Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

Chapter Fifteen Twelfth Night

January 5, 1817

Marguerite fussed over Lizzy like a mother hen, but the result was stupendous. Lizzy’s gown was a multilayered masterpiece. The dress was white satin with slightly puffed sleeves ending midway down the upper arm. The sleeves were edged in cornflower blue chenille tied in a petite bow. The same chenille edged the dress in a crossed fashion over the legs and along the hem and demi-train, exposing a white silk organdy petticoat edged with the finest Parisian lace.

Layered over the dress was a drape of midnight blue crepe edged with a braid of the blue chenille and lace. This darker overdress fastened at the left shoulder and fell across the left side of her bosom and back, pleated tightly under her breasts, and gathered under her right breast to fall in soft waves over her hips and buttocks to her knees. The bodice and back were low-cut in a V shape with an inch double frill of the Parisian lace over the shoulders. Slippers of white kid and satin elbow-high gloves completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled loosely to the right cascading over her shoulder in full curls secured by a bandeau of pale blue satin adorned with sprigs of honeysuckle and campanula. She wore the sapphire necklace Darcy had gifted her upon their engagement. Lizzy felt like a fairy princess!

Her husband waited in the grand foyer with bated breath. The only hint Lizzy had yielded was that he should wear blue. Darcy preferred blue anyway and, aware that Samuel and Marguerite had undoubtedly compared notes, he trusted his valet’s selection. Therefore, he stood on the marble floor wearing a dark-blue formal jacket and matching long trousers of fine wool, the pale blue waistcoat Lizzy had given him, white linen shirt, and an elaborately knotted silk cravat. Mr. Lathrop stood nearby, suppressing a laugh with difficulty, while the others loitered in the parlor.

When Lizzy materialized on the landing, resembling to Darcy’s eyes every iota the princess from a fairy tale, his breathing halted for a full minute and his heart skipped several beats. Lizzy blushed under the stunned scrutiny of her husband, loving him increasingly with each step she moved toward him. His smile was radiant and his eyes glowed. If only he knew how impossibly handsome he was when he smiled and gazed upon her in this manner, yet much of his charm was in his total ignorance of his attractiveness and allure.

He kissed the gloved hand she offered, meeting her eyes. “Mrs. Darcy, you are majestic. I am spellbound by your beauty.”

She curtseyed and beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. May I repay the compliment and say that you are an Adonis? Supremely handsome and dapper.”

“Elizabeth is here!” Georgiana exclaimed, dashing to her sister and followed closely by the others, who quickly surrounded Lizzy with gushing praise. Grinning indulgently yet conscious that this could continue for hours, Darcy rapidly called for Elizabeth’s coat and ushered her into their waiting carriage. Once settled and on their way, Darcy turned toward his wife, retrieving a small box from his pocket.

“For you, beloved. I ventured a guess, the gown a mystery of mythic proportions. Upon revelation, I warrant this bauble will accent nicely.”

The bauble was a silver brooch some two-inches in diameter in a vague sunburst design with inlaid diamonds and sapphires. Accounting it anything less than exquisite would be an insult. Lizzy was, again, overcome by Darcy’s generosity and impeccable taste. He pinned it to her left shoulder where the overdress gathered. It was perfect.

Darcy, painfully cognizant of the fact that for the next eight or so hours proper decorum would prevent him from overtly touching or kissing his lovely wife, made use of the time the ride afforded. Carefully, of course.

Melcourt Hall, home of the Cole family for close to a hundred years, was an enormous brick structure almost as imposing as Pemberley. Sir John Cole, a frail widower well into his sixties, managed his estate with a vigor and efficiency contrary to his appearance. His three sons had gradually assumed most of the responsibilities; however, Sir Cole unequivocally reigned. The eldest two sons were married and the youngest, Percy, only a few years older than Darcy, had recently become betrothed to Mr. Creswell’s eldest daughter, Laura.

This development gave Miss Creswell a certain distinction amongst her peers, several of whom gathered strategically so they could simultaneously gossip and admire her engagement ring while maintaining constant vigil on the entryway. The anticipation was elevated this year. As a high point on the Derbyshire social calendar, the Twelfth Night Ball provided the unattached participants the best chance to make a lasting impression on each other.

For the newly plighted, such as Miss Creswell and Miss Sylvia Bristow and Miss Joy Worthington, it was the final opportunity to carefully flirt, giggle, and tease. Additionally, this year’s prime topic of speculation was the revealing of the country nobody who had stolen Mr. Darcy. To state that a dozen hearts had been broken, tears shed, and pillows punched would not be an exaggeration; however, none more so than Miss Bertha Vernor, daughter of Henry and Mary Vernor.

The Vernor family had for generations been the closest to the Darcys, both in physical proximity to their lands and in relationship. Gerald Vernor was only months older than Darcy and the two boys were close all through childhood and well into their adult years, only drifting apart somewhat over the past four years since Vernor’s marriage. As often transpires after matrimony, Gerald began passing more time in Derbyshire with his wife and new son while Darcy tended toward Town. Nonetheless, the two often met, hunted, and rode together, and Darcy had hosted Gerald and his wife Harriet at Pemberley numerous times.

Miss Bertha had fallen in love with her brother’s friend when she was a young girl of sixteen. It was fairly common knowledge to all except for the object of her affection who, not surprisingly, was unbelievably dense about such things and would not have been interested anyway. Still, Miss Bertha pined and hoped, counting on the intimate association between the two families to assist her. Her mother had been devastated by the news of Darcy’s marriage, railing at length to anyone willing to listen, especially her husband and son, both of whom cared too deeply for Darcy to wish for anything but his happiness. If that happiness had been acquired with Bertha, the rejoicing would have been profound, but affairs of the heart could not be controlled.

The Vernors had not yet arrived as the flibbertigibbets surrounding Miss Creswell prattled and cogitated. “I heard she refused to eat for a week!” declared Miss Nanette Stanhope.

“Ridiculous,” Miss Rose Creswell snipped. “Dear Bertha may be heartbroken, but she would never behave so foolishly.”

“Well, I think anyone who chooses to bemoan Mr. Darcy thusly is idiotic,” Miss Bristow primly stated. “Aside from Pemberley, he had nothing to offer. Altogether too dull, in my opinion.”

“Oh, pooh, Sylvia! Listen to you!” Miss Suzette Lynam sputtered with a laugh. “I recall how you nattered on and on after he spoke with you at the opera two seasons ago. ‘He has the bluest eyes, Suzie. And so tall! My neck ached from looking up at him!’” They all laughed and Miss Sylvia blushed.

“Fortunate it is then, Sylvia, that Mr. Reynolds is mere inches taller than you,” Miss Trudy Mills teased.

Miss Bristow tossed her head, “At least I am affianced. Trudy, were you not equally all aflutter when Mr. Darcy danced one set with you at the Masque two years ago?”

More laughter all around, and then Miss Greta Creswell spoke in her quiet voice, “Poor Bertha. We should not tease at her expense. She truly cared for Mr. Darcy, not that any fault can be laid at his feet for not returning her sentiments.”

Miss Joy Worthington patted Miss Greta’s hand. “Do not fret over Bertha, dear Greta. I understand that Mr. Bates has been calling recently. If she is wise, she will accept his suit.”

“Have any of you attained any specifics about the new Mrs. Darcy?” asked Miss Laura Creswell. “All my Mr. Cole knew was that she came from Hertfordshire. Not London Society at all.”

They collectively gasped and shook their heads. Miss Nanette replied, “My brother Aaron was relating that he met Mrs. Darcy in Lambton a few weeks ago.” Most of them had already heard the tale of how the eldest Mr. Stanhope had been introduce to Elizabeth at the Carriage Inn, but for the sake of a meaty story, they all affected ignorance. “He said she was pretty but rather plain, polite and friendly but seemed shy. Mr. Darcy, he said, was clearly besotted.”

Sage nods all around. “She has bewitched him, obviously,” declared Miss Suzette. “I would not have considered it possible to ensnare Mr. Darcy so, but plainly she found the way.”

Miss Amy Hughes spoke for the first time, stunning them all when she proclaimed, “I have met her.”

“Miss Amy! How dare you keep such juicy information from us!” chastised Miss Laura. “Pray tell us.”

Miss Hughes blushed. As the youngest of the group, just eighteen and out in society only this past year, she was more reserved. “It was in Madame du Loire’s salon a few weeks ago. I was there for my fitting. Mr. Darcy escorted Mrs. Darcy in and then left while she shopped.” Her blush deepened and she leaned forward, whispering, “He actually kissed her when he left!” This time their gasps were sincere and, if they had been so bold as to admit it, stemmed primarily from jealousy.

“Did you speak with her?” Miss Stanhope asked, all listening with rapt suspense.

“Yes. We were there for over an hour. She was delightful. Witty, charming, and beautiful.”

Miss Mills interrupted with the declaration that the Vernors had arrived. Sir Cole at that moment was greeting Mr. Vernor and his wife, Bertha with her brother and sister-in-law next in line. Lord and Lady Matlock were approaching as well. Out in the drive a long line of carriages slowly edged forward, the Darcy carriage among them. By the time the Darcys alighted, the young women had welcomed Miss Bertha, avoiding any further mention of Mr. Darcy, while maintaining their surveillance.

Lizzy had vanquished her trepidations. Her delight in the atmosphere surrounding the festively decorated home, zeal to dance with her husband, eagerness to become acquainted with the other young married women of Derbyshire, and general encompassing bliss had successfully enthused her. The usually stoic and uncomfortable Mr. Darcy discovered that, for the very first time in his entire life, he actually anticipated a ball. It was therefore with boundless pride and a beaming smile that Mr. Darcy entered the grandly embellished foyer of Melcourt Hall with his radiant bride on his arm.

A mild hush fell over the room as nearly every eye in the place fell on the couple, both of them well aware of the scrutiny. Darcy paused theatrically, delighting in the attention for indubitably the only occasion in memory and probably the last. The caesura spanned mere seconds, but the desired effect was obtained. Within minutes the word raced through the manor that the Darcys had arrived.

Sir Cole welcomed the young couple effusively, Lizzy charming him instantly. Lord and Lady Matlock hovered nearby and greeted Lizzy warmly, further causing a stir. If the redoubtable Matlocks so approved of the new Mrs. Darcy, then the rumors of her inappropriateness that had spread throughout the region surely were ungrounded.

“Elizabeth dear, you are breathtaking,” Lady Matlock pronounced with a kiss to Lizzy’s cheek. “Nephew, allow me the honor of introducing Mrs. Darcy to the Vernors. Mr. Vernor, Mrs. Vernor, my niece Mrs. Darcy.”

“Mrs. Darcy, it is a delight to see you again,” Mr. Vernor bowed. “I do trust your first month at Pemberley has been pleasant?”

“Immensely so, Mr. Vernor, thank you for inquiring. Mrs. Vernor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Darcy had greeted Gerald with enthusiasm and turned to his wife. “My dear, this is Gerald Vernor, an old friend, although he did tergiversate and attend Oxford. Mr. Vernor, my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”

“Mrs. Darcy, it is a joy to meet the woman who captured my wayward friend’s heart.” Lizzy laughed and curtseyed, sensing immediately the same open amiability in the son as in the father. He lightly touched his wife’s elbow, “My wife Harriet Vernor.”

Harriet Vernor was a tall woman, slim but slightly mannish in her build, with an unattractive horsy face but yet startling green eyes. As soon as she spoke, however, her homeliness faded. Her voice was dulcet and rich, and she spoke with an easy humor and pithy wit. Lizzy liked her instantly, and the two fell into an effortless conversation as the group moved into the main hall.

The following forty-five or so minutes were expended in a flurry of introductions, as seemingly the entire population of Derbyshire drifted toward the Darcys. The Matlocks remained near, lending nonverbal support to their niece, while Darcy, although remarkably more extroverted than usual, nonetheless cut an imposing figure. Few were brave enough to cross the formidable Mr. Darcy.

In general, the inhabitants were gracious and welcoming, willing, apparently, to delay a hasty judgment regarding the new Mrs. Darcy. The thinly veiled insults and condescending glances were rare and met with the glare and particular set to the jaw displaying annoyance from Mr. Darcy, which none wanted directed their way. Harriet amused Lizzy with a running acerbic commentary whispered in her ear. By the time the strains from the orchestra commenced, Lizzy’s mind was a muddle of names. Therefore, she was ecstatic to have her handsome husband claim her for the first set. She had promised Lord Matlock the second set and Mr. Vernor the third, but the remainder were all for Darcy.

The orchestra chose a moderate minuet to warm up the crowd, followed by a lively cotillion. Lizzy and Darcy had a marvelous time. The opportunity to completely erase the unpleasant aspects attached to the memory of their disastrous encounter at the Netherfield Ball was crucial. Neither of them could now deny the attraction they had felt even then, nor did they wish to. Yet for months afterwards Darcy had tried to blot her from his mind, and Lizzy had refused to even entertain the notion of enchantment with Mr. Darcy.

Tonight they allowed their love and mutual enthrallment to wash over them. Lizzy noted that indeed Darcy was an excellent dancer! So tall and elegant and graceful, every touch of his hand piercing through her gloves, the intoxicating whiff of his cologne as he glided near, intense gaze boring into her, the tiny lift to his lips now recognizable as humor and veneration, and the soothing timbre of his voice as he prattled nonsensically each time they passed all combined to far surpass any dancing experience of her life.

“I love this dance,” he began.

Lizzy smiled. “Indeed, most invigorating.”

“So many couples.”

“It is an accommodating room.”

“Pemberley’s ballroom is larger, however.”

“Do you intend to talk all through the dance, Mr. Darcy?”

“I have been advised it is proper etiquette to do so… Do you not agree, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Only if one’s partner is worth conversing with.”

“I see… am I classified as worthy or unworthy?”

“I believe I need more evidence to judge… pray continue, Mr. Darcy.”

On and on it went, Darcy never losing his train of inane babble, even when parted for a turn with the next lady in line. Lizzy watched him from the corner of her eye, frequently making contact with his gaze, as they moved through the set. He spoke little to anyone else, except for one young woman approximately Lizzy’s age whom he greeted with a soft smile. She, oddly, was a deep shade of pink and decidedly uncomfortable, puzzling Darcy.

“Who is the young lady in yellow?” Lizzy asked when again engaged with her husband.

“Miss Bertha Vernor, Gerald’s sister,” he replied softly with an edge of bafflement in his voice.

“You unnerved her, it appeared.”

“I cannot imagine how… I have known her all her life… she is like a sister to me.”

Lizzy laughed, “My love, you are impossibly obtuse!”

“I beg your pardon, Madame!”

“I can almost guarantee she does not see you as a brother.” Darcy’s confusion increased for a full minute before he finally grasped her implication, after which he blushed profusely, covering his discomfiture with the Darcy scowl. The dance ended with Lizzy’s tinkling laugh as she took his arm and steered him to the bowl of wassail.

The next sets were the shorter quadrilles. Lizzy danced the initial two parts with Lord Matlock while Darcy squired his aunt. The Earl made few attempts at conversation, the fast pace and intricate steps of the dance demanding all his attention. Lady Matlock apparently was quite diverting, as Lizzy could see her husband struggling to remain reserved and focused. Lizzy danced the middle parts with Mr. Gerald Vernor, Darcy partnering Mrs. Vernor. Lizzy and Darcy finished the set together.

The dining hall was lavishly decorated, the long tables arranged in rows facing toward the door with the main table slightly elevated lengthwise before the far wall. The Darcys were seated at the main table with Sir Cole, the Matlocks, the Vernors, Sir Arthur Levings of Parwich Hall, Lord and Lady Newburgh of Hassop Hall, Sir James and Lady Harpur of Calke Abbey, and numerous others whom Lizzy had not yet met.

Lizzy sat diagonally across from her husband and between Lady Harpur and a man introduced to her as the Marquis of Orman. Lord Orman was a handsome man perhaps a year or two older than Darcy, unmarried and charming. Lady Harpur said little, whether from shyness or lack of interest in her dinner companions Lizzy could not discern. Darcy was flanked by Sir James Harpur and Mrs. Mary Vernor. Within earshot sat Lord and Lady Matlock and the remaining Vernors.

Dinner was spectacular. Conversation and laughter flowed. Lord Orman was engaging, thankfully for Lizzy, as Lady Harpur said barely two words. Darcy spoke primarily with Sir James and Mr. Vernor, joining in with Lizzy and Lord Orman on occasion.

“Mrs. Darcy,” Lord Orman said, “I understand you are from Hertfordshire?”

“Yes, My Lord, you have heard correctly. Are you familiar with the region?”

“Not much, I confess. I have traveled through on my way to London; however, I have not tarried in the area. Do you miss your home?”

Lizzy smiled. “I miss my family somewhat, but Pemberley and Derbyshire are my home.”

“Of course. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, I meant no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Did you leave a large family behind?”

“Four sisters and my parents, as well as cousins. Fortunately, Meryton is not a great distance, and it is the lot of us women eventually to leave our parents for our new families. I am content.” Lizzy glanced at Darcy, who was apparently absorbed in his plate, but she noted the tiny crease between his brows and well knew what it signified.

“Of course.” Lord Orman continued. “Still, it must be difficult to leave what you have always known for the unknown.”

“You would be mistaken, My Lord. It has not been difficult in the slightest. I am exceedingly comfortable here. The scenery and natural formations are widely diverse and majestic here in Derbyshire. Far more so than Hertfordshire, which is pastoral. Unfortunately the weather has not been kind enough to allow me the opportunity to explore as I would wish; however, this will be remedied in the spring.”

“Do you appreciate the out of doors then, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Oh yes, very much.”

“You ride, I presume.”

“Actually, not at all. I prefer to walk.”

He was taken aback, “How odd. A Darcy who does not ride. Who would have believed it? I would rather have imagined horsemanship a prerequisite for matrimony amongst the Darcys.” He seemed to be teasing but Lizzy found the comment a trifle rude. Apparently, her husband did as well.

“I fear you are hasty, Orman, in forming assumptions regarding the character of the Darcys.” He spoke softly but with an edge that Lizzy recognized as irritation and his eyes were a flinty blue. “A person’s caliber is not dependent on a particular accomplishment, nor can a host of accomplishments accurately illustrate one’s quality.”

It was a true statement voiced in a flat tone, but Lizzy, who knew her husband so well, understood he was casting aspersions. Orman knew it also, and there was a moment of silence before he laughed, “Touché, Darcy.”

The conversation turned then to topics more general. The men spoke of politics and the resolving crisis with France. Lizzy struck up a conversation with Mrs. Vernor and Mrs. Samantha Cole, a woman in her late twenties and the wife of the middle Cole son, Joshua. Mrs. Cole reminded Lizzy of her younger sisters, giddy and not terribly bright but humorous and entertaining. Her favorite topics were fashion and society gossip, of little interest to Lizzy; however, she did realize that a fair amount of knowledge on both subjects could be to her advantage so she joined in. She and Mrs. Vernor shared several amused glances, but Mrs. Cole’s insipid chatter did pass the time pleasantly and, oddly enough, Lizzy did like her.

As they stood to leave the table, Lord Orman leaned close to Lizzy and said softly, “I hope I did not offend, Mrs. Darcy. You appear an intelligent young woman and I enjoyed our conversation. I would like to be counted a friend.”

Lizzy was terribly uncomfortable and momentarily at a loss. Darcy, she noted quickly, was on the other side of the table speaking with his aunt, apparently unaware of Lord Orman’s attention. Lizzy took a step backwards, smiled pleasantly, and met his eyes frankly. “Thank you for the compliment, Lord Orman. I can assure you that whomever my husband counts as a friend is also a friend of mine. As I am a new inhabitant of the area, I am leaving these decisions to him. It is far too easy to arrive at swift and errant judgments.”

Lord Orman bowed and retreated slightly but continued undeterred, “Would I be too bold to ask if I may secure your hand for a dance set, Mrs. Darcy? Or does Mr. Darcy make those decisions for you as well?”

Lizzy was stunned, a ready retort on her lips, but they were both startled by Darcy’s deep voice. “Mrs. Darcy is free to fill her dance card with whomever she chooses.” He stood next to her, towering over Orman by at least five inches, calm, and impassively gazing at the Marquis as he offered his arm to Lizzy.

Lizzy smiled brightly at her husband as she placed her hand on his arm, and then turned to Orman. “Thank you, Lord Orman; however, all dances are promised to my husband, by my choice.” She curtseyed and he bowed.

“Perhaps another time then, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy.” He bowed again and moved away.

“Interesting man,” Lizzy commented sardonically.

“He is a scoundrel, Elizabeth. I cannot fathom what Sir Cole was thinking to seat him at the head table, and close to me. He knows we despise each other.”

“As bad as all that?” She said with an arch smile. “You must fill me in, William! I am becoming quite enamored with the local gossip.”

He looked at her in shock and then, seeing a feigned vapid expression on her face, he laughed. “Perhaps, darling, you should steer clear of Mrs. Cole and her cronies for the remainder of the evening. They are corrupting your good sense.”

To their heightened amusement, Lady Matlock and Harriet Vernor approached at precisely that moment to steal Elizabeth away with the express intent of introducing her to more of the married ladies of the region. Darcy relented only after his aunt promised to be cautious. “Fret not, William, I shall take care of her.”

They had re-entered the ballroom. The orchestra played softly in the background as the two enormous and absurdly ornate Twelfth Night cakes were wheeled in. Harriet explained, “One cake is for the women and the other for the men. Pieces are cut, and the man and woman who receive a piece with the bean in it are crowned King and Queen for the night. It is all silly fun.”

As the pieces were cut and distributed to those who wished to partake, Darcy not surprisingly refusing as he had every year he attended, Harriet and Lady Matlock escorted Lizzy about the room. There were an abundance of women roughly Lizzy’s age or a bit older who welcomed her graciously. Mrs. Samantha Cole fawned over her as if they were old friends, proudly presenting Lizzy to her sister-in-law Mrs. Katherine Cole and soon-to-be sister-in-law Miss Laura Creswell. There was the usual gushing over the dress and brooch and hair, intermingled with cunningly worded inquiries as to how she and Mr. Darcy had met, the wedding details, her family connections, and so on. Lizzy had a marvelous time.

Most of the young women were delightful and, if like Mrs. Samantha Cole they were not overly astute, Lizzy found them genuine and gracious. There were a number who reminded her vividly of Caroline Bingley, but Lizzy had fun with them as well. Three women in particular, Mrs. Alison Fitzherbert, Mrs. Julia Sitwell, and Mrs. Chloe Drury, connected instantly with Lizzy, as had Harriet Vernor. Before the night was over, the four women had arranged a date for tea the following week at Mrs. Fitzherbert’s home, Tillington Hall, near Eyam.

The Queen was Miss Bertha Vernor and the King a Mr. Rufus Sitwell. It seemed clear to Lizzy that the young Mr. Sitwell was delighted to have the opportunity to stand next to Miss Bertha and dance as the Royal Couple for the next set. Lizzy had rejoined her husband for the “crowning” and whispered as much to him.

“He may have competition,” he responded. “I have been informed that Mr. Bates has been calling on Miss Bertha.”

Lizzy smiled. “My, what an old gossip you are, Mr. Darcy. When we are home, we shall have to compare notes.”

“I have plans for when we return home, my lovely wife, and they do not include comparing notes.” He stared seriously straight ahead, but feathered one finger over her knuckles where they lay on his arm, sending shivers thrilling up Lizzy’s spine.

The orchestra announced the next dance, the sarabande. Darcy and Lizzy took their places, memories again assailing them as the music began. The tune was different than at the Netherfield Ball, but the steps the same. Neither of them attempted conversation. Instead, they focused on each other to the exclusion of the entire room. As pleasant as the experience was, it was also rather dangerous. The two lovers nearly did lose sight of where they were, drawing closer with each turn than the dance strictly intended and becoming mildly aroused. Luckily, the music ended before they foolishly crossed any lines of propriety, faces flushed and panting imperceptibly. The following dances were livelier, a gavotte and then a gigue.

Darcy was willing to continue for the next set, but Lizzy opted for refreshments and fresh air. Darcy secured two cups of wassail and gingersnaps, happily guiding his wife outside to a secluded alcove on the terrace. Lizzy did not have the chance to take a sip before her husband had claimed her mouth in a preferable activity.

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, breathing heavily against her parted lips, “you are so beautiful. I am torn asunder. Part of me desires never to leave as I am swollen with pride in proclaiming to all how blessed I am in having procured the hand of such a magnificent woman. Yet I also long to be alone with you.” He kissed her lingeringly, caressing her face and neck, and murmuring, “Glorious wife. You take my breath away. I am nonplussed by my mood of felicity!”

“Are you truly enjoying yourself, beloved?”

“Yes, I honestly am.” He sounded as surprised to admit it as Lizzy was to hear it. “Dancing with you, introducing you to my friends, simply having you here with me, Elizabeth; I cannot express how happy I am.” He laughed boisterously. “Thank you, my love! I now understand how enjoyable these events can actually be and why people attend them. I never comprehended it before.”

Lizzy smiled gleefully and kissed his cheek. “William, you are so cute! I love you!”

He lifted one eyebrow, still smiling and stroking her swanlike neck. “Cute? I am not certain how manly it is to be labeled ‘cute,’ Elizabeth.”

“Your manliness is without dispute, my love, but do not worry, your cuteness shall be our secret.”

They passed another ten or so minutes in merry seclusion, entering the hall arm and arm in time for the waltz. Some thirty couples were brave enough to dare the infamous dance, all but three of them married. The full assembly gathered in the ballroom, pressed into every available space to observe. The general atmosphere was one of eager anticipation with only a few outright expressions of indignation or wrath.

The Darcys took their place, irrefutably one of the best-looking couples on the floor. The Viennese waltz was a fast-paced dance of unrelenting circular movements with numerous twirlings and rotations. It was fluid, graceful, and vigorous. Despite its reputation, the intimacy was not as scandalous as many envisioned. The partners stood at nearly extended arm’s length, the man’s right hand lightly on the woman’s waist with her left hand resting on his shoulder. His left arm stretched at chest height, acting as a shelf for her right hand. Their bodies never actually touched.

The orchestra played “Una Cosa Rara” from Vincente Martin’s opera, one of the original waltz pieces written. The music was beautiful, and it was heavenly to dance with the full symphonic blends swirling about them. Lizzy and Darcy had eyes only for each other. It was amazing, exhilarating, and enormous fun. Only one other intimate activity transcended the rapture of this dance. When the music ended, the room erupted in applause.

For the second turn, some ten new couples boldly joined in. A Mozart waltz was performed this turn as wondrously as Martin had been. The actual steps of the waltz were not complex, rendering the dance easy to learn and execute. Those who possessed a natural grace, such as the Darcys, excelled. Of course, it was a new dance, so few of the participants could claim expertise, which meant that few of the spectators could necessarily find fault. Therefore, the acclamation was thunderous, with even the skeptics rendering grudging approval. Overall, the decision to allow the nefarious dance born in the bordellos and peasant dance halls of Europe was a triumph, and presented another step in the path of preeminence for waltz-type dancing.

For the remaining sets, the orchestra reverted to standard, accepted English country dancing. Darcy led Elizabeth to an isolated seat and, after a kiss to her hand, left in search of refreshments. Lizzy watched him weave his way through the press of people, taller than the majority of them so it was easy to follow his progress. She sighed in happiness and closed her eyes briefly.

“You dance the waltz as if born to do so, Mrs. Darcy.”

The voice jolted her out of her reverie and she looked up into the eyes of the Marquis of Orman. “My Lord, forgive me. I did not see you approach.”

“It is I who should beg forgiveness, Madame. I believe I interrupted your rest. You must be fatigued after such a vigorous dance.” He was smiling strangely and peering at her far too boldly for comfort.

“This would be twice tonight you have been mistaken, sir. I am not fatigued. Merely catching my breath and capturing a moment of solitude until Mr. Darcy returns with our refreshments.”

“Ah, so he is to return. Pity. I was rather hoping he had deserted you. May I?” He indicated the empty side of the sofa, but without waiting for an invitation, he sat and leaned toward Lizzy. “Are all the women of Hertfordshire as beautiful as you, Mrs. Darcy? If so, I must travel there immediately. Perhaps I shall be as fortunate as Darcy.”

Lizzy recognized with alarm that the Marquis was inebriated. She did not wish to make a scene nor to have Darcy discover him here. She glanced around quickly and did not see her husband’s towering form anywhere near. “I appreciate the compliment, Lord Orman. However, I believe it improper for you to offer it and to be sitting so close to me. Please stand a pace away, sir.”

“Beautiful and spirited, too. I can understand why Darcy married you. The Monk of Pemberley found his match, and the heart of every young maiden in England was broken.”

Elizabeth was furious. “Marquis, I will overlook this hideous breach of manners for the sake of peace at these festivities and because I deem you are not fully in charge of your faculties. I will not, however, sit here and listen to you any further. Please excuse me.” She stood to leave but he grasped her wrist tightly.

“Orman! You will unhand my wife this instant, or I promise you will not live to see the light of day.” One glance at Darcy’s enraged face and Orman flinched, releasing Lizzy’s hand as if it were on fire. Darcy was livid, visage dark and perilous, flinty eyes boring into Orman with a chilling intensity. Without blinking or removing his glare, he handed the cups to Elizabeth. “My dear, take these and find Lady Matlock. I will join you momentarily.” His voice was calm but colder than Lizzy had ever heard it. She took the cups and left without a word.

A backward glance revealed Darcy firmly and ruthlessly propelling the unresisting Marquis out of the hall. Oddly, no one in the near vicinity seemed to have noticed any of it. Lizzy found the Matlocks sitting with the Vernors, elder and younger, and tremblingly told them what had transpired. Lord Matlock and Henry Vernor rose instantly and exited the hall. Harriet and Lady Matlock comforted Lizzy.

“That man has always been trouble,” Lady Matlock proclaimed. “I cannot fathom what Sir Cole was thinking, inviting him tonight. You can be sure he will hear about this.”

Lizzy was further distraught and felt tears rising to her eyes. “Oh no! I do not wish for this to be made into a scandal. Mr. Darcy abhors talk and would be so angry.”

Lady Matlock looked at her sharply. “Elizabeth, do not fret. It will remain discreet and William would never be angry with you for this. You said no one noticed. Harriet, dear, take Elizabeth into the library. I shall tell Mr. Darcy where you are.”

Some fifteen minutes later Darcy entered the library. Lizzy was calm, talking softly with Harriet, who rose when Darcy approached. “Thank you, Mrs. Vernor, for attending to my wife.”

She curtseyed. “It was my pleasure Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth, I shall see you soon.”

“Thank you, Harriet, for everything.”

The second the door closed behind her, Darcy dropped his pose of serenity and knelt before Lizzy, taking her face into his hands and studying her raptly. “Beloved, are you well? Please forgive me for allowing this to occur. What did he say to you? Did he hurt you in any way?” His voice caught and he swallowed.

Lizzy shook her head quickly and put her arms around him. “William, I am fine. He did not hurt me and nothing he said is of any import. He was intoxicated and rambling. There is nothing to forgive.” She smiled, “Your timing was excellent, as I was about to kick him. How would that have looked? You are my hero.” She kissed him teasingly, but he would have none of that and clutched her to his chest, kissing her possessively.

“I should have had him thrown out earlier when he insulted you,” he growled. “He is damned fortunate I did not kill him tonight!”

She peered at his frowning face. “Did you… do anything to him?”

He inhaled deeply and then smiled, “Such as trounce him within an inch of his miserable life? It was tempting, but no. Somehow I did not think you would wish to dance with me covered in blood.” He ran his fingers over her cheeks. “Elizabeth, are you positive you are well? You must tell me the truth.” He continued to peer at her with the familiar Darcy intensity at full force while gently massaging the wrist Orman had grabbed.

“I am fine. I was angry more than anything. I despise rude people and did not want this wonderful night ruined.”

Darcy kissed her wrist and mouth tenderly and then rose. “Nothing is ruined, my love. If I have not lost track of time, there is still one more dance set before the play.” He held his arm out. “May I have the honor, Mrs. Darcy?”

They were the last couple to join the line. It was a frolicsome dance to end the evening, and by the completion, Lizzy and Darcy had put the whole episode with Lord Orman behind them. Smiling and breathless, they accompanied the parade of merrymakers into the dining room, which had hastily been converted into a playhouse. The stage spanned the far wall, an enormous curtain concealing the preparations from the audience being ushered to their seats. The Darcys’ seats were in the fifth row. As soon as the lights were dimmed, Darcy clasped Lizzy’s hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

It was now after midnight; therefore, Twelfth Night was officially over and it was now Twelfth Day, the traditional day of Christ’s Epiphany. The Coles had, for all the years of their Masque, separated the entertainment into two parts: feast and dancing followed by a stage theatrical. This year Sir Cole had hired a troupe of pantomimes from London for the first act. As expected, the comedic company delivered a riotous, irreverent performance. The play chosen was the classic English fairy tale Jack and the Beanstalk, executed brilliantly with smashing audience participation. Mugs of wassail had been passed around for the obligatory cheers of “Waes hael,” as well as small bags of beans to throw at the giant when instructed. Lizzy had never witnessed anything quite like it nor laughed so hard in her life.

After an intermission, the audience took their seats for the last half of the production. For the dramatic portion of the theatrical, Sir Cole had hired a renowned company from Birmingham to perform the new play by E. T. A. Hoffmann, Nutcracker and the Mouse King. This latest piece had been written just that year and not yet translated for the general masses; therefore, it was an amazing treat. Darcy, especially, was fascinated by the Prussian author’s stories, so he was delighted and utterly spellbound. Lizzy privately found it too somber but highly imaginative, nonetheless, and magnificently acted.

The end of the theatricals effectively capped a marvelous evening. Visiting, drinking, and nibbling continued for several hours more, although Darcy and Lizzy tarried for some forty-five minutes only. Lizzy renewed her teatime appointment with Harriet, Mrs. Fitzherbert, Mrs. Sitwell, and Mrs. Drury. Darcy thanked his aunt for comforting Elizabeth after the Orman debacle. Invitations were extended by Darcy to several of the young couples of his circle for dinner two days hence, before the Gardiners and Lathrops departed. He spontaneous planned this without consulting Lizzy, to her surprise, not because she minded but because she would have thought him weary of so much entertainment.

Finally in their carriage, nestled close for warmth as well as the yearning to touch each other, Lizzy sighed and contentedly rested her head on Darcy’s inner shoulder. He kissed her head and stroked her arm. She arched her neck and peered at her husband’s smiling face. “You were the handsomest man there, my love, and I the most fortunate of women because I get to go home with you.”

“Flatterer! It is not necessary, beloved; you already have me.”

“I can only speak the truth. Now kiss me, Mr. Darcy, and then tell me about the plans you have for when we get home.”

He did not answer her inquiry but did acquiesce to her request by kissing her searchingly in sheer delight. The short carriage ride home passed swiftly, both of them gasping shallowly with barely enough forethought to cease their activity before the footman opened the door. The cold blast of winter air restored clarity sufficiently to enable them to ascend the staircases in relative calm.

The manor was dimly lit and quiet. A fire was smoldering in their bedchamber, but otherwise the room was dark. Darcy barely managed to keep his hands off his lovely wife during the long walk. He drew her back against his chest the moment they entered their room, latching the door simultaneously. His hands stroked voraciously over her hips and thighs as he delivered sensuous kisses along the silky nakedness of her neck and collarbone.

“Oh, my sweet, delicious wife. How is it possible to love and hunger for you more with each day that passes?” He suckled her earlobe. Lizzy moaned, pressing herself firmly against him. “You render me breathless with desire, my lover. So beautiful. Dancing with you was equally a pleasure and an agony.”

“Agony?” she asked in a bare whisper.

He turned her in his arms, cupping her face with his hands, thumbs caressing. “I want you so, my beloved. Do you know what exquisite torture it is to be so close to you, to feel your touch, gaze upon your enchanting beauty, and yearn to make love to you with every muscle in my body, yet not be able to even kiss you?”

She smiled. “Yes, William, I do know. Were you fantasizing again, beloved?”

“Always. Carefully, however, or the entire assembly would have been witness to Darcy of Pemberley’s more personal and private attributes.”

Lizzy laughed, reaching down while kissing his lips lightly, she said, “I would rather keep those marvelous attributes for mine eyes only.”

“You forever shall, Elizabeth. Now, stay here a moment.” He added a log to the fire and then lit a couple lamps, returning hastily to where she patiently stood. With a stunning smile and graceful bow, he asked, “Mrs. Darcy, may I have this dance?”

She giggled at his silliness, but curtseyed properly, “You may, Mr. Darcy.”

In a flawless waltz position, humming Mozart in perfect pitch, he swept her about the room. Full orchestra music was unnecessary. As regally as at the Masque, their clothing impeccable and movements as one, they floated. The flowing, elegant steps proceeded naturally as they raptly adored each other. As they glided through the sensuous swaying motions, Darcy incrementally lured her closer to his body until they touched. His left hand grasped Lizzy’s right, fingers interlaced, and he kissed each finger before placing their enfolded hands against his heart. They danced, twirled, and wove in unity and rhythm as their passion heightened. Both were panting and light-headed with a burning desire.

Darcy steered her to the edge of the bed, laying her down smoothly as he hovered above her, supporting himself so as not to crush her. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he murmured and then engulfed her mouth with a hungry urgency. One seeking hand traveled leisurely over her body, tantalizing her through the filmy satin of her gown as she arched to meet him. With a throaty groan, he pulled away from her lips momentarily, studying her rapturous face, and continuing to arouse her with his fingers as she gasped and trembled while skillfully arousing him. They kissed again as if starved, delirious with rising ardor, wanting to be joined together intimately as if life depended on it, yet unable to break from the consummate rapture of shared breath.

Raining moist kisses over her neck, he peeled the delicate fabric off one shoulder, traveling to her exposed bosom for gentle kisses. In time he moved to kneeling on the floor between her legs. Caressing under her skirt and petticoat until the urgent craving to love each other consumed them, they joined forcefully and blissfully.

“William! My heart, oh God, how I love you!” She clutched his shoulders under his jacket, succumbing to the joy of him, the love and passion that consumed her now and always. On they loved, heaven attained eventually as they molded bodily and melded spiritually.

Darcy collapsed onto her. Words were temporarily impossible, all effort expended on breathing. Lizzy’s wits resurfaced first. Running her fingers through his hair, her head turning to kiss his cheek, she murmured, “Fitzwilliam, my lover, I adore you more than life.”

Darcy lifted on an elbow, fingering along her face with one hand while the other embedded into the curls spilling over her right shoulder. He kissed her tenderly. “You are beautiful, my wife. All night I watched you dazzling and charming the citizens of Derbyshire, and pride consumed me. I cannot believe you are mine, my Lizzy, my treasure. I am the most fortunate of men.”

She smiled, “We are both fortunate, husband. Now, I want to feel your glorious naked body surrounding me as we sleep. You have blissfully exhausted me, so I shall need your assistance to undress.”

He chuckled, kissed her lightly. “I am not certain I can stand, so we may need to help each other!” They did, the process of unclothing the other eliciting a mild state of reoccurring arousal, but in the end they were blessedly spent and required sleep. At least for the moment.