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When the flood diminished to a trickle, they finally relinquished the duty to the butler.

After a quick check with the housekeeper to make sure that all was as it should be, Elizabeth took her place with the Darcys and Fitzwilliams in the ballroom while her husband proudly introduced his sister to Society.

Mr. Darcy spoke well and the siblings’ mutual affection was apparent to any who cared to see.

When Sir Richard Fitzwilliam led Miss Darcy away to form the first set, Elizabeth rested her hand on her husband’s arm.

“Your cousin was a good choice for Georgie’s first dance. Look—he has her smiling already.”

“Hmmm.” Will was abrupt in his answer, but his wife only smiled. He was able to mask his emotions from others, but she could hear the strain in his voice and feel the tension in his arm. “She looks so much like my mother tonight. I cannot believe how grown up she is,” he murmured softly.

“And grown into a fine young lady, at that,” added the Earl of Matlock, having just come to stand at Darcy’s side. “You should be proud, nephew—you’ve done an excellent job raising her.”

“Thank you, sir,” responded the younger gentleman with a slight color in his cheeks at the praise, although he could not help thinking of the times he had failed his sister.

Guessing the direction of her husband’s thoughts, Elizabeth squeezed his arm in reassurance.

Looking down on her beloved face, Darcy could almost hear her telling him to “think only upon the past as it gives you pleasure.” Closing his eyes for just an instant, he forced himself to take a deep breath before looking to her with a resigned expression. “I suppose that we must dance.”

“Well, we could retreat to the library for a game of chess, but I fear that would be much less like a ball, my dear husband,” she teased and was well pleased when he finally relaxed enough to manage a small chuckle in return.

Dance they did, and after that, they mingled.

Although Elizabeth was quite certain that Darcy knew precisely where his sister was (and with whom) at all times, he played his role as dignified host perfectly.

Fitzwilliam Darcy would always be a reserved man in company, but Lizzy was happy to see him showing a bit more of his native affability (and occasionally a flash of humor) to those who did not know him so well.

What Elizabeth did not realize was that her near constant place at his side and the obvious affection the couple shared led not a few of their guests to guess correctly that it was Mr. Darcy’s happy marriage that had prompted his more open demeanor.

Even the most determined mothers had to admit that the couple looked well together, and none could find fault with the ball, from the flowers to the orchestra to the supper.

As Derwent House had not hosted such an event in nearly two decades and Mr. Darcy’s aunt had made sure to mention that she had had little to do with the preparations, even the most jealous of the ladies had to admit that the former Miss Bennet appeared to be surprisingly capable, despite her countrified roots.

Those who had kept their opinions neutral rapidly advanced to approval of Darcy’s bride.

If many of the gentlemen began by admiring her figure, they soon had to admit to her charm and wit as well, and not a few wondered what it would be like to have one’s wife look at you with such open affection.

By the end of the evening, Mr. Darcy had received as many (if not more) sincere congratulations on his choice of a bride as he had on his wedding day.

Among the younger ladies, not a few were quite ready to bow down and worship the new Mrs. Darcy, or Elizabeth as a lucky few had been invited to address their new idol.

Lady Matlock and Lady Trowbridge were seated near such a cluster at supper and could not help but smile at one another in amusement when the girls began gushing over Mrs. Darcy’s gown and coiffure.

As their guests were passing back into the ballroom after supper, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley anxiously took the Darcys aside to divulge Caroline’s unwanted appearance and subsequent departure.

Will and Elizabeth barely had time to reassure the other couple that they did not hold them responsible for Miss Bingley’s antics before they were distracted by Sir Richard’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a succinct curse.

The Viscount Ashbourne arrived at the door to Derwent House with Society’s version of an ear-numbing thunderclap.

While Mrs. Darcy could not be sure if he purposely timed his entrance to coincide with the sudden silence at the end of a dance, she was quite certain that neither of the two women hanging on his arms was his wife.

At least one, however, was wearing a dress she recognized as Lady Alameda’s from the prior autumn.

Elizabeth only had enough time to think “ oh dear! ” before she turned to her husband.

Mr. Darcy had spoken not a single word, but a dozen minute muscular changes had altered him from the quiet but pleasant gentleman who had stood by her side for most of the evening to a tall, forbidding aristocrat with a decidedly hostile glare.

Had she been looking, she might have been amused to see an almost identical transformation by her husband’s uncle.

Sir Richard had been standing with the Darcys and the fury on his face was much simpler to read. Elizabeth put her hand gently but firmly on his arm and spoke in a low tone, “Richard, will you check on Georgiana while Mr. Darcy and I greet your brother and his guests?”

The former cavalryman’s narrowed eyes studied her for a long moment before he nodded curtly and murmured, “Of course,” turning on his heel with a precision that would have done any military parade proud.

Richard’s emotions might have him reaching instinctively for his sword, but he was well-trained and recognized a superior’s order.

His role in this fight was not to throw himself into battle, but to hang back and guard his innocent cousin’s sensibilities.

Although somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, the Master of Pemberley took note of this interaction, his piercing glare never deviated.

Mr. Darcy might never have particularly liked his elder cousin, but family loyalty had always prevented him from making even the faintest hint of that emotion public.

The viscount had always dismissed Darcy’s stoic manner and puritanical ways as a lack of any strong emotions.

It never occurred to Edward Fitzwilliam that appearing at his young cousin’s ball with two prostitutes (albeit given the run of his wife’s closets) would ignite such a fury in Darcy’s heart that the need to maintain appearances for the sake of family pride was nothing but a dim memory.

Given that the Earl of Matlock’s emotions were running parallel to his nephew’s, it was providential that the Darcys reached the two men before Lord Henry could begin publically upbraiding his son.

Elizabeth donned her brightest smile and stepped forward to extend her hand, however distasteful it was to think of touching the man.

“Lord Ashbourne! How fortunate that we have caught you here by the door, before you became lost in the crush! How are you, sir? Why, I don’t believe I’ve spoken to you since we were all together at Matlock House, and that must be months ago! ”

Mrs. Darcy kept up such a steady stream of social inanities that the viscount was swept along by her monologue as much as by the seemingly delicate hand that had taken firm possession of his arm.

However much she might have sounded like Fanny Bennet, though, Elizabeth kept her wits about her and efficiently guided the group to the nearest private room.

Even so, the door barely had a chance to click shut before Darcy slammed his cousin against the wall.

“What the devil are you thinking, coming here in such a state, Ashbourne!?!” demanded Georgiana’s brother with such force that even the Earl was startled.

“You’ve never given a damn about anyone except yourself, but are you so lost to common decency that you would make a spectacle out of my sister’s debut! ?!”

When Ashbourne’s eyes goggled in his face for lack of air, Matlock touched his nephew’s arm. “Let him speak, Darcy. Please, let us hear what he has to say for himself.”

Fitzwilliam dropped his grip on the other man’s throat and stepped away, although the look on his face did not soften in the least.

The red-faced viscount took just long enough to suck in a breath before he began sputtering, “What the bloody hell is your problem, Darcy!?! How dare you handle me in such a manner, you lily-livered milksop—keep your God-damned hands off me!!!”

To that point, Elizabeth had been standing silently to the side, but with that comment, she rolled her eyes and turned toward the door, even as Darcy’s hands clenched into fists and he spoke in a dangerously quiet tone, “Or what ?” She could not distinguish Lord Edward’s words, but the sound of her husband’s fist plowing into his cousin’s jaw was clear enough.

Stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth’s first sight was of the Darcys’ normally unflappable butler wringing his hands. “Mr. Holmes?”

The servant snapped to attention. “Mrs. Darcy, I cannot apologize enough. I stepped away for a few minutes to attend to… it doesn’t matter… I left Briggs at the door, but he is not to blame… I never thought to warn him…”

Elizabeth managed a wry smile. “It’s quite all right, Holmes. The viscount is family; none of us would have thought to bar his entrance.”

“But those… females… he brought into the house!

His mistress tightened her lips but before she could think of what to say, another voice spoke.