Excerpt from Please, Elizabeth!
On a rainy afternoon, Charles Bingley led three members of the Bennet family on an inspection of the Netherfield apartments Jane would soon call her own. Mrs. Bennet was there to chaperone, to volunteer decorating expertise, to praise her future son’s trappings, and to plan shopping excursions to replace those appurtenances she impertinently found wanting.
Elizabeth soon grew tired of the endless effusions gushing from her mother’s mouth. She excused herself from further transports and skipped down the stairs, hoping the weather had cleared. To her dismay, the deluge outside continued as steadily as Mrs. Bennet’s upstairs outpouring. Resigned to indoor confinement, Elizabeth made her way to the so-called library. Beneath a paltry, haphazard selection of agricultural treatises and outdated periodicals, Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to discover one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. She removed her shoes, curled up on a settee, opened The Romance of the Forest, and completely lost herself in mystery and suspense.
It was one of those particular Sunday afternoons when the awful object known as Darcy had nothing to do. Rain had kept him from his betrothed’s side for days, and he was in a miffed mood because of it. Unaware of her presence, he strode toward the library with his hot-off-the presses copy of the anonymously-written Waverley tucked under an arm. At the doorway, his crankiness was arrested by the sight of chestnut curls, fine eyes, full lips, and a pleasing figure. Inflexibly studious and engrossed in the pages of a book, Elizabeth remained oblivious to his scrutiny.
One of Darcy’s fantasies began with the two of them reading romantic poetry in Pemberley’s extensive library. As he watched her in a similar setting, his ardent admiration and passion for Elizabeth arose anew. He cleared his throat, adjusted his too-tight cravat, and entered the room.
His appearance startled her, for she had just read the part in which Adeline stumbled upon a mystery in the ruined abbey. The novel slipped from her fingers, and Elizabeth scrambled to rise. She then stood before him in stockinged feet and embarrassment.
“Mr. Darcy! Fitzwilliam. What a pleasant surprise. Does this dreary and dismal day find you well, sir?”
“I am well, my dear; and my day has just vastly improved upon finding you here so fetchingly at ease.” He glanced at her toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her frock. “I am delighted to be in your company, but please do not let me disturb you. My intention is to catch up on some reading as well. The prospect of sharing the occupation with you is very inviting. Shall we?”
He picked up the fallen book, handed it to her, and caressed her soft hand. His dark eyes bored into hers; and Elizabeth blushed at his smouldering intensity and thrilling touch. The spell was broken when she furtively slipped her feet back into her shoes and properly sat upon the chaise. He smiled at the reaction and settled on a chair facing her. Pretending he was not so severely affected by her presence, Darcy opened Waverley to the page in Chapter VII he had earlier marked. He began to silently read Sir Walter Scott’s words, ‘He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was beautiful because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding officer of the regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and at the same time an inquisitive youth.’
The reference to Colonel Gardiner reminded him that Elizabeth had an uncle with the same surname. Darcy raised his eyes from the page to his betrothed. Totally enthralled by the gothic happenings in her story, she twirled an errant curl and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He watched as she bit upon that which he longed to kiss, and it caused him increasing discomfort. Distracted by her actions, Darcy had very little attention for his own book. He forced his eyes away from the delectable diversion and back to Colonel Gardiner.
‘In person he was tall, handsome, and active, though somewhat advanced in life. In his early years he had been what is called, by manner of palliative, a very gay young man, and strange stories were circulated about his sudden conversion from doubt, if not infidelity, to a serious and even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
Darcy realized he had not comprehended a single word he had just read, so he began the paragraph anew. His attention, however, was quite as much engaged in watching Elizabeth’s progress through her book as in reading his own. He enquired about her enjoyment of the story. Then he simply sat and stared at her luscious lips, upon which she persisted in nibbling. He shook his head, sighed, and resumed reading, ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
His mind wandered off, and he found himself again drawn to the attraction of her mouth. He squirmed, fidgeted with his signet ring, crossed and uncrossed his legs, and pulled at his cravat. He stood, walked to the sideboard, and poured himself a port. Darcy returned to his seat, placed the glass on a table, and picked up his book. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
His concentration was not on Waverley. He had thoroughly enjoyed the blasted book the day before, but then his lovely bride-to-be had been three miles distant. The gentleman peevishly wondered why she was not similarly affected by his presence, and he became petulantly determined to ignore her and focus on the novel. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
Remembering a time when he had objected to one of Bingley’s love interests because she read too much, Darcy wished Elizabeth would just put aside her book and pay him some undivided attention. The improvement of ones’s mind by extensive reading was commendable; but, blast it all, some intercourse would be just as commendable. She was, however, so charmingly engrossed, he dared not disturb her again. Darcy returned to his page. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
It was no use. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with his own book, he soon put it wholly aside next to his untouched glass of port. Darcy ran his fingers through his hair and then pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. Lost to the temptation of gazing at her loveliness, he sighed with a rather loud exhalation.
Elizabeth took pity on her agitated intended, for it seemed he could not engage himself in the pages of his book. She marked her place and asked, “Is something bothering you, sir?”
Darcy could not suppress a short, ungentlemanly snigger, which he successfully disguised as a cough. He cleared his throat and said, “I must admit I am bothered, my dear, but not in any manner you might imagine.”
“My goodness, Fitzwilliam, is there nothing you could take to give you present relief?”
The healthy young man involuntarily groaned, thinking of what he would like to take for his present relief.
Distressed by such a wretched moan, Elizabeth said, “Let me call a servant, sir; you are very ill. Or perhaps another glass of port … shall I get you one?”
“No, thank you, love. I am not ill, merely ill at ease. Do not trouble yourself further on my behalf.”
Elizabeth could do nothing but be concerned and fret, which caused her to frown and worry her bottom lip.
At wit’s end, Darcy snapped, “Please, Elizabeth! Must you keep doing that?”
Shocked by such brusqueness from her soon-to-be spouse, she glared and snapped back. “Doing what, Mr. Darcy? What in my manner offends you so?”
The gentleman stood and towered over her as he said, “I apologize, dearest. But … must you always nibble on your lip like that? It is dreadfully distracting.”
“Well, pardon me for worrying about your health and bothering you with my nervous habit. I shall henceforth endeavour to keep both in check. Pray, excuse me.”
With a parting frown aimed in his direction, Elizabeth snatched The Romance of the Forest and flounced out of the room, leaving Darcy awash in misery and the sensuous scent of lavender. Bingley, allergic to the fragrance, would have to have the library aired.
The awful object known as Darcy flopped down in his chair, picked up Waverley, and read with a vengeance. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his being a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave Colonel Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the young soldier.’
Darcy read through the remainder of the afternoon, all evening, late at night, and well into the wee hours of the next morning. He snuffed the candles and tried to sleep numerous times, but a vivid imagination fueled his fantasies. “Oh, Lord! What will become of me,” Darcy wondered as he tossed and turned and tried to regulate the disturbing dreams. “I shall go distracted.” The wicks were regularly relit so he could return to Waverley. Losing himself in the Highlands seemed the only way to get his mind off her.
His selection of a historical novel about the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion was, perhaps, an unwise choice. Darcy found himself in a vicious cycle. Try as he might, sleep would not come. The book brought to mind Scotland, Scotland brought to mind Gretna Green, Gretna Green brought to mind elopement with Elizabeth, elopement with Elizabeth brought to mind being her husband, being her husband fueled his fantasies about extraordinary sources of conjugal bliss, rather explicit sources of conjugal bliss.
Elizabeth soon grew tired of the endless effusions gushing from her mother’s mouth. She excused herself from further transports and skipped down the stairs, hoping the weather had cleared. To her dismay, the deluge outside continued as steadily as Mrs. Bennet’s upstairs outpouring. Resigned to indoor confinement, Elizabeth made her way to the so-called library. Beneath a paltry, haphazard selection of agricultural treatises and outdated periodicals, Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to discover one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. She removed her shoes, curled up on a settee, opened The Romance of the Forest, and completely lost herself in mystery and suspense.
It was one of those particular Sunday afternoons when the awful object known as Darcy had nothing to do. Rain had kept him from his betrothed’s side for days, and he was in a miffed mood because of it. Unaware of her presence, he strode toward the library with his hot-off-the presses copy of the anonymously-written Waverley tucked under an arm. At the doorway, his crankiness was arrested by the sight of chestnut curls, fine eyes, full lips, and a pleasing figure. Inflexibly studious and engrossed in the pages of a book, Elizabeth remained oblivious to his scrutiny.
One of Darcy’s fantasies began with the two of them reading romantic poetry in Pemberley’s extensive library. As he watched her in a similar setting, his ardent admiration and passion for Elizabeth arose anew. He cleared his throat, adjusted his too-tight cravat, and entered the room.
His appearance startled her, for she had just read the part in which Adeline stumbled upon a mystery in the ruined abbey. The novel slipped from her fingers, and Elizabeth scrambled to rise. She then stood before him in stockinged feet and embarrassment.
“Mr. Darcy! Fitzwilliam. What a pleasant surprise. Does this dreary and dismal day find you well, sir?”
“I am well, my dear; and my day has just vastly improved upon finding you here so fetchingly at ease.” He glanced at her toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her frock. “I am delighted to be in your company, but please do not let me disturb you. My intention is to catch up on some reading as well. The prospect of sharing the occupation with you is very inviting. Shall we?”
He picked up the fallen book, handed it to her, and caressed her soft hand. His dark eyes bored into hers; and Elizabeth blushed at his smouldering intensity and thrilling touch. The spell was broken when she furtively slipped her feet back into her shoes and properly sat upon the chaise. He smiled at the reaction and settled on a chair facing her. Pretending he was not so severely affected by her presence, Darcy opened Waverley to the page in Chapter VII he had earlier marked. He began to silently read Sir Walter Scott’s words, ‘He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was beautiful because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding officer of the regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and at the same time an inquisitive youth.’
The reference to Colonel Gardiner reminded him that Elizabeth had an uncle with the same surname. Darcy raised his eyes from the page to his betrothed. Totally enthralled by the gothic happenings in her story, she twirled an errant curl and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He watched as she bit upon that which he longed to kiss, and it caused him increasing discomfort. Distracted by her actions, Darcy had very little attention for his own book. He forced his eyes away from the delectable diversion and back to Colonel Gardiner.
‘In person he was tall, handsome, and active, though somewhat advanced in life. In his early years he had been what is called, by manner of palliative, a very gay young man, and strange stories were circulated about his sudden conversion from doubt, if not infidelity, to a serious and even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
Darcy realized he had not comprehended a single word he had just read, so he began the paragraph anew. His attention, however, was quite as much engaged in watching Elizabeth’s progress through her book as in reading his own. He enquired about her enjoyment of the story. Then he simply sat and stared at her luscious lips, upon which she persisted in nibbling. He shook his head, sighed, and resumed reading, ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
His mind wandered off, and he found himself again drawn to the attraction of her mouth. He squirmed, fidgeted with his signet ring, crossed and uncrossed his legs, and pulled at his cravat. He stood, walked to the sideboard, and poured himself a port. Darcy returned to his seat, placed the glass on a table, and picked up his book. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
His concentration was not on Waverley. He had thoroughly enjoyed the blasted book the day before, but then his lovely bride-to-be had been three miles distant. The gentleman peevishly wondered why she was not similarly affected by his presence, and he became petulantly determined to ignore her and focus on the novel. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
Remembering a time when he had objected to one of Bingley’s love interests because she read too much, Darcy wished Elizabeth would just put aside her book and pay him some undivided attention. The improvement of ones’s mind by extensive reading was commendable; but, blast it all, some intercourse would be just as commendable. She was, however, so charmingly engrossed, he dared not disturb her again. Darcy returned to his page. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior…’
It was no use. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with his own book, he soon put it wholly aside next to his untouched glass of port. Darcy ran his fingers through his hair and then pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. Lost to the temptation of gazing at her loveliness, he sighed with a rather loud exhalation.
Elizabeth took pity on her agitated intended, for it seemed he could not engage himself in the pages of his book. She marked her place and asked, “Is something bothering you, sir?”
Darcy could not suppress a short, ungentlemanly snigger, which he successfully disguised as a cough. He cleared his throat and said, “I must admit I am bothered, my dear, but not in any manner you might imagine.”
“My goodness, Fitzwilliam, is there nothing you could take to give you present relief?”
The healthy young man involuntarily groaned, thinking of what he would like to take for his present relief.
Distressed by such a wretched moan, Elizabeth said, “Let me call a servant, sir; you are very ill. Or perhaps another glass of port … shall I get you one?”
“No, thank you, love. I am not ill, merely ill at ease. Do not trouble yourself further on my behalf.”
Elizabeth could do nothing but be concerned and fret, which caused her to frown and worry her bottom lip.
At wit’s end, Darcy snapped, “Please, Elizabeth! Must you keep doing that?”
Shocked by such brusqueness from her soon-to-be spouse, she glared and snapped back. “Doing what, Mr. Darcy? What in my manner offends you so?”
The gentleman stood and towered over her as he said, “I apologize, dearest. But … must you always nibble on your lip like that? It is dreadfully distracting.”
“Well, pardon me for worrying about your health and bothering you with my nervous habit. I shall henceforth endeavour to keep both in check. Pray, excuse me.”
With a parting frown aimed in his direction, Elizabeth snatched The Romance of the Forest and flounced out of the room, leaving Darcy awash in misery and the sensuous scent of lavender. Bingley, allergic to the fragrance, would have to have the library aired.
The awful object known as Darcy flopped down in his chair, picked up Waverley, and read with a vengeance. ‘It was whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his being a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave Colonel Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the young soldier.’
Darcy read through the remainder of the afternoon, all evening, late at night, and well into the wee hours of the next morning. He snuffed the candles and tried to sleep numerous times, but a vivid imagination fueled his fantasies. “Oh, Lord! What will become of me,” Darcy wondered as he tossed and turned and tried to regulate the disturbing dreams. “I shall go distracted.” The wicks were regularly relit so he could return to Waverley. Losing himself in the Highlands seemed the only way to get his mind off her.
His selection of a historical novel about the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion was, perhaps, an unwise choice. Darcy found himself in a vicious cycle. Try as he might, sleep would not come. The book brought to mind Scotland, Scotland brought to mind Gretna Green, Gretna Green brought to mind elopement with Elizabeth, elopement with Elizabeth brought to mind being her husband, being her husband fueled his fantasies about extraordinary sources of conjugal bliss, rather explicit sources of conjugal bliss.
The following excerpt from Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge has been edited and updated
especially for the Austenesque Extravaganza on Aug. 25/11.
The contest has now ended, and the titles are shown in red.
especially for the Austenesque Extravaganza on Aug. 25/11.
The contest has now ended, and the titles are shown in red.
The Night Their World Whirled
The consensus of the Quality guests at the lavish ball given by the esteemed Esparza family was that the extravaganza was going extraordinarily well. The Esparza estate was done up in Town bronze; and it glittered with candlelight, crystal, mirrors, and costly gem-encrusted jewelry. Attendees were fashionable, musicians superb, dancing refined, supper delectable, and conversation sophisticated.
Miss Anna Darcy had played the pianoforte brilliantly; and her proud father had happily announced to the assemblage the engagement of his elder daughter, Georgiana, to Ellis Fleming. There had been warm rounds of applause for both the sweet young performer and the newly betrothed couple. Anticipation then grew as most of the company eagerly awaited the grand finale, a controversial new dance, the waltz.
Behind the scenes, pandemonium ruled as the Esparza estate’s servants pandered to guests’ requests. Young pages were paged to assist footmen, run off their feet by servile feats. The butler whined about the wine cellar’s rapid depletion as attendees were wined and dined, and he was glad the ball would soon wind up. After supper was served, the chef, his assistants, and their tempers finally stopped steaming, stewing, and simmering. Unfortunate scullery maids would labour until daylight before they were all washed up.
Above and beyond overworked servants, a few attendees were less than pleased by the night’s proceedings. Lady Anne Darcy had fainted outside the library, and Miss Anne de Bourgh had summoned Lady Meredith’s efficient French abigail to administer a whiff of spirit of hartshorn. The lady’s maid, Mademoiselle Frances Atwarre, brought the English patient around with smelling salts.
Miss Anna Darcy had fetched her uncle, the Earl of Matlock; and after his sister recovered from her swoon and related the scandal involving Richard and Miss Jane Bennet, an express message was dispatched to a home several blocks away. Lady Anne left her brother to deal with his youngest offspring while she headed back to the Esparza library and an ordeal involving her eldest.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was sheepishly escorted by his mutton-chopped father to the Esparza study, where he was raked over the coals by Lord Matlock and lambasted for unseemly behaviour and its ramifications.
Jane Bennet had been taken aside by Miss de Bourgh. Anna Darcy joined them and tried to comfort her friend while the raised voices of her uncle and his son filtered down the hall from the Esparza study. Miss Bennet, mortified and guilt-ridden over her shameless conduct, was torn between wanting to flee and needing to take a stance with the colonel while he faced the music, even if she did not particularly care for the tune. “Oh, Anna, I am sorry for causing such turmoil. I believe it would be best to leave now. I shall just fetch my sister from the library.”
“No! Miss Bennet, please do not go in there,” said Anne De Bourgh. “I have every reason to suspect you would barge into the middle of a marriage proposal. At least I think that is what Fitzwilliam and your sister are doing behind that door ... although Aunt Anne has just returned and obviously has visions of another sort of engagement.”
Three heads turned to watch a determined Lady Anne Darcy as she fumbled with a large ring of keys confiscated from her disgraced nephew. Darcy’s mother decided she would rather not know how Richard came to be in possession of keys belonging to the Esparza family. She finally found the one to open the library, and it soundlessly turned in the keyhole.
An uproar befell another Londinium home when a messenger arrived at the Main Street address of the Bennet family. The dispatch requested the immediate presence of Mr. Thomas Bennet at the Esparza estate.
“Thomas, you are not leaving without me! If something has happened to one of our precious girls, they would want their mother in attendance. Oh, my dear, what do you suppose is the matter? We should never have permitted Jane and Lizzy to attend without a chaperone.”
“Come along then, lovey, but do not agonize yet over the reason. Our daughters are in good hands with their Darcy friends. Whatever has transpired, I am confident it must not be of a serious nature.” His face underwent a change as he muttered, “However, if even one hair on their beloved heads has been harmed, I may become quite barbarous.”
As they hurriedly entered their carriage, Mrs. Bennet had dramatic visions of the last legion of handsome barbarians plundering and pillaging at the Esparza estate.
Mrs. Bennet might have been comforted had she known that in the Esparza library at least one handsome barbarian was not engaged in any plundering or pillaging; and although Mr. Bennet felt confident his beloved daughters were in good hands with their Darcy friends, he might not have been comforted had he known where one of those hands had touched Elizabeth during a waltz run-through. ‘Run through’ might have been Darcy's fate.
In truth, Fitzwilliam Darcy was making a valiant attempt at keeping himself under good regulation and at a safe distance from the temptation of his fetching fiancée. While he enjoyed the pleasure of her exclusive company, he searched the shelves for a book of sonnets by Shakespeare, in love with the idea of reading one or two to his future wife. As he ran his hand along the spines, the title Lost Empires, by Zan Tium, diverted him until Elizabeth reclaimed his attention.
“I wonder why Jane has been delayed for such a stretch of time. What now seems ages ago, I opened the door to this room seeking a moment of privacy. My sister was supposed to meet me here directly. With her help, I need to repair ... something ... before I am able to return to the ballroom.”
“Elizabeth, may I be of assistance?” He walked over and stood toe-to-toe with her.
She wondered how a man could look so divine, smell so heavenly, but have such a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Good heavens, absolutely not! I mean, no thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Dearest Elizabeth, we are now betrothed. Could you not call me Fitzwilliam rather than ‘Mr. Darcy’ or ‘sir’ whenever we are alone?” She nodded; and he continued, “We have been fortunate to have this time in private. However, we really should return to the ballroom now. I would certainly not want to miss the opportunity to finally waltz with you after agonizing all evening about doing so. What may I do to help you?”
“Perhaps you could locate my sister and send her to me, sir, ... Fitzwilliam.”
“Sir Fitzwilliam? I do not believe you are entitled to bestow that title, my dear.”
“Teasing man!”
“Never fear, milady. Sir Fitzwilliam, the advocate for missing sisters, shall set forth immediately on a quest for his true love’s lost sibling.” Darcy kissed Lizzy’s forehead, purposely strode across the room, and yanked at the doorknob. “What the ... ?”
“Oh, I completely forgot. I do believe your cousin locked us in on his way out.”
“We are locked in? That insolent, insufferable instigator and his insupportable interference!”
“Yes, how insupportable. Instead of leaving, you loitered and got locked in the library with Lizzy. Lousy luck, hmm?”
Darcy quickly returned, slid his hands along the sides of her graceful neck, gently stroked his thumbs against her smooth skin, and gazed into her fine eyes. “Elizabeth, time alone with you has been priceless and precious; and I suspect I shall have to thank Fitz for his gambit. Nevertheless, until your father has sanctioned this betrothal, we must be circumspect. You are the best thing that has happened in my life so far. Were I to circumvent propriety and give in to my lustful, licentious longings, lady, your lovely, luscious lips would be long-lastingly locked with mine in a lascivious, lingering, loving kiss.”
“Oh, my! Well, then. Yes, I do see the point of your alliterative circumlocution. Under the circumstances, we must certainly not circumvent propriety but instead should practice circumspection. In order to circumscribe limits, perhaps we should retreat to the circumference of the room to avoid circumstantial evidence should we be discovered. Oh, where is that insufferable, interfering instigator with the blasted key; and what has detained dear Jane? Regardless, before we are rescued, would you please avert your eyes while I attempt to repair my ... um ”
“Are you sure I cannot be of assistance in the repair of your ... ?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and grew dizzy as she envisioned Darcy’s long fingers slowly and sensually smoothing her stocking up along her calf, stroking her sensitive skin, and taking their time to tenderly tie the garter’s broken ribbon. When her wayward thoughts reached a fever pitch, she teetered on the edge of reason and breathlessly replied, “N-no, th-thank you. It would be more prudent if I tend this myself. Now turn around please.”
The gentleman most willingly complied. Elizabeth raised her skirt and fumbled with a frayed knot on the broken ribbon. When the door burst open, she faced her future mother-in-law and was caught, red-handed, securing her garter, with the right side of her gown hiked up to her thigh while Fitzwilliam Darcy stared intently at the proceedings in the mirror over the mantle.
As the two young ladies entered the ballroom together, Anne de Bourgh glanced at her cousin, frowned, and said, “Anna, were you not supposed to have retired to one of the guest chambers by now? In fact, your mother and I were escorting you there when all hel ... er, when we encountered Richard and Miss Bennet kissing.”
The younger of the two giggled and replied, “Yes. With all the mayhem and trauma, Mother has conveniently forgotten my curfew.”
“Well, as your slightly older and much wiser relative, I suppose I should probably remind you it is long past your bedtime, young lady. That said, I shall not mention it if you do not.”
Miss Anna Darcy had played the pianoforte brilliantly; and her proud father had happily announced to the assemblage the engagement of his elder daughter, Georgiana, to Ellis Fleming. There had been warm rounds of applause for both the sweet young performer and the newly betrothed couple. Anticipation then grew as most of the company eagerly awaited the grand finale, a controversial new dance, the waltz.
Behind the scenes, pandemonium ruled as the Esparza estate’s servants pandered to guests’ requests. Young pages were paged to assist footmen, run off their feet by servile feats. The butler whined about the wine cellar’s rapid depletion as attendees were wined and dined, and he was glad the ball would soon wind up. After supper was served, the chef, his assistants, and their tempers finally stopped steaming, stewing, and simmering. Unfortunate scullery maids would labour until daylight before they were all washed up.
Above and beyond overworked servants, a few attendees were less than pleased by the night’s proceedings. Lady Anne Darcy had fainted outside the library, and Miss Anne de Bourgh had summoned Lady Meredith’s efficient French abigail to administer a whiff of spirit of hartshorn. The lady’s maid, Mademoiselle Frances Atwarre, brought the English patient around with smelling salts.
Miss Anna Darcy had fetched her uncle, the Earl of Matlock; and after his sister recovered from her swoon and related the scandal involving Richard and Miss Jane Bennet, an express message was dispatched to a home several blocks away. Lady Anne left her brother to deal with his youngest offspring while she headed back to the Esparza library and an ordeal involving her eldest.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was sheepishly escorted by his mutton-chopped father to the Esparza study, where he was raked over the coals by Lord Matlock and lambasted for unseemly behaviour and its ramifications.
Jane Bennet had been taken aside by Miss de Bourgh. Anna Darcy joined them and tried to comfort her friend while the raised voices of her uncle and his son filtered down the hall from the Esparza study. Miss Bennet, mortified and guilt-ridden over her shameless conduct, was torn between wanting to flee and needing to take a stance with the colonel while he faced the music, even if she did not particularly care for the tune. “Oh, Anna, I am sorry for causing such turmoil. I believe it would be best to leave now. I shall just fetch my sister from the library.”
“No! Miss Bennet, please do not go in there,” said Anne De Bourgh. “I have every reason to suspect you would barge into the middle of a marriage proposal. At least I think that is what Fitzwilliam and your sister are doing behind that door ... although Aunt Anne has just returned and obviously has visions of another sort of engagement.”
Three heads turned to watch a determined Lady Anne Darcy as she fumbled with a large ring of keys confiscated from her disgraced nephew. Darcy’s mother decided she would rather not know how Richard came to be in possession of keys belonging to the Esparza family. She finally found the one to open the library, and it soundlessly turned in the keyhole.
An uproar befell another Londinium home when a messenger arrived at the Main Street address of the Bennet family. The dispatch requested the immediate presence of Mr. Thomas Bennet at the Esparza estate.
“Thomas, you are not leaving without me! If something has happened to one of our precious girls, they would want their mother in attendance. Oh, my dear, what do you suppose is the matter? We should never have permitted Jane and Lizzy to attend without a chaperone.”
“Come along then, lovey, but do not agonize yet over the reason. Our daughters are in good hands with their Darcy friends. Whatever has transpired, I am confident it must not be of a serious nature.” His face underwent a change as he muttered, “However, if even one hair on their beloved heads has been harmed, I may become quite barbarous.”
As they hurriedly entered their carriage, Mrs. Bennet had dramatic visions of the last legion of handsome barbarians plundering and pillaging at the Esparza estate.
Mrs. Bennet might have been comforted had she known that in the Esparza library at least one handsome barbarian was not engaged in any plundering or pillaging; and although Mr. Bennet felt confident his beloved daughters were in good hands with their Darcy friends, he might not have been comforted had he known where one of those hands had touched Elizabeth during a waltz run-through. ‘Run through’ might have been Darcy's fate.
In truth, Fitzwilliam Darcy was making a valiant attempt at keeping himself under good regulation and at a safe distance from the temptation of his fetching fiancée. While he enjoyed the pleasure of her exclusive company, he searched the shelves for a book of sonnets by Shakespeare, in love with the idea of reading one or two to his future wife. As he ran his hand along the spines, the title Lost Empires, by Zan Tium, diverted him until Elizabeth reclaimed his attention.
“I wonder why Jane has been delayed for such a stretch of time. What now seems ages ago, I opened the door to this room seeking a moment of privacy. My sister was supposed to meet me here directly. With her help, I need to repair ... something ... before I am able to return to the ballroom.”
“Elizabeth, may I be of assistance?” He walked over and stood toe-to-toe with her.
She wondered how a man could look so divine, smell so heavenly, but have such a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Good heavens, absolutely not! I mean, no thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Dearest Elizabeth, we are now betrothed. Could you not call me Fitzwilliam rather than ‘Mr. Darcy’ or ‘sir’ whenever we are alone?” She nodded; and he continued, “We have been fortunate to have this time in private. However, we really should return to the ballroom now. I would certainly not want to miss the opportunity to finally waltz with you after agonizing all evening about doing so. What may I do to help you?”
“Perhaps you could locate my sister and send her to me, sir, ... Fitzwilliam.”
“Sir Fitzwilliam? I do not believe you are entitled to bestow that title, my dear.”
“Teasing man!”
“Never fear, milady. Sir Fitzwilliam, the advocate for missing sisters, shall set forth immediately on a quest for his true love’s lost sibling.” Darcy kissed Lizzy’s forehead, purposely strode across the room, and yanked at the doorknob. “What the ... ?”
“Oh, I completely forgot. I do believe your cousin locked us in on his way out.”
“We are locked in? That insolent, insufferable instigator and his insupportable interference!”
“Yes, how insupportable. Instead of leaving, you loitered and got locked in the library with Lizzy. Lousy luck, hmm?”
Darcy quickly returned, slid his hands along the sides of her graceful neck, gently stroked his thumbs against her smooth skin, and gazed into her fine eyes. “Elizabeth, time alone with you has been priceless and precious; and I suspect I shall have to thank Fitz for his gambit. Nevertheless, until your father has sanctioned this betrothal, we must be circumspect. You are the best thing that has happened in my life so far. Were I to circumvent propriety and give in to my lustful, licentious longings, lady, your lovely, luscious lips would be long-lastingly locked with mine in a lascivious, lingering, loving kiss.”
“Oh, my! Well, then. Yes, I do see the point of your alliterative circumlocution. Under the circumstances, we must certainly not circumvent propriety but instead should practice circumspection. In order to circumscribe limits, perhaps we should retreat to the circumference of the room to avoid circumstantial evidence should we be discovered. Oh, where is that insufferable, interfering instigator with the blasted key; and what has detained dear Jane? Regardless, before we are rescued, would you please avert your eyes while I attempt to repair my ... um ”
“Are you sure I cannot be of assistance in the repair of your ... ?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and grew dizzy as she envisioned Darcy’s long fingers slowly and sensually smoothing her stocking up along her calf, stroking her sensitive skin, and taking their time to tenderly tie the garter’s broken ribbon. When her wayward thoughts reached a fever pitch, she teetered on the edge of reason and breathlessly replied, “N-no, th-thank you. It would be more prudent if I tend this myself. Now turn around please.”
The gentleman most willingly complied. Elizabeth raised her skirt and fumbled with a frayed knot on the broken ribbon. When the door burst open, she faced her future mother-in-law and was caught, red-handed, securing her garter, with the right side of her gown hiked up to her thigh while Fitzwilliam Darcy stared intently at the proceedings in the mirror over the mantle.
As the two young ladies entered the ballroom together, Anne de Bourgh glanced at her cousin, frowned, and said, “Anna, were you not supposed to have retired to one of the guest chambers by now? In fact, your mother and I were escorting you there when all hel ... er, when we encountered Richard and Miss Bennet kissing.”
The younger of the two giggled and replied, “Yes. With all the mayhem and trauma, Mother has conveniently forgotten my curfew.”
“Well, as your slightly older and much wiser relative, I suppose I should probably remind you it is long past your bedtime, young lady. That said, I shall not mention it if you do not.”
“Thank you, wizened old woman. With such aged wisdom in your possession, can you foresee what betides Richard and Jane? I admit their situation worries me, Anne. What do you suppose will happen?”
“I am sure the details are being hammered out amongst the occupants of Mr. Esparza’s study as we speak. I have every reason to suspect you will very soon gain not only Mr. Fleming as a brother, but also Miss Elizabeth as a sister, and her sister as a cousin. My goodness, our family is growing by leaps and bounds.”
“Oh! Speaking of leaps and bounds, I have recently heard from Pemberley that my rabbit, Stew, is actually a fraulein. Still, it is merely haresay until she produces babies. Would you like one if that happens ... or should I say hoppens?”
Anne de Bourgh rolled her eyes and sighed. “You really do need to go to sleep, Anna. You are obviously overtired. But I shall indulge you and play along. You know Mother would pull her hare out if I brought home such a pet.”
“Well, what would Aunt Catherine do if you brought home a certain handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed pet? Look, he is heading our way.”
“Who? Oh. Why would I take Mr. Bingley to Rosings Park, you silly goose?” The two giggled as he approached.
The colour on Bingley’s face had subsided to its normal rosy hue from the crimson caused by the incident in the library. His eyes twinkled as they settled on Anne de Bourgh. “Ladies, I hope I am not interrupting the secret laughter of women; but I was wondering whether you know the whereabouts of Fitz or Fleming. I believe I know where to find Darcy, but I seem to have misplaced the others.”
Anne de Bourgh said, “Locate Georgiana, and you will undoubtedly find her betrothed. The other gentlemen, I believe, are also with their intended brides. Something is in the air, Mr. Bingley, and I would be surprised if the parson’s mousetrap has not snared at least another of your circle of friends this evening. As perhaps the only remaining eligible bachelor of your coterie, you are welcome to remain with us. If I am not mistaken, you and I shall soon be standing up together again anyway.”
Bingley admired the girl with a pearl earring peeping out from beneath her light brown curls. “I am very much looking forward to that dance with you, Miss de Bourgh. I have not had the pleasure of waltzing since ... ” Inexplicably, he coloured up and amended his statement. “I have never before had the pleasure of waltzing with such a lovely young lady as yourself.”
“I am duly flattered, sir. Do I understand, however, that you have, indeed, already embraced another for such a decadent reason?”
Bingley gulped and his face matched the red of the colonel’s brilliant coat. “I ... well, ... I have learned, after all.”
“Perhaps Darcy should have sought your expert advice, then. As you know, my poor cousin has been worried sick all evening about humiliating himself during the waltz.”
A distinguished, middle-aged gentleman approached the party and wondered why Bingley was so highly flying his colours. George Darcy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of his ten-and-six-year-old daughter still in the ballroom during the wee hours of the morning. Not yet out, Anna was supposed to have retired to one of the guest chambers immediately following her performance after supper. He promptly sent her off to bed and inquired if any of the party had recently seen his wife. Anne informed him her aunt had fainted but was fully recovered and, most likely, could be found in the library. The gentleman bowed and took his leave.
What was a mother to think? Having already witnessed the libidinous actions of another male relative, Lady Anne Darcy entered a locked room occupied a man and woman obviously besotted with one another; and they had been alone far too long. Then, to her horror, Miss Elizabeth was caught re-dressing in a single man’s presence. Darcy’s mother hoped the scandal could be redressed in private.
“Well, then! Am I to assume congratulations are in order? I insist you at least tell me a wedding has been discussed. Fitzwilliam George Darcy, I am shocked and appalled by your behaviour, not to mention that of rapscallion Richard. You are a gentleman, not some common sailor, tinker, tailor, soldier, spy, or merchant. I blame your reading about that libertine … Val something. My dear son, I know you want to make Miss Elizabeth your wife. But really! Could you not have waited?”
“Why should I have waited? Elizabeth has made me the happiest of men.” His chest puffed with pride as he said, “She agreed quite willingly.”
Lady Anne turned a gimlet eye toward the young woman.
Before Darcy’s mother could start to ring a fine peal over them for anticipating their vows, Elizabeth thrust her skirt back down and said her piece. “No! Pray, pardon me, Lady Anne, for speaking thusly; but I wish no further misunderstandings. It is not what you think ... that is, if you think what I think you think. I came to repair my ... garter!” Elizabeth blushed, but her eyes flashed as she continued. “Your son was here with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley. Both of those gentlemen immediately departed when I entered, and your nephew somehow managed to lock us in. Your son has made me an offer of marriage, and I have most ecstatically accepted. That is all that has happened in this room. I am a gentleman’s daughter who was taught right from wrong by my parents and governess, Nannie McPhee. I am a graduate from the very proper St. Trinian’s Seminary for Young Ladies and am most certainly not a woman of easy virtue!”
The young man finally grasped the conversation’s bent. Mother never did approve of my reading Valmont and said the book would be a bad influence. Then she found me alone with Elizabeth and assumed we ... Good God! Mother’s mind is as deranged as the king’s! Speech failed him; and Darcy stammered, “M-mamma mia! Did you actually think ... ? How could you p-possibly assume ... ? We m-most certainly have not ... !”
George Darcy entered the library and perceived his wife’s evident embarrassment, Miss Elizabeth’s overt outrage, and his son’s apparent agitation. Calmly he stated the obvious. “There appears to be a bumble-broth brewing hereabouts. My dear Anne, I was informed you had the vapours. Are you well now?” He gently supported his wife’s forearm and put two and two together. “You three appear at sixes and sevens.” Met with silence, shifting feet, and averted eyes, he continued. “You know I shall get to the bottom of things and discover where the truth lies. Tell me at once, what is amiss here?”
“Oh, George, there is nothing truly amiss. I foolishly leapt without looking and came to a very wrong conclusion. I am embarrassed to admit I did swoon for the first time in my life. As you can see, I am fine now and do not need your support with which to stand. Notwithstanding, your son and Miss Elizabeth do have important news to impart.”
“Well, they may have to stand in line. I just met the Earl of Matlock, Richard, Miss Bennet, and her parents in the hallway. With Mr. Esparza’s permission, your brother is soon going to announce to the guests the engagement of his second son to Miss Elizabeth’s elder sister. Perhaps we should be there for…”
“WHAT?! Excuse me, sir. Did you just say my sister is to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam and that my parents are here?” She turned to the man’s son and said, “Obviously much has transpired while we were secluded here.”
Before her husband could leap to a wrong conclusion, Lady Anne said, “George, go stand in line. Tonight’s guests might be interested to learn of another engagement. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth are to be married. We are to gain a regular out-and-outer as our daughter. Is that not wonderful news?”
“Indeed it is, my dear. Congratulations to you both.” The gentleman kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and added, “You are very welcome to join our family, young lady. I can tell from the unrestrained look on his face you have made our son euphoric by your acceptance.” He shook his heir’s hand and said, “Shall we proceed to the ballroom and make the joyful announcement before the waltz begins? We most certainly do not want to miss being involved in the upcoming scandal about to take place under Esparza’s roof.”
Fitzwilliam raised a hand and said, “Wait. Once again we are jumping to a conclusion. I must first speak with Mr. Bennet and gain his permission for the honour of his daughter’s hand. And when did you last see your father, Elizabeth?”
As soon as Elizabeth entered the ballroom, she spotted her mother and father and rushed to join them while Fitzwilliam and his parents followed at a more sedate pace. When Elizabeth inquired about her sister’s sudden betrothal, her mother gave the pat answer, “I shall explain later.” After pleasantries were exchanged, the junior Darcy walked away with Mr. Bennet for a private conversation. They returned just in time to applaud the happy news of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s engagement to Jane Bennet.
When the applause died down, George Darcy consulted briefly first with his son and then with his host. He then stepped forward to make his announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention for just another moment, please. I know many of you are anxiously and eagerly waiting to partake in the onset of a bold and exciting new trend. Very soon our evening together will end in a most beautiful, albeit controversial, manner. Before the music starts, I have another especially important announcement. Earlier you learned of the engagement between my daughter, Georgiana, and Ellis Fleming; and we have all now just heard the happy news about my nephew, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and Miss Jane Bennet. Obviously, there is something in the air tonight. Or perhaps it is in the smuggled ... er, sorry Esparza, imported French wine.” Polite laughter followed the remark until he continued. “Love is evidently all around us on this magical night. I am very proud to tell you of the betrothal of my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to the charming and Original, with a capital ‘O,’ Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Murmurs of surprise, envy, and glee gave way to jubilant applause as George Darcy beckoned the happy couple forward. Many were astonished to see Fitzwilliam Darcy in high spirits. More than a few female hearts were set aflutter as he turned to Elizabeth Bennet, gazed passionately into her eyes, raised her hand to his lips, and then possessively tucked it into the crook of his arm.
Mr. Esparza then stepped forward, raised his hands to quiet the crowd, and said, “Thank you all for attending tonight; and now, family and friends, let us celebrate these three joyous betrothals ... with a waltz! Gentlemen, please escort your lovely partners to the dance floor. Lady Meredith, shall we? Musicians, let the music, the waltz, and the gossip begin.”
Mr. Esparza led Lady Meredith onto the dance floor to start the controversial new sensation. The night's host and hostess were followed by Lord and Lady Matlock and George Darcy and his wife. Then other daring couples, bold enough to try the intemperate waltz, began to leave the sidelines.
Fitzwilliam Darcy proudly escorted his radiant bride-to-be through the throng of friends, acquaintances, and relatives bent on offering hearty congratulations and best wishes. The newly betrothed couple graciously smiled and courteously thanked everyone, but they were bound and determined to find an available spot on the dance floor. Having already embraced and waltzed in the library, they were eager to do so for a second time and gave not a thought to holding one another in public once they again became cocooned in their own private world. The handsome young gentleman in the black tailcoat and trousers and snow-white shirt with matching cravat placed his gloved right hand on the yellow silk covering Elizabeth Bennet’s tiny waist. He inhaled her heady perfume and gazed into the sparkling, intelligent eyes of the woman who would soon be his wife. The strains of the beautiful waltz music began, and they stepped into the romantic dance in perfect rhythm. Darcy and Elizabeth moved as one, smoothly and surely. As they glided and twirled, the candlelight caught and reflected the tiny, glittering spangles on the lady’s shimmering dress. The gentleman’s coattails billowed, and the hem of Elizabeth’s flowing gown swirled and floated around her as they circled the dance floor. With style, grace, and blissful expressions, the dazzling couple outshone all others.
The majority of dancers were tentative, uncoordinated, or downright clumsy. Some were embarrassed by their obvious ineptitude. Frequently overheard expressions of apology were just as often accompanied by peals of laughter as partners tripped, toes were trod upon, and couples collided. Darcy and Elizabeth silently found a rhythm all their own as they held each other and elegantly waltzed around the room. Feeling as though floating, Elizabeth followed the exemplary lead provided by her tall, strong, debonair partner. Her head was delightfully dizzy, and her body tingled wherever it made contact with his. Breathless with exhilaration, she wished the waltz would never end.
With a tear in his eye, Mr. Bennet watched his two beautiful daughters move around the dance floor with their dashing young men. Although he frowned whenever a male leg came into contact with that of Jane or Lizzy, he thought the waltz quite graceful and not in poor taste at all. Turning to his wife he said, “Frances, my love, would you do me the great honour of dancing the remainder of this set with me?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Bennet, you devilish old coot. I would very much like to give this new dance a whirl.”
No longer under the watchful eye of his future father-in-law, Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled Jane closer than the accepted distance for a waltz. “My darling girl, I am so sorry you are being rushed into this engagement without an actual courtship. You deserve so much better. Truly, do you have any regrets?”
“Absolutely not, Richard, not a single one.” She smiled and then amended, “Well, perhaps one regret.”
“Tell me, and I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
“I regret we were interrupted earlier, and I do not mean being caught. That goes without saying. I just wish we had been able to continue ... ” Jane blushed and lowered her eyes.
Understanding dawned on the Colonel. He immediately maneuvered his partner toward a set of open doors leading to a balustrade and waltzed his betrothed outside. They stared into one another’s eyes, then he dipped his head and did everything in his power to erase her one regret.
Across the room, Ellis Fleming and Georgiana Darcy moved together with perfect timing. Azure eyes gazed into indigo eyes as time stood still for the young lovers. The glowing fair-haired lady, completely focused on the tall, dark, handsome man who held her in his embrace, recalled the first time they met. Georgiana had been attracted to him even then, and she realized theirs was not the only attachment formed on Pemberley’s lawn that sultry summer afternoon.
“Georgiana, my dearest heart, you suddenly have a rather mischievous glint in your eyes. May I ask what is running through that pretty head of yours?”
“You may ask; and I may tell you sometime, but not now. Oh, Ellis, this has been the most wonderful night of my life! I am to wed the most magnificent man in the world, and my two best friends will marry my brother and my cousin. ’Tis too much! By far too much! Oh, why is not everybody as happy?”
“Well, I most certainly am.” As Fleming remembered there were other people in the room, he took a quick glance around. “And, if I am not mistaken, there are many other joyful people here. Just look at all the beaming faces surrounding us, Georgiana. As your father said, love actually is all around us tonight.”
Charles Bingley and Anne de Bourgh, not as well coordinated as Darcy and Elizabeth, at least did not tumble down like several colliding couples. They merely laughed away any missteps and awkwardness and waltzed on. They spoke of many topics and found they had much in common. Both had female relatives with fixations, and those ladies had caused considerable mortification over the years. Bingley and Anne also discovered those same women had set their caps on the same man, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Bingley’s sister had pursued Pemberley’s heir hoping to become Mistress of the estate he would someday inherit, and Lady Catherine aggressively promoted a match between her daughter and nephew.
“Miss de Bourgh, I have often heard Darcy and Fitz make mention of you in a most complimentary and affectionate manner. Why would you not want to wed someone like Darcy? He is handsome, I suppose; wealthy, certainly; and quite intelligent, really. Is that not what a girl wants in a husband?”
“We are more like siblings than cousins. Besides, he is far too taciturn and staid for my liking. Although I appreciate the importance of being earnest, I prefer the company of more fun-loving, frivolous people.”
“Well, I am frivolous. And I love fun. For all the years I have known Fitz and Darcy, I am rather surprised our own paths have not previously crossed.”
“Well, sir, I am seldom permitted to spend time in Town. So, unless you have crossed Rosings Park’s pathways, it may be pathetic but not really surprising our paths never crossed until tonight.”
While they danced and enjoyed one another’s company, Bingley and Anne de Bourgh discussed literature, the arts, items in the newspaper, and the latest gossip.
“Miss de Bourgh, have you read the novel about the musician in treble? It was a real cliffhanger.”
“Oh, Mr. Bingley! You ruined it. You were supposed to say clef-hanger.”
“Drat! Sorry. Well, I did hear of some treble at the new music store on Bond Street. It was robbed, and the thief made away with the lute. Speaking of loot, have you heard Miss Pearl Loyne is suspected of stealing a brooch from Miss Plaist?”
“Oh, no. What happened?”
“They could not pin it on her. They did, however, pin a famous writer for stealing an idea for a stage drama. He is now considered a playgiarist.”
“Tsk, tsk. Before writing his final version of the play, he should have had a pre-text.”
“I understand authors’ lives are punctuated with good writing periods; nevertheless, the fellow should have been more pen-sive. My sister, Caroline, usually mends pens for me; but she will soon be going away to live with our aunt and uncle. I suspect my handwriting shall suffer, and it is already nothing to write home about.”
“To write with a broken pen is pointless.” Anne gave Bingley a teasingly coy smile and exaggeratedly batted her eyelashes. “I mend pens remarkably well, sir.”
“Do you know, Miss de Bourgh, you make a good point for furthering our acquaintance? Please allow me to ask you a point-blank question. May I call on you tomorrow?”
“I hope you make a point of it, sir.”
Whenever Bingley and Anne stepped on the other’s toes, they apologized for the misstep. Step-by-step, they became accustomed to dancing together; and it was a step in the right direction. After all, to be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.
When they parted, the gentleman had a spring in his step as he silently recited from Alexander Pope’s ‘An Essay on Man’ - ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest’.
Later, before she retired for the night, Anne de Bourgh would take time to record, in a daily journal, her feelings about the ball, the waltz, and Mr. Bingley. It was her only confidante, and Anne had named the diary Bridget Jones.
The Dowager-Duchess of Dorian, gray-haired and quite stricken in years, exchanged curtsies of common courtesy with Elizabeth Bennet. “I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident you belong in our first circles. Allow me to say, however, your handsome partner does not disgrace you. I hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when certain desirable events, my dear young couple, shall take place. Three upcoming weddings in one family! What congratulations will then flow in. Have you two set a date yet?”
“Your Grace, Elizabeth and I plan to marry before Christmas. We will then journey to the Darcy estate in Northumberland and spend at least a month in the country.”
“Winter in the North Country! Brr!” The elderly woman shivered. “How will you keep warm?”
Darcy and Elizabeth did not say anything. Their eyes, locked on one another, and their blushing cheeks painted a picture that spoke a thousand words. The dowager-duchess smiled fondly. “Oh, yes, ... to be young again and in love! But let me not interrupt. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitchment of one another. I am done to a cow’s thumb anyway and shall soon take my leave. Enjoy the rest of the waltz, my dears.”
Her parting word were scarcely heard by Darcy. “That interruption has made me quite forget of what we were talking."
“Well, sir, I do not recall we were speaking intelligibly at all. Her Grace could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say. We have tried two or three subjects already without success at keeping our train of thought, and of what we are to talk next I cannot imagine. Just keep looking at me the way you have been, hold me, spin me, and waltz me around the room, Fitzwilliam. I never want this dance to end. I am surely in heaven here and now.”
“We will be in sheer paradise when we arrive at our estate, my love. What think you of living in the rugged wilds of the North with me?”
“What are rocks and mountains to the man I most admire? I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Fitzwilliam. Oh, what hours of transport we shall spend! You give me fresh life and vigour.”
“You, my dear, already have enough life and vigour for three people, which is fortunate. There is much to accomplish in the next two months. Northumberland may not be another country, but the climate is quite different up there. You must prepare and shop for a cold winter ... warm boots, gloves, scarves, hats, muffs, and a fur-lined pelisse or two. To plan ahead is pre-fur-able.”
“Will I have to witness the return of your frosty disposition?”
“When we are alone together up there, ice-olated, just the two of us ... ”
“Fitzwilliam! Just the two of us? Shall we not have servants? Am I to do all your cooking and cleaning? What have I gotten myself into? What have you gotten yourself into? I cannot cook, sir. We shall be not only cold but hungry as well. This will not do!”
“Cold feet already, Elizabeth? Rest easy. There is a whole household of servants - an excellent chef, housekeeper, butler, footmen, and maids galore. There is a fireplace in every room, and a thousand acres of wood to fuel them. We have trunks full of blankets, bricks for warming, and cozy beds in our chambers. We shall be neither cold nor hungry, and I promise to keep you warm.”
“I am quite warm right now, so perhaps we should waltz often while up north.”
“That can be arranged; and it is, indeed, a very good idea. As you are already aware, I tend to forget if I do not practice.”
“Practice makes perfect, Mr. Darcy; and I know you do strive for perfection.”
When they parted, the gentleman had a spring in his step as he silently recited from Alexander Pope’s ‘An Essay on Man’ - ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest’.
Later, before she retired for the night, Anne de Bourgh would take time to record, in a daily journal, her feelings about the ball, the waltz, and Mr. Bingley. It was her only confidante, and Anne had named the diary Bridget Jones.
The Dowager-Duchess of Dorian, gray-haired and quite stricken in years, exchanged curtsies of common courtesy with Elizabeth Bennet. “I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident you belong in our first circles. Allow me to say, however, your handsome partner does not disgrace you. I hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when certain desirable events, my dear young couple, shall take place. Three upcoming weddings in one family! What congratulations will then flow in. Have you two set a date yet?”
“Your Grace, Elizabeth and I plan to marry before Christmas. We will then journey to the Darcy estate in Northumberland and spend at least a month in the country.”
“Winter in the North Country! Brr!” The elderly woman shivered. “How will you keep warm?”
Darcy and Elizabeth did not say anything. Their eyes, locked on one another, and their blushing cheeks painted a picture that spoke a thousand words. The dowager-duchess smiled fondly. “Oh, yes, ... to be young again and in love! But let me not interrupt. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitchment of one another. I am done to a cow’s thumb anyway and shall soon take my leave. Enjoy the rest of the waltz, my dears.”
Her parting word were scarcely heard by Darcy. “That interruption has made me quite forget of what we were talking."
“Well, sir, I do not recall we were speaking intelligibly at all. Her Grace could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say. We have tried two or three subjects already without success at keeping our train of thought, and of what we are to talk next I cannot imagine. Just keep looking at me the way you have been, hold me, spin me, and waltz me around the room, Fitzwilliam. I never want this dance to end. I am surely in heaven here and now.”
“We will be in sheer paradise when we arrive at our estate, my love. What think you of living in the rugged wilds of the North with me?”
“What are rocks and mountains to the man I most admire? I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Fitzwilliam. Oh, what hours of transport we shall spend! You give me fresh life and vigour.”
“You, my dear, already have enough life and vigour for three people, which is fortunate. There is much to accomplish in the next two months. Northumberland may not be another country, but the climate is quite different up there. You must prepare and shop for a cold winter ... warm boots, gloves, scarves, hats, muffs, and a fur-lined pelisse or two. To plan ahead is pre-fur-able.”
“Will I have to witness the return of your frosty disposition?”
“When we are alone together up there, ice-olated, just the two of us ... ”
“Fitzwilliam! Just the two of us? Shall we not have servants? Am I to do all your cooking and cleaning? What have I gotten myself into? What have you gotten yourself into? I cannot cook, sir. We shall be not only cold but hungry as well. This will not do!”
“Cold feet already, Elizabeth? Rest easy. There is a whole household of servants - an excellent chef, housekeeper, butler, footmen, and maids galore. There is a fireplace in every room, and a thousand acres of wood to fuel them. We have trunks full of blankets, bricks for warming, and cozy beds in our chambers. We shall be neither cold nor hungry, and I promise to keep you warm.”
“I am quite warm right now, so perhaps we should waltz often while up north.”
“That can be arranged; and it is, indeed, a very good idea. As you are already aware, I tend to forget if I do not practice.”
“Practice makes perfect, Mr. Darcy; and I know you do strive for perfection.”
