He chuckled, tickling her ear. “You sound shocked. I was once forcefully informed that only a fine, stout love is nourished by poetry. I do believe ours qualifies. Besides, Jane should not be the only Bennet daughter to have pretty verse written for her.” He nibbled tiny bites across fragile collarbones, hands airily removing her thin chemise. “Has my ideal method of encouraging affection borne fruit?”
She nodded, moaning in response to stimulating fingers. “Indeed. As has my recommendation of dancing. You appear highly affectionate.”
“Indeed,” he rasped, claiming her mouth in an impassioned kiss while pressing harshly against her, his wide palms flattened on her bottom. Unhurriedly they kissed, Darcy voracious, but in no rush to halt the pleasure found in her mouth. Until, that is, the rising appetite to taste the other delectable parts of her body overrode. Steadily moving lower, he assaulted her flesh, hands and mouth utilized effectively.
Lizzy truly thought she would faint. “Fitzwilliam!” she pleaded, not certain if she was begging for him to pause for a moment’s respite or to hurry ere she perished from the aching need for him.
“Hold on,” he commanded gruffly. Lizzy was momentarily too befuddled to understand what he meant, but clarity was provided seconds later. Lizzy gasped and reached to cling to the mahogany carved post above her head, abundantly thankful that her husband had a firm grip.
“William, please!”
Darcy rose, holding securely to her shivering body. Lizzy clutched onto his rigid muscles, hands weaving through his hair.
“Dancing and poetry,” he said, his impassioned, rough voice casting jolts along sensitized nerves. “A lethal combination. I love you so desperately, my Lizzy!”
One short step to the left and they fell together onto the blanket chest at the end of their enormous bed, Darcy never relinquishing the hold on his wife. Subsequent words either of poetry or anything remotely coherent were forgotten. The only dancing hereon was the timeless dance of passionate lovemaking.
***
“Please hold still, Miss Bennet. I do not wish to prick you with the needle.”
“Yes, be cautious, Kitty, or you will end up with a blood spot on your gown. Georgiana could hide such a flaw, but you may have difficulty!”
Lizzy laughed at Mary’s quip, Kitty ignoring all of them as she continued to attempt craning for a glimpse of the trailing yards of organza bustled over her bottom. Madame du Loire knelt behind Kitty, needle and thread busily cinching the gathers along the waistline.
The modiste and her assistants were attending to the final alterations to Kitty and Georgiana’s gowns, the annual Twelfth Night Masquerade Ball held by Sir Cole scheduled for that evening. Kitty had chosen an organza in pale turquoise, delicate lace edging the entire creation. Madame du Loire worked her magic, crafting a ball dress exquisite and stylish. It was far and away the most elegant gown Kitty had ever owned and her delight was uncontainable. Fortunately, the couturier was experienced in dealing with fidgety young girls, managing the minute alterations without mishap.
Georgiana, in sharp contrast, stood nearby on a chair in a pose of serene passiveness. Far more accustomed to the ofttimes time-consuming task of painstaking tailoring, Georgiana gazed composedly into the tall mirror while the seamstress adjusted the hemline. Her gown was velvet in a vibrant maroon. The sleeves to both dresses were elbow length, modest in style generally speaking, except for daring necklines that displayed maturing décolletages.
Lizzy sat on the sofa beside Mary, Alexander asleep against her chest within a swaddle of purple and yellow Indian linen, eyeballing the figure of her newest sister with tremendous amusement. Her humor arose from the visualized expression she knew would cross her husband’s face upon seeing his “baby” sister so attired. While Darcy plotted Georgiana’s official introduction into Society come spring with businesslike precision, he nonetheless persisted in thinking of her as yet a child. Lizzy teased him for this paradoxical attitude, but he always looked at her with utter incomprehension. He had not quite figured out how to deal with the contradiction that a Georgiana of marriageable eighteen and a debutante was no longer the grubby faced youngster in his mind’s eye.
“Mary dear, it is not yet too late to fashion a gown for you,” Georgiana spoke softly at the reflected Mary sitting beside Lizzy. “Please reconsider!”
Mary lifted her chin stubbornly but did smile faintly at her dear friend. “Have we not exhausted this discussion, Georgiana? Balls hold no interest to me, which is fortuitous. A solicitor and his wife will likely receive few invitations to fancy dances, a fact that is abundantly pleasing to both Mr. Daniels and me.”
Lizzy hid a smile into the top of Alexander’s curly haired head. As news regarding the upcoming Masque became a prime topic of conversation, the inevitable subject of Mary and her betrothed attending was advanced. Lizzy vividly recollected the expression of utter horror that flew over Mr. Daniels’s instantly pale face. He had snapped his eyes to Mary with such mute pleading that everyone in the room had collectively coughed to avoid laughter.
Gradually over the past weeks, the young man had relaxed his glaring discomfiture at being a guest in Mr. Darcy’s home, the extended hours with his fiancée greatly easing the embarrassment. He had even loosened enough to join the family in several entertainments, including the manly pursuits partaken of each evening. Nevertheless, the concept of dressing the part of high society and attending a formal function was beyond endurance, and privately, he prayed for the days to pass speedily, fearful that at any moment his normally sober, rational fiancée would succumb to the female twittering and change her mind.
It did not help that hours were passed in the ballroom as Darcy, Richard, Charles, and George led the ladies in waltz lessons and dancing practice. Georgiana was fairly proficient, but neither Kitty nor Jane had ever attempted the waltz. In two short years, the scandalous dance of Vienna had spread like wildfire through England, even making an appearance at Almack’s. Although generally frowned upon and denounced harshly by some commentators, it increasingly showed up at even remote village assembly halls. Per typical human nature, this antagonism only served to advance the popularity of the intimate dance. Also typical was the blind eye turned to all historical evidence regarding the acceptance and fame of far more sensational dances, such as the volta, by royalty past.
Mr. Daniels need not have worried, as Mary viewed the waltz as further indication of the steady slide into debauchery and sinfulness! She could not deny that the couples were graceful in how they glided about the room, but her cheeks flamed and lips pursed nonetheless. Georgiana and Kitty were oblivious, far too enamored with the entertainment. Jane’s natural poise ensured her ability to adapt, but Kitty was unfamiliar with the stilted formality of a grand ball. Meryton Assembly country dancing was of a different character altogether, so studious attention was paid to teaching her the propriety demanded.
It was tremendous fun and was added to the entertainments utilized to wile away the hours between Christmas and Twelfth Night. The Matlocks and Bennets even joined the lessons upon occasion. In the comfortable environment of his own ballroom and surrounded by familiars, Darcy displayed his feline grace and dancing expertise. It was an eye-opener to most in the household, even those closest to him, as such fluency was a rare spectacle. Caroline was stupefied, her past dances with Mr. Darcy leaving her with the opinion that, for all his stellar qualities, the man had no balletic facility whatsoever! Lizzy delighted in the activity. Not since their impromptu dancing on the pier at Caister-on-Sea had the lovers embraced in rhythmic twirls and steps outside of their bedchamber. All the frivolity mollified Lizzy and Darcy in their mild sadness over not being able to attend this year’s Masque.
The final session during the early afternoon of the fifth of January, the day of the Masque, was purely for enjoyment. The Matlocks, Gardiners, and Bingleys had returned to their respective homes, the remaining Pemberley inhabitants eventually breaking from the light-hearted amusement to seek rest i
n preparation for a late night.
Georgiana gently grasped Richard’s elbow as they exited the ballroom. “Cousin,” she whispered, cheeks flushed as she eyed the retreating bodies nervously, exhaling in relief when none noted them hanging back. “I request a moment of your time.”
Richard smiled. “Why so formal, Georgie?” He lifted her chin until meeting her gaze. “What disturbs you, little mouse?”
“Will you ever cease calling me that?”
“Probably not. What is it?”
“I… want to ask a favor of you… for tonight.” Richard nodded encouragingly. “Will you stay close to me? Ensure I do not err in any way or make a fool of myself or do anything untoward?”
Richard frowned. “Why in the world would you think this possible, my dear? You are a proper lady, graceful and beautiful, decorous, a perfect Darcy in every way.”
“That is precisely the point!” She flared, pacing away a couple of steps then turning to him with teary eyes. “I am a Darcy and as such the expectations are so high! People will be looking at me, judging, waiting for me to misstep. And if I do… I do not want to disappoint William or any of you.”
He crossed the short distance, placing tender hands onto her shoulders. “Listen to me, dearest. Firstly, I am your guardian, a position I take quite seriously, as well as your cousin and friend. Of course I will be there for you, my sweet mouse. As will your uncles, Aunt Madeline, and the Bingleys. You will be amongst friends of Derbyshire. This is an excellent introduction for you and you will perform brilliantly, I know it! Do not fret so.”
“But I do not know anyone else! I never made friends with other girls, except for Bertha Vernor and Amy Hughes. I wish I could be as frivolous as Kitty,” she finished in a rueful tone.
Richard laughed. “As much as I admire Miss Kitty, you are not so blithe and should not wish to be other than who you are. Did you not relax and enjoy yourself at the dances in Wales? Father and mother said you loved it and were fabulous. They were proud of you and I know their recommendation is what swayed your overbearing brother’s protectiveness into allowing your attendance at the Masque. You requested to attend with enthusiasm, or so I was informed.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It is a good idea. Georgiana, let me assure you that Derbyshire events, for all the outward pomp and circumstance, are not all that formalized. I have attended thousands of balls, cotillions, soirees, military receptions, and the rest. Trust me, Sir Cole’s Masquerade is a relatively carefree extravaganza. You will have a marvelous time, I promise.” He offered an arm, steering toward the door. “Besides, you will have that ridiculous mask to hide behind. Pretend you are an exotic lady of the orient, a world-traveling Princess deigning to mix with the mere mortals of this quaint Shire, imperiously granting your expert dancing capabilities to the country bumpkins with two left feet, bestowing precious smiles and prized witticisms uttered in dulcet tones to the fortunate, flirting outrageously with fluttering fan and batting eyelashes as they swoon at your feet…”
And on it went down the corridor, with Georgiana’s nervousness mostly evaporating in the face of her cousin’s nonsense.
***
“Are we still waiting on the ladies?” George boomed, breezing through the open parlor doors, scanning the room, and quickly noting the absence of Kitty and Georgiana.
“Did you seriously expect them to be prepared prior to you?” Darcy inquired with a laugh. “You truly are innocent of a woman’s ways.”
“Humorous, Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy sniffed. “George, you are supremely handsome in that outfit. I believe you and Richard will be competing for who is the most sought after bachelor.”
George wore a formal sherwani in emerald green with elaborate gold embroidery covering the front—far more sedate than the majority of his outfits but impeccably tailored and exotic nonetheless. Richard, of course, was in full dress uniform, resplendent in red and white. Both men cut striking, if very different, figures. The gallant bows directed Lizzy’s way in response to her compliment were identically flamboyant however, except for the crisp military heel click that Richard added compared to George’s tip of an invisible hat. Darcy groaned dramatically, shaking his head.
“I must disagree with you slightly Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet spoke with a grin from his casual stance near the fireplace. “As debonair as I am certain Dr. Darcy would be considered in most quarters, I do have it on good authority that nothing quite sets a female’s heart to racing as a man in uniform. Watch your p’s and q’s, Colonel, or you may end the evening inadvertently engaged to a plethora of ladies.”
“Thank you for the warning, Mr. Bennet. I shall be cautious.”
“Perhaps I should advance the rumor that my garment is the official uniform of the Indian army. A man my age must resort to devious means and grasp onto any advantage possible.”
“Do the Indians have an official army, Dr. Darcy?” Mr. Daniels asked in confusion.
“Only in Punjab, but do you imagine that most of the naive girls of Derbyshire know this?” He grinned lecherously.
“My uncle. Godfather to my son. I am so proud.” Darcy declared dryly, the room erupting in laughter.
Voices and giggling interrupted further banter, a sudden flurry of colorful fabrics appearing at the wide double doorway. Mrs. Bennet led the pack, breathlessly fluttering in with voice raised over the din, “Oh how I wish I were young again! So marvelous, a Masque! Mr. Bennet! Look at our little Kitty. Is she not a vision of perfection? Wealthy suitors will be falling at her feet, I am sure of it!”
Katherine Bennet, nineteen years of age, rosy dimpled cheeks and sunny smile, was indeed a vision. The chosen turquoise gown was superbly fitted to accentuate her generous bosom and each voluptuous curve. Her hair was styled with a mass of curls held in check by a thin, jewel-encrusted tiara. Of all the Bennet girls Kitty most resembled her mother in both figure and character. Not overly intelligent, but with a sunny disposition and infectious smile that easily captivated men and women alike. Kitty would never lack for friends or suitors, although the acceptability of such acquaintances may be suspect, as Kitty did not possess a discerning nature. Like her mother, she had a tendency to blurt without thinking, to avoid any activity requiring extensive reasoning, to speak and laugh boisterously, and to ignore many of the finer nuances of etiquette and propriety. With maturity and positive outside influences some of the worst of these characteristics were tempering, but it seemed unlikely that Kitty would ever attain the level of grace and elegance that high society demanded. However, unlike her mother, she was rarely somber or distressed. All was gay and delightful to her. Georgiana Darcy, eighteen years of age, tall and slender, was equally a vision. Apropos for her stature and natural regality, the gown of thick maroon velvet lent an air of heightened prestige and maturity. The alterations of the past year were glaringly obvious to all who knew her, but never as forcefully as at this moment. Georgiana stood at five foot eight inches tall, figure svelte but with a curvaceousness that Lizzy only now in her maternal state had acquired. She was well proportioned with an ample bust line, delicate waist, long limbs, and sloping neck. Eyes slightly deeper blue than her brother’s, hair golden blonde, features dainty, and skin fair combined for a vision of loveliness.
Lizzy kept her gaze directed toward her husband, transfixed by the play of emotions that crossed his face. Initially it was shock; eyes bulging mildly and mouth dropping at the notable womanly figure. This was followed by a deep flush with lips pressed tightly, eyebrow creases formed instantly, and the flash of irritation with clenched fists as she had expected. What surprised and moved her was the gradual transition from protective anger to what could only be described as mournful remembrance; vivid mental portraits of his beloved mother now manifested before his eyes in the body of his sister. Lastly was the abrupt lifted chin and proud cast to his face, as with a beaming smile he strode toward her.
Georgiana too had swung her gaze to her brother upon entering the room.
As well as she knew him, the rigid control he maintained at all times outside the privacy of his innermost sanctuaries meant that even she could not always correctly interpret his thoughts. Tonight, however, the naked displays were evident and she silently responded to each expression. Embarrassment at his shocked perusal of her body; shame and fear at his anger; tears and trembling at his mute grief, knowing that she resembled her mother; and finally a feeling of relief.
He reached for her outstretched hands, enfolding warmly. Voice husky, he murmured, “Georgiana Darcy. How beautiful you are. When did you become a woman? If only Father and Mother could see you now. How proud they would be!”
“You are not displeased, Brother?”
“No, my dearest. Merely woeful that my innocent, pubescent sister has apparently disappeared. I have a terrible need to be relied upon and now it fully strikes me that this role is rapidly dissipating. My selfish heart may well suffer with the blow of losing you, baby sister.”
Georgiana giggled, a decidedly unsophisticated sound. “I am only going to a ball, William. Tomorrow I shall be back for you to boss around and brood over.”
“Where does this sharp tongue come from?” he asked with a laugh.
“Try to blame me if you must,” George interjected, “or perhaps even your wife who has a sharp intellect and independent streak a mile wide, but actually she inherits the tendency from your mother. Anne was blessed with a piquant wit and James encouraged it. Neither ascribed to the idea of women as weak-minded vessels, thank God. Georgiana, you are radiant! Red is assuredly the color for you.”
Both girls were swarmed under a barrage of gushing accolades; the men appropriately complimenting their beauty and the ladies fawning over each button and ribbon. In a scene reminiscent of last Twelfth Night, it was Darcy who assumed control and ushered the group toward the waiting carriage, well aware that the flattering could go on forever.
Darcy personally assisted Georgiana into the carriage with a farewell kiss to her fingers and proud smile. Then he turned to George and Richard waiting on the gravel drive. All humor was erased, eyes piercing as he flatly stated, “I am trusting you two to keep a diligent guard over my sisters. Do not let me down.”