Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge

by J Marie Croft

  “What? A waltz! Oh, God!” Darcy’s face was positively panic-stricken.

  “Cousin, I know you learned the steps. We were instructed together last year, along with Fitz and Georgie.”

  “Well, yes. However, I have certainly not practiced since then.” Again they moved apart, and Darcy became annoyed with the separation.

  As soon as they were reunited, his cousin sought clarification. “You have never waltzed with a woman, except that one time with me?”

  “Of course not, Anne! The shocking waltz is hardly accepted by our society. When or why would I have done so? What on earth were our aunt and uncle thinking by including such an indecent activity? Confound it! Why did my parents not inform me we would be performing that confounding dance?”

  “Then, you do not approve of such physical contact, my prim, proper, prudish, and priggish cousin? Do you not wish to hold your Miss Elizabeth Bennet in an embrace, one hand upon her waist, and glide across the floor with her?”

  Darcy groaned, “Oh, God, yes!”

  “Then I suggest you find yourself a partner and practice before making a spectacle of yourself on the dance floor.”

  “Will you help me, Anne? Please … dearest, loveliest, favourite female cousin, Annie.” Darcy gave her his irresistible, smouldering look, which usually worked uncommonly well on members of the opposite sex. In spite of that, his cousin was unaffected and unmoved.

  “When? My entire dance card is full, and I even had to turn down numerous requests. So many men, so little time.”

  “It must be the lure of Rosings Park. What gentleman in his right mind would want to stand up with such a shrew?”

  Miss Anne de Bourgh pinched his arm as she circled; and she reminded Darcy that since he was currently engaged in the activity, he must be quite out of his senses, which, she added, was no surprise to her. When their set ended, he escorted his cousin from the floor and asked if she required refreshment.

  “Wine not? Please take your place in the punch-line, Fitzwilliam. But be punch-ual, and do not keep me waiting. I do have a bevy of handsome suitors waiting for the pleasure of my company, you know.” As he walked away, she added, “And find out whether or not the punch contains any alcohol. I will want proof!”

  Darcy shook his head, grinned at his cousin’s teasing, and dutifully headed for the punchbowl. He found himself next to Viscount Chalcroft, the ignoble cad who had been leering at Elizabeth. The bloke’s pun-gent cologne and crude remarks made Darcy want to punch the cad in the face; but he thought of the impeccably proper and gentlemanly behaviour of his boxing instructor who said, ‘If a pugilist wants to get married, he will have to worry about the ring’. Thinking of a ring made him think of proposing to Elizabeth; thinking of Elizabeth made him think of the waltz; thinking of the waltz made him panic. He frantically sought Georgiana in the crush of people standing around waiting for the second set, and he finally caught sight of her pale blonde hair and lilac gown. He hurried back to Anne de Bourgh, thrust a cup of punch at her, executed a poor excuse for a bow, and strode over to his sister and her suitor.

  “Excuse me, Fleming. May I have a private word with you, Georgie?” The siblings moved away to a corner; and Georgiana was amused when her brother urgently said, “I desperately need a refreshment course, Georgie. Will you assist me?”

  “Brother, why on earth do you need my help to obtain a drink? Simply ask a servant.”

  “No, no! I need a quick refresher course in the art of dance, specifically the blasted waltz. For some unfathomable reason I completely forget how the bloody hellish thing is done.”

  “Fitzwilliam, why are your knickers in such a knot? Calm down, and watch your language. I am sure Elizabeth would be more than happy to comply with such a request for assistance.”

  “I cannot ask her. She is the reason my knickers … never mind! Will you please give me a hasty review? I am sure my recollection of the waltz will come back quickly. I absolutely must re-learn the proper steps before the last set, for I have asked Elizabeth to stand up with me. Therefore, it is imperative I neither be humiliated nor humiliate her.”

  “Ah, yes, my perfectionist brother cannot possibly be seen as lacking in any manner. I am truly sorry, Fitzwilliam; but my dance card is entirely full. The second set is about to begin, and I have promised it to Lieutenant Christian Westfall. Now there is someone who truly needs some dance instruction. You shall be fine, brother. That said, my feet might not fare so well. Please do not worry yourself so.”

  Abandoned and forlorn, Darcy sighed and stood alone after Westfall claimed his sister. He sourly wondered how he had gotten himself into such a pickle and just how he was going to extricate himself from the dill-emma.

  “Mother, how could you fail to inform me we would be ending our ball with the scandalous waltz? Our family shall be ridiculed for such decadence. Why, even Lord Byron, of all people, is opposed to a dance in which couples actually embrace.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam, stop being such an old-fashioned prig. It is all the rage on the continent and will undoubtedly soon make its way to London as well. My brother and Lady Rebecca like to be trendsetters, plus I have a sneaky suspicion your aunt also wants to defy the patronesses of Almack’s. Our guests tonight, for the most part, are forward-thinking people who will not be offended. In fact, I imagine some of them will actually take great pleasure in causing a sensation. Why do you so strongly object, my dear? I would think, as a young person, you would want to boldly embrace, if you will pardon the pun, a daring new vogue … and a certain lady.”

  “Well, I am certainly surprised my uncle even agreed to this. The Earl of Matlock should have been more defy-aunt. Perhaps it would be wise to simply cancel the risqué number before it is too late and replace it with something more socially acceptable. Ah, Father, there you are. What is your opinion of the scandal we shall surely cause tonight?”

  “George, our son seems to believe we are all going to the inferno in a hand-basket tonight because we have included the waltz on our agenda.”

  The senior Darcy was in an ebullient mood, having bent his elbow with his highborn brother-in-law earlier. “I understand your concern, Fitzwilliam, my boy. All the same, I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, that a ball of this kind, given by the Earl of Matlock and us, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. Bloody hell, we are certainly not going to Netherfield (hiccup), excuse me, I mean the Netherworld in any sort of basket, son. The waltz is not wicker (hiccup), excuse me, I mean wicked enough to send us to perdition’s pit. In fact, I am so far from objecting to dancing myself that I shall take this opportunity to solicit my wovely life (hiccup), excuse me, I mean lovely wife for the scandalous waltz.”

  Lady Anne smiled fondly at her slightly foxed husband. When their beloved son sighed and set his jaw, she examined Fitzwilliam’s face closely and tried to understand the true reason for his opposition. “Oh, my dear. Has some other man asked Miss Elizabeth for the last set? Is that the cause of your dilemma?”

  His ploy had not worked. Fitzwilliam Darcy knew when he was beaten, yet he would not stoop so low as to ask for his mother’s or his aunt’s assistance. “No, no. I assure you, if we are to imprudently proceed with this waltzing business, the lady I am courting will be standing up with none other than me. Mother, Father, please excuse me. I have pressing business to which I must attend.”

  As she watched him stride away, Lady Anne shook her head at Fitzwilliam’s stodginess. To what pressing business could you possibly have to attend at a ball? Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you shall be very good, indeed, for my straight-laced son.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had made it the study of his life to avoid situations in which he might appear flawed; and as a perfectionist, he was exceptionally sensitive to criticism and ridicule. He set extremely high standards for himself, derived satisfaction from always being in control, and would not relax until his persistence paid off. I do not want her last dance to be one of mortification. What if I am awkward and have to apologize
instead of attending? What if I often move wrong without being aware of it? I do not wish to be the cause of all the shame and misery a disagreeable partner can give. His youngest sister was his last hope. Anna had performed the music while the dance master instructed the family group the previous year, and Darcy reasoned she could perhaps remember the basics of the waltz and steal away with him for a few moments of rehearsal.

  “Anna, dearest, loveliest sister, remember the time I covered for you when Georgiana’s frog accidentally, er, croaked because of what you did? You toad me you would owe a favour; and since I find myself stuck in the mire tonight, I need you to return the service now.”

  When he had explained his predicament, Anna said, “Fitzwilliam, you are, indeed, a stick in the mud. Just come clean and tell Elizabeth. She is very understanding and will not think poorly of you. I cannot help, because I do not know how to waltz either. I will have to return the favour some other way, some other time. I am sorry, brother.”

  Darcy wished he had other female relatives from whom he could call in furth-er favours, but he was out of options. The prestigious gentleman felt pressed for time. He pressed his fingers against the pressure in his aching head, compressed his lips, and repressed his feelings. The pressing business of pressing someone into assistance had to be suppressed while he pressed on through the oppressive crowd.

  While Elizabeth capered with Ellis Fleming, Darcy danced the same third set with her sister. His depression eased with each fleeting glimpse of an impressive yellow dress, nut-brown curls, and expressive eyes.

  Lizzy Bennet’s dance card was full. She had opened with Colonel Fitzwilliam and stood up with Mr. Bingley for the second set. Her fourth was promised to a naval officer, Captain Rumbold, whom she dreadfully expected would live up to his name. Then she would stand up with the author of A Comedy of Fencing Errors, Mr. Ray Pierre Witt. Following would be the eagerly awaited supper dances, when she could finally be with Darcy. After the meal she was committed to sets with Colonel Myles Forward, Mr. Hugh Mayne, Lieutenant Landon Sand, Viscount Chalcroft, and Mr. Bernard Lorne before she could rejoin Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy for the final dance. As she moved up the set with her current partner, she said, “Mr. Fleming, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”

  “Then ask away, Miss Elizabeth; that is, unless you want to know about Darcy’s behaviour at Cambridge. I will not cry rope on my good friend.”

  “No, sir, I would never expect that of you. Nonetheless, I must admit you have certainly piqued my interest; and I am now wondering what deep, dark secrets you will not reveal. You might, however, be able to appease my curiosity on a different subject because of your family background in the manufacture of timepieces. When the first clock was invented, how did they know to what time to set it?”

  “Ha! A very good question, indeed, Miss Elizabeth; and I am embarrassed to admit I have no good reply. Perhaps they used a times table. Now I have a riddle for you. Tell me how I should refer to a lovely lady who misplaced the watch I recently gave her.”

  “Hmm, my first instinct would be to say late, as she simply must have lost track of time. Though I shudder to even think of referring to her as the ‘late lovely lady.’”

  “No, Miss Elizabeth, I would describe her as a timeless beauty. Speaking of Georgiana, do you know she agreed to stand up with me for not only the first and supper sets but the last as well?”

  “My, my, Mr. Fleming, you will certainly set tongues wagging by dancing together three times this night. I hope you are prepared to tie the knot, for imminent matrimony will be assumed, you know. We shall all then refer to your lovely lady as Mrs. Fleming.”

  “To some, marriage is a word; to others, a sentence. All I will admit is for me, the word has a nice ring to it, as does ‘Mrs. Georgiana Fleming’ and I am prepared.” He patted his coat pocket and smiled.

  Further along the line, Fitzwilliam Darcy asked his partner if she was aware the final set was a waltz. Jane Bennet replied in the affirmative and admitted she was eager to finally put her dance instruction to practical use.

  “Has Miss Elizabeth also learned?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. You need not worry. We were both taught to waltz last season, and we have often practiced since then. Lizzy shall not embarrass you, sir.”

  “Oh, good. Wonderful news, indeed,” he said unenthusiastically. Darcy was so desperate, he was on the verge of asking Miss Bennet to accompany him to an empty room and reacquaint him with the dance.

  Good God! What am I thinking? The scandal of the waltz would be nothing compared to being found in a room alone with the sister of the woman I am courting. I am engaged for the next set with the unbearable wife of my unbearable cousin, and there is no possible way I am seeking Isabelle’s assistance. I would rather stick a needle in my eye than hold that harridan in an embrace. A solution shall surely present itself during supper, and I need to concentrate on a more important dilemma … how, where, and when to propose to Elizabeth tonight. Will such a woman even accept a supposedly genteel gentleman who has not the crucial ability to dance with style and grace?

  The long-awaited supper set arrived, and suave Fitzwilliam Darcy moved across the ballroom floor with unconscious style and grace to claim his lady. He smiled down at her and said, “Miss Elizabeth, I believe you kindly promised to stand up with me for this set. Shall we?” He offered his arm, and Lizzy curled her hand around his sleeve. They were finally together, and Darcy proudly escorted his sweetheart to the line of dancers. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was already in formation with Jane Bennet, and Ellis Fleming and Georgiana Darcy stood in place as well.

  They were all pleasantly surprised to be joined by a very merry Charles Bingley and his partner, who both suddenly stopped laughing and looked rather guilty when they caught sight of Darcy. Bingley glanced at Miss Bennet and the Colonel, and he could not be deceived as to her behaviour to Fitz. Looks appeared on both sides that spoke of a particular regard, and Bingley realized nothing had occurred between himself and Miss Bennet that could justify his own conceited hopes. Although he conceded to his rival for her affection, Bingley was not as heartbroken as perhaps expected. He and his partner delighted in each other’s company; and Charles was very glad to have, at the beginning of the ball, secured her for the all-important last set as well.

  The musicians began to play. Darcy and Elizabeth briefly clasped hands and with that motion became cocooned in their own private world. Unsure which of them initiated each touch, they moved more closely together than the steps required. Shoulders purposely brushed, hands lingered, hips or thighs briefly connected, and eyes remained locked until the last possible moment before separation. Nearby friends and relatives had to speak several times before being acknowledged by the couple.

  “I missed you,” he whispered near her ear as they revolved around one another, both physically and mentally.

  “I missed you as well; although I did as you suggested, Mr. Darcy, and have enjoyed my evening thus far … but not too much. I wish this set would last until the final one. I have no desire for other partners and admit I am very much looking forward to waltzing with you, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. About that … ” They were separated by the movements of the dance, and he did not complete the thought.

  For Darcy and Elizabeth, the two dances seemed to last mere seconds instead of half an hour. Before they knew it, they were walking toward the elegantly set tables for the elaborate supper, although neither had much appetite for the vast array of food available.

  At least three other couples that had just danced the supper set experienced a similar attraction. Miss Darcy and Mr. Fleming had, of course, been in a courtship for several months and would actually become engaged before the night was over. Two other budding relationships had just bloomed during the ball; the growing attachments would prove to be no less binding.

  The friends met at a stylishly set table with eight places. Each gentleman seated the lady with whom he had just danced, leaving the chair next
to her empty until he could return. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Charles Bingley, Ellis Fleming, and Richard Fitzwilliam grinned at one another as they rushed back from the buffet. The gents were buffeted and bumped by other chaps who also balanced glasses of wine and plates of delicacies, all in a desperate hurry to return to their lovely supper partners.

  Jane Bennet looked across the table at her sister with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth said, “Well, Jane, you look very pleased; and if I am not mistaken, you stood up for every set so far. I find it rather diverting, since earlier today you thought you would end up a wallflower tonight. Although my dance card is full, some of the gentlemen have left much to be desired. I certainly do not understand how Captain Rumbold attained his rank and am certain only garden tools rival his intellect. While Mr. Ray Pierre Witt may have been sharp, I believe I foiled his plans to get me alone in a corner. I do hope all your partners thus far have been intelligent, well behaved, and graceful.”

  “Oh, yes, Lizzy. My last partner was especially skilled at the dance, very good-looking, and charming. He inquired if it hurt; and when I asked to what he referred, he said, ‘when you fell from heaven.’ He was very attentive and really has the most marvellous smile.” Jane blushed and added, “He also asked me if I had a map.”

  Georgiana asked, “Why would he need a map in this ballroom?”

  “He said he kept getting lost in my eyes.” Jane sighed and added, “Is he not clever and romantic?”

  The young lady who had just danced the supper set with Charles Bingley snorted and said, “But Miss Bennet, I thought you just stood up with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Surely you are not describing him in such a complimentary manner?”

  “Yes, Miss de Bourgh, of course I am referring to your chivalrous cousin.”

  Anne de Bourgh snorted once more. “Ah, yes, Colonel Stud-muffin strikes again.”