In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Thirteen A Ball at Grosvenor Square

The Matlock carriage slowly rolled through the crowded streets toward the grand Theatre Royal of Drury Lane. It was a spacious carriage, opulent and sturdy, but the five grown occupants in their finery were definitely beginning to feel the effects of close quarters on this sultry evening in late May. The fact that there was nary a hint of breeze added to the discomfort.

“I daresay we could walk to the theatre from here and arrive sooner!” Priscilla Fitzwilliam declared, fan waving steadily.

“The streets of London do seem to congest further with each passing year.” Lord Matlock’s baritone soothed the sharp ring left by the voice of his daughter-in-law. “Not to mention that Spohr’s Faust is a special event drawing large crowds. I am curious to see his interpretation of the classic tale.”

“As am I,” Lady Matlock agreed. “The reports are that it is quite fantastic. A departure from the more familiar Goethe rendering, so I am told.”

“I simply adore romantic operas!” Priscilla gushed. “I suppose it is therefore worth this infernal heat and delay. I only pray my curls remain intact.” She patted the springy clump of hair strategically escaping from the feathered turban, looking to her husband for verification.

Jonathan, however, was staring at his brother with an amused smirk on his handsome face, noting the involuntary wince even though Richard’s attention appeared to be fixed on the passing architecture. “Frankly, all I can dwell upon at the moment is why my brother, who barely tolerates opera in general and abhors German compositions, would insist on accompanying us at all!”

“Do not tease Richard so, Jonathan! I am sure he has his reasons.” Lady Matlock leaned over to pat her youngest son’s knee.

“I may have no great love for the romantic babblings of the German composers, Jonathan, but I can appreciate opera in a general sense. I am quite fond of Mozart, as you know, since I attended several performances with you and Priscilla over the years.”

“Indeed, but Mozart is in a class by himself.” Jonathan continued to gaze speculatively at Richard, who ignored him altogether while peering out the window. “You do not even speak German.”

“Neither do you very well, yet here you are,” Lord Matlock interjected. “It is all about appearances, son.”

Lady Matlock laughed. “Perhaps for you, my dear, but some of us do actually enjoy the music and story.”

“You speak fluent German, madam, which shall add to the spectacle. I, however, shall be employing all my vast resources of strength to avoid falling asleep and making a fool of myself before all of London society!”

“Do not fear, husband. I shall pinch you if necessary.”

“Will you pinch Richard as well, Mother? He will surely require your assistance.”

“I suddenly feel as if twenty years has been peeled away and I am again forced to play moderator to my two squabbling boys!”

They all laughed, even a nervous Richard pulling his attention from inner musings to the chatter of his family as they clattered ever so slowly toward the theatre.

The milling crowds along Russell and Catherine Streets were thick, necessitating the driver to halt nearly on the walkway opposite the main entrance. Richard’s eyes scanned the press of brightly bejeweled bodies glittering in the glare of gaslight, as always when he searched for Darcy, looking for that one head which seemed to rise above all others. It was Dr. Darcy he found first, momentarily thinking it his cousin until he noted the toothy grin and bellowing laugh almost audible over the cacophony from where he stood yards away. Richard shook his head with a smile and resumed his quest, easily spying Darcy seconds later, where he stood tall and silent behind Elizabeth on the walkway by the right hand corner of the building.

Leaving his parents and illustrious brother to greetings from the gathering luminaries, Colonel Fitzwilliam eased to where Darcy stood, pulling him a pace away. With no preamble, he asked in a hushed whisper, “Anything yet? Have you seen her?”

“Good evening to you as well, Colonel. Beautiful night for the opera, do you agree?”

“Yes, yes! Lovely,” Richard waved impatiently, tugging on his coattail in agitation. “Have you—”

“I adore these balmy nights in London,” Darcy interrupted pleasantly, gazing toward the clear, star-embellished sky. “So bright and refreshing. Ideal atmosphere for a divine operatic experience, I daresay.”

“Darcy, I shall be hard pressed not to injure you in some manner if you do not answer my question!”

Darcy chuckled. “Ah, but I am having entirely too much fun with this to let it go, Cousin. Rest assured, however, that if I had vital news to impart I would have done so. Alas, we only just arrived and have made it no further than this corner. I have been unobtrusively scanning the crowd and see no sign of Lady Fotherby.”

“Are you certain she is to appear tonight?” Richard asked with a decidedly plaintive whine.

“So I have been informed by my wife, who is privy to information of this magnitude from sources I have learned to trust. As shall you if your hunt proves successful.”

“Do not be vulgar, Darcy.”

“No vulgarity intended, merely pointing out the facts so you can be adequately aware of what you are getting yourself into.”

“Do you not always say that marriage is the best thing to have ever happened to you?”

“And so it is, my friend. It comes with perquisites unimaginable, one of which happens to be the delights of female gossip, some of it quite entertaining I must confess.”

Richard shook his head, laughing low, the playful banter easing his nervousness.

Elizabeth had cautiously probed and discovered that the widowed Lady Fotherby would be making her first public appearance at this specific opera since the death of her husband some seven months prior. All season Colonel Fitzwilliam had quietly attended the various social gatherings his duties allowed, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he loved. But the rumors insisted that she remained sequestered in mourning at the Fotherby estate in Buckinghamshire. Unable to inquire forthrightly, he was left to lament to Darcy, who naturally shared all with his wife.

It had required minimal investigation on Elizabeth’s part, as the news of Lady Fotherby’s relocation to the London Townhouse now owned by her as a specific inheritance from her husband was a prime topic for tearoom gossip. Richard digested the information with equanimity, only a rapid swallow and the fact that he did not flinch over the news that it a German opera she was to attend signs of his discomposure!

“I would not worry too greatly, Cousin. Even if Elizabeth’s intelligence is incorrect, we have secured a positive response to our invitation. Lady Fotherby will be gracing us with her presence at the ball we are hosting in two weeks.”

Richard’s face beamed. “When did you receive this?”

“Just yesterday. And I expect your undying gratitude and willingness to grant me any favor asked for the remainder of your life as you know how I abhor such extravaganzas.”

Richard grunted. “I know full well that Elizabeth bullied you into Darcy House hosting a ball for Georgiana’s benefit and as the perfect cap to the season. The painful requirement for you to be charming and gracious for one whole evening has nothing to do with me.”

“I do believe that is the Fotherby crest, is it not, dearest?” Elizabeth’s voice rose above the din, turning with an innocent twinkle to the two men standing a few feet away. She had not been able to overhear their muted conversation, but she was quite certain of the vein, smiling sweetly at Colonel Fitzwilliam who ignored her faint smirk.

Indeed, the lush carriage indicated, having rounded the corner and creeping toward the curb, bore the coat-of-arms for the Marquess of Fotherby. The occupants could not be seen, but Richard’s heart constricted nonetheless.

Darcy leaned close, murmuring into the dazed Colonel’s ear, “You would be wise to attach yourself to your parents. I am certain Lady Matlock will consider it her duty to welcome Lady Fotherby, as friend to her mother. Plus, I think she is aware of your infatuation.”

“What! How could she—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite well, my Lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

The Darcy Ball offered an improved interaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please tell me it is morning already? Or at least that all the invitees have arrived?”

Lizzy laughed, relinquishing Richard’s arm for Darcy’s and squeezing tight. “The answer to both is no, my love. But the good news is that the flood appears to have fallen to a trickle, so perhaps we can allow the new arrivals to find us.”

“Superb. I was beginning to feel like a statue standing conspicuously on the step.”

“You did have the vantage point, however. What news to report from your angle?”

He scowled, voice grating. “Georgiana has danced each set, I do believe. She is currently on her second set with Mr. Vesey. I do not like him.”

“Well there is a shocking proclamation,” Richard said with a laugh, Darcy scowling deeper and adding a glare.

“If that is all you have noticed, then I guess I will share some of my news. Your cousin, Mr. Butler, does indeed compose music as you were told. He has agreed to play for us.”

“I hope he has some talent and avoids the morbid tunes that seem so popular among some.”

Lizzy was shaking her head. “I do not think so. He seemed a lively, humorous young man. Not somber in the least.”

Richard was still smiling at his cousin, Darcy noting the amusement with chagrin. He spoke, eyes riveted to Richard’s face, “Lord and Lady Fotherby arrived about twenty minutes ago. They headed toward the dining room.”

Richard jerked, eyes widening and mouth falling, speech halting once he found his voice. “Lord… Fotherby! How… What do you mean?”

“William, that is just cruel.” Lizzy scolded, although she was fighting not to laugh. “He means the young Lord Fotherby, Richard. No one has learned how to revitalize the dead, despite the fantastical claims in that absurd Frankenstein novel. Did you greet them properly, dearest?”

“Naturally. As abounding in warmth and amiability as I could possibly manage.” He smiled gaily at Richard, who grunted in derision. “She is lovely in a gown of pearly white with mere touches of black.”

“Ah, a bold statement indeed.” Lizzy nodded satisfactorily. “A year will soon be passed. It seems her heart is prepared to move on. Interesting.” She did not look at Colonel Fitzwilliam though, instead gazing at Darcy with a mixture of amusement at Richard’s predicament and unsettling disquiet at the mere concept of continuing life without her husband. He smiled tenderly, reassuring with a firm squeeze to her hand.

“I deem it only proper for you to welcome the new Lord Fotherby to Darcy House as well, Mistress Darcy. Care to join us, Colonel?”

Richard swallowed and nodded, Darcy pivoting quickly to hide his grin.

The former Lady Simone Halifax, now the widowed Most Honorable Marchioness of Fotherby, stood at the edge of the ballroom dancing area. Numerous guests lined the walls, standing and sitting, dancing partners interchanged and mingled, conversation ebbed and flowed. Lady Fotherby was flanked by her paternal uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Francis-Nall, and her stepson, the new Lord Fotherby. The sixteen-year-old 9th Marquis of Fotherby, 12th Baron of Armsbury was a slight youth no taller than his stepmother, fair haired with a sallow complexion. He exuded an air of ethereal weakness, his frailty unmistakably a result of a chronic illness that amplified an inherited lack of attractiveness. Appearing far younger than his tender years, he nonetheless held himself with the dignity of his station and gallantly assumed the role of protector to his widowed parent.

Lizzy eased into the assembly as effortlessly as always, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam contributing as fitting to their personalities. That is to say, Darcy offered short sentences and engaged Lord Francis-Nall and Mr. McQuade in a lengthy conversation about the recent races at Ascot, whereas Richard gradually loosened under the carefree chatter and buoyant atmosphere. Never one to remain uncomfortable or tongue-tied for long, he rapidly exchanged his previous anxieties for his native charisma. Of course, it helped that Lady Fotherby was as naturally witty and effervescent as he was and additionally seemed deliberately to steer the dialogue in his direction as often as possible; or at least his heart hoped it was intentional.

“Mrs. Darcy, your home is lovely. I have driven past Darcy House before, but have never been so blessed as to be a guest.”

“Thank you, my Lady. I daresay that was not due to any slight intended, but merely because Mr. Darcy has not been fond of entertaining.”

Lady Fotherby laughed. “No slight perceived, I assure you. I never knew your husband as well as his esteemed cousin”—she nodded toward Richard with a teasing smile on her lips—“but recognized his reserved nature at a young age. Quite unlike you, Colonel. A notorious flirt, I must say.”

“Charm and sporting are taught in the military as tactics for deceiving the enemy. I was merely practicing my profession.” Richard quipped with a straight face.

“Indeed, Colonel. Well, you were accomplished, so it surprises me naught that you have risen to such a high rank. We shall see if you have lost your edge and therefore doomed to remain a mere colonel forever.”

Richard bowed with a flourish, Lady Fotherby laughing as Lizzy spoke. “Personality is a possession my cousin holds in spades, to the point of irritation from time to time.” She offset her words with a playful and affectionate touch to his arm, continuing more seriously. “However, it is his valor and bravery that has earned the notice of his superiors. If it is a subject that interests you, my Lady, Colonel Fitzwilliam is replete with tales both extraordinary and courageous. I cannot say my pride in our country’s armed forces was as profound until deeds were extolled by the good Colonel. I am sure he would delight in sharing with you, in his typically captivating way.”

Richard’s thankfulness at Lizzy’s clever manipulation hid his astonishment at her deception. The truth was that he had never once spoken of anything military to Darcy’s wife! What tales he told were flippant and spun for humor rather than enlightenment.

His gratefulness increased tenfold when Lady Fotherby replied, “It would be an honor to hear your stories, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You are aware, I am sure, what a strong supporter my late husband was of the King’s military. I too shared his passion in the subject. And specifically for the men who sacrifice so much for our great country.”

The last was uttered softly and with a penetrating gaze into his eyes. Richard’s breath caught and it was as if the entire room faded away for a brief time. Strange how tiny details will suddenly loom large and burn into the consciousness. He noted the color of her eyes, a hazel base with pinpoint flecks of greens and blues; the fine lines at the corners of her eyes which lent an air of maturity to her otherwise youthful face; the multiple lengths of her golden eyelashes; the small mole above her left upper lip; and on it went. The girlish face he remembered so vividly from those bygone days of immature infatuation now melded with and was supplanted by the adult one seen clearly with the steady love of a grown man.

Further conversation flowed, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Fotherby fluently drawn into the general discourse as the topics shifted. None but Lizzy and Darcy noted the oblique if borderline pointed exchanges between the two, although Lord Francis-Nall did frown a time or two. The stiffly hovering Lord Fotherby was finally persuaded by his stepmother to join the bands of adolescents flittering around the room. He resisted, shyness apparent and empathized with by Darcy, but was eventually swayed by the rowdy capture by a couple of friends, sons of other prominent guests.

“Mrs. Darcy, the announcement has been made for the sarabande.” Darcy turned to his wife with a staid expression, the twinkle in his vibrant blue eyes only visible to her discerning gaze. “I believe it is incumbent upon us to partake in this particular dance whenever possible. May I have the honor?” His rich voice dropped into an intimate caress.

She took the offered hand with a curtsy and brilliant smile, her own voice a seductive purr. “The honor is mine, Mr. Darcy.”

He inclined his head, flashing a bright smile, and squeezing her fingers firmly before leading away.

The handsome couple strolled regally to the line without a backward glance, eyes locked upon the other, and just like that, Richard and Lady Fotherby found themselves alone.

Lady Fotherby wore a wistful smile as she observed the pair. Unconsciously she sighed, murmuring, “They appear so happy together and well matched. Mr. Darcy is particularly gay these days.”

“Marriage has brought out his lighter side,” Richard said. “He is forever lauding the glories of matrimony.”

“Do his acclamations not move you to take the plunge, Colonel?”

He met her eyes with a steady gaze, attempting to discover the reasoning behind the casual remarks while also trying to pour his sentiments into the responses. “In truth, I have begun to rethink my prior adherence to the superior merits of bachelorhood. Perhaps it is the wisdom that comes with age, or seeing others find happiness in marriage, or maybe… other stimulations. But lately, for a few months now, I have seriously altered my attitude.”

“How wonderful. I am sure every young lady of eligibility in London will be thrilled to hear the news.”

He chuckled. “You are kind, Lady, but this is doubtful. Besides, few of them hold any interest to me.”

She feigned shock as she teased, “Why, Colonel, how do you expect to cross from the realm of single man to happily married couple if you limit your choices and remain aloof?”

He paused, speaking concisely in a low tone when answering. “I deem it wiser not to look beyond ladies in near proximity. A man my age knows what he wants.” He paused again, waiting, but she merely nodded with a secretive but pleased smile playing about her mouth. Richard could not prevent a wide grin from spreading along with the warmth diffusing through his chest. “May I have the privilege of escorting you in the next dance, Lady Fotherby? I believe it to be a minuet.”

For the first time she glanced away, cheeks flushing slightly as she assured they remained isolated. Her voice was apologetic when she replied, “I regret I must decline your kind and welcome offer, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I promised my family I would adhere to their set timetable of mourning my husband for a full year. My recent excursions beyond my home were under the express agreement that I would socialize lightly and not dance.” There was a hint of anger to her tone, nothing in her demeanor giving the impression of overwhelming grief at her loss. She shook herself slightly, again meeting Richard’s eyes with a sweet smile. “Perhaps another time?”

“Absolutely! The offer will remain extended as long as you wish it to be so.”

She smiled wider, boldly holding his gaze as she cocked her head to the side. “Do your duties with your Regiment keep you wholly occupied, Colonel?”

He blinked at the odd change in topic, heart falling although her expression remained open and frankly flirtatious. “To a degree, yes, but I am not without reserves of free time. Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “No particular reason. I also find that my time is often engaged with the consuming tasks of managing a household, demands of Society, and parenting. The latter, of course, is of tremendous joy to me. In fact, the highlight of each day is when I stroll through The Green Park with my children. The eastern end of Queen’s Basin, along the walk there, is our favorite destination and we try to arrive around one in the afternoon each day, as my eldest, Harry, has decided that is lunchtime for the ducks.” She smiled, still not averting her eyes. “It is a most refreshing way to spend an afternoon, Colonel. I would highly recommend the diversion as a remedy for stressful duties. And, if one is so fortunate, interesting conversations can be engaged in if friends are encountered by surprise.”

Richard soared. Every ounce of steely discipline was called into play to avoid dancing a jig right then. Instead he nodded solemnly. “Yes, I see your point. Thank you for the suggestion, my Lady. I will do my utmost to arrange time to walk.”