certain of your worthiness and inability to fail at anything you set your mind to that reinforces my belief in your success. Now, come, we cannot delay. His Royal Highness does not yet know it, but he is about to be introduced to two of the most exquisite women in his kingdom."
Lizzy nodded, bravely lifting her chin and smiling. Darcy was not fooled, but he also knew his wife well enough to be sure she would find her inner fortitude and perform brilliantly. He was well aware of her faults, but he equally understood her strengths. At the moment she was a bundle of nerves, and for good reason, but his Lizzy never succumbed to a challenge.
Georgiana and Lady Matlock waited in the foyer with Lord Matlock. Lady Matlock wore an eye-boggling gown in cream satin with uncountable yards of trimmings and appliqued flowers draped over the wide hip pannier hoops of her youthful presentation. The latter was dressed in his ceremonial garments, elaborate as Darcy's, with the addition of a powdered wig. It wasn't strictly called for, the Prince Regent largely responsible for the decline in the fashion for wigs. But Lord Matlock had his moments of reverting to past norms, such ceremonial appointments one of them. Lizzy groaned, noting how all three of them, along with Darcy, wore their formal vestments with panache.
Two carriages were required, as there was no possible way three women with voluminous skirts could fit into one coach, no matter how spacious. Darcy rode with his wife and sister, Lord and Lady Matlock leading the way to the palace.
The warmth of April was not stifling, but edginess kept the fans fluttering. Lizzy was no longer muttering. In fact she was silent, an unusual state, so Georgiana contributed to the idle chat that passed the time through the crowded London streets.
"Is this the same suit you wore at your levee, William?"
"No, dear. That was a long time ago. I was eighteen, same as you, when presented to His Majesty King George III. Thus I was not at my full growth, at least in the width of my chest. I was to my full height, but far thinner and not as broad. Besides, father ordered my garments. I was merely required to show up for the fitting with no say in the matter. This ensemble is tame compared to his idea of proper dress. It was one of the few times in my life when I actively hated our father."
He said it with humor, all of them laughing, but neither woman doubted his severe annoyance in being asked to wear an outfit so showy while battling his own nerves. He went on to describe his levee with embellished drama, his dry humor easing the tension in the atmosphere. By the time they finally reached the end of Pall Mall and joined the line of waiting carriages on Cleveland Row as they were slowly admitted through the Palace Gates, Lizzy had gotten a grip on her emotions. In fact, she had entered a state of dreamy peace. Everything was crystalline in clarity while also feeling as if seen on the vividly painted surface of a canvas. Almost as if she were observing the events on a successive series of pictures while they happened to someone else.
St. James's Palace sat on what had once been the site of a Norman Era leper hospital for women dedicated to St. James the Less. Thanks to the covetous eye of Henry VIII, who saw the fair fields of Piccadilly as too beautiful to be wasted on dying women, the site was arrogated and a stately manor house was erected along with a lush park. The palace itself was commissioned by Henry, but would not fully become the official Royal residence for some hundred years during the reign of William III in 1698. Even after the disastrous fire in 1809 that destroyed a large portion of the palace and with the current lavish renovations to Buckingham House by John Nash, the Prince's favored architect, St. James's Palace remained as primary residence and administrative center to the monarchy.
The Tudor-style red-brick structure surrounded four enormous courtyards, the northern entrance facing Cleveland Square the main gateway for visitors. The massive gates of black iron flanked by two turreted polygonal towers were open but heavily protected. The dozen soldiers stationed at the gate, wearing brilliant red uniforms and holding wicked shotguns with razor sharp bayonets, assessed each carriage as it passed. The guards meticulously reviewed the necessary documents, ensuring the seal of Lord Chamberlain, and visually searched each vehicle before allowing entry into the courtyard. Additional soldiers lined the walkways and stood by the doors, their eyes unblinking and bodies rigid, each ready to jump into action at the slightest sign of a threat. Servants and palace functionaries kept traffic moving at a steady pace and provided hasty service to the visiting dignitaries. The tri-weekly presentations of debutantes and ladies of Society, known as Court Drawing Rooms, and the Levees for the gentlemen of the Realm followed standard formats that rarely varied. Attention to every conceivable detail and possible variation was expected to be accomplished without mishap or delay.
Lizzy's bizarre serenity kept her from ogling as she might have been tempted to do. Instead, she gazed about the courtyard with calm interest. She noted the minor areas of disrepair amongst the overall impressiveness of the structure, the concentrated grandeur that encompassed everything from the servants to the gleaming windows with their brocade curtains to the sculpted greenery to the scrubbed stones, and the hushed stateliness of the gentry in their opulent garments as they walked with measured enthusiasm into the State Apartments facing the gardens of St. James's Park to the south.
She held to Darcy's forearm as they followed the line of people. He offered support and comfort merely by his steady confidence, but with each step, Lizzy felt her insides relaxing rather than tying up into the tighter knots that she had anticipated. Occasionally, there was a face she recognized, someone who would nod politely or utter brief words of conversation. Darcy, of course, knew everyone, and engaged in casual discourse as they ascended a stairway of tremendous elegance and entered the armory.
The walls of the ancient guardroom were lined with daggers, muskets, and swords. Lizzy's fascination with history was piqued, her pace instinctively declining as she swiveled her head to inspect the collection of ancient weapons. She felt more than heard Darcy's muted chuckle and gazed upward into his serious face. Only a hint of a smile appeared on his lips, but she noted the twinkle in his eyes and also knew why he was laughing at her. They were so akin, she and her spouse, both adoring the study of antiquities. She knew he experienced the same desire to pause and examine the specimens, but of course that was impossible. Here, the Yeoman of the Guard strategically stood to ensure the passageways were kept clear and the traffic flowing. Halting to study as if in a museum was out of the question.
The Tapestry Room was the next chamber. Here, they did stop, and Lizzy would have over an hour to inspect the beautiful weavings and relics of King Henry VIII. There was nothing to do but wait until called, the order according to rank. The windows were opened to the cooler air without, but the heat from the enormous chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling and candelabras blazing hundreds of candles added to the generated warmth of pressed bodies. Nevertheless, restrained conversation passed the time. The residuals of her nervousness dissipated as Lizzy noted two points that greatly eased her: the abundance of giddy, blushing, and clearly terrified young ladies who looked near to fainting and thus placed her minor nervousness into perspective; and the reemergence of her inborn spunkiness and wit as she chatted and bantered with the other guests.
Several times, she noted Darcy's proud eyes upon her, his constancy and faith reassuring her further. By the time Georgiana's name was called, Lizzy's only discomfort came from the increasing pressure within her breasts from the need to nurse Alexander.
Georgiana was pale but composed while her dress was properly arranged by Lady Matlock, and she then began the solitary trek down the corridor to the drawing room Presence Chamber. Lady Matlock turned to Lizzy, smiling encouragingly as she silently straightened the flowing skirt and brushed over the fabric. Lizzy again sensed the strange detachment washing over her, her heart beating slightly faster than normal but otherwise her head clear. She did not glance at Darcy as she exited the Tapestry Room, preferring to focus on the next few minutes.
The corridor was short, covered with a rich red carpet runner that stifled any footfalls, reaching Lord Chamberlain just in time to witness Georgiana completing her perfect backward retreat with a final curtsy before turning gracefully and exiting the room. She looked at Lizzy and actually winked! Lizzy nearly burst into laughter but managed to restrain herself at the last moment. Yet something about seeing her shy sister being so impish in such a situation was the final blow to any shreds of nervousness that remained.
She lifted her chin and with a saucy smile handed the printed card with her name etched in fine script upon it to Lord Chamberlain. An assisting gentleman performed a final straighten to her train while in a loud, strong voice Lord Chamberlain declared, "Elizabeth Darcy, nee Elizabeth Bennet, wife to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."
Later, Lizzy would have the oddest recollections of the ethereal moment when she was presented to his Royal Highness the Prince Regent. She vividly remembered the crimson velvet and gold lace covered throne sitting upon the raised dais with a canopy of identical material surmounting. For all her life she would smell sweet violet and primrose and envision the bouquets artistically place about the throne room. She would retain only vague images of the numerous royal attendees and could not recall what His Highness wore, but she sharply saw the bright blue of his eyes that were similar to her husband's and the faintly feminine mouth that lifted in a genuine smile.
He was rather ordinary in appearance, not handsome or remarkable, while also exuding a presence that was unlike anything she had ever experienced at the same time. There was power and majesty that rippled the air about him, an aura of ancient heritage and eminence that awed her. He did not seem as bored as she would have imagined he would be, the ceremony surely excruciatingly tedious from his perspective, and his eyes flickered with polite interest as he watched her execute the proper genuflection. Perhaps he hoped for at least one young lady to topple over, just to bring some excitement to the proceedings! Lizzy did wonder if this were the case as his eyes were distant when she rose, flickering briefly toward a small food-laden table set into an alcove across the room. He did not move a muscle, waiting with regal dignity as she played her part flawlessly, spoke the well-rehearsed words, curtsied to the other royalties flanking the throne, and then swept the train into her right hand as she initiated her smooth retreat.
All in all, the brief seconds before the Prince himself were rather anticlimactic. An attack of hysterical giggles threatened to overwhelm her as she glided back down the short corridor to the Tapestry Room. The sudden rush of relief was unparalleled, her body flushed and head swimming as she entered the room and instantly sought out Darcy. He stood where she had left him, talking with Lord Matlock and Lady Matlock, a ruddy-cheeked Georgiana holding onto his arm. His face was typically composed with only the tiniest of creases wrinkling his brow as indication of his emotions. The second he engaged her eyes he broke out in an atypical grin, his own relief as evident as the exalting pride which lifted his shoulders incrementally higher. He murmured a hasty pardon, crossing to Lizzy with such an expression of joy that for a moment she actually thought he would forget himself and pull her into his embrace. He did nothing of the sort, naturally, stopping short and fluidly raising her gloved fingers to his lips for a firm kiss.
"May we leave now, dearest? I failed to liven the atmosphere by tripping or losing my cap when I bowed, but I may soon incite scandal by leaking all over this ridiculous gown."
Darcy coughed a laugh, grinning sidelong as he offered his arm. "Indeed, let me take my two favorite women home. I have cause to celebrate and I do intend to, especially after the guests depart," he finished in a low voice, his meaning unmistakable. It would not be until the night was long over, warm and satiated in bed with Elizabeth pliantly draped over his body, that it would occur to him that for the first time ever, he had not been self-conscious and flustered while at Court.
Chapter Twelve
G
EORGIANA
D
ARCY,
D
EBUTANTE