identify, but any further attempts to change her mind were met with increased stubbornness and an argument, so he finally relented. The gown that Kitty had chosen was remarkable and her hair equally as stunning, accented with one of Elizabeth's ruby hair combs. Kitty was an adorable young girl to Darcy's eyes. She did not look like his wife, but they had the same coloring and hair. She possessed the identical effervescent quality that Elizabeth did and was very witty. Without Lydia to negatively influence her and with the positive, steady persuasion of Mary and now Georgiana, Kitty had mellowed. Her giddiness was slowly replaced with a pleasant charm and grace. Alas, she still did not boast the intelligence of her three older sisters.
Kitty and Georgiana completed their tale, Richard yet chuckling, when Elizabeth and Mary simultaneously entered the room. Elizabeth, in her ultimate Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy regalia, was breathtaking. Normally Darcy's eyes would have been captured as the whole world faded from view. Tonight, however, it was Mary demanding immediate awe. It was not in any way that she was more stunning than Elizabeth; it was the shock of Mary adorned in anything other than a somber gray or black! Her gown was fashionable, with a daring scooped neckline and bared shoulders, a pale pink and sky blue satin with embossed roses over the lower third of the skirt. Her thick, lustrous black hair was pulled up with a half bonnet detailed with matching roses and feathers adorning. Her lips were painted a rosy pink and a faint dash of rouge highlighted her cheekbones. Darcy had never realized how beautiful she was, and Richard's eyes were bulging.
Elizabeth was beaming with pride and Mary was blushing under the intense scrutiny. “Oh, Mary!” Georgiana gushed, dashing to her friend and clasping her hands. “You are stunning! Did I not tell you these colors would be wonderful?”
Elizabeth edged over to her husband, allowing the girls to enthuse. Darcy turned to his radiant wife, freshly rendered awestruck at her sultry elegance. Her gown of scarlet satin was equally as daring, the tops of shapely breasts visible and creamy shoulders bare. The gauzy satin pleated under the bosom with a glittery white ribbon, fell smooth and snug over her abdomen to her toes. The satin gathered into a loose bustle over her buttocks with the same white ribbon sash forming an elaborate bow before diverging into a dozen tails plummeting to the floor. There were no sleeves to speak of: the shimmering ribbon braided with a strip of the scarlet fabric formed a narrow band which edged the top of the bodice and V-shaped back, swept over her upper arms in three individual laces and crossed over the entire back in an intricate pattern. She wore a scarlet and white turban adorned with tiny crystals and a plumed white feather, hair braided, curled, and cascading over her left shoulder. At her throat rested a strand of square cut diamonds with an exquisite round ruby pendant, and rubies graced her ears.
Privately, Darcy never thought his wife more beautiful than when her hair was tumbling down her back and shoulders, a transparent nightgown or chemise clinging to her womanly form, and delicate face flushed with desire. At times, he yearned to see her again in the simple country dresses she had worn at Hertfordshire when her natural luminance and svelte shape had been the focus. Luckily for him, the bulk of her everyday dresses, although of finer quality and style, remained humble and unadorned. Lizzy, like her husband, preferred minimalism and comfort.
Despite the predilection for economy of dress, Lizzy had rapidly embraced the necessity and joy of sophisticated splendor and elegance. She may retain some naivete regarding the nuances of society, but she did understand the importance of this evening as her first official appearance as Mrs. Darcy in London. Therefore, her attire from top to bottom had been agonized over. The end result was stupendous. As was always the case when Darcy encountered his wife after an absence, no matter how brief, the need to touch and kiss her overwhelmed him. She could have been wearing a canvas sack and he would have experienced the same desire. Add in the resplendency of a gown and jewels, and it was unbearable.
Placing a hand lightly on her elbow, he steered unobtrusively out the side door into the billiard room. Closing the door firmly and leaning against it, he clasped her waist and drew her toward him for a deep kiss. Eventually pulling away, he feathered fingertips over her shoulders and neck. “I beg your forgiveness, my heart. It was early morning since last I avowed my ardent, consuming love for you.”
“True, beloved; however, you declared your love so spectacularly that I am yet tingling from the expression. There is no dereliction to pardon unless you fail to comment on my gown. The intention, after all, was to dazzle you. Either I have erred in my choice or you shall be in serious trouble.”
Darcy laughed lowly. “Your choice is perfection, my love. You are perfection.” He trailed one finger along her bodice. “I will confess to some hesitation and jealousy over any other observing so much of your delightful flesh.”
“Yet I belong to you, dearest, and only you shall ever view all of me.” She smiled. “Truthfully, William, am I presentable? I wish you to be proud of me.”
He cupped her face and kissed tenderly then smiled archly. “You place a dilemma before me, love. If I profess my irrepressible pride in all aspects, internal and external, which attribute to your flawlessness and that you are mine, then you may again accuse me of being arrogant and haughty. However, if I do not extol your exquisite beauty, impeccable character, and sparkling personality, I would be false and—what was it—be in ‘serious trouble’?”
She laughed. Pressing into his body with hands traveling over his derriere, she responded with an absorbing kiss. They were interrupted moments later by a rap to the door behind Darcy's head.
“Pardon the intrusion, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, but we should be leaving now. Unless, of course, you have decided to forego the opera in lieu of alternate pastimes?”
“We shall be there shortly, Richard. Go away.”
“As you command, cousin.” Lizzy was suppressing her giggles. Darcy tarried for another kiss and then offered an arm to his wife.
The society rumor mill had run full force during the immediate months after the engagement of Mr. Darcy to the penniless country girl of low rank. With some sadness and chagrin, but mostly joy at the fodder for juicy gossip, the topic of Darcy's choice was premier. It had ebbed somewhat after a month or so, only to flame anew at the announcement of the intimate nuptials in Hertfordshire, of all places. Then, with the populace dispersal for the winter and early spring, the chatter had died completely. As the influx of the elite increased in May, the mystery of the Darcy marriage and long absence from Town had resurged as a discussion point. The curiosity of it all was too succulent a morsel to ignore completely; however, after six months, there were dozens of torrid affairs far more interesting to chatter about. Even the crushed unmarried debutantes of the ton had turned their gazes elsewhere. Only in the past week, as the awareness of the Darcys’ residence had gradually filtered through the parlors of Mayfair and St. James's Place, did the gossip freshly rage. The question of why the seclusion at Pemberley for six long months and now the week-plus relative isolation was speculated with relish. Those fortunate souls who had been introduced to the new Mrs. Darcy when fortuitously encountering her while shopping were the celebrities of the inner circle.
Therefore, the fervor of interest was high. No one knew when or if she would formally make her entrance, but every last person prayed they would be present when she did. Thus it was with the crowd currently amassing in the grand foyer and reception hall of the Royal Theatre. Would this be the night? Of course, as with all society events, there were always a plenteous number of glittering personages of eminent importance to ogle and fawn over. The appearance of the Prime Minister, the famous boxer John Jackson, and the Russian Ambassador Count von Lieven with his wife, the famous Countess von Lieven, had already fanned the fires of excitement.
When the Darcy carriage finally crept to the front of the line, word had already begun to spread. Naturally, curiosity was high, but the talent involved with sating one's inquisitiveness while not observably appearing to do so was an art form well honed by the elite. Lizzy, ignorant of this skill, was hence spared the blatant stares which she had been expecting, enabling her to relax as she mounted the steps on her proud husband's arm.
A dashing and softly smiling Darcy escorted both his wife and sister. Colonel Fitzwilliam, resplendent in dress uniform, gladly lent his arms to Mary and Kitty. Lord and Lady Matlock stood outside the massive doors under the Corinthian columned portico in conversation with an elegant couple. The Earl noted their approach first, turning with a smile.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and Miss Darcy.” Lord Matlock bowed, greeting them all with proper hand kisses, Kitty and Mary blushing furiously.
Lady Matlock kissed Lizzy's cheek. “Elizabeth, dear, you are radiant. Please allow me to introduce you to Ambassador von Lieven and his wife Countess von Lieven. Your Grace, Countess, this is my niece, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Lizzy was nearly rendered speechless. She had heard of the Countess, a patroness of Almacks and hostess of one of the most elite salons in London, not to mention notorious as the mistress of Metternich. She was stunningly
