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.”