Page 1 of The Crown’s Gift

CHAPTER ONE

The King's Gift

The day Thomas Bennet saved the life of a king began with his wife objecting to a ribbon.

"It is not merely blue," Mrs Bennet declared, holding the offending length before the morning-room window. "It is peacock. Peacock is a color which announces itself. Sky blue only waits to be noticed, and no one has time to wait when half the county will be in Meryton."

Thomas kept his place in the book balanced upon his knee. The argument had begun with Jane's bonnet, travelled through Elizabeth's sash, and now threatened the dignity of the monarchy itself.

"His Majesty has endured wars, ministries, and the Prince of Wales," he said. "I hope he may survive a sky-blue ribbon."

Across the room, ten-year-old Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Twelve-year-old Jane lowered her head over her sewing, though the needle remained still. Mary, only eight and earnest in everything, looked from one parent to the other in concern.

"You laugh, Mr Bennet, but Mr Lucas says the King notices every mark of respect."

"Mr Lucas says a great many things when he hopes they will be repeated."

He turned a page. It was the smallest possible movement and, he knew, the most effective means of provoking his wife.

"Well! If you will not advise me, I must decide everything. Hill! Hill, where has that woman gone? Lydia has put jam upon her sleeve, Kitty is crying because she cannot wear Jane's beads, and we are expected in Meryton before noon."

The door closed behind her in a rush of muslin and indignation. Silence settled, fragile and welcome.

Elizabeth left her chair and came to stand beside him. "Will the King truly notice our ribbons, Papa?"

"I should think he has better employment for his eyes."

"Then why must we go?"

Thomas looked at the top of her dark head. She had asked the question without complaint. Elizabeth rarely complained when inquiry would serve her better.

"Because your mother desires it, because the whole neighborhood will go, and because a king passing within three miles of Longbourn is an event your grandchildren may wish you to describe."

"What shall I tell them?"

"That his coat was red, his carriage gilded, and his expression one of fortitude while Mr Lucas addressed him."

Elizabeth laughed. Jane whispered, "Lizzy," though she smiled too.

Thomas returned to his book. It did not occur to him that by nightfall his own grandchildren would hear the tale from every servant, tenant, shopkeeper, and gentleman within fifty miles—and that none of them would care what color the King had worn.

The royal progress had not been intended to pass through Meryton. A broken axle on one of the baggage coaches and a flooded road near Hatfield had altered the route, and local enthusiasm had done the rest. By half past eleven, the principal street was hung with greenery. Flags drooped from upper windows in the damp September air. The assembly rooms had been opened for a cold collation, and every family with the slightest claim to gentility had contrived to receive a card.

Mrs Bennet's agitation increased with every yard of the carriage journey.

"Jane, do not hunch. Lizzy, you must not stare. Mary, if anyone speaks to you, answer clearly. Kitty, leave your gloves on. Lydia—where is Lydia's other glove?"

"Under her," Elizabeth said.

Five-year-old Lydia bounced in Nurse's lap and produced a crushed white glove with triumph.

"Mr Bennet, say something to them."

Thomas glanced over the top of his book. He had brought it into the carriage as a shield, though the road was too uneven for reading.

"You have heard your mother. Do not hunch, stare, mumble, disrobe, or conceal articles of dress beneath your person."

Mrs Bennet gave him a look of injury. Jane's mouth trembled. Elizabeth looked out of the window so that her laughter might be mistaken for a cough.