In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Ten Masquerade

The Cole family was a Derbyshire staple for nearly as long as the Darcys. Only slightly less wealthy and with acreage roughly three-fourths the size of Pemberley, the Coles were the second largest landowners of the region. As one of the foremost landed gentry for centuries, the Coles—even without Sir Walter Cole’s honorary title gained as a reward for bravery during the Anglo-Dutch War of 1780—were a prestigious family and their home reflected their prominence. Not quite as grand as Pemberley, Melcourt Hall was nonetheless an imposing structure and currently extravagantly festooned and ablaze with light.

Caroline Bingley did not approach tonight’s ball with the thinly veiled contempt felt at the Meryton assemblies. She had never resided at Pemberley during the winter season so had not attended one of Sir Cole’s masquerades, but she knew the family’s reputation as a distinguished one. Moreover, the opportunity to dazzle and further advance her fame was always grasped onto with vigor. One never knew what possibilities could arise at such an affair.

Kitty was innocently exuberant. The thought of dancing and being amid a festival atmosphere was enough to enthuse, and despite the caution impressed upon her over the past week as to proper society behavior, she was musing on little besides the potential fun to be had. Georgiana felt residuals of nervousness, but excitement had overtaken the jitters. Warm, encouraging smiles from Richard greatly calmed her fears. Jane Bingley, much like Lizzy the year before, felt the need to present herself in the most positive light feasible. Charles Bingley’s residence was recent, but with the hope of constructing the foundation for a future in the community, this Derbyshire societal fête was step one in establishing those roots.

The annual masque truly was an event with a capital E. Peers of the realm and elite gentry from all over Derbyshire as well as a handful from nearby Cheshire, Nottinghamshire, and South Yorkshire attended. Hazardous weather often influenced the resultant luminaries, but never was the ball a failure. Thankfully, the climate over the past several days had mellowed somewhat, with no fresh snow falling and the skies fairly clear. It remained bitterly cold, but this fact inhibited no one from traveling nor affected the abundant display of female flesh in stylish gowns. Rather, it provided the excuse to don fine furs as an additional example of one’s wealth and prestige.

Fashions alter during a year, both men’s and women’s. Hairstyles change, trendy accessories vary, topics of gossip fluctuate, dance techniques and music transform, entertainments differ, and even the privileged bon ton suffer vacillating membership. Certain traditions do persevere, however, and one was the apparent necessity for the youthful single ladies to collect strategically, so as to chatter about the latest happenings while unobtrusively observing the arrivals. Strict, unwritten codes of etiquette meant that the now married ladies who had contributed to the rumor mongering last year now stood with their peers. This in no way diminished the group, as there were always new additions to take their place. Thus a knot of glitteringly dressed and adorned debutantes on the prowl stood in several loose clusters about the foyer edges.

“Oh! Here comes Miss Vernor!” Miss Hattie Kennan declared. All eyes turned to the doorway with enthusiasm as the Vernors, older and younger, completed their greetings with the Coles. Miss Bertha broke away from her parents, smile brilliant and left hand extended as she dashed to meet her friends. Finally putting aside her acute disappointment and anguish over losing Mr. Darcy, Bertha had discovered a wealth of suitors clamoring for her attention. The past year had been quite a delightful one for the stunned young lady, and her maneuvering mother, as the prospective choices multiplied. Sadly for Mr. Bates and Mr. Sitwell, Bertha was not inclined toward either. Rather, she had immersed herself in the exhilarating amusement to be found with a myriad of beaus, waiting patiently for the right one. That place was eventually inhabited by the eminently worthy and deliciously handsome Baronet Niles Ramsey from Nottinghamshire, the engagement having been announced just last month.

“Dear Bertha!” Miss Astin Fairholm cried. “I have been dying to talk to you and see the ring! Look! Oh, how beautiful.”

Congratulations and swooning persisted for quite some time, other friends meandering by to gush over the ring and her conquest. Miss Vernor was not the only newly affianced, Miss Ewell and Miss Irvine also receiving and accepting proposals in recent months. Of course, as exciting as secured engagements, and they most assuredly were since every last maiden there dreamed of little else, the discussions involved a glut of intriguing material with voices frequently colliding.

“My brother tells me that Lord Blaisdale is coming to the Masque,” Miss Amy Hughes offered into the clamor, to the united gasp of each girl.

“Are you certain?”

“Here in Derbyshire?”

“You tease!”

“I think I shall faint!”

“Have you seen him?”

“Is he not yet in mourning?”

“Is he alone?”

The questions and exclamations surged forth, Miss Hughes flushing at the barrage of attention. This was truly momentous news, as she had known prior to breaking it, but the response quite took her breath away. It was several minutes before anyone gave her the chance to answer.

“He is reportedly a guest of Lord Mather for the Christmas holiday, thus invited to the Masque. No, I have not seen him. I do believe his sister is accompanying him, and their mourning is not officially over, but I am sure they will adhere to the proper customs.”

John Clay-Powell, the Earl of Blaisdale, was one of hundreds of titled peers of the Realm known by name and reputation. No one could possibly list all of them. Certainly those ladies currently gathered at Melcourt Hall had no interest in the vast number of royalty, or non-royalty for that matter, who ran the country. It was a perhaps sad reality that immature females of society were abundantly fascinated by the trappings that wealth and prestige provided, but bored by how that wealth was acquired. Therefore, it was only those noble gentlemen of available status who piqued their interest. Lord Blaisdale was one such man.

New to his title and seat in the House of Lords as of eight months ago, Lord Blaisdale was a childless widower in his late thirties with an enormous estate in Staffordshire; a country home in Fife, Scotland; a townhouse in London; tremendous affluence and prominence; and considerable magnetism and attractiveness. If the murmurings of his womanizing, gambling, and borderline roguish behavior had reached their innocent ears, each young lady chose to ignore it. It was an accepted fact that a man in Lord Blaisdale’s position needed only one thing: a wife. And nearly every girl there judged herself up to fulfilling that post.

Georgiana and Kitty alighted from the Darcy carriage with sparkling eyes darting everywhere at once in a vain attempt to absorb it all. Two years ago the fashionable ball gown choice had been white. Not so this year. Color abounded in every hue imaginable with elaborate masks prominently veiling many faces. No real attempt at disguise was intended, the embellishments an amusement. Strains of music filtered through the raised voices and laughter. Crowds of bodies occupied nearly every available space with the line of carriages without visible end. Not a single fireplace burned, a supplementary heat source unnecessary even on this chill night in early January.

Lord and Lady Matlock were found in the parlor, George and Richard gradually drifting to join them with numerous halts along the path to engage in conversation. It had been three years since Colonel Fitzwilliam had been able to attend the Masque, many of the Derbyshire residents having not seen him in years. Dr. Darcy was remembered by dozens of old friends and anxiously accosted by strangers who merely desired meeting the legendary, world traveling, eccentric Darcy.

Richard suffered a momentary panic when Georgiana, with Kitty in tow, was waylaid immediately after passing through the formal reception line by Miss Vernor and Miss Hughes. Cognizant of the promise he had made to his cousin, he fully intended to be a chaperone, of sorts; but it quickly became clear that she was managing fine. George kept one eye centered on his niece no matter where she and Kitty migrated.

The young ladies sincerely welcomed Miss Darcy into the fold, thrilled to have a new member and confident in the indisputable reality that she was of the highest class. Miss Bennet was welcomed equally without question, few even remembering in the sprightliness of the moment that she was of a lower class. As Darcy had predicted to Lizzy, these inconsequentials disintegrated in time. This was especially true in what was, for all its glamour, nonetheless a country gathering far removed from the inherent snobbishness of a London society event.

The Bingleys arrived shortly thereafter. After long years of association with Darcy, Bingley was passably acquainted with several of the male citizens of Derbyshire. The short months of his and Jane’s residence had not afforded them the opportunity to socialize too often except for a handful of dinner invitations with prominent families near Hasberry Hall and the village of Winster. Jane’s exposure to the women of the region was limited to the aforementioned local couples and the friends of Lizzy, who had embraced her readily as Mrs. Darcy’s sister, but also on her own merits. Gerald and Harriet Vernor greeted them effusively, including Caroline in the welcome, and each took a Bingley under their wing for the evening.

While the single ladies giggled and gossiped, the bachelors surveyed their prospective dance partners with glee. Naturally there were the older gentlemen who had mastered the giddy emotions of youth; they appraised from a respectable distance with outward indifference and generally tended to favor the slightly older unattached females who had also regulated their flightiness. Nonetheless, the groups of excitable single men grew with each passing year and were more than adequately numbered to squire the energized girls.

A barely discernable ripple passed through the company, a signal from who knew where, that the dancing was about to begin. Brothers sought sisters and vice versa, as a way to be properly introduced and initiate conversation with those of the opposite sex.

Georgiana, to her shocked delight, found herself amid a thick cluster of admirers. Her innocence and sheltered existence did not prepare her for the full impact of being a Darcy. As her brother had for years been the prime bull of Derbyshire, Georgiana was the prized heifer. This would have been the case regardless of her semblance, but, again like her brother, Georgiana’s physical beauty heightened the attraction. There was not a man in the place unaffected by her presence.

“Brother,” began Miss Hughes, “allow me to introduce Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet. This is my brother, Mr. Avery Hughes, and my cousin Mr. Tyndale.” Bows and curtseys all around, Kitty dimpling flirtatiously and Georgiana shyly flushing.

“Mr. Hughes, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Georgiana said. “How are you enjoying Cambridge?”

“Very much, Miss Darcy. Of course, I am rather obligated to respond positively or my father will chastise me for not embracing my studies.”

Georgiana laughed. “Well, I do hope the sentiment is largely true. My brother speaks fondly of his time at University. Quite makes me jealous at times, in fact.”

Mr. Tyndale interjected with a smile. “It is a pity females cannot attend, I believe. Certainly would liven up the occasional stuffiness of the atmosphere.”

“Be careful what you say aloud, Mr. Tyndale,” Miss Vera Stolesk declared with a flick of her folded fan. “Such scandalous talk has no place at a ball.”

Mr. Tyndale bowed her direction. “Forgive me, madam. Permit me to beg your forgiveness by complimenting you on your ensemble. Lovely mask. I hardly recognized you until hearing your voice.”

“Oh, posh Rydell! Quit flirting so outrageously. You have known Miss Stolesk since you were a baby!” It was his sister, Miss Hilary Tyndale teasing, the group laughing as Mr. Tyndale again bowed with a flourish.

“Miss Bennet, how are you enjoying Derbyshire?”

“It has been delightful, Mr. Blake, thank you. Primarily I have been visiting my sister and snowed in at Pemberley, but that has allotted me time to play with my nephew.”

“You have unfortunately arrived at the worst time of the year for sightseeing.”

“But at the perfect time to attend a Masque!” Kitty retorted with a giggle.

“Indeed, and most fortunate for us.” This minor flattery was uttered quietly by a young man yet introduced: a tall, dark haired gentleman of twenty years standing silently at the edge of the group. He smiled, deep dimples flashing and several female knees instantly grew weak.

“Mr. Falke, you have an annoying habit of sneaking!” Miss Trent declared with a dramatic hand over her heart.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Trent. I did not wish to intrude unwarranted, but did wish to make the acquaintance of these two lovely ladies if at all possible.” Georgiana blushed prettily, Kitty boldly flashing her own devastating dimples in his direction.

“Subtle, Mr. Falke,” Miss Vernor laughed. “This is my dear friend Miss Georgiana Darcy and her sister-in-law Miss Katherine Bennet. Ladies, Mr. Anthony Falke of Haddison Manor in Chapel-en-le-Frith.”

“That is in the High Peak District, Miss Bennet, which I am grieved to overhear you have not been so fortunate as to see.”

“As am I, Mr. Falke. Luckily my sister, Mrs. Darcy, will be residing in Derbyshire for many years to come, so perhaps someday I will be fortunate enough to travel.”

“Let us pray this is so.” He smiled again, turning to Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, the pleasure to make your acquaintance is profound. My father speaks highly of Mr. Darcy. I have had the pleasure of meeting your esteemed brother on two occasions. My congratulations on the new addition to your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He turned again to Kitty. “Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of the first dance?”

“I do believe Miss Bennet has promised the first dance to me.” A surprised Kitty glanced upward into the face of Colonel Fitzwilliam, her gloved hand automatically clasping the larger one offered. “She has promised me only one, however, so perhaps the second set will be gifted to you, Mr. Falke, if you ask so appropriately once again. Miss Bennet?”

She hesitated for another second, Richard gravely observing with only the hint of a smile.

“I will happily wait upon Miss Bennet’s pleasure. As long as my name appears upon her dance card at least once I shall be satisfied.”

Kitty gazed into Mr. Falke’s undeterred eyes, her coquettish nature rising to the fore. “The second set is yours, Mr. Falke, if you wish it.” He bowed gallantly, dimples making another brief appearance before moving away.

“Well, well! These evenings always start with a dazzle.” George stood behind Georgiana, grinning as he extended one hand. “Miss Darcy, you promised to dance with your decrepit uncle first so as not to shame me later in the evening when my ancient brain can no longer recall the steps. Gentlemen, I regret I must steal my niece away. Shall give you all time to reconnoiter and plan further attacks. Draw straws amongst yourselves for the hand of the assembled ladies. Miss Vernor, Miss Hughes, quite charming. I am breathless in the sight of all this beauty.” He bowed politely. “Miss Darcy, shall we?”

“Uncle,” Georgiana whispered as they maneuvered toward the dance floor, “I have quite a good memory and am sure that neither Kitty nor I promised our dances! Is this a plot of my oppressive brother’s to keep me from enjoying the company of other gentlemen?”

George laughed. “Not at all my dear! This is a scheme devised by the good Colonel and me with the opposite effect, which would likely aggravate your oppressive brother.” She looked at him suspiciously. “You see, every eye will be on you and Miss Kitty. You are two of the surprises of the night. The mystery girls who have sparked the interest of every eligible male in the room. We are two of them, so understand how these emotions work. You are a Darcy, which instantly excites them, plus you are beautiful. Miss Kitty is an enigma, also beautiful, and the sister of Mrs. Darcy, who created such a wave last year. Now they will observe you with increased engrossment as you both glide so elegantly about the floor. By the time you reach the edges after this set, you will have every man engaging you. You, my sweet, and Miss Kitty will not sit down for the rest of the evening, I can assure you.”

They took their places in line, Georgiana blushing adorably. George bowed, Richard doing the same toward Kitty from their location three couples away. The notes of the allemande began, the partners stepping to meet each other, as George continued, “Of course, this likely would have been the case without our interference, and so it was most probably a ploy concocted out of selfishness so that the Colonel and I could dance with two of the prettiest ladies in the house.”

Georgiana laughed, a musical sound reaching the ears of many a spellbound lad standing nearby as George had presumed. “You, Uncle, are a tease and a fibber. I think this ploy was to heighten your own intrigue amongst the eligible women! You snared partners who could not refuse so that the scrutinizing ladies will see how debonair and graceful you two are. No one will refuse either of you from here on out!”

George grinned, laying one bony finger alongside his nose. “Entirely too clever for your own good, Miss Darcy. Since we now understand each other, let us show these people how it is done!”

Whether the tactic had any bearing whatsoever, who knows? Dancing partners were in abundance for all folks involved. George and Richard did sit out for a set or two as the night progressed. Kitty and Georgiana did not.

The arrival of Lord Blaisdale occurred while the girls were dancing the second set: Georgiana with Mr. Avery Hughes and Kitty with Mr. Falke. Therefore, they missed the spectacle.

The aristocratic trio consisting of Lord Mather; his betrothed, the Lady Sybil Clay-Powell; and her brother, Lord Blaisdale; entered the glittering foyer of Melcourt Hall without overt fanfare, but the clustered guests paused as surely as if a trumpet had sounded. Although Lord Mather as a near neighbor was the invited guest, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the presence of the higher ranked and well-known Earl of Blaisdale was the star attraction.

Dressed in the sober black of mourning, the man was an imposing figure. Standing at an even six feet, burly built with a slight tendency toward heaviness, Lord Blaisdale had wholly inherited the traits of a Nordic ancestry. Thick hair so blonde as to be nearly white was worn long and tied with a ribbon in the back, narrow eyes a striking pale green spaced closely aside a broad nose, pale skin, high cheekbones, prominent eyebrow ridges, and full lips perpetually lifted with an expression of amusement or perhaps constant derision completed the picture of an icy northern origin. Yet the features combined beautifully, and to claim that he was merely handsome would be an understatement.

His sister was equally arresting. Not much shorter than her brother and every inch as Nordic in coloring and physical features, she was a beauty long sought after by dozens of suitors. Darcy knew her and had briefly considered her, but aside from the fact that she would likely not have returned the interest as his income was not up to the standards she desired, he found her to be cold and superior. Even then, always in fact, Darcy had sought a woman of passion and liveliness. Lady Sybil Clay-Powell did not possess those traits. It was Lord Mather who had finally won her hand, undoubtedly due to his supreme income and title. Unfortunately, the planned summer wedding had been postponed as a result of her father’s death.

The three of them entered in a stately fashion, all dressed in colors of mourning. Rules of mourning were vague other than the requirement for sober colors and minimal decoration to garments, only nominal entertaining for a period of at least six months and up to two years in the case of widows, and public appearances only if vitally important. Conventions of grief were often put aside out of necessity, such as the widow or widower who needed to remarry due to income essentials or for the care of parentless children. Hasty remarriages and renewal of social engagements may have been frowned upon and gossiped about, but were generally overlooked if the cause was legitimate and decorum maintained.

Therefore, the appearance of the Clay-Powells, whose father had now been deceased for eight months, was not fodder even for a minor rumble except for those inevitable old-fashioned folks who relish finding fault with just about anything. The excitement in mingling with persons of such luminosity outweighed any vague feelings of improper behavior and the aloof trio quickly found themselves surrounded by dozens.

Caroline Bingley sat on a settee in a parlor located away from direct view of the foyer amid a group of women conversing quietly. She affected a pose of detached indifference, but sitting serenely with a cluster of married women was not precisely to her taste. Caroline may have had snobbery perfected as an art form, but she did enjoy dancing, friendly gossip, and witty repartee with handsome gentlemen.

Providentially, just as she was about to yawn from boredom, she noticed a trio of ladies known to her from London society crossing a far hallway heading toward the ballroom. With a murmured excuse to Jane, she stood and gracefully steered toward the direction taken by her friends.

It was a ghostly impression of being watched that caused her steps to pause and she glanced over her shoulder toward the foyer.

Her breath caught at the pair of vivid green eyes fixed upon her. Suddenly as if in a dream where the press of bodies disappeared into thin air, Caroline’s only awareness was of the regal presence bearing down upon her.

“Miss Bingley, what an absolutely exquisite delight it is to see you here. I had no idea I would be blessed by the miracle of your presence, but I am thrilled beyond comprehension.”

“Lord Blaisdale. Surely the pleasure is all mine.”

He smiled, the gesture the merest lift to the corners of his mouth, and bowed slightly as he raised her fingers to his cool lips. “I assure you, that is not the truth.”

His pale eyes boldly swept over her face, moving on brazenly to inventory the rest of her body. Caroline felt an unaccountable flare of heat rising, her mind both numb with shock and acutely aware.

She opened her mouth to speak, although words seemed to fail her. Fortunately for Caroline, the awkward encounter was interrupted.

“Caroline! What a wonder. We were hoping you were planning to attend!”

Lord Blaisdale released Caroline’s hand, the flicker of anger that crossed his features gone as rapidly as it came. Caroline jerked, turning to the speaker, one of her friends, Miss Fay Cross, who not surprisingly was gazing intently and with hope at Lord Blaisdale, as were the other two young ladies in her wake.

Lord Blaisdale smoothly excused himself, leaving Caroline to deal with a fount of questions she was unwilling and unable to answer. Attempting to ignore the tingling sensation of being watched and the bizarre currents his gaze roused did not aid the restoration of her haughty tranquility.

The man unnerved her. He always had. It was a feeling that in and of itself was unsettling and actually made her angry. Caroline prided herself on being in control of her emotions and never ruffled.

She first met Lord Blaisdale, then the Viscount Monthorpe, at a dinner party in Town four seasons ago. He was married at the time, thus dismissed and invisible as far as Caroline was concerned. She had heard of the Clay-Powell family, naturally, their wealth and power too vast to be ignored, but with the only son wedded he simply was not a topic of interest to the socially grasping women of the ton. That he was handsome could not be denied, but her gaze was riveted on Mr. Darcy to the point of nearly excluding everyone else, especially an unavailable man. The only reason he entered her consciousness at all was due to the pointed stares directed her way all evening.

For the next two years, she would encounter him and his timid wife at various events. Always she felt his eyes upon her, examining as one would a fascinating piece of art with cryptic meanings discernible only to the artist. Whenever they happened to be at a function together, he inevitably incorporated into her group, welcomed wholeheartedly by everyone of course, and occupied her in direct conversation with his strange penetrating eyes. Caroline was not stupid and understood that he was intrigued by her. From anyone else, especially Mr. Darcy, she would have responded with perfected coquettishness. Instead, she was merely annoyed at his rudeness and impropriety in engaging her in unwanted conversations.

Only once did she chance upon him after his wife’s death.

It was the middle of August in 1816, weeks before her hopes would come crashing down upon her head when Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet. That horrid event was future, however, and Caroline was attending a symphony performance with her brother, sister and Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. The appearance of John Clay-Powell, the Viscount Monthorpe, less than three months after his wife’s untimely demise was cause for a minor scandal. Talk rippled through the assembly, even the generally regulated and tight-lipped Mr. Darcy scowling and verbalizing his moral disgust. It was no great secret that the marriage between Lady Susanna Knowles and John Clay-Powell was one of social arrangement, but this was typical and no reason to ignore rules of decorum.

When Lord Monthorpe approached, Darcy’s scorn was reserved but apparent nonetheless. Bingley was confused, having no idea why they were being addressed in the first place and not sure how to act under the strange circumstances; Mr. Hurst was partially inebriated as usual and Louisa embarrassed; but none of that truly mattered as Lord Monthorpe offered only brief greetings, focusing the longest on Caroline with a lingering kiss to her gloved knuckles and prolonged stare. Darcy’s scowl deepened, not due to any affection for Miss Bingley, but some actions were simply not right no matter who was the recipient.

Caroline maintained her aloof demeanor, curtseying gracefully and ignoring the bewildering stirrings evoked by his bizarre intensity. Any attempt to understand the situation faded when Mr. Darcy urbanely stepped in with an offered arm, brusquely extending his condolences for Monthorpe’s loss. It was a pointed reminder of impudent behavior that even a notorious rogue like the Viscount could not ignore. He bowed politely, departing the scene but clearly irritated by Darcy’s interference. Caroline was left unsettled, as always when the Viscount gazed upon her so pointedly, but she rapidly disregarded the negative emotions in the rising hope over what she perceived as jealous interest from Mr. Darcy.

In the year since, Caroline had spared no thought for Lord Blaisdale. His name was uttered numerous times in gossipy circles, but no more than many other gentlemen of prestige and availability. Caroline’s focus became firmly planted upon Sir Dandridge, the faint fluttering within her body elicited by his touch pleasant but governable. Now, within the space of a few minutes, after one brief touch and a searing look from a pair of green eyes, her insides were surging. Her world was again rocked, but rather than the previous displeasure, she discovered her mind spinning with possibility.

Kitty was having the time of her life. Always vivacious and naturally congenial, she readily made friends among those humble Derbyshire youth who accepted her regardless of her rumored low station. Naturally there were a number of haughty socialites who refused to acknowledge those beneath them, even if they did arrive with family connections of the highest caliber, but they in no way dampened the overall spirit of merriment. Besides, Kitty was blessed with a general naiveté and natural nescience to events beyond her immediate sphere. Since dance partners clamored for her favor and pauses found her in the midst of lively clusters of young people, she had no reason to fret over murmurings from the imperious.

“What part of Hertfordshire do you dwell in, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Falke asked. His socially allotted two dance sets were passed, much to his annoyance, but that did not mean he could not converse with Kitty as much as possible.

“Our estate, Longbourn, is near Meryton, Mr. Falke.”

“Oh! Meryton! We have passed through your quaint village many times on our way to my uncle’s cottage!” Miss Vera Stolesk declared with enthusiasm. “You remember, Alicia, do you not?” She turned to her cousin, Lady Alicia Nash, laying a hand on her arm. “We paused there two summers ago to water the horses. When the bridle broke. Anyway, we visited this delightful confectionary to pass the time and enjoyed these gooseberry pastries that were simply to die for!”

“Yes, I do recall that. Oh, the pastries were divine.”

“You must mean Mr. Janssen’s shop. He is Dutch and creates true marvels. My mother is particularly fond of his treats, to Papa’s dismay!” Kitty giggled at the understatement.

“Last summer we begged Father to stop, but he was anxious to reach our destination.” Miss Stolesk continued. “I was quite cross about that and pouted as prettily as I could, but he would not be swayed!” Several laughs followed that statement, especially as Miss Stolesk demonstrated the adorable pout.

“I would surely never be able to deny you anything after such an expression, Miss Stolesk.” Mr. Geoffrey Teddington offered with a florid bow, Miss Vera fluttering her lashes playfully.

“You must join us this summer, Miss Bennet.” Lady Alicia stated firmly.

“Oh yes! You must!” Miss Stolesk emphatically agreed.

“Our family owns a country cottage north of Stevenage and we spend each summer there, after the season in London—days upon days of horseback riding, picnics by the river, strolls along the country lanes, and evening soirees. It is my favorite time of the year.”

“Would it not be an inconvenience?” Kitty asked politely, vainly trying to keep the excitement from creeping into her voice.

Miss Stolesk waved her hand breezily with a shake of her head, Lady Alicia answering, “Gracious no! We have people in and out all summer long! Father goes for the shooting, declaring that the birds are far and away the best in Hertfordshire.” Her tone clearly indicating her disinterest in the subject while the young men all nodded sagely in agreement with Lord Nash’s assessment. “Mother paints and grows orchids, an award winning member of the Orchid Society you see, while we frolic and amuse ourselves in any way possible. It is decided then!” She briskly declared with a clap of hands. “Miss Bennet will join us. If, that is, you believe your father will allow it?”

The truth was Kitty had no idea if Mr. Bennet would allow such an excursion, but she refused to face that horrid possibility. Smiles greeted her affirmative from numerous sources, several of the gentlemen already glowing with delight as the Earl of Stevenage’s summer extravaganzas were famous and widely attended. The “cottage” humbly described by Lady Alicia was in point of fact an enormous manor rivaling Pemberley.

“Miss Darcy,” Miss Vera Stolesk interjected, Georgiana startling and flushing instantly as a dozen set of eyes alit on her face. “You must join us as well. The more the merrier as they say!”

“Well, I…” she stammered, blush deepening, which the enchanted men thought endearing. “I cannot promise… my brother, well, he is… protective, to say the least.”

Lady Alicia laughed, clicking her folded fan lightly onto Georgiana’s hand. “Oh, yes! We all know the reputation of the formidable Mr. Darcy! I will talk to my father. He is quite persuasive and knows Mr. Darcy well. I am certain he can arrange it to my satisfaction.” She sounded confident.

Mr. Falke chuckled. “Perhaps you should practice your pout, Lady Alicia, to ensure it has greater influence than Miss Stolesk’s.”

“I have no need to stoop to such devious tactics, Mr. Falke. I simply wait until he is enmeshed in a game of cards and he will absently grant me anything!”

They all laughed, Mr. Falke’s dimples flashing as he bowed slightly. “Indeed, far more straightforward and honest.”

The frivolous banter continued with plans laid for Derbyshire winter diversions and springtime London amusements until the orchestra signaled the beginning of the next set. Mr. Falke claimed Georgiana and Mr. Teddington escorted Kitty.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy honestly did strive to oversee the interactions of the flittering girls, but it was an assignment not always successful. Melcourt Hall was an enormous structure with a dozen of the main rooms open for the party. Crowds of bodies occupied every space and the flood of traffic was incessant with celebrants constantly on the move as they danced and socialized. Keeping track of two girls amid the ebb and flow of activity was extremely difficult. Add to those facts their own socializing and the truth was that the older gentlemen, for all their good intentions, lost track of their energetic relatives far more than they would ever confess to Darcy.

Fifty-four years is far from ancient, especially when one possesses a sparkling personality, limitless charm, extreme handsomeness, youthful vigor, and wealth. Dr. George Darcy was gifted with all these traits and many more so was thus a sought after guest from numerous quarters. Ladies were quite infatuated and flirty, which George shamelessly encouraged and relished. Unlike his nephew, George indulged in the joy of notoriety, jolly banter, and frivolous entertainment.

“Are there truly lions and tigers running wild in India, Dr. Darcy?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Longham. Majestic creatures. Exotic flora and fauna unseen here, although I am sure you have been so blessed to view wild animals from time to time in circuses?”

“Of course, but one imagines they are vastly differing in their natural habitats.”

“This is true, madam. Unfortunately, the specimens displayed in such venues are generally weakened and domesticated to a degree. Certainly not allowed to interact and perform normally.”

“I saw a lion tamer once with three ferocious beasts,” Miss Carmichael breathlessly interjected. “It was terrifying! Their fangs and razor sharp claws!” She shuddered dramatically, fan fluttering. “Surely they could not be any more horrifying!”

“Quite the contrary, dear lady. Once, not but one year after arriving in Bombay while yet young and incredibly naïve, I traveled with another physician up the Ulhas River. We were on our way to a remote village in the jungles where a pestilence had erupted. It was my first extensive journey away from the immediate, more civilized regions around that great city, and you can imagine how enthusiastic I was. But also rather frightened, not that I would have confessed this to my wiser mentor and experienced native guides!”

His audience was spellbound, George’s Darcy-inherited flair for the dramatic enhanced over the years by listening to the indigenous people’s storytellers who had perfected the art form. His voice naturally assumed a slightly singsong rhythm with gestures and facial expressions adding emphasis and enlightenment. His choice of garment, handsome face mildly lined from years of harsh sun, and modulation of voice to a Hindu flavored accent augmented the effect. None of this was accidental on his part and he reveled in the attention.

“We sailed on a machwa. That is an open decked fishing vessel built by the natives, wide but offering no protection from the elements, you see, and sitting quite low in the water. The Indians use poles to propel the boat along with the currents, wind upon occasion aids movement, but this was in the hottest part of the year when breezes were rare. Ofttimes, we would creep along not much faster than a snail. I found it all so fascinating! Vegetation of a lushness and variety not seen here. Colors vivid, leaves appearing as if polished with fine lacquer. And the wildlife! Ah, teeming it is.”

“Were there crocodiles?” Interrupted one wide-eyed woman.

“Indeed, madam! Enormous brutes, which thankfully prefer to hide along the shores under the shaded waters. There are other reptiles of stunning variety as well as birds vibrantly colored who mimic extraordinary sounds, insects of truly hideous sizes and shapes. It would be far too terrifying for me to elaborate further. Even I grow squeamish at the vision of the monstrous spiders and beetles.” He shuddered, eyes closing momentarily as the women collectively shivered.

Resuming after a melodramatic pause, “I cannot fabricate nor embellish, so must truthfully confess that I did not espy the full complement of Indian creatures indigenous to the region upon this first trip. Over time, as I was there for some thirty years, I would become closely acquainted with the beasts both large and minute which inhabit the waters, jungles, and deserts. Ah, the stories I could tell! But we would be here all night listening to me drone on and that would not be entertaining in the least!”

Instantly several voices, both male and female, rushed to assure him that it was decidedly entertaining and none would wish to be elsewhere, Oh absolutely not! George humbly accepted the accolades, hesitantly resuming his tale upon the urging of an increasing fan club, twinkling eyes in sharp contrast to the meek tilt to his head. He described the verdant jungle, open grasslands, murky waters, insect-riddled air, and sultry atmosphere rife with alien odors so vividly that each listener was instantly transported to the foreign land.

“I sat on the edge of our machwa, bare feet dangling in the tepid waters, simply absorbing it all. Suddenly”—spoken with an abrupt tonal catch, causing everyone to jolt slightly—“my mentor, Dr. Ullas yelled, ‘Dr. Darcy! Look quickly!’ Naturally I obeyed, leaping up so rapidly that the boat swayed dangerously. Our driver scowled at me, but I ignored him because the sight before my eyes was riveting. There, roaming majestically over a mangrove-ringed valley covered with tall grasses was a group of leopards.”

The oohs and aahs were intense. “What were they doing, Dr. Darcy?”

“That is the exciting part, Mrs. Allen. Leopards, like all the great cats, are shy creatures. They tend to hide in shady areas away from any traffic zones, stealthily lurking and gliding through the forests, nearly undetected in the thick underbrush or high within the tree branches. Of course, the river was not exactly a major thoroughfare, so we were invading their solitude. Unlike lions, who travel in large packs called prides, leopards prefer small clusters of three or four. Also, they generally are nocturnally active so what we witnessed, I came to realize in time, was extremely rare indeed.”

Another infinitesimal caesura, the rapt audience holding their breath. “It was mating season, you see, and two males were in the throes of a serious dispute over an outstanding specimen of a feline female. All species on earth, so it appears, become incensed and foolishly aggressive when captured by an attractive lady.” He flashed a dazzling smile and nod toward each captivated woman, blushes flaring prettily all around. “She paced imperiously, tail swishing while her suitors circled each other a time or two before engaging. It was brutal and noisy. Roars, fangs, and claws.”

“Was there… blood?”

“Some, yes. All thoughts of medicinal treatments for the stricken villagers fled my mind, I daresay. Both leopards appeared evenly matched. Easily five feet long, not counting the tails, two hundred pounds with stocky bodies covered with gorgeous black spots on tannish brown fur. Incredible animals! Jaws squared and strong, teeth as needles, and a growling roar that sent shivers up my spine.”

“Did they notice your boat? Were they angry?” Gasping with a hand to her mouth, Mrs. Longham whispered, “They did not… attack, did they?”

“Be still, dear lady. They were far too caught up in the moment to notice us. We glided silently and slowly past, for the first time truly grateful for the lack of breeze, as we were able to observe the entire spectacle. The fight itself was not lengthy, but intense with ferociousness and animalistic power. They did not seem to seriously be attempting to kill the other, but merely to display their prowess and superiority. They would stalk each other for a few moments, angry eyes locked with ears flattened on their massive heads. Then they would leap. Several times they embraced in combat, the noises rising while the she-leopard observed her would-be mates. A particularly vicious swipe with half-foot-long claws across the nose of one effectively ended the battle. He slunk away while the victor wasted no time in approaching his harshly won mate.”

“Was she impressed and amenable to the winner?” Mr. Longham asked.

“Apparently, she was quite impressed as they instantly attended to those activities I believe most species would consider a pleasurable reward for such valor and exhibited virility.” He grinned widely, the ladies flushing and twittering as decorum demanded although it was clear that most were energized by his allusion.

While George Darcy charmed his way through every available and unavailable woman in the entire establishment, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s heart was firmly planted in High Wycombe with Lady Simone Fotherby. George enchanted with a flamboyant cheekiness fully intended to sow the seeds for future socializing and romantic trysts if possible, whereas Richard congenially socialized for the sheer enjoyment factor. Bachelors of all ages were in abundance, but the son of Lord Matlock, a colonel in His Majesty’s service, and a man of no mean attractiveness and wealth was a prime object of flirtatious advances in varying degrees. Simply put, the good Colonel was not in danger of boredom from lack of receptive dancing partners, but he might well have been in danger of bold female advances! Thus, he primarily visited with his oldest friends from childhood.

“After tonight’s revelry I am not so certain a hunt scheduled for the morrow was a wise idea. Who thought of that anyway?” Gerald Vernor asked.

“Obviously the one man who is not here imbibing imprudently and is undoubtedly already sleeping!” Rory Sitwell answered with a laugh.

“Be cheered, Vernor. At least we are trekking through your lands, so you have that advantage over the rest of us.”

“True, Colonel, but he has that fabulous long rifle. Gerald tells me he managed quite well with it, at targeting anyway.” Mr. Henry Vernor gestured toward his son, who nodded affirmative.

“Yes, he did well, but you know Darcy. He can hit nearly anything. Almost as good as I am as annoying as that is to confess.” Richard winced.

Lord Matlock spoke in his quiet tenor, “Did he reach four hundred yards?”

Richard shook his head. “Not quite. Probably 300, 325 would you say, Hughes?” Mr. Hughes nodded. “Fairly impressive for the first go around. Took a bit of sighting it in and compensating for the dimensions and weight, but Darcy has a knack for firearms. Sitwell did quite well also,” Richard concluded with a clap to his friend’s shoulder.

Mr. Sitwell had a glow of heavenly rapture upon his face. “It was stupendous. Exquisite instrument! Well worth trudging through the snow from Reniswahl Hall. I may never have forgiven him if not invited. You really must shoot it, Lord Matlock.”

“I shall be joining you tomorrow, if I can drag my old bones out of bed by noon. I will ask Darcy if I may try it out. Prove to you young bucks that the mature stag can aim true.”

They all laughed, Mr. Gerald Vernor voicing their admiration, “We have no doubt of that, my Lord. My father can outshoot me any day of the week.”

“And don’t you forget it, my boy,” Henry Vernor declared with an authoritative scowl leveled at his son, who flippantly saluted in return. Mr. Vernor the elder smiled and chuckled. “You may need to exert your familial clout, Lord Matlock, as I doubt Darcy will readily part with his weapon on this first hunt utilizing it. You know how serious he can be.”

“Well there is the understatement of the century,” Richard intoned under his breath, earning a humorous nudge from Albert Hughes and chuckle from Charles Bingley.

“Not a problem. One of the advantages of closely knit families is knowing things, you see. Blackmail, if all else fails, Mr. Vernor.” Lord Matlock winked broadly, eliciting more laughter.

“When do you return to your regiment, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Mr. George Fitzherbert asked.

“In two days. This is why the hunt was scheduled for tomorrow. So we can teasingly blame Darcy, but honestly it was due to me.”

“At least it is for mid-afternoon, and if the weather remains fair, it should be tolerable. Worse come to worse we can always retire to Sanburl Hall sooner than expected where the fireplaces are ablaze and the brandy flows.”

“Here! Here!” Several glasses lifted at that pleasant vision.

“How shocking. Thank goodness the womenfolk no longer solely rely on tough manly men to provide our sustenance or we would likely starve.” They collectively turned at the words of Harriet Vernor who had arrived with the wives and a few hopeful singles as the strains of music recommenced for another set of dancing. “Afraid to be rained upon, my dear?” She smiled at her husband.

“Moisture is damaging to the mechanisms, Harriet,” he answered dryly. “We would hate to see Darcy’s fine weapon suffer. Think how upsetting that would be to Mrs. Darcy.”

“Of course. Mr. Bingley, your lovely wife sent me to request your company on the terrace. She was in need of fresh air. Just through the music room there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Vernor. Excuse me.”

“Is she well, Mrs. Vernor?”

“Merely with child, Colonel, as you would not quite comprehend… yet.” Richard blushed and smiled before remembering to grimace as he normally would have.

Across the room a trio stood apart, one pair of vivid green eyes following the movements of a certain jewel-adorned, red-haired coiffure.

“John, you cannot be serious,” Lady Sybil Clay-Powell uttered with disgust. “Her family’s wealth is from trade, for heaven’s sake!”

“All families make money from trade of some sort, Sybil, whether they acknowledge it or not. Besides, that was generations ago; her brother now is a landowner, and frankly I can do whatever I want. Who is going to shun me, for goodness sake?”

Lady Sybil released an indelicate sound, adequately voicing her contempt. “Be that as it may, I still do not comprehend the attraction you hold for her.”

“Of course you do, my dear,” Lord Mather interjected. “You simply choose to ignore it.”

“What is it with you and red hair, John?” His sister asked with a sigh.

“Red haired women have fire, a passion hidden beneath waiting to be awoken. It is intoxicating!”

“So keep bedding your flaming-tressed harlots. Satisfy your lusts there. Why marry this one?”

“Because she fascinates me, Sybil. Always has. Besides, it is not just the hair, as you well know.”

“So make her your mistress. You can conquer this fire you claim she has, have her whenever you want, and marry someone of your station.”

Lord Blaisdale shook his head. “No, not now. Three years ago I considered it, although I do not think she would have agreed. Fire, Sybil, and a strong will. It is different now. Nothing hinders me. She is poised, beautiful, fashionable, highly accomplished, and socially acceptable. All traits for an excellent Lady Blaisdale. And, if I may remind you, I did marry as our parents and you judged worthy and look at what a disaster that was. Susanna was a timid mouse! Three months before I could consummate our marriage and it proceeded to be a struggle thereafter. Each time I felt as if I was assaulting her! Nine years to conceive and then she miscarried and died.” He shook his head in remembered grief and repulsion.

“I will not argue the inadequacies of your late, lamented wife, John, but I do not think her failings had anything to do with hair color.”

“Perhaps not, but I have yet to entertain a red-haired woman who was not passionate.”

“The fact that they were mostly prostitutes may have something to do with that, Blaisdale,” Lord Mather offered with a smirk.

Lord Blaisdale smiled at his friend, but shook his head. “Not all, as you well know, Mather. Nor do I only refer to bedroom activities. Passion extends into all areas of life.”

“You men are disgusting.”

“Save your false fastidiousness for mixed company, darling. I do not appreciate it otherwise.” Lord Mather lifted Sybil’s hand for a proper kiss, randy eyes engaging hers while the other hand stroked over her derriere.

“Good Lord I will be relieved to see you two married! I just pray you can keep up, Robert.”

“Have no fear, Johnny. We are equals.”

“Indeed, Sybil. This is precisely why you of all people should comprehend my desiring a union of equal passion. This may shock you, dear sister, but I am actually weary of brothels and chambermaids. And, be prepared for further amazement: I truly do want legitimate children. Little red-haired children who will try my patience, but keep my life lively.”

“How can you be so certain she will provide an heir?”

“I cannot be certain unless I marry someone who has already procreated, and I refuse anyone else’s seconds. Only a virgin will do, my own to awaken and possess.”

“Surely you are not claiming to love her?”

“Do not be ridiculous! Love is for children and fools. I am talking about stability, perhaps even felicity, but with spice and entertainment.”

“Then marry Lady Anne Hathers. She has red hair and an enormous dowry.”

“As well as an enormous body and a face like a horse! Be serious, Sybil. Red hair alone is not enough to raise my desire.”

“Perhaps Miss Evelyn Newton? She is quite lovely and from a distinguished family.”

“And she is sixteen. A bit of maturity would be preferable and I do not find bedding a girl who could feasibly be my daughter appealing. And do not dare mention Miss Haskell or Lady Prudence Caraway.” He shuddered. “Caroline Bingley is perfect and you know it. Stop arguing with me and just accept it. I will have her now that I am free and she is past her ridiculous infatuation with Darcy. That man is as cold as stone and never would have appreciated her anyway.”

“You may have waited too long. I hear she is on quite friendly terms with Sir Wallace Dandridge. Practically engaged, so the tale goes.”

Lord Blaisdale pivoted to his sister abruptly, face tight and eyes blazing. “Where did you hear this? Is there any truth to it?”

She shrugged, unmoved by his intensity and hint of anguished voice. “Just rumors at the moment. She spent weeks there this summer becoming acquainted. Perhaps he discovered and awoke this hidden passion you exult in.”

“Sybil, I could strangle you right now. Luckily, I am familiar with Sir Dandridge and the man is a milksop, so I have no fear of him awakening anyone’s passion as he likely possesses none of his own!”

“I believe that he is considered a gentleman by most definitions of the word,” Lord Mather intoned with a grin.

“Well, good thing I do not hold to those restrictive definitions then.”

“I pray you are right about her, Brother. She has never stuck me as particularly passionate. Rather cool and arrogant, far more than she has a right to be—disdainfully looking down that long nose at everyone, eyes calculating, and pose rigid. Cold fish, I fear.”

Lord Mather laughed aloud. “You just described yourself, my love. I thought the same for years, until that day in the library, alone. Changed my opinion fast, did you not?” Lady Sybil smiled faintly, a coy glint from her green eyes as she glanced to her betrothed.

“You two are making me ill. You do give me an idea, however. Excuse me.” Lord Blaisdale left his sister and best friend, walking purposefully toward the object of his interest.

Unlike Caroline, Lord Blaisdale had never forgotten the red-haired woman who fascinated him. His anger toward Darcy for interfering in what he had seen as a fortuitous opportunity to ingratiate himself with Miss Bingley was intense.

Additionally, it seemed quite clear to him at the time that Miss Bingley’s overt stalking of the elusive Mr. Darcy had finally paid off. When the word reached his ears that Darcy was engaged to an unknown country girl, he was overwhelmed with personal trials, as his father was stricken with the wasting illness that would eventually claim his life. He did spare some occasional thought to the possibilities of seriously pursuing Miss Bingley, but fortune had not shined upon him. Until now.

His surprise at seeing Miss Bingley at the Cole’s Masque was genuine. The Blaisdale estate lay far to the south in Staffordshire, near Cannock, whereas the Mather estate rested on the Derbyshire border east of Leek, hence why Lord Mather and his guests were invited. The life-altering developments of the past year had allotted scant time for the newly titled Lord Blaisdale to dwell on gossip. He had heard of Mr. Charles Bingley settling in Derbyshire, but had not consciously considered the whereabouts of Miss Bingley when urged by Lord Mather to accept the invitation to the ball. It was primarily Sybil who desired entertainment after months of mourning-restricted socializing. Even a country Twelfth Night Masque was preferable to another night of forced solitude with which her brother could not argue.

Whatever the impetus, be it divine fate or dumb luck, he intended to grasp onto it.

“Miss Bingley,” he bowed low, standing directly in front of her and barely glancing at her companions, “I do believe the waltz is next on the dancing agenda. I would be deeply honored if you agreed to dance with me.”

“It would be my pleasure as well, Lord Blaisdale,” she responded with a regal incline of her head.

Caroline and Lord Blaisdale felt the currents running over and through them as they assumed a waltz pose. For Caroline the sensations were new and electrifying. Lord Blaisdale knew precisely what the sensations meant and what he desired. Yet despite the force of emotions, both were in clear control of their faculties. Similar calculating minds were judging, analyzing, and gauging the situation as they flawlessly glided about the room and shared the standard dialogue.

“Lord Blaisdale, I must first extend my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley. It has been a difficult adjustment. You have lost a father so surely relate to my grief.”

“Indeed I do. I discovered that family surrounding me tremendously aided in the grieving process. Have you found the same to be true?”

“Absolutely.”

“Your mother is well I trust?”

“Quite well. Managing admirably, in fact. She is a wonder of strength in crisis. We all look to her for guidance and example. It has been enlightening to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“To observe the fortitude a woman can possess. To fully grasp what it is to be ‘Lady Blaisdale’ clarifies in my own mind how essential it is for me to select wisely, when the time comes again.”

“I see your point. I do pray your decision adequate to your needs.”

“I intend to ensure it is, Miss Bingley. I must compliment you on your gown if I may be so bold. Quite stunning. I admire ladies who are not afraid to embrace the latest fashions, who set trends. You have the grace and figure to do so and should never allow anyone to convince you otherwise.”

“Thank you, my Lord. You are very kind.”

“Merely speaking the truth, madam. How is Mr. Bingley finding Derbyshire?”

“He loves it. Wholly assuming the life of a gentleman farmer.”

“And you, Miss Bingley? Do you appreciate the country?”

“Absolutely. For a time, that is. Society is less diverse than in Town and I confess that by the end of winter, I shall be screaming for the delights London has to offer. I think a balance is best, do you not agree?”

“Indeed I do. We appear to be quite similar in our thought processes, Miss Bingley. This pleases me. I tend to prefer London and will now be required to pass large portions of my time there, so it is fortunate that I own a comfortable townhouse and enjoy entertaining. Now I must attend diligently to the task of finding a woman to stand at my side. Someone accomplished, beautiful, and hospitable.”

“I wish you luck in your search, Lord Blaisdale.”

“It has reached my ears that congratulations on your engagement may soon be in order, Miss Bingley. Is there truth in the rumor?”

“Truth can be a relative term, my Lord. Official congratulations would be presumptuous at this juncture, but I am anticipating a positive development in that quarter soon.”

The song ended at that point. He offered his arm, walking off the floor toward the terrace doors. “Your cheeks are a bit flushed, madam. I deem a breath of fresh air is requisite. And, if you wish to know the truth, I do not want to part from your glittering company.”

“And do you always get what you want?”

“Generally, yes.” He smiled down at her, steering to the railing and slowly detouring past the clustered guests to the shadows beyond. “You dance exquisitely, Miss Bingley. Another stellar quality to add to your growing list of attributes.”

“You are quite full of compliments, sir. I hardly know how to express my continued thankfulness.”

“Add it to all the other expressions of thanks you now owe me and we shall mutually devise a way for you to adequately communicate your gratitude that will be pleasurable for us both.” They paused in a narrow alcove, only the dim echo of music and laughter and subdued glow of gaslight on the damp, snowy surrounds a reminder of others. Essentially they were utterly secluded and the gleam in Lord Blaisdale’s eyes and suggestive huskiness of voice caused a shiver to run up Caroline’s spine.

The friendly, borderline flirtatious banter while dancing had relaxed Caroline. It was familiar and comfortable, making her forget the past intensity of the man before her. Now her breath caught and the odd tingles rippled anew over her skin, vulnerability and faint anxiety causing her heart to palpitate as her eyes locked with his.

Lord Blaisdale read her expressions with glee. He leaned back slightly, smiling with confidence. “Miss Bingley, I am aware that you do not know me well, not at all really, so permit me a moment to share myself with you. I am a forthright man, for the most part. Confident, assured, cognizant of what I want in my life. And, as you aptly pointed out, I almost always get what I want. Any time I allowed others to lead me, it was a disaster. My marriage is a perfect example.” He paused, watching her closely. Caroline was engrossed, her mind racing. “I never wished for my wife’s death, but cannot pretend that it was an event of overwhelming grief to me. She was a disappointment on numerous levels, intimately and publicly. I vowed never to make such a horrendous mistake again. You are shivering, my lady. How thoughtless of me! Here, allow me.”

He removed his jacket, stepping within inches of her body and pulling the fine woolen fabric over her slender shoulders, fingers purposefully brushing along the skin of her collarbones. “There. Is that better?” He whispered.

Caroline nodded, afraid to meet his eyes. “Much better. Thank you, sir.”

“Caroline. May I call you Caroline?” She nodded. “Excellent. Now, look at me, Caroline.” He spoke with a ring of authority, her eyes rising involuntarily but then flashing in irritation as she boldly stared back. He smiled suddenly, quite brilliantly, and leaned against the railing, putting a safe space between them. “Excellent again, Caroline. I knew you had fire.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let me be blunt, my dear. You would have to be an idiot, which I do not think you are, not to know that I have been infatuated with you for years. Yes, even when my wife was still alive. You intrigue me, Caroline. I have watched you, learned about you, wondered, and wished. Does this flatter or frighten you?”

“A little of both, my Lord.”

“Good. Obviously when I was married, my desire for you was unattainable, at least I did not reckon you would be amenable to anything other than marriage… Ah, I see that is correct. Good. My esteem for you would be diminished if that were so. However, I did seriously contemplate approaching you for an arrangement. Are you shocked by this, Caroline?”

“Not completely, sir. I am not a fool. I know gentlemen keep mistresses, although I would not have entered such a relationship. The question is why you are telling me all this.”

“Do not play coy with me! Because I still desire you, Caroline. Only now you can be my wife. I can give you all that you have ever wanted, more than you would have with Dandridge. Does this idea appeal to you? Or do you harbor romantic notions of true love?”

“Not completely, no. I think it possible for some, but not necessary and certainly not common. However, I do not merely want a marriage of cold convenience. It is undeniably true that you can provide materialistically and grant a prestige that I would enjoy. I may not be a romantic fool, Lord Blaisdale; nonetheless, I have learned in recent months that a marriage can offer an abundance of pleasures beyond the mercenary.”

He grinned wickedly. “Are you referring to sexual pleasures, Caroline? If you are, then you are correct.”

Caroline reddened, glancing away for a moment. When her gaze returned to his face, it was calm and composed yet with a hint of rosiness. “I am referring to communication, respect, affection, joy, and even peace. Are these characteristics you would want in a marriage?”

“Considering my marriage possessed none of those, or sensual satisfaction for that matter, then I think I can answer in the affirmative.” He stepped nearer. “I do admire you, Caroline. I think we are much alike, you and I. This frank conversation proves that communication should not be a problem with the other named virtues falling naturally in the aftermath. What about intimacy? Do you suspect this essential aspect of a good marriage to be one you can also desire?”

“I have no experience in the matter, my Lord, so cannot answer with any reliability.”

“I think you are flirting with me, Miss Bingley! Be cautious, my dear, as it is vital to me that my next marriage be one of passion and I do intend to ensure it will be before I commit myself in any way.”

“How do you mean? Would you take advantage of me, sir? Ruin my reputation and be branded a scoundrel in the process?”

“Many already consider me a scoundrel, and if I was proved wrong in my judgment of you, then I would care not one whit for your shattered reputation. Are you virtuous, Caroline? Seductive teasing has its place and is welcomed, but I will not take a wife who has known another. I refuse used property. And I want to be the one who unleashes your potential, who teaches you the ways of love.”

He quietly observed her flushing face. He detected the demure and innocent flashes in her eyes that a virginal woman, no matter how skilled at saucy flirting, cannot hide. He smiled in satisfaction.

“You do not need to answer. It is apparent. Ah! How greatly will I enjoy being your teacher, Caroline!”

He was very close to her now, reaching one finger and running softly over the bare flesh of her neck. His finger stroked lower, Caroline’s breath now exhaling in short fits as a result of his mesmerizing touch. “I want a lively wife, Caroline. One who will embrace adventure, crave passion, and be witty and charming. But I also insist on propriety, faithfulness, and submission to my dominance. Only in our bed will I submit and only then if it brings mutual delight. I want Lady Blaisdale by day and wanton lover by night. I want a mother for my children, manager of my households, elegant hostess when entertaining, proud and beautiful wife on my arm, and savage temptress in my chambers. Can you accept this, Caroline?”

His lips were almost brushing hers. Caroline could hardly breathe, let alone think coherently. Never had she experienced such rushing and crashing sensations. The previous reactions to his presence were weak compared to the fire now racing through her body. Dimly, she heard his words and filtered through them, nodding slowly as she realized she had never wanted anything in all her life more than him and all he promised.

Steeling herself, she withdrew a pace and forced the tremors of fear aside. Determined to risk potentially losing him, she lifted her chin and met his fierce stare. Her voice was firm when she spoke, “I can accept this, Lord Blaisdale, and will do my best to comply with your demands. However, I must be honest and confess that I do not know if I am capable of the more… private requirements you wish for.”

“Do you truly doubt your potential or are you toying with me?”

“You have stressed your repugnance for such behavior, my Lord. Another attribute of a successful marriage that has been revealed to me is honesty. This has not necessarily been a natural trait of mine, but I have seen the positive affects of the quality in my brother’s union. Additionally, you have been exceedingly forthright with me so it is only proper for me to extend the same. You are offering me an incredible opportunity and I would be a fool to pass it up. Perhaps I am a fool for risking your rejection, but I…” She swallowed, dropping her gaze from his penetrating stare.

“Yes, Caroline? Tell me.”

She glanced away, noting afresh their solitude. With eyes averted, she haltingly resumed. “You intrigue me as well, Lord Blaisdale. I… feel… strange sensations… when near you. But I do not… I have not…”

He clasped her upper arms, gently pushing her against the stone wall. He began the kiss with light pressure before deepening to an unrestrained passion. Caroline was taken utterly by surprise, stiffening for a second before the surging waves washed all innocent hesitation away. His hands roamed unchecked, stirring and rousing skillfully, his hard body pressed into hers.

Never had any man handled her in such a way. Sir Dandridge’s tentative touches and timid kisses had educed vague flutters but none of the shivers currently overwhelming her. Lord Blaisdale’s assault overpowered her to the point where she mustered not the slightest embarrassment or offense at the breach in gentlemanly behavior.

Caroline came alive in places unknown to have perception. She soared to raging heights of pure passion as he skillfully caressed and surveyed her figure. All the while the fiery kiss continued and intensified.

She discovered her hands and arms wrapping around his body and boldly exploring in return. Lord Blaisdale trailed his lips down her neck toward her bosom, releasing a guttural growl and grinding so harshly against her that even the layers of clothing were irrelevant.

Caroline’s legs grew weak, her muscles failing as a low moan escaped. She was clutching onto him for stability when he pulled away, panting heavily and grinning with supreme satisfaction. He stroked lightly over her cheek, lust-filled green eyes engaging her dazed ones.

“Delicious, Caroline. You are well, love? No further doubts?”

“Lord Blaisdale, please. I…”

“Do not fear. You have proven what I already knew. And I believe you can now address me as John.”