The manor was abuzz with whispers as Edward Bennet stood before the tall mirror, his reflection a stranger. His tailored coat had been replaced by the cinched waist of a gown, the fabric hugging his new form unnervingly well.
“Stand up straight, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Reynolds chided from behind him, her hands deftly lacing the corset. “You must present as a proper lady.”
Edward gritted his teeth. “I am not one of your dolls to dress up, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“You are what your father’s debts have made you,” she replied sharply. “Now hold still.”
His father had been a gambler—a fact hidden from polite society until his untimely demise left the estate in shambles and his five sons with nothing but shame. The youngest, barely eighteen and with features soft enough to be mistaken for feminine, had been chosen.
A match had been arranged—Mr. Charles Bingley, a wealthy bachelor new to the neighborhood, sought a wife of gentle breeding and modest dowry. The Bennets had neither money nor daughters, but desperation breeds ingenuity.
The young man looked away from his own reflection. “This is madness.”
“Madness or not,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she adjusted his longer hair, “you will attend the ball tonight as Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
He swallowed hard. “And if I refuse?”
Mrs. Reynolds met his gaze in the mirror. “Then your family faces ruin and destitution. Is that what you want?”
He looked down at the layers of petticoats that now enveloped him, feeling their weight like chains. “No,” he whispered.
“That’s a good lad—lady,” she corrected with a sly grin.
Mrs. Reynolds stepped back, her eyes appraising the figure before her. “Mr. Bennet, I must say, the tinctures have done wonders. Your breasts are quite convincing.”
He blushed deeply. “They are unnatural,” he muttered.
“Unnatural they may be, but they serve their purpose. The tinctures have sculpted you into something palatable for society’s tastes.”
He felt sick at the thought. The tinctures had reshaped him slowly, painfully, over months, and now there was no denying the curves that filled out the gown.
“Palatable,” he echoed hollowly.
Mrs. Reynolds nodded, adjusting the bodice to better accentuate his figure. “Indeed. Now, let us practice your curtsy once more before we go.”
With a deep breath and a heavy heart, he complied, bending his knees in an elegant dip as he had been taught. Mrs. Reynolds clapped, pleased with the result. “Perfect, Miss Bennet. Now, remember to keep your eyes down and speak softly. A lady must always be demure.”
The carriage ride to Netherfield Park was a blur of jostling roads and whispered instructions from Mrs. Reynolds. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, he saw the grand house aglow with candlelight, its windows spilling warmth into the cool night air. The corset constricted his every breath.
“Remember who you are,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a lady of grace and poise.”
Edward nodded, then steeled himself as they ascended the steps to the grand entrance. The ballroom doors opened to a sea of colors and the sound of a string quartet.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Mrs. Reynolds announced to no one in particular.
He took a tentative step forward, his satin slippers whispering against the polished floor. Society’s eyes were upon him now, and he mustn’t falter, not when so much depended on this night.
The room swirled with the laughter and chatter of the elite. He caught sight of Mr. Bingley across the room, his countenance friendly and unsuspecting.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said as he approached, bowing slightly. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Edward curtsied in response, his heart pounding. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Bingley.”
“Might I have the honor of this dance?” Bingley extended his hand with earnest expectation.
With no escape in sight, he placed his hand in Bingley’s and allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor.
As they moved to the music, Mr. Bingley leaned forward and whispered, “There is something peculiar about you... An air of mystery. Have we perhaps met under different circumstances?”
Edward shook his head, careful to maintain a soft tone. “I’m certain I would remember meeting a gentleman of your standing, Mr. Bingley.”
They danced, continuing the steps with practiced precision. The young man focused on each movement, ensuring his posture and poise remained flawless. Mr. Bingley’s gaze, curious and searching, prompted a nervous flutter in his stomach, but he couldn’t let it show.
As the dance ended, Mr. Bingley held his gaze for a moment longer than was strictly proper. “I look forward to our next encounter, Miss Bennet,” he said. “You have... intrigued me greatly.”
Edward offered a polite smile. “As you have me, Mr. Bingley,” he said.
Mr. Bingley bowed once more before departing, leaving him amidst the throng of guests. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the rapid beat of his heart. Yet - was his reaction more than nerves? Mr. Bingley’s presence was unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite understand. His dark eyes seemed to see right through him, yet there was a warmth there that Edward found oddly comforting. He shook his head. Whatever he was wearing, whatever the devilish tinctures had done to his body, he couldn’t forget his true purpose here. This was about survival, nothing more.
Still, if he was to be a woman now, he supposed one could do worse than Mr. Bingley for a suitor.