by Glenna Mason
“True, no sense in saving our reputation at Pemberley, only to toss it aside two nights later. That raises our number of potential dancers to twelve.”
“Good math, Bennet,” Darcy joshed. “Now quit worrying. There are only ten dances total at each ball, so . . . “ Darcy pretended to count on his fingers, continuing his jest. “ . . . that means you and I have to donate only two dances a night to Mrs. Bennet and Countess Lydia, one to each.”
“And being gentlemen and kinsmen, we’d request their hand at each ball in any case,” Mr. Bennet said. Then he grinned. “We totally forgot the Count de Loirre. We two might even be excused.”
“Glad that’s solved,” Darcy said, resisting a smirk. “We will do our part of course,” he added more seriously. “I’ll see you at tea in—“ Darcy paused and glanced at the hall clock. “Oh, good. You have a full fifteen minutes now.” They smiled broadly, pleased to be together. Mr. Bennet turned toward the staircase, while Darcy sought out Georgiana and the Matlocks in the music room.
When he entered the room, the Earl and Viscount accosted Darcy. “We’ve been thinking about Mrs. Bennet and Countess Lydia,” the Earl said quietly.
“Oh?” Darcy said, suppressing a smile. “And?”
“We will all dance with them at the balls, so that no one else gets a chance to,” Viscount Miles said with determination. “Otherwise they might embarrass Miss Mary—oh—and the others.”
“Why, Heyburn, what a fine idea. I applaud your foresight. As soon as the dance cards are passed out, we will fill them. At Westboro’s too.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” the Earl answered. “Now see, Viscount, your worries were for nothing.”
“Yes, I see that,” the Viscount admitted, breathing a large sigh of relief. “In the meantime here in the confines of your fine estate, Darcy, the two ladies can be as flamboyant as they choose to be. We shall be sure that Miss Mary and her sisters know that we shall take no offense.”
Now Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going better than expected.
Of course just as things appeared to be calming down, a third horn sounded.
“Wickham decided to come,” Darcy surmised and went to the front door. Just as Darcy reached it, the door flew open and Wickham stood in the entrance with an enormous grin. “Pemberley, at last.”
“Welcome, George. You look very distinguished in your uniform. Please come in.”
Wickham swaggered in, very ecstatic to be in the place he loved best.
“Did you come by carriage or on horseback?”
“Remember the funds that Bingley so generously presented me?”
“Certainly.”
“I bought a handsome bay and a small rig for him to pull. The footman has taken charge of King Rex and the buggy. I’ve only a small case.”
“My closet is yours during your stay, George. Please avail yourself of any trousers, breeches, frock coats, tail coats, shirts and cravats you need.”
“Thank you.”
“Paulie, please escort Mr. Wickham to his room. Tea in ten minutes, cocktails at six, dinner at eight. Join us at your leisure.”
“I’ll be down for cocktails. I would like a long bath and a stroll through your closet first.”
“I’ll advise Allen. Matthews is assigned as your valet. He awaits you in your room.”
“Just like old times.”
“Except—“
“Except?”
“Except that Miss Lydia and the Count are down the hall from you.”
“Darcy, truth be told, I have no interest in Lydia Bennet, Countess of Whatever. The Count did me a favor.”
“Excellent. Till cocktails then.”
*****
“Elizabeth, I have a surprise for you and your sisters,” Darcy said, as he sat beside her on the piano bench, turning the pages, while she played quietly as the others talked.
“Oh?”
“Belated Christmas presents.”
“How thoughtful, Fitzwilliam.”
“Madame DePre has sent one of her most capable designers and two of her best seamstresses to Pemberley. You and your sisters, Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Hurst, if she wishes it, will have two ball gowns designed especially for you, one for the thirty-first and the other by the second.”
“How marvelous. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“We brought our tea dresses, but they are not exactly appropriate for such a formal occasion.”
“And it’s winter now.”
“I was surprised how the temperature seemed to drop precipitously as soon as we passed the county line into Derbyshire.”
“Mademoiselle Eugenie will request each of your presence sometime this afternoon. You will choose your winter fabrics; then she will design the dresses to emphasize your personality and complement your style.”
“You certainly know how to make a lady feel special, Fitzwilliam.”
“Do I? Aside from Georgiana and Anne, you are the first woman I’ve ever hoped to please, Elizabeth. Well, aside from my mother, my aunt, Lady Matlock, and Mrs. Reynolds of course,” he added cheerily.
“What was it, Fitzwilliam? My refusal of your offer to dance?”
“That certainly got my attention,” he said, grinning, “Yet—“
“Yet?”
“Yet I believe that the way your presence filled the room of the Meryton Assembly filled me with desire.”
“Desire?”
“The desire to know such a vibrant young lady.”
“How fortunate we are, my love, that you chose to overlook my rudeness and request a dance with me, not once, but twice.”
“I was the rude one, Elizabeth.”
“But not purposely rude like I was. You didn’t intend for me to hear your insult.”
“And you, my Elizabeth?”
“Well as you know, I was angry and hurt by your ‘tolerable’ comment—I, who considered myself the belle of the evening. So I was pleased to be able to reject your invitation to dance.”
“And—“
“And then I remembered that you danced with Mary and Charlotte. They were so flattered. You gave them such joy. So I decided you must not be so ‘intolerable’ after all.”
“And I asked you to dance . . . “
“Then when you asked me to dance a second time, I felt flattered. You had obviously reconsidered your ‘tolerable’ comment. But you gained my total, unwavering respect, when you sat out the dance because Mary didn’t have a partner.”
“Wouldn’t any gentleman?”
“Are you kidding me? Mr. Bingley maybe—and I mean maybe.”
“He would.”
“Yes, I do believe he would. You and he did chase all over the countryside searching for us.”
“Most gentlemen would do the same.”
”Maybe, but your first kiss solidified my total respect for you.”
“That kiss?”
“Yes. We were alone. I offered you a kiss. You respected and loved me enough not to take advantage of the situation.”
“You are so perceptive, my Elizabeth. I loved you so much that it was the only kind of kiss I could offer you.”
“Why?”
“If you chose to reject my offer of marriage, I wanted you to remember my love, not my passion.”
“And on our wedding night,” Elizabeth began. “Love and passion unite,” they said together.
“I look forward with great anticipation to our life of passion, Fitzwilliam, but I’ll always remember the sweet love of my first kiss.”
“Thank you, my lovely bride-to-be.”
Elizabeth hit a loud, cacophonous chord. “Your turn, Mary.”
*****
Ten minutes later Mademoiselle Eugenie requested Elizabeth’s presence in the south parlor, where bolts of satin, silk and velvet, in all colors of the rainbow, awaited her.
Elizabeth, remembering the Christmas season, chose a rose satin and an emerald green velvet. Fifteen minutes later, she enter
ed the music room and said, “Jane, the mademoiselle is ready for you to select the material for your gowns now.”
Elizabeth went over to Darcy, who lounged by the fire, listening to Mary play Beethoven. “You’re tired,” he said.
“You knew.”
“Instinctively. Go up and rest. Have a soothing bath. I’ll see you at six.”
After Kitty, Mary and Louisa had all been fitted, Darcy sent Paulie to knock on Mrs. Bennet’s door and, half an hour later, on Lydia’s. By five, all the ladies were on their way to two new dresses for upcoming balls.
Georgiana, Anne and Lady Matlock had ordered from the modiste a month ago. Their gowns were upstairs in their armoires.
Mrs. Reynolds, always attune to Darcy’s preferences from the time of his youth, purposefully set the place cards with Lydia at one end of the table, next to Georgiana, with the Count opposite her and Jane beside her. Mrs. Bennet was seated next to Darcy, across from Elizabeth and next to her husband. This allowed the other guests to have pleasant conversations without interruption, except for the occasional screech by Mrs. Bennet or the shout down the table by Lydia.
“I’m to have a red gown and a blue one, Mr. Bennet. Which shall I wear to the Pemberley ball?”
“The materials, my dear?”
“Oh, silk with lace.”
“Then I’d say it hardly matters. Why not decide at your whim the night of the ball?”
“I’ll do that.”
Lydia, who had somehow heard this exchange, yelled, “I’ve a blue velvet and a red silk, Mama. Let’s wear the same color each night. We can be twins.” She giggled.
Even Mrs. Bennet was disconcerted by the suggestion. She had no interest in competing with her teenage daughter. “I think not,” she sneered under breath, now planning to discover which color Lydia would wear to the Pemberley ball and choose the other color for herself.
“There. The color is decided,” she said to Mr. Bennet, who frowned, once again not comprehending what his wife was thinking.
*****
Viscount Miles Heyburn was very enchanted by the raven haired Mary Bennet. Even he wasn’t sure why. She was a novice rider; riding was his favorite pastime. But Mary was willing to learn. She was not as pretty as Jane, who was taken, or as vivacious as Elizabeth, who was also taken. Kitty was a little young for his tastes, and anyway she too was taken. Thank goodness that outrageous Lydia was taken.
His brother Mason would no longer potentially need his financial assistance in the future. Once he married Anne de Bourgh, Mason would be richer that he. So it came about that he, Miles Heyburn, could choose as he pleased, and Mary was the one he pleased to choose.
Why? He considered this question and found his answer. It was trifold: her sweetness, her versatility and her potential. Mary’s eyes were hazel with long lashes. Her skin was porcelain and her smile the most amiable he’d ever seen. Mary was quite bright, well-read and a fine pianist. She would be a wonderful companion, because she truly wished to be loved.
Miles realized that her position as the middle child, between four outgoing sisters, had thwarted Mary. As a quiet, gentle lady, she had never had a chance to shine. But already in his presence, due to his interest, her charms had awakened.
Viscount Miles had already spoken to his father, the Earl. He would request Mary’s hand after the New Year’s Eve ball, as long as his parents, who were to meet Mary at the ball, agreed.
Miles consulted with Mason, then Darcy, who referred him to Mr. Bennet.
“Lydia and Mrs. Bennet have full dance cards, Viscount. They will be fully occupied. We will introduce Mrs. Bennet to your parents at the beginning of the evening. I’ll insure that they do not meet again. And, son, no one need know that Lydia is related to Mary.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good luck on your suit. Mary is precious to me. I wish her every happiness. I believe you will deliver that happiness.”
“Thank you, sir.”
December 31
Pemberley Ball
Darcy had sent riders to Father Parsons—Darcy loved that name—Baron Bartlett, Sir Harry Richardson and Bishop Kingsley appealing to them to request a dance with Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, Countess of Loirre, immediately on entering the ballroom.
Darcy even sent each an assignment sheet—Parsons and Bartlett with Mrs. Bennet at his ball, Richardson and Kingsley were allotted Lydia. Then at the Earl of Westboro’s they were to switch the rotation. Darcy explained that he realized that he was making a strange plea and thanked them heartily ahead of time for their forbearance.
Darcy had no doubt that the four would enjoy countless hours over their cognac, cigars and whist revisiting his odd maneuver. Let them have their fun he decided; they deserved it. It was well worth their amusement at his expense, if Elizabeth was spared one moment of chagrin.
Of course the Pemberley cadre already intended to fill the remaining slots on the dance cards. All went according to Darcy’s specifications. Mr. Bennet and Colonel Fitzwilliam were excused from the receiving line to keep the two ladies under surveillance and strict regulation, before the dancing began. The Count proved himself a very sensible, sensitive man, who understood their dilemma and helped keep Mrs. Bennet and Lydia occupied, conspiring with Mr. Bennet to send them back upstairs to add a jewel or to re-pin an escaped lock.
A drum roll. The dancing began. Mr. Bennet led his wife to the floor, one moment after she was introduced to the Earl and Countess of Westfield. A relieved Viscount Miles escorted Mary to the line just behind his parents. Mary and his parents would become somewhat acquainted during the reel, but more so, when they dined together after the supper dance. So far life was good.
Wickham avoided Lydia and her count. He blessed the latter for changing the course his life had previously taken. Wickham truly loved Pemberley. It felt like home to him. He intended to dance the night away.
Just before the supper dance, Darcy signaled for the now familiar drum roll. He stepped up to the music stand and tapped with the conductor’s baton. “Thank you, friends, for being with me tonight to celebrate my betrothal to the lovely Elizabeth Bennet. We are to be married March seventh at St George’s, London. Of course you are all welcomed, especially my cousin, Anne de Bourgh, and her fiancé, Mason Heyburn, who will join us at the altar in a double wedding ceremony. Please come. You are this moment formally invited.” All clapped; some cheered; a few hooted.
He mouthed, “I love you, Elizabeth” and stepped down.
Darcy led Elizabeth to the floor as the strains of a Viennese waltz filled the air. Many couples joined them in swirling about the room. Others watched as the dancers twirled about the ballroom. Some few went on in to find their table for supper.
Suddenly a shriek filled the air.
“Was that your mother?”
“Not this time.”
The music and the dancing stopped. The Baroness of Whitlock was shaking and whimpering. Darcy and Elizabeth hurried to her side.
“Baroness, are you ill?” Darcy asked.
“No, Fitzwilliam. My pearls—they are gone.”
“Gone? Surely not. Let’s search the floor.”
“When did you last remember having them?” Elizabeth sensibly inquired.
“Oh—I don’t exactly know.”
“Are you sure you wore them, my dear?” the Baron asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought I did. I’m so shaken. Maybe not.” She looked around, suddenly mortified. Everyone was staring her way in silence. “I’m so sorry. Please resume your dance.”
“No. We need to investigate this,” Darcy said quietly.
He called to the room. “Let’s go into supper now.”
Returning his attention back to the Baroness, he asked, “Could you please check your jewel casket, Baroness? I’ll have the footmen search the ballroom and the hallways.”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam. Thank you.”
“Darcy,” the Baron whispered, “I’m sorry to disrupt your evening like this. Eleanor is
so forgetful. I’m not sure she even brought her pearls. I didn’t notice them on her tonight, when we were dancing.”
One person, who just happened to be purposely standing nearby, was happy to hear that statement.
At first, supper was somewhat subdued in light of the news that the Baroness might be missing her pearls. But then the guests remembered that rumors had been rampant lately about jewel thieves. They seemed to be residing in all corners of the country. So it was hardly surprising that Derbyshire would not be exempt.
All in all, as the wine flowed, the atmosphere quickly lightened. A little drama never hurt a party—well, as long as it was someone else’s pearls. And when the music commenced anew at eleven, gaiety returned in full force.
At the stroke of midnight all dancing ceased and “Happy New Year” resounded through the ballroom and into the hallways, where footmen and maids stepped to the doors to join the guests in ringing in the cheer of a new beginning.
“I’m sorry the Gardiners couldn’t be here,” Darcy said as the orchestra bells pealed.
“Two balls were not an appropriate fare for small children. But next year they can come for Christmas for gifts and sledding and snowballs and snowmen. They’ll love it. We don’t really get this kind of snow in Hertfordshire or London.”
“Yes, several of the guests are staying over. The snowfall increased during the evening. Those not close by will leave tomorrow after breakfast. It is safer in the daylight.”
Luckily for Mary, the Westfields decided to chance the drive home. “We want to relax and sleep late in the morning,” the Earl said.
“Be careful.”
“If it is too precarious, Arnold will turn around and bring us back.”
Darcy explained that in anticipation of severe weather they had opened all the guest rooms, including the ones on the third floor. “Come back if you need to. We’ve plenty of rooms.”
At the stroke of midnight, Miles Heyburn had proposed to Mary. She had accepted. His parents were pleased. They liked both their future daughters, and their close connection to Pemberley would keep their sons nearby, at least a portion of the year.
“Mason and Anne are going to live in London, Miles. Where will you and Mary reside?” Darcy asked, as the two headed up the stairs after the last carriage drove away. The ladies had retired a half hour earlier.