Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge

“Well, I am certainly surprised my uncle even agreed to this. The Earl of Matlock should have been more defy-aunt. Perhaps it would be wise to simply cancel the risqué number before it is too late and replace it with something more socially acceptable. Ah, Father, there you are. What is your opinion of the scandal we shall surely cause tonight?”

“George, our son seems to believe we are all going to the inferno in a hand-basket tonight because we have included the waltz on our agenda.”

The senior Darcy was in an ebullient mood, having bent his elbow with his highborn brother-in-law earlier. “I understand your concern, Fitzwilliam, my boy. All the same, I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, that a ball of this kind, given by the Earl of Matlock and us, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. Bloody hell, we are certainly not going to Netherfield (hiccup), excuse me, I mean the Netherworld in any sort of basket, son. The waltz is not wicker (hiccup), excuse me, I mean wicked enough to send us to perdition’s pit. In fact, I am so far from objecting to dancing myself that I shall take this opportunity to solicit my wovely life (hiccup), excuse me, I mean lovely wife for the scandalous waltz.”

Lady Anne smiled fondly at her slightly foxed husband. When their beloved son sighed and set his jaw, she examined Fitzwilliam’s face closely and tried to understand the true reason for his opposition. “Oh, my dear. Has some other man asked Miss Elizabeth for the last set? Is that the cause of your dilemma?”

His ploy had not worked. Fitzwilliam Darcy knew when he was beaten, yet he would not stoop so low as to ask for his mother’s or his aunt’s assistance. “No, no. I assure you, if we are to imprudently proceed with this waltzing business, the lady I am courting will be standing up with none other than me. Mother, Father, please excuse me. I have pressing business to which I must attend.”

As she watched him stride away, Lady Anne shook her head at Fitzwilliam’s stodginess. To what pressing business could you possibly have to attend at a ball? Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you shall be very good, indeed, for my straight-laced son.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had made it the study of his life to avoid situations in which he might appear flawed; and as a perfectionist, he was exceptionally sensitive to criticism and ridicule. He set extremely high standards for himself, derived satisfaction from always being in control, and would not relax until his persistence paid off. I do not want her last dance to be one of mortification. What if I am awkward and have to apologize instead of attending? What if I often move wrong without being aware of it? I do not wish to be the cause of all the shame and misery a disagreeable partner can give. His youngest sister was his last hope. Anna had performed the music while the dance master instructed the family group the previous year, and Darcy reasoned she could perhaps remember the basics of the waltz and steal away with him for a few moments of rehearsal.

“Anna, dearest, loveliest sister, remember the time I covered for you when Georgiana’s frog accidentally, er, croaked because of what you did? You toad me you would owe a favour; and since I find myself stuck in the mire tonight, I need you to return the service now.”

When he had explained his predicament, Anna said, “Fitzwilliam, you are, indeed, a stick in the mud. Just come clean and tell Elizabeth. She is very understanding and will not think poorly of you. I cannot help, because I do not know how to waltz either. I will have to return the favour some other way, some other time. I am sorry, brother.”

Darcy wished he had other female relatives from whom he could call in furth-er favours, but he was out of options. The prestigious gentleman felt pressed for time. He pressed his fingers against the pressure in his aching head, compressed his lips, and repressed his feelings. The pressing business of pressing someone into assistance had to be suppressed while he pressed on through the oppressive crowd.

While Elizabeth capered with Ellis Fleming, Darcy danced the same third set with her sister. His depression eased with each fleeting glimpse of an impressive yellow dress, nut-brown curls, and expressive eyes.

Lizzy Bennet’s dance card was full. She had opened with Colonel Fitzwilliam and stood up with Mr. Bingley for the second set. Her fourth was promised to a naval officer, Captain Rumbold, whom she dreadfully expected would live up to his name. Then she would stand up with the author of A Comedy of Fencing Errors, Mr. Ray Pierre Witt. Following would be the eagerly awaited supper dances, when she could finally be with Darcy. After the meal she was committed to sets with Colonel Myles Forward, Mr. Hugh Mayne, Lieutenant Landon Sand, Viscount Chalcroft, and Mr. Bernard Lorne before she could rejoin Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy for the final dance. As she moved up the set with her current partner, she said, “Mr. Fleming, there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”

“Then ask away, Miss Elizabeth; that is, unless you want to know about Darcy’s behaviour at Cambridge. I will not cry rope on my good friend.”

“No, sir, I would never expect that of you. Nonetheless, I must admit you have certainly piqued my interest; and I am now wondering what deep, dark secrets you will not reveal. You might, however, be able to appease my curiosity on a different subject because of your family background in the manufacture of timepieces. When the first clock was invented, how did they know to what time to set it?”

“Ha! A very good question, indeed, Miss Elizabeth; and I am embarrassed to admit I have no good reply. Perhaps they used a times table. Now I have a riddle for you. Tell me how I should refer to a lovely lady who misplaced the watch I recently gave her.”

“Hmm, my first instinct would be to say late, as she simply must have lost track of time. Though I shudder to even think of referring to her as the ‘late lovely lady.’”

“No, Miss Elizabeth, I would describe her as a timeless beauty. Speaking of Georgiana, do you know she agreed to stand up with me for not only the first and supper sets but the last as well?”

“My, my, Mr. Fleming, you will certainly set tongues wagging by dancing together three times this night. I hope you are prepared to tie the knot, for imminent matrimony will be assumed, you know. We shall all then refer to your lovely lady as Mrs. Fleming.”

“To some, marriage is a word; to others, a sentence. All I will admit is for me, the word has a nice ring to it, as does ‘Mrs. Georgiana Fleming’ and I am prepared.” He patted his coat pocket and smiled.

Further along the line, Fitzwilliam Darcy asked his partner if she was aware the final set was a waltz. Jane Bennet replied in the affirmative and admitted she was eager to finally put her dance instruction to practical use.

“Has Miss Elizabeth also learned?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. You need not worry. We were both taught to waltz last season, and we have often practiced since then. Lizzy shall not embarrass you, sir.”

“Oh, good. Wonderful news, indeed,” he said unenthusiastically. Darcy was so desperate, he was on the verge of asking Miss Bennet to accompany him to an empty room and reacquaint him with the dance.

Good God! What am I thinking? The scandal of the waltz would be nothing compared to being found in a room alone with the sister of the woman I am courting. I am engaged for the next set with the unbearable wife of my unbearable cousin, and there is no possible way I am seeking Isabelle’s assistance. I would rather stick a needle in my eye than hold that harridan in an embrace. A solution shall surely present itself during supper, and I need to concentrate on a more important dilemma … how, where, and when to propose to Elizabeth tonight. Will such a woman even accept a supposedly genteel gentleman who has not the crucial ability to dance with style and grace?

The long-awaited supper set arrived, and suave Fitzwilliam Darcy moved across the ballroom floor with unconscious style and grace to claim his lady. He smiled down at her and said, “Miss Elizabeth, I believe you kindly promised to stand up with me for this set. Shall we?” He offered his arm, and Lizzy curled her hand around his sleeve. They were finally together, and Darcy proudly escorted his sweetheart to the line of dancers. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was already in formation with Jane Bennet, and Ellis Fleming and Georgiana Darcy stood in place as well.

They were all pleasantly surprised to be joined by a very merry Charles Bingley and his partner, who both suddenly stopped laughing and looked rather guilty when they caught sight of Darcy. Bingley glanced at Miss Bennet and the Colonel, and he could not be deceived as to her behaviour to Fitz. Looks appeared on both sides that spoke of a particular regard, and Bingley realized nothing had occurred between himself and Miss Bennet that could justify his own conceited hopes. Although he conceded to his rival for her affection, Bingley was not as heartbroken as perhaps expected. He and his partner delighted in each other’s company; and Charles was very glad to have, at the beginning of the ball, secured her for the all-important last set as well.

The musicians began to play. Darcy and Elizabeth briefly clasped hands and with that motion became