Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites

by Linda Berdoll

  The dining hall was lavishly decorated, the long tables arranged in rows facing toward the door with the main table slightly elevated lengthwise before the far wall. The Darcys were seated at the main table with Sir Cole, the Matlocks, the Vernors, Sir Arthur Levings of Parwich Hall, Lord and Lady Newburgh of Hassop Hall, Sir James and Lady Harpur of Calke Abbey, and numerous others whom Lizzy had not yet met.

  Lizzy sat diagonally across from her husband and between Lady Harpur and a man introduced to her as the Marquis of Orman. Lord Orman was a handsome man perhaps a year or two older than Darcy, unmarried and charming. Lady Harpur said little, whether from shyness or lack of interest in her dinner companions Lizzy could not discern. Darcy was flanked by Sir James Harpur and Mrs. Mary Vernor. Within earshot sat Lord and Lady Matlock and the remaining Vernors.

  Dinner was spectacular. Conversation and laughter flowed. Lord Orman was engaging, thankfully for Lizzy, as Lady Harpur said barely two words. Darcy spoke primarily with Sir James and Mr. Vernor, joining in with Lizzy and Lord Orman on occasion.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” Lord Orman said, “I understand you are from Hertfordshire?”

  “Yes, My Lord, you have heard correctly. Are you familiar with the region?”

  “Not much, I confess. I have traveled through on my way to London; however, I have not tarried in the area. Do you miss your home?”

  Lizzy smiled. “I miss my family somewhat, but Pemberley and Derbyshire are my home.”

  “Of course. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, I meant no offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Did you leave a large family behind?”

  “Four sisters and my parents, as well as cousins. Fortunately, Meryton is not a great distance, and it is the lot of us women eventually to leave our parents for our new families. I am content.” Lizzy glanced at Darcy, who was apparently absorbed in his plate, but she noted the tiny crease between his brows and well knew what it signified.

  “Of course.” Lord Orman continued. “Still, it must be difficult to leave what you have always known for the unknown.”

  “You would be mistaken, My Lord. It has not been difficult in the slightest. I am exceedingly comfortable here. The scenery and natural formations are widely diverse and majestic here in Derbyshire. Far more so than Hertfordshire, which is pastoral. Unfortunately the weather has not been kind enough to allow me the opportunity to explore as I would wish; however, this will be remedied in the spring.”

  “Do you appreciate the out of doors then, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “Oh yes, very much.”

  “You ride, I presume.”

  “Actually, not at all. I prefer to walk.”

  He was taken aback, “How odd. A Darcy who does not ride. Who would have believed it? I would rather have imagined horsemanship a prerequisite for matrimony amongst the Darcys.” He seemed to be teasing but Lizzy found the comment a trifle rude. Apparently, her husband did as well.

  “I fear you are hasty, Orman, in forming assumptions regarding the character of the Darcys.” He spoke softly but with an edge that Lizzy recognized as irritation and his eyes were a flinty blue. “A person’s caliber is not dependent on a particular accomplishment, nor can a host of accomplishments accurately illustrate one’s quality.”

  It was a true statement voiced in a flat tone, but Lizzy, who knew her husband so well, understood he was casting aspersions. Orman knew it also, and there was a moment of silence before he laughed, “Touché, Darcy.”

  The conversation turned then to topics more general. The men spoke of politics and the resolving crisis with France. Lizzy struck up a conversation with Mrs. Vernor and Mrs. Samantha Cole, a woman in her late twenties and the wife of the middle Cole son, Joshua. Mrs. Cole reminded Lizzy of her younger sisters, giddy and not terribly bright but humorous and entertaining. Her favorite topics were fashion and society gossip, of little interest to Lizzy; however, she did realize that a fair amount of knowledge on both subjects could be to her advantage so she joined in. She and Mrs. Vernor shared several amused glances, but Mrs. Cole’s insipid chatter did pass the time pleasantly and, oddly enough, Lizzy did like her.

  As they stood to leave the table, Lord Orman leaned close to Lizzy and said softly, “I hope I did not offend, Mrs. Darcy. You appear an intelligent young woman and I enjoyed our conversation. I would like to be counted a friend.”

  Lizzy was terribly uncomfortable and momentarily at a loss. Darcy, she noted quickly, was on the other side of the table speaking with his aunt, apparently unaware of Lord Orman’s attention. Lizzy took a step backwards, smiled pleasantly, and met his eyes frankly. “Thank you for the compliment, Lord Orman. I can assure you that whomever my husband counts as a friend is also a friend of mine. As I am a new inhabitant of the area, I am leaving these decisions to him. It is far too easy to arrive at swift and errant judgments.”

  Lord Orman bowed and retreated slightly but continued undeterred, “Would I be too bold to ask if I may secure your hand for a dance set, Mrs. Darcy? Or does Mr. Darcy make those decisions for you as well?”

  Lizzy was stunned, a ready retort on her lips, but they were both startled by Darcy’s deep voice. “Mrs. Darcy is free to fill her dance card with whomever she chooses.” He stood next to her, towering over Orman by at least five inches, calm, and impassively gazing at the Marquis as he offered his arm to Lizzy.

  Lizzy smiled brightly at her husband as she placed her hand on his arm, and then turned to Orman. “Thank you, Lord Orman; however, all dances are promised to my husband, by my choice.” She curtseyed and he bowed.

  “Perhaps another time then, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy.” He bowed again and moved away.

  “Interesting man,” Lizzy commented sardonically.

  “He is a scoundrel, Elizabeth. I cannot fathom what Sir Cole was thinking to seat him at the head table, and close to me. He knows we despise each other.”

  “As bad as all that?” She said with an arch smile. “You must fill me in, William! I am becoming quite enamored with the local gossip.”

  He looked at her in shock and then, seeing a feigned vapid expression on her face, he laughed. “Perhaps, darling, you should steer clear of Mrs. Cole and her cronies for the remainder of the evening. They are corrupting your good sense.”

  To their heightened amusement, Lady Matlock and Harriet Vernor approached at precisely that moment to steal Elizabeth away with the express intent of introducing her to more of the married ladies of the region. Darcy relented only after his aunt promised to be cautious. “Fret not, William, I shall take care of her.”

  They had re-entered the ballroom. The orchestra played softly in the background as the two enormous and absurdly ornate Twelfth Night cakes were wheeled in. Harriet explained, “One cake is for the women and the other for the men. Pieces are cut, and the man and woman who receive a piece with the bean in it are crowned King and Queen for the night. It is all silly fun.”

  As the pieces were cut and distributed to those who wished to partake, Darcy not surprisingly refusing as he had every year he attended, Harriet and Lady Matlock escorted Lizzy about the room. There were an abundance of women roughly Lizzy’s age or a bit older who welcomed her graciously. Mrs. Samantha Cole fawned over her as if they were old friends, proudly presenting Lizzy to her sister-in-law Mrs. Katherine Cole and soon-to-be sister-in-law Miss Laura Creswell. There was the usual gushing over the dress and brooch and hair, intermingled with cunningly worded inquiries as to how she and Mr. Darcy had met, the wedding details, her family connections, and so on. Lizzy had a marvelous time.

  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.

  “Orman! You will unhand my wife this instant, or I promise you will not live to see the light of day.” One glance at Darcy’s enraged face and Orman flinched, releasing Lizzy’s hand as if it were on fire. Darcy was livid, visage dark and perilous, flinty eyes boring into Orman with a chilling intensity. Without blinking or removing his glare, he handed the cups to Elizabeth. “My dear, take these and find Lady Matlock. I will join you momentarily.” His voice was calm but colder than Lizzy had ever heard it. She took the cups and left without a word.

  A backward glance revealed Darcy firmly and ruthlessly propelling the unresisting Marquis out of the hall. Oddly, no one in the near vicinity seemed to have noticed any of it. Lizzy found the Matlocks sitting with the Vernors, elder and younger, and tremblingly told them what had transpired. Lord Matlock and Henry Vernor rose instantly and exited the hall
. Harriet and Lady Matlock comforted Lizzy.

  “That man has always been trouble,” Lady Matlock proclaimed. “I cannot fathom what Sir Cole was thinking, inviting him tonight. You can be sure he will hear about this.”

  Lizzy was further distraught and felt tears rising to her eyes. “Oh no! I do not wish for this to be made into a scandal. Mr. Darcy abhors talk and would be so angry.”

  Lady Matlock looked at her sharply. “Elizabeth, do not fret. It will remain discreet and William would never be angry with you for this. You said no one noticed. Harriet, dear, take Elizabeth into the library. I shall tell Mr. Darcy where you are.”

  Some fifteen minutes later Darcy entered the library. Lizzy was calm, talking softly with Harriet, who rose when Darcy approached. “Thank you, Mrs. Vernor, for attending to my wife.”

  She curtseyed. “It was my pleasure Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth, I shall see you soon.”

  “Thank you, Harriet, for everything.”

  The second the door closed behind her, Darcy dropped his pose of serenity and knelt before Lizzy, taking her face into his hands and studying her raptly. “Beloved, are you well? Please forgive me for allowing this to occur. What did he say to you? Did he hurt you in any way?” His voice caught and he swallowed.

  Lizzy shook her head quickly and put her arms around him. “William, I am fine. He did not hurt me and nothing he said is of any import. He was intoxicated and rambling. There is nothing to forgive.” She smiled, “Your timing was excellent, as I was about to kick him. How would that have looked? You are my hero.” She kissed him teasingly, but he would have none of that and clutched her to his chest, kissing her possessively.

  “I should have had him thrown out earlier when he insulted you,” he growled. “He is damned fortunate I did not kill him tonight!”