passage.”
Darcy joined them and awkwardly said, “I need some assistance but am rather embarrassed to admit … ”
Bingley held up his index finger. “Wait just a moment please, Darce. I need to read this quotation to Fitz: ‘We love a girl for very different things than understanding. We love her for her beauty, her youth, her mirth, her confidingness, her character, with its faults, caprices, and God knows what other inexpressible charms; but we do not love her understanding. Her mind we esteem if it is brilliant, and it may greatly elevate her in our opinion; nay, more, it may enchain us when we already love. But her understanding is not that which awakens and inflames our passions.’”
Darcy waited several moments. Bingley and Fitz appeared deep in thought; so he cleared his throat and said, “Pardon me. As I was saying earlier, I need assistance but am rather embarrassed to admit my quandary. Bingley, as I see it, you owe me a favour.”
“I probably owe you a multitude of favours, Darcy. So how may I help?”
“Firstly, I need a scheme to arrange a private moment with Miss Elizabeth tonight; secondly, I … I do not … remember how to waltz.” The other two chaps stared expectantly at him and patiently waited for further elaboration. Darcy stared expectantly back and impatiently waited for their agreement. “Well? Will you assist me?”
The Colonel scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and said, “Ah … just how, exactly, do you imagine we are to help you remember, cousin?”
Darcy rather testily answered, “You bloody well know how to waltz, Richard. You were there when we learned.”
“Yes, my point exactly!
“Perhaps it will come back to me once I begin. Be that as it may, I cannot risk making a fool of myself in front of everyone, especially Miss Elizabeth. I know it is a lot to ask, but could one of you please provide the music and the other show me the steps?”
“Egad, Darcy! Here? Now?”
Tetchy again, Darcy replied, “No, Bingley, out in the middle of the street six hours from now.”
“Well, what benefit would that be to you?”
Darcy closed his eyes, hung his head, and counted to ten. “Yes, Bingley, here. Yes, Bingley, now.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam thought the whole situation hilarious. In spite of that, he could tell his serious, perfectionist cousin was perfectly serious. “But, Darce, there is no instrument here in the library. How do you expect us to provide waltzing mus … Oh, no. Under no circumstances. I simply refuse to either waltz with you or sing. This is ludicrous. Count me out.”
“Richard, I simply abhor having to stoop low and resort to extortion. That said, I would not hesitate to cry rope to your sister-in-law. She will, no doubt, be horrified to discover you were the one responsible for spreading those ridiculous rumours about her extraneous body parts. Or maybe it is time your mother be told of the rather sweet-smelling, sandy-haired adolescent chap who broke her favourite, and quite expensive, perfume bottle and blamed it on a clumsy servant all those many years ago.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nonchalantly buffed his fingernails against his red-coated chest and inspected them for shine. Darcy frowned at his cousin’s unconcerned demeanour. “Is your father yet aware of a particular wild, drunken escapade in Brighton involving … ” He glanced at their mutual friend who was eagerly awaiting further enlightening details. “ … er, never mind. We must guard Bingley’s innocence from such indelicate imagery. However, shall I let James know who absconded with his collection of risqué etchings?”
The unaffected military officer rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, folded his arms, shook his head, and whistled a tune between his teeth. Unfortunately for his cousin, it was not a waltz. Darcy scowled until his face lit up with sudden inspiration. “Aha! Did Aunt Catherine ever discover who placed her hand in warm water while she slept and caused her to p … ”
“I will hum! Bingley can be the lady.”
“Could we not flip a coin, Fitz? Or draw straws?” Charles Bingley petulantly whined, “I do not want to be the lady either. And what happened in Brighton? I want to know!”
Georgiana Darcy noticed her father and Mr. Fleming in earnest conversation and wondered about the subject of their discourse. The gentlemen shook hands, both suddenly turned to look at her, and the younger of the two approached.
“Miss Darcy, your father has kindly permitted me to request a few minutes of private conversation with you. Would you care to accompany me and take the air?”
She agreed and asked for a moment to first fetch her shawl, but he insisted on retrieving it for her; when he returned, he gently wrapped it around her shoulders and offered his arm. They decided on a quick stroll in the garden. As soon as they were on the path and assured some privacy, Fleming stopped and stood in front of Georgiana. He gazed into her beautiful azure eyes and caressed her soft cheek with the lightest touch.
“Miss Darcy, you are the picture of loveliness standing here in the moonlight. I have been head over heels in love with you from the moment you poked Darcy with your frilly pink parasol and called him bacon-brained. I admired your pluck as you stood up to your brother and the way you tried to protect your sister and friends that fateful day at Pemberley. I could go on and on, for I love everything about you; but time is of the essence, and I must do this quickly before your father runs out of patience.”
Fleming paced a few steps and carelessly raked a hand through his hair. Georgiana gazed at the thick, glossy black waves that swept the collar of his white shirt; and she longed to run her own fingers through the feathery strands. She admired his broad shoulders in his tight coat, the deep blue of which matched his tantalizing indigo eyes. He stopped pacing and returned, standing very close and speaking very softly.
“A very, very wise American scientist, politician, and author said, ‘Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that’s the stuff life is made of.’[1] Miss Darcy, I do love life; and I do love you. I do not care to squander any more time. Will you share with me the stuff of which life is made? Will you consent to be my wife?”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Fleming, yes! I would very much love to be your wife.”
“Then why these tears, Georgiana?”
“Do you not know a lady sometimes cries when she is very happy?”
“I hope I never, ever, make you sad, Georgie. Still and all, how shall I ever be certain? If you cry when you are happy, do you laugh while you are sad?”
“Teasing, bacon-brained man! If I had my frilly pink weapon, I would surely poke you with it.”
“I would settle, instead, for your calling me Ellis and, perhaps, sharing a … kiss … may I?”
Their first kiss was gentle, sweet, and brief. Ellis Fleming was more than a little intimidated by his fiancée’s powerful father and did not want to be caught snogging. He suddenly remembered the ring in his coat pocket; and, with her permission, he slipped the small sapphire band onto her dainty finger and kissed her hand.
He said, “The inscription reads ‘G ~ Yours for all time ~ E’. Thank you, my dearest lady, for making me the happiest and luckiest man in the entire world. I would prefer to stay here alone with you all night, though I do not believe your father would approve. Shall we return and share our good news?”
The blissful couple entered the ballroom just as Georgiana’s father was about to search for them. They related the joyous news to George Darcy, who made the happy announcement to the entire assemblage.
“Are you looking for someone, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Mr. Fleming. I am looking for Mr. Bernard Lorne.”
“Ah. Well, I am sorry to report he became rather drunk as a wheelbarrow and had to be carted away to his carriage. But why are you looking for Lorne?”
Georgiana had been speaking with an acquaintance and joined the other two in time to overhear her fiancé’s final question. “Ellis, Elizabeth certainly does not look forlorn.”
“Oh yes, Georgiana, I was actually looking for Lorne,” said Elizabeth.
“But why? Whatever is the matter?”
