Sage nods all around. “She has bewitched him, obviously,” declared Miss Suzette. “I would not have considered it possible to ensnare Mr. Darcy so, but plainly she found the way.”
Miss Amy Hughes spoke for the first time, stunning them all when she proclaimed, “I have met her.”
“Miss Amy! How dare you keep such juicy information from us!” chastised Miss Laura. “Pray tell us.”
Miss Hughes blushed. As the youngest of the group, just eighteen and out in society only this past year, she was more reserved. “It was in Madame du Loire’s salon a few weeks ago. I was there for my fitting. Mr. Darcy escorted Mrs. Darcy in and then left while she shopped.” Her blush deepened and she leaned forward, whispering, “He actually kissed her when he left!” This time their gasps were sincere and, if they had been so bold as to admit it, stemmed primarily from jealousy.
“Did you speak with her?” Miss Stanhope asked, all listening with rapt suspense.
“Yes. We were there for over an hour. She was delightful. Witty, charming, and beautiful.”
Miss Mills interrupted with the declaration that the Vernors had arrived. Sir Cole at that moment was greeting Mr. Vernor and his wife, Bertha with her brother and sister-in-law next in line. Lord and Lady Matlock were approaching as well. Out in the drive a long line of carriages slowly edged forward, the Darcy carriage among them. By the time the Darcys alighted, the young women had welcomed Miss Bertha, avoiding any further mention of Mr. Darcy, while maintaining their surveillance.
Lizzy had vanquished her trepidations. Her delight in the atmosphere surrounding the festively decorated home, zeal to dance with her husband, eagerness to become acquainted with the other young married women of Derbyshire, and general encompassing bliss had successfully enthused her. The usually stoic and uncomfortable Mr. Darcy discovered that, for the very first time in his entire life, he actually anticipated a ball. It was therefore with boundless pride and a beaming smile that Mr. Darcy entered the grandly embellished foyer of Melcourt Hall with his radiant bride on his arm.
A mild hush fell over the room as nearly every eye in the place fell on the couple, both of them well aware of the scrutiny. Darcy paused theatrically, delighting in the attention for indubitably the only occasion in memory and probably the last. The caesura spanned mere seconds, but the desired effect was obtained. Within minutes the word raced through the manor that the Darcys had arrived.
Sir Cole welcomed the young couple effusively, Lizzy charming him instantly. Lord and Lady Matlock hovered nearby and greeted Lizzy warmly, further causing a stir. If the redoubtable Matlocks so approved of the new Mrs. Darcy, then the rumors of her inappropriateness that had spread throughout the region surely were ungrounded.
“Elizabeth dear, you are breathtaking,” Lady Matlock pronounced with a kiss to Lizzy’s cheek. “Nephew, allow me the honor of introducing Mrs. Darcy to the Vernors. Mr. Vernor, Mrs. Vernor, my niece Mrs. Darcy.”
“Mrs. Darcy, it is a delight to see you again,” Mr. Vernor bowed. “I do trust your first month at Pemberley has been pleasant?”
“Immensely so, Mr. Vernor, thank you for inquiring. Mrs. Vernor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Darcy had greeted Gerald with enthusiasm and turned to his wife. “My dear, this is Gerald Vernor, an old friend, although he did tergiversate and attend Oxford. Mr. Vernor, my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”
“Mrs. Darcy, it is a joy to meet the woman who captured my wayward friend’s heart.” Lizzy laughed and curtseyed, sensing immediately the same open amiability in the son as in the father. He lightly touched his wife’s elbow, “My wife Harriet Vernor.”
Harriet Vernor was a tall woman, slim but slightly mannish in her build, with an unattractive horsy face but yet startling green eyes. As soon as she spoke, however, her homeliness faded. Her voice was dulcet and rich, and she spoke with an easy humor and pithy wit. Lizzy liked her instantly, and the two fell into an effortless conversation as the group moved into the main hall.
The following forty-five or so minutes were expended in a flurry of introductions, as seemingly the entire population of Derbyshire drifted toward the Darcys. The Matlocks remained near, lending nonverbal support to their niece, while Darcy, although remarkably more extroverted than usual, nonetheless cut an imposing figure. Few were brave enough to cross the formidable Mr. Darcy.
In general, the inhabitants were gracious and welcoming, willing, apparently, to delay a hasty judgment regarding the new Mrs. Darcy. The thinly veiled insults and condescending glances were rare and met with the glare and particular set to the jaw displaying annoyance from Mr. Darcy, which none wanted directed their way. Harriet amused Lizzy with a running acerbic commentary whispered in her ear. By the time the strains from the orchestra commenced, Lizzy’s mind was a muddle of names. Therefore, she was ecstatic to have her handsome husband claim her for the first set. She had promised Lord Matlock the second set and Mr. Vernor the third, but the remainder were all for Darcy.
The orchestra chose a moderate minuet to warm up the crowd, followed by a lively cotillion. Lizzy and Darcy had a marvelous time. The opportunity to completely erase the unpleasant aspects attached to the memory of their disastrous encounter at the Netherfield Ball was crucial. Neither of them could now deny the attraction they had felt even then, nor did they wish to. Yet for months afterwards Darcy had tried to blot her from his mind, and Lizzy had refused to even entertain the notion of enchantment with Mr. Darcy.
Tonight they allowed their love and mutual enthrallment to wash over them. Lizzy noted that indeed Darcy was an excellent dancer! So tall and elegant and graceful, every touch of his hand piercing through her gloves, the intoxicating whiff of his cologne as he glided near, intense gaze boring into her, the tiny lift to his lips now recognizable as humor and veneration, and the soothing timbre of his voice as he prattled nonsensically each time they passed all combined to far surpass any dancing experience of her life.
“I love this dance,” he began.
Lizzy smiled. “Indeed, most invigorating.”
“So many couples.”
“It is an accommodating room.”
“Pemberley’s ballroom is larger, however.”
“Do you intend to talk all through the dance, Mr. Darcy?”
“I have been advised it is proper etiquette to do so… Do you not agree, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Only if one’s partner is worth conversing with.”
“I see… am I classified as worthy or unworthy?”
“I believe I need more evidence to judge… pray continue, Mr. Darcy.”
On and on it went, Darcy never losing his train of inane babble, even when parted for a turn with the next lady in line. Lizzy watched him from the corner of her eye, frequently making contact with his gaze, as they moved through the set. He spoke little to anyone else, except for one young woman approximately Lizzy’s age whom he greeted with a soft smile. She, oddly, was a deep shade of pink and decidedly uncomfortable, puzzling Darcy.
“Who is the young lady in yellow?” Lizzy asked when again engaged with her husband.
“Miss Bertha Vernor, Gerald’s sister,” he replied softly with an edge of bafflement in his voice.
“You unnerved her, it appeared.”
“I cannot imagine how… I have known her all her life… she is like a sister to me.”
Lizzy laughed, “My love, you are impossibly obtuse!”
“I beg your pardon, Madame!”
“I can almost guarantee she does not see you as a brother.” Darcy’s confusion increased for a full minute before he finally grasped her implication, after which he blushed profusely, covering his discomfiture with the Darcy scowl. The dance ended with Lizzy’s tinkling laugh as she took his arm and steered him to the bowl of wassail.
The next sets were the shorter quadrilles. Lizzy danced the initial two parts with Lord Matlock while Darcy squired his aunt. The Earl made few attempts at conversation, the fast pace and intricate steps of the dance deman
ding all his attention. Lady Matlock apparently was quite diverting, as Lizzy could see her husband struggling to remain reserved and focused. Lizzy danced the middle parts with Mr. Gerald Vernor, Darcy partnering Mrs. Vernor. Lizzy and Darcy finished the set together.
The dining hall was lavishly decorated, the long tables arranged in rows facing toward the door with the main table slightly elevated lengthwise before the far wall. The Darcys were seated at the main table with Sir Cole, the Matlocks, the Vernors, Sir Arthur Levings of Parwich Hall, Lord and Lady Newburgh of Hassop Hall, Sir James and Lady Harpur of Calke Abbey, and numerous others whom Lizzy had not yet met.
Lizzy sat diagonally across from her husband and between Lady Harpur and a man introduced to her as the Marquis of Orman. Lord Orman was a handsome man perhaps a year or two older than Darcy, unmarried and charming. Lady Harpur said little, whether from shyness or lack of interest in her dinner companions Lizzy could not discern. Darcy was flanked by Sir James Harpur and Mrs. Mary Vernor. Within earshot sat Lord and Lady Matlock and the remaining Vernors.
Dinner was spectacular. Conversation and laughter flowed. Lord Orman was engaging, thankfully for Lizzy, as Lady Harpur said barely two words. Darcy spoke primarily with Sir James and Mr. Vernor, joining in with Lizzy and Lord Orman on occasion.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Lord Orman said, “I understand you are from Hertfordshire?”
“Yes, My Lord, you have heard correctly. Are you familiar with the region?”
“Not much, I confess. I have traveled through on my way to London; however, I have not tarried in the area. Do you miss your home?”
Lizzy smiled. “I miss my family somewhat, but Pemberley and Derbyshire are my home.”
“Of course. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, I meant no offense.”
“None taken.”
“Did you leave a large family behind?”
“Four sisters and my parents, as well as cousins. Fortunately, Meryton is not a great distance, and it is the lot of us women eventually to leave our parents for our new families. I am content.” Lizzy glanced at Darcy, who was apparently absorbed in his plate, but she noted the tiny crease between his brows and well knew what it signified.
“Of course.” Lord Orman continued. “Still, it must be difficult to leave what you have always known for the unknown.”
“You would be mistaken, My Lord. It has not been difficult in the slightest. I am exceedingly comfortable here. The scenery and natural formations are widely diverse and majestic here in Derbyshire. Far more so than Hertfordshire, which is pastoral. Unfortunately the weather has not been kind enough to allow me the opportunity to explore as I would wish; however, this will be remedied in the spring.”
“Do you appreciate the out of doors then, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Oh yes, very much.”
“You ride, I presume.”
“Actually, not at all. I prefer to walk.”
He was taken aback, “How odd. A Darcy who does not ride. Who would have believed it? I would rather have imagined horsemanship a prerequisite for matrimony amongst the Darcys.” He seemed to be teasing but Lizzy found the comment a trifle rude. Apparently, her husband did as well.
“I fear you are hasty, Orman, in forming assumptions regarding the character of the Darcys.” He spoke softly but with an edge that Lizzy recognized as irritation and his eyes were a flinty blue. “A person’s caliber is not dependent on a particular accomplishment, nor can a host of accomplishments accurately illustrate one’s quality.”
It was a true statement voiced in a flat tone, but Lizzy, who knew her husband so well, understood he was casting aspersions. Orman knew it also, and there was a moment of silence before he laughed, “Touché, Darcy.”
The conversation turned then to topics more general. The men spoke of politics and the resolving crisis with France. Lizzy struck up a conversation with Mrs. Vernor and Mrs. Samantha Cole, a woman in her late twenties and the wife of the middle Cole son, Joshua. Mrs. Cole reminded Lizzy of her younger sisters, giddy and not terribly bright but humorous and entertaining. Her favorite topics were fashion and society gossip, of little interest to Lizzy; however, she did realize that a fair amount of knowledge on both subjects could be to her advantage so she joined in. She and Mrs. Vernor shared several amused glances, but Mrs. Cole’s insipid chatter did pass the time pleasantly and, oddly enough, Lizzy did like her.
As they stood to leave the table, Lord Orman leaned close to Lizzy and said softly, “I hope I did not offend, Mrs. Darcy. You appear an intelligent young woman and I enjoyed our conversation. I would like to be counted a friend.”
Lizzy was terribly uncomfortable and momentarily at a loss. Darcy, she noted quickly, was on the other side of the table speaking with his aunt, apparently unaware of Lord Orman’s attention. Lizzy took a step backwards, smiled pleasantly, and met his eyes frankly. “Thank you for the compliment, Lord Orman. I can assure you that whomever my husband counts as a friend is also a friend of mine. As I am a new inhabitant of the area, I am leaving these decisions to him. It is far too easy to arrive at swift and errant judgments.”
Lord Orman bowed and retreated slightly but continued undeterred, “Would I be too bold to ask if I may secure your hand for a dance set, Mrs. Darcy? Or does Mr. Darcy make those decisions for you as well?”
Lizzy was stunned, a ready retort on her lips, but they were both startled by Darcy’s deep voice. “Mrs. Darcy is free to fill her dance card with whomever she chooses.” He stood next to her, towering over Orman by at least five inches, calm, and impassively gazing at the Marquis as he offered his arm to Lizzy.
Lizzy smiled brightly at her husband as she placed her hand on his arm, and then turned to Orman. “Thank you, Lord Orman; however, all dances are promised to my husband, by my choice.” She curtseyed and he bowed.
“Perhaps another time then, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy.” He bowed again and moved away.
“Interesting man,” Lizzy commented sardonically.
“He is a scoundrel, Elizabeth. I cannot fathom what Sir Cole was thinking to seat him at the head table, and close to me. He knows we despise each other.”
“As bad as all that?” She said with an arch smile. “You must fill me in, William! I am becoming quite enamored with the local gossip.”
He looked at her in shock and then, seeing a feigned vapid expression on her face, he laughed. “Perhaps, darling, you should steer clear of Mrs. Cole and her cronies for the remainder of the evening. They are corrupting your good sense.”
To their heightened amusement, Lady Matlock and Harriet Vernor approached at precisely that moment to steal Elizabeth away with the express intent of introducing her to more of the married ladies of the region. Darcy relented only after his aunt promised to be cautious. “Fret not, William, I shall take care of her.”
They had re-entered the ballroom. The orchestra played softly in the background as the two enormous and absurdly ornate Twelfth Night cakes were wheeled in. Harriet explained, “One cake is for the women and the other for the men. Pieces are cut, and the man and woman who receive a piece with the bean in it are crowned King and Queen for the night. It is all silly fun.”
As the pieces were cut and distributed to those who wished to partake, Darcy not surprisingly refusing as he had every year he attended, Harriet and Lady Matlock escorted Lizzy about the room. There were an abundance of women roughly Lizzy’s age or a bit older who welcomed her graciously. Mrs. Samantha Cole fawned over her as if they were old friends, proudly presenting Lizzy to her sister-in-law Mrs. Katherine Cole and soon-to-be sister-in-law Miss Laura Creswell. There was the usual gushing over the dress and brooch and hair, intermingled with cunningly worded inquiries as to how she and Mr. Darcy had met, the wedding details, her family connections, and so on. Lizzy had a marvelous time.
Most of the young women were delightful and, if like Mrs. Samantha Cole they were not overly astute, Lizzy found them genuine and gracious. There were a number who reminded her vividly of Caroline Bingley, but Lizzy had
fun with them as well. Three women in particular, Mrs. Alison Fitzherbert, Mrs. Julia Sitwell, and Mrs. Chloe Drury, connected instantly with Lizzy, as had Harriet Vernor. Before the night was over, the four women had arranged a date for tea the following week at Mrs. Fitzherbert’s home, Tillington Hall, near Eyam.
The Queen was Miss Bertha Vernor and the King a Mr. Rufus Sitwell. It seemed clear to Lizzy that the young Mr. Sitwell was delighted to have the opportunity to stand next to Miss Bertha and dance as the Royal Couple for the next set. Lizzy had rejoined her husband for the “crowning” and whispered as much to him.
“He may have competition,” he responded. “I have been informed that Mr. Bates has been calling on Miss Bertha.”
Lizzy smiled. “My, what an old gossip you are, Mr. Darcy. When we are home, we shall have to compare notes.”
“I have plans for when we return home, my lovely wife, and they do not include comparing notes.” He stared seriously straight ahead, but feathered one finger over her knuckles where they lay on his arm, sending shivers thrilling up Lizzy’s spine.
The orchestra announced the next dance, the sarabande. Darcy and Lizzy took their places, memories again assailing them as the music began. The tune was different than at the Netherfield Ball, but the steps the same. Neither of them attempted conversation. Instead, they focused on each other to the exclusion of the entire room. As pleasant as the experience was, it was also rather dangerous. The two lovers nearly did lose sight of where they were, drawing closer with each turn than the dance strictly intended and becoming mildly aroused. Luckily, the music ended before they foolishly crossed any lines of propriety, faces flushed and panting imperceptibly. The following dances were livelier, a gavotte and then a gigue.
Darcy was willing to continue for the next set, but Lizzy opted for refreshments and fresh air. Darcy secured two cups of wassail and gingersnaps, happily guiding his wife outside to a secluded alcove on the terrace. Lizzy did not have the chance to take a sip before her husband had claimed her mouth in a preferable activity.
Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One Page 26