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.