In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “What! How could she—”

  “No time! There they are. See, Aunt has noted the carriage. Go! And good luck.”

  Mechanically, Richard navigated around the bodies to rejoin his family, who were gradually steering toward the main entryway. Clustered knots of society engaged in lively conversation, polite greetings expected and extended. As always the opera, like all such entertainment venues, a cause for amusing discourse and class fraternizing equally as important as the cultural edification. Dignitaries and nobility abounded, Lady Fotherby’s inclusion only of minor significance and interest to most. With her renowned husband now passed, she was not nearly as compelling. Except, of course, to those who were either curious gossipmongers by nature or were stimulated by the concept of an unattached and extremely wealthy woman. Richard’s eye would not be the only bachelor’s speculative gaze to linger upon the beauty of Lady Fotherby, although it is probable that his were the only thoughts of a pure intent.

  When she alighted from the carriage Richard’s breath caught and the stab of yearning felt in his heart was exquisitely painful. She wore a modest gown of deepest blue, the velvet shimmering in the gaslight and accenting her womanly figure. No jewels or embellishments adorned the austere gown of mourning, nor were her flaxen tresses garnished, but the basic chignon and simple dress only highlighted her natural beauty.

  “My dear Lady Fotherby, how delightful it is to see you here. Many of us were concerned for your welfare, distressed over your self-imposed exile, and praying that your grief would soon be relieved.”

  “Thank you, Lady Matlock. You are kind. Allow me to assure you that I have been well comforted by my children and family. I am quite well indeed. Lord Fotherby would not wish me to wallow in pity and despair.”

  Lord Matlock nodded, bowing low in greeting. “I believe I can assert that to be a true statement, my Lady. Your husband cared deeply for your well-being and would shudder to think he has caused you undue pain.”

  Lady Fotherby inclined her head politely, eyes shifting to Richard, who stood silently beside his father. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I trust you are well?”

  “Quite well, my Lady.”

  “I am surprised to see your son here, Lord Matlock. If I may be indulged to tease just a bit, I seem to recall a young man not overly fond of opera. Of course, tastes do change with time.” She smiled winsomely toward Richard, whose knees felt decidedly weak but whose heart was warmed by her presence and favorable demeanor.

  Lady Matlock laughed gaily. “You have an excellent memory, Lady Fotherby. And I am afraid little has changed in my son’s tastes, but he has learned to oblige his mother’s whimsies and is a dutiful son.”

  “A mother can only hope for such a gift, I believe. Be cheered, Colonel, as I am told this particular offering of Faust is an exceptional one.”

  Richard bowed his head. “I am counting on this allegation, my Lady. I daresay we shall both pray truth in the statement; you so as to find joy in marvelous entertainment, and I so as not to fall asleep.”

  Her lilting laughter rang out. It was an auspicious beginning. Colonel Fitzwilliam would manage only a short conversation with her during intermission. Her uncle, acting as escort, hovered nearby with a stern frown keeping the worst of the vultures at bay. Still, the brief words shared and casual glances passed were encouraging.

  The Darcy Ball offered an improved interaction.

  ***

  The ball hosted by the Darcys at Darcy House for their end of the Season extravaganza was anticipated by a number of people for a variety of reasons. Darcy just wanted to get it over with, Mrs. Darcy was eager to display her talents as hostess and advance her husband’s celebrity, Georgiana hungered for more dancing and flummery, George simply reveled in the amusement and attention, and Richard prayed to converse with Lady Fotherby.

  Every room on the ground and first floors, with the exception of the Master Chambers, was open and aglitter with hundreds of candles and lamps. Sheens of gold and silver erupted from the profusion of metallic ribbons, gilded frames, crystal tableware, enameled vases, marble statues, and polished light holders, harmonizing brilliantly with the opulence of varnished floors, banisters, tables, chairs, and room trimmings fashioned from the finest wood available. The staff had outdone themselves in cleaning, arranging, and preparing, all at the instruction of their Mistress, who overlooked not a single detail.

  The guest list of nearly one hundred was modest by typical standards. These final parties of the Season were the ultimate cap, the last chance to make a permanent impression upon Society either as host or attendee. Invitations were coveted, accepted by the dozens, and extended widely. It was not at all unusual for one to visit several glittering houses in one night, the briefest appearance enough to comment upon; conversely, it was the norm to send hundreds of invitations if so bold as to plan a fête during the competitive final weeks, in hopes that a fraction would show up. Glory was attained both in how many invitations one received and in how many personages of importance passed over the threshold.

  Lizzy’s remaining ignorance in some of the finer machinations of the ton kept her unaware of the fact that by limiting the number of invitations, the Darcy ball instantly ranked as one of the prime tickets in town! Her reasoning was simply the desire to entertain only those people they genuinely enjoyed. Therefore, her first list was smaller still, but fortunately she, as in most matters, asked her husband’s opinion. Darcy, naturally, was well aware of all the fine nuances of Society and, despite his marked lack of enthusiasm in hosting a grand soiree of this magnitude, recognized the suggested snub if they ignored too many key members of the London social set. The revised guest list remained modest but was perfectly balanced. The question would not be why the Darcys excluded certain folks, but what those folks had done to deserve the Darcys’ censure! Thus, while Lizzy immersed in menus and decorations, Darcy smugly sat back and laughed to himself.

  The Darcy Ball resembled more of a Salon atmosphere in the eclectic assortment of guests with their unique personalities. Darcy proudly stood on the bottom step of the foyer stairway, the location elevating his imposing, fashionably attired figure at the juncture of the ballroom and drawing room. He greeted new arrivals with his classic dignified reserve and cordiality while furtively observing Elizabeth as she gracefully glided among the assembled guests. From time to time he could faintly hear her musical laughter, noting with awed contentment how she easily joined conversations with the most diverse of groupings. He did not need to hear her words to tell that she was welcomed by one and all, her dynamic but genteel personality appreciated.

  Currently, she stood talking to his great aunt, the Marchioness of Warrow. Darcy smiled briefly, again impressed at the curious rapport she possessed with his flamboyant Aunt Beryl, but then his thoughts were distracted as he greeted the astronomer Sir William Herschel and his wife. The plain truth was that Lizzy thought her husband’s notorious relative captivating in her outrageousness. Thrice married and widowed, each husband wealthier than the previous and possessing of a higher title, this younger sister to Darcy’s grandfather was one of those English novelties in the same mold as the historic Bess of Hardwick. Well into her seventies, she still radiated a residual beauty and sensual charm that sparkled and left no mystery as to how she once attracted her husbands and numerous lovers.

  “Of course, the Duke never could maintain his dignity when sodden with wine!” Lady Warrow declared with a throaty chuckle, Lizzy and the other listeners laughing with her. The fact that the Duke whose story of impropriety she regaled was deceased and unknown to each of them was insignificant; the humor was in how she related the tale with verve and embellishments. Not for the first time, it occurred to Lizzy that George had obviously inherited his flair and abundant humor from his father’s sister. “Lord Essenton, my second husband, you know, and dear Sebastian’s grandfather”—she lightly patted the arm of the young man standing at attention beside the chair she sat on as if the grandest throne—“smoothly in
tervened, supporting the soused Duke and escorting him to the terrace for a bracing walk in the January Durham air before he upset any additional trays of food onto Prince Frederick’s lap. Luckily his Highness has a marvelous sense of humor and was well past the point of clear-headedness.”

  “Quite fortunate you both were there, my Lady. Imagine the scandal!”

  “Oh, my dear Mr. Gilcrist, such faux pas rarely became true scandals; otherwise, no one would ever have the liberty to enjoy themselves! I could shock you endlessly with tales of solecism in the elite. Truly, in my vast years of experience, I have come to believe the poor rural farmer possesses a decorum and sense of etiquette superior to his betters.” She smiled slyly, fluttering her fan toward Mr. Gilcrist with the array of jewels covering her delicate gloved hand flashing in the light. “But this must be our secret, sir. We mustn’t let on that we know the reality behind the carefully erected façade.”

  Lord Alvanley laughed boomingly. “Indeed, Lady Warrow, a shocking truth to be sure. Imagine His Highness’ consternation if he were to learn of it.”

  Everyone laughed at that. The exploits of the Prince Regent and his close circle of friends, including Lord Alvanley, were common knowledge.

  “Fortunately, not all hope is lost. There are those, my great-nephew a prime example,” Lady Warrow smiled at Lizzy, “who remind us rogues of proper behavior. Lessons are being passed on via excellent messengers like my dearly departed brothers, upstanding men all.”

  “Considering all the accounts I have heard from Mr. Darcy about his grandfather, that is no surprise to me,” Lizzy offered.

  Lady Warrow laughed. “My dear, the tales I could share! Our father was so rigid and stern I do not think a hurricane would have bent him. No humor whatsoever, poor man. Mother was an outrageous flirt. Surely where I inherited my wicked tendencies, yes, Lord Alvanley?”

  He inclined his head, crooked smile devilish. “As you wish, madam.”

  “I wisely chose husbands with high character and decency. Balance out the ignoble, you see. Propitiously for the aristocratic classes, my offspring, for the most part, have walked paths similar to their sires.”

  “Thus, England is saved,” Lord Alvanley chuckled.

  “Mrs. North,” Lady Warrow addressed the woman standing beside Lizzy and ignored the Baron’s playful slur, “I do not recall if I ever mentioned it, but my Lord Essenton very much resembled your husband. Quite fair and slight of build with a striking pair of gray eyes. You can see the traits in my grandson.” She again affectionately touched the arm of the young man. “Not at all dark or blue eyed like most of us Darcys.”

  Mrs. North smiled and curtseyed in the direction of Lady Warrow’s grandson. “Well, Mr. Butler, it is a compliment to be sure, as my husband is a handsome man by all accounts, not just my own.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. North. I will accept it as such.” He inclined his head gracefully, surprising those who had not yet heard him speak with the deep timbre of his voice.

  “Mr. Butler,” Lizzy addressed the young man, “your lady grandmother was telling me that you compose music?”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Darcy. It is a passion of mine to be sure.”

  “Sebastian is a genius, if I say so myself,” Lady Warrow interjected with obvious pride. “His studies at Oxford primarily focus on music, as well as other subjects, all of which he excels in.”

  “Perhaps, if you feel so inclined, you would be willing to delight us with some of your compositions this evening? I confess I have a poorly discerning ear for music, but my sister, Miss Darcy, is an excellent connoisseur of all types of music. She would adore hearing the fresh arrangements of her cousin, I am sure.”

  He laughed, bowing. “As long as she is not too harsh a critic, Mrs. Darcy. We artists have fragile egos.”

  Lizzy opened her mouth to reassure him, but Lady Warrow intervened. “Nonsense, Sebastian! Your music and talent are remarkable. No one could disagree.”

  “So says the doting grandmother,” Lord Alvanley interrupted with a snicker.

  “Indeed I do, my Lord Alvanley. And you watch your tongue! I am good friends with your mother, you would do well to remember!” Lord Alvanley bowed in humorous remorse, Lady Warrow’s eyes twinkling as she harrumphed. “Besides, you have heard Sebastian play and sing so know the error in your allusions. Rest assured, Mrs. Darcy, anything Mr. Butler plays for your guests would only serve to dazzle them further.”

  “Well, I daresay the pressure has been increased. I shall need to think cautiously before attending to the task to ensure I adequately dazzle.”

  Lizzy laughed. “I am not worried, Mr. Butler. And no pressure intended, please. It is a humble request only.”

  “And one I am happy to grant, Mrs. Darcy. Music truly is my delight and I am horribly arrogant about it and never pass an opportunity to entertain.”

  “Then this is more than a passing fancy, I presume. Do you wish to advance in your knowledge of music? Apply your gift as a career choice?”

  He smiled benignly, a hint of annoyance in his tone when answering. “If you ask my father, Lord Essenton, then the answer is an unequivocal no. He rightly believes that my only job should be learning to be a proper estate manager and future Earl of Essenton.”

  “I say that is a waste!” Lady Warrow declared firmly. “I doubt my robust son shall be relinquishing his hold on the title anywhere near soon, as he takes after me and not his father, thankfully, so shall live to a ripe old age. Sebastian’s talent is far too brilliant to ignore. In fact, we plan to tour the Continent next year after he graduates. No better place to learn the glories of opera than in Austria and abroad.”

  In another corner of the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood with his parents, Gerald and Harriet Vernor, Admiral Ulster, the poets Robert Southey and William Wordsworth, and Lady Jersey. The location was not of his choosing, being at such an angle as to have the foyer and main parlor entryway obscured. Unfortunately, there was no way to relay his distress to his parents, so he employed every ounce of considerable military discipline to calm his impatience while trying to decide if his odds were improved by staying with his mother or wandering about the room. Such was his mental turmoil when Lizzy joined their cluster.

  “Lady Jersey,” Lizzy curtseyed smoothly toward her exalted guest. “Your presence in our humble home is a true honor.”

  Lady Jersey inclined her head, face impassive, and voice without emotion. “The honor is mine, Mrs. Darcy, to be sure. I daresay the orchestra Mr. Darcy secured is excellent. I fear I am pressed to sit still for much longer and will need to wrest my Lord husband from his cigar and brandy for a turn about the floor.”

  “I wish you fortune on that count, Lady Jersey,” Lord Matlock said with a chuckle. “The Earl’s love of cigars is an established fact.”

  “Indeed you are correct. Perhaps I can impress upon Mr. Wordsworth to take pity upon me?”

  He bowed low. “It would be my greatest pleasure, Countess. Pity would not enter in at all. Shall we?”

  The two departed, it now Mr. Southey’s turn to chuckle. “I am not quite sure if Lady Jersey fully knows what she has entered into. Mr. Wordsworth is far better at placing words upon parchment than in placing his feet properly upon a dance floor.”

  “At least she has a willing partner. My Lord husband utilizes no manly diversions to avoid dancing with his Lady wife.” Lady Matlock said with a teasing glance to Lord Matlock. “He simply refuses to dance at all.”

  “Honesty is the cornerstone of a successful marriage, my dear. I honestly abhor dancing and you would honestly abhor your painful feet after I waltzed all over them.”

  “Admiral, I understand congratulations are in order on your daughter’s engagement?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. Indeed Esther has made an excellent match with Mr. Kemp. We are pleased.”

  They all noted the sidelong glance directed toward Colonel Fitzwilliam, as well as his faint wince, but only his parents and Lizzy fully knew the cause. Until a few months a
go, they had all thought Richard subtly courting his Commanding Officer’s daughter. It was a logical match and Lord Matlock was furious when the news reached his ears that his second son had resisted matrimony, once again. Their row was fierce, but it was Lady Matlock who calmed her husband down with sympathetic and oddly knowing gazes at her son. The Colonel trusted Darcy and Lizzy, knew that they would never speak of his romantic woes to his mother. In fact, Lizzy had never said a word to him directly nor shown a clear sign that she knew, Richard only assuming she was aware based on the nature of his cousin’s marriage, so he could not imagine how his mother suspected. Yet, not ten minutes later it was further indicated by her comment and sly look that she had some suspicions.

  “Elizabeth, I see that the Ambassador and Countess de Lieven have arrived. Richard, you should escort Mrs. Darcy in her hostess duties while Fitzwilliam is engaged with greeting new arrivals. It will give you a change to meet everyone. Surely there will be someone to spark an interest.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was so startled he actually gaped at his innocently smiling mother. Lizzy came to his rescue. “Yes, please do, Colonel. I miss having a handsome man to accompany me. Barging in upon idle chat is exhausting, so your assistance would be appreciated.”

  Lizzy’s charm and witty banter rapidly restored his equilibrium. They continued to wander, pausing for short exchanges with everyone. Twice Lizzy engaged Darcy’s eye as they gradually milled through the crowds. The first time he smiled, but shook his head marginally. The second time he again smiled and nodded faintly toward the ballroom, his left brow rising imperceptibly.

  “Colonel, let’s stroll into the foyer. Perhaps I can rescue my husband and secure a dance.”

  Darcy was openly relieved. Not only had he missed his wife, but the chore of being “charming and gracious,” as Richard had put it, was beginning to wear. He met them as they crossed the threshold, the currently sparsely inhabited foyer offering a vacant pocket for him to corner his beloved spouse and favored cousin.