Page 2 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners

Elizabeth

The Argyll Rooms, 9 th June 1811

It was a tightly governed subscription masquerade held by the Countesses Jersey, Cholmondeley, Cowper, and the latter’s mother, Viscountess Melbourne. Only those with a voucher from one of the patronesses were allowed to pay the two guineas for a ticket, regardless of their position in society. Elizabeth was fortunate that her grandmother was acquainted with Viscountess Melbourne, or not even her great-uncle, Lord Limerick, would have managed the feat.

Viscountess Melbourne née Milbank had entered London society the same year as Maeve Bennet née Conyngham. They had formed a friendship that had lasted for decades.

The only fly in the ointment was that Jane had not accompanied them. She was at home, missing all the entertainments in town and looking after the Gardiners’ four children. Mr and Mrs Gardiner were currently in Sussex visiting a friend whilst Elizabeth led a life of luxurious parties and balls.

Grandmother Bennet had ordered them all new costumes, and Uncle Henry had, after much persuasion, allowed his sister to dress him more adventurously than was his wont. He preferred the dull domino with a hooded black cloak and a black half mask that covered only his eyes.

Elizabeth had chosen to dress as Queen Elizabeth, wearing an exact copy of the then twelve-years-old Princess Elizabeth’s attire in a portrait [1] by William Scrots from 1546. The red dress had wide arms and a hooped skirt. She had even coloured her hair red with powder to match the Virgin Queen’s. The queen had been known as tall and striking, so her grandmother had ordered a pair of shoes with high heels for Elizabeth, who was below average height. To conceal her tanned face, she had painted a full-faced mask in a pallid complexion with the renowned bright red lips. Only her eyes were visible, and she hardly recognised herself in costume.

Queen Elizabeth was quite the rage at present. Her memory had been revived with the Napoleonic War and the threat of invasion as a romantic symbol of the national resistance to foreign threats.

Naturally, Uncle Henry was dressed up as Henry VIII and her grandmother as Anne Boleyn.

Their carriage drew to a halt by the steps of the Argyll Rooms. Elizabeth was awed by the entrance hall, which was ornamented with Corinthian pillars illuminated by gilt lamps and led to the first of the three supper rooms. Elizabeth let her eyes roam the crowd of guests and felt a bit overdressed. Amongst the costumes she spotted a mail coach guard, a peasant girl, a sailor, a lame Chelsea pensioner, and one Venetian nobleman.

“Doctor Lancet, at your service. May I feel your pulse?”

The masked gentleman had appeared out of nowhere because her mask obscured her peripheral vision.

“You certainly may not!” Elizabeth huffed in indignation. “What nerve!” she whispered to her grandmother.

“Beware of the gentlemen tonight, my dear Eilís.” Her grandmother often used the Irish equivalent of Elizabeth when addressing her granddaughter. “People seem to believe that donning a mask excuses them from adhering to propriety. You should only speak to those who seek to obtain a proper introduction from your family. You must be careful about those with whom you decide to form an acquaintance, because once introduced, it cannot be undone. The inconvenience arising from an ill-judged introduction may not be slight, and much worse than a dull or annoying friend. The dangers posed by low company must not be forgotten. You should regard every request with a suspicious mind and ensure that it is desirable to both parties.”

“Certainly. I shall solemnly promise not to allow any doctors to feel my pulse.”

“I am not too concerned. You are an astute young lady whom I am immensely proud to call my granddaughter.”

Elizabeth smiled, took her grandmother’s offered arm, and they ventured deeper into the assembly. There were so many rooms, each one larger than the last. The fanciful elegance was a credit to the taste of Colonel Greville, the man who had founded the institution.

The first supper room was superb and of a grey colour with scarlet draperies. Her grandmother escorted her straight through to the second room, this one stone-coloured with a green trellis paper on the walls. They continued on to the grand saloon with three tiers of elaborately ornamented boxes designed for theatrical performances. Today, the oblong space with elliptical ends was dressed as a ballroom.

Elizabeth’s gaze travelled the room, past the scarlet-covered benches for those who wished to sit out the current set and to the opposite end where the stage was situated. Above it, the appropriate motto Sollicitae jucunda oblivia vitae —Pleasant forgetfulness of a troubled life—was written in wide gold letters.

Three gentlemen entered from the billiard room, and Elizabeth was relieved that her gasp of surprise could not be heard above the din. It was him! It had to be… His back was turned, but the way he moved struck her as exceedingly familiar, and how his lush brown curls played atop his coat was further proof. He was fully grown now and filled out his tightly fitted coat very nicely. Yet there was not a shadow of doubt in her mind. She could feel it from the depths of her soul that the gentleman dressed as a gentleman, with no mask or adornments of any kind, was her Lambton hero, Master Fitzwilliam.

That she might happen upon him as a fully grown woman was an unexpected pleasure, and she was beset by an onslaught of nervous flutters that threatened her very existence. Her lungs constricted, whilst her heart beat frantically in her chest when the gentleman turned slowly in her direction.

It was he! The years had only enhanced his features, and he stood before her as the most handsome gentleman she had ever beheld. No one could compare to him with his strong jaw and striking eyes. She could stay as she was, relishing the prospect of Master Fitzwilliam for all eternity, and be quite content.

Unfortunately, her grandmother chose that very moment to introduce her to a friend. Elizabeth obediently exchanged the civilities necessary before resuming her vigilant watch. He had not moved but was gazing at the crowd when his eyes suddenly were directed at her.

Elizabeth thought she might swoon. The colonel from His Majesty’s Army standing beside him whispered something in his ear, and he smiled. Elizabeth’s knees quivered; they had transformed from reliable joints to something of jelly-like consistency.

The third fashionable gentleman in his party joined the conversation. He was the only one who had made an effort to conceal his identity, unless the colonel was not truly an officer. However, judging by how he carried himself, Elizabeth supposed that he wore regimentals on a regular basis. From their slight gestures and inquisitive looks in her direction, she was convinced they were talking about her. Could he have recognised her and be debating with his friends whether he should approach her or not?

Belatedly, she remembered that her face was fully covered in a painted mask, and she exhaled in disappointment.

“Dear Eilís, are you well? I can hear you sighing as if the world was coming to an end,” Grandmother Bennet enquired in obvious concern.

“I am very well indeed. I just recognised a friend I have not seen in years.”

“If it is a gentleman, I suggest that you do not appear too eager and allow him to approach you. Nothing lingers longer than a bad reputation.”

Grandmother Bennet’s advice was so contradictory to her mother’s that Elizabeth had to laugh.

“I promise to adhere to your strictures in this instance. Particularly since my face is covered and it is highly unlikely he will be able to recognise me.”

“I am not so certain, as I can see a gentleman approaching, and his eyes appear to be fixed on you, my dear.”

True enough, Master Fitzwilliam was walking decidedly in her direction, and she had but seconds to bolster her composure.

#

Darcy, a few minutes earlier.

“You have garnered the attention of Queen Elizabeth, I believe. She is transfixed on you and has not looked away since we entered.”

Darcy glanced across the room; close to the door at the opposite end, a red-headed Queen Elizabeth abruptly turned away. He smiled and pondered who it could be.

“Father will be glad he did not attend. The queen is standing next to the newly appointed Marquess of Limerick,” Viscount Crawford informed his brother and cousin.

Darcy had no idea what Crawford was talking about. “I did not know his lordship had a squabble with the mighty Irishman.”

“It is a fairly recent development, though he has never liked the man. They quarrelled in the House of Lords about something or other when the marquess had the nerve to call my father an Irishman. Let us just say that he did not look favourably upon the sobriquet.”

“Is there any truth to it?” Darcy wondered.

“Not that I know of.” The viscount shrugged.

The queen was standing in between the marquess and a petite elderly lady who was chatting with the formidable Viscountess Melbourne. By their closeness and expressions, he surmised that their connection was of long standing, but who was the young lady? Darcy ran the few tall red-heads he knew through his mind but could think of no one who resembled the miss in question. It was certainly not Miss Bingley’s willowy figure. No stays in the world could enhance one that much.

“I have an idea,” the viscount announced, interrupting his ruminations. “Are you not out of favour with Father?”

“What do you mean?” Darcy probed.

“You were not best pleased he foisted Miss Throwbridge upon you at dinner last night.”

Viscount Crawford was correct in that assumption.

“She is a sixteen-year-old child,” he grumbled at his cousins.

“Their estate is conveniently close to Pemberley, and she has a significant fortune,” the colonel interjected.

“I have no interest in pursuing any of Georgiana’s friends,” Darcy remarked firmly. “Even if Uncle needs Lord Throwbridge’s vote for his new bill.”

“Yet, you cannot tear your eyes away from the delectable queen,” the viscount snickered.

“Do you know her?” Darcy queried. “I am trying to determine who she is, but I have had no luck so far.”

“Not precisely,” the viscount admitted. “She must be a distant relation of the marquess as he has no children of his own. The elderly lady beside him is his sister. I suppose the young miss could be either her daughter or granddaughter. Judging by the queen’s ample bosom, I am leaning towards the latter.”

“Montgomery!” Darcy admonished.

“Do not be such a prig. You know as well as I that certain things begin to sag with age…”

“Even I take umbrage with that!” the colonel protested.

“You are both so dull… Do you care to make it interesting?” The viscount did not relent; his brother’s and cousin’s admonishments had no effect on him.

Darcy had a fair inkling as to the direction of the viscount’s enquiry. He was always suggesting some form of wager. “I am certain I do not care to know.”

“I have ten guineas that are yours if you ask the Virgin Queen to dance. You have to dance with someone, you know, and it might as well be an acquaintance of Lady Melbourne’s as anyone else. If Father becomes a bit miffed you have danced with a relation of his current sparring partner, I would reckon that as a bonus.”

“You would pay me ten guineas for dancing a set, which I am obliged to do regardless of any monetary inducements?”

The viscount nodded. As Darcy did not care one way or the other, and was curious as to who the lady was, he saw no reason to object. “It is the easiest money I have ever made,” he drawled and walked directly across the room to engage the mysterious queen.

He bowed to Lady Melbourne, who was a friend of his aunt’s, and the young lady’s relations. He almost laughed when she was introduced as Queen Elizabeth; that, he had surmised by her costume. Yet, the secrecy intrigued him, and he turned to request her next set. She raised her head, and the most enchanting green eyes rendered him speechless. His dry mouth did not cooperate for what felt like a minute, and only a herculean effort brought him back to his senses.

#

Elizabeth

“Ah, it is Mr Darcy,” Viscountess Melbourne informed her. “He has a large and prosperous estate in Derbyshire. There is not a scandal attached to his name—and in superior society, which is quite the feat. I dare say he is one of the most eligible gentlemen town has to offer, but he is aloof. He has every young miss vying for his attention, even though he bestows it but rarely. You must be flattered that he is singling you out amongst all the accomplished and even titled young ladies in attendance here tonight.”

Viscountess Melbourne looked pointedly at Elizabeth, who felt her heart sink into her stomach. If he was one of the most sought-after gentlemen in London, something she had no trouble believing as she watched him approach, he might not be interested in a stupid child who had endangered both himself and his mother. She had read Lady Anne’s obituary in the newspaper less than a year later. That information had given perspective to his admonishment when his mother had followed him into the enclosure. If she already had been ill, he might look unfavourably on the child whom she had risked her health to save.

Elizabeth used her quick wit and made a request to Viscountess Melbourne. “If the gentleman is indeed coming this way, would it not be fun to introduce me as Queen Elizabeth?”

The great lady hid behind her fan and chuckled. “Indeed, it would.”

Her grandmother was eyeing her quizzically, so Elizabeth deliberately avoided meeting her eyes. It was easily done as she would have had to turn away from Mr Darcy, and that would not be polite—or possible.

Viscountess Melbourne performed the introductions and kept her promise of not exposing Elizabeth’s true name.

“Has Miss Darcy accompanied you, Mr Darcy?” Viscountess Melbourne asked.

“No. My sister is not yet out, your ladyship.”

“Oh, I did not mean your sister. I know she is full young. I was enquiring after Miss Eudora Darcy.”

“Unfortunately, my aunt had a prior engagement. She regretted that it prohibited her from attending your ball.”

“I am a bit disappointed. I was greatly anticipating introducing her to my friend.” Viscountess Melbourne turned to Elizabeth’s grandmother. “Maeve, you would adore Miss Eudora Darcy. She is a perfect mixture of eccentricity, sarcasm, and wit to be thoroughly entertaining. You must allow me to introduce you both at our earliest convenience.”

Elizabeth did not hear her grandmother’s reply because in that very moment, Mr Darcy bowed before her and extended his hand.

“Your Majesty, may I have the pleasure of your hand for the next set?”

“You may, Mr Darcy.”

Unfortunately, the current set was not finished, and they were obliged to wait until it concluded.

“You are Lord Matlock’s nephew, are you not?” Lord Limerick grumbled.

“I am,” Mr Darcy replied hesitantly.

He must have noticed her uncle’s provocative undertone. Elizabeth had no idea what significance this Lord Matlock had in Mr Darcy’s polite request to dance, but the grumbling alone made her worried that her great-uncle held a grievance towards Mr Darcy’s relation. She was not of a mind to allow even him to thwart her acquaintance with the gentleman, now that she had finally reunited with her heroic Master Fitzwilliam.

“Have you tasted the ratafia, Mr Darcy?”

“I have not, and it would be my pleasure to escort you to the refreshment table while we wait for the set to begin.” He turned from her and met the eyes of Lord Limerick. “If your lordship would allow it?”

Uncle Henry glared at Mr Darcy, who met his lordship’s belligerent mien with a steady calmness that eventually made her stubborn uncle relent. With his curt nod, they were allowed to escape.

“So, what is your true name, Queen Elizabeth?”

“It is Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, Mr Darcy. And what is your full name?”

“I see. You are set on being mysterious. I suppose there is no chance I could convince you to remove your mask?”

“It is not yet midnight, and there is a game tonight of guessing who is who. I am afraid that you have already exposed yourself to me, and I shall have, at least, one correct answer.”

“Very well, my fair queen. I shall be patient. Of course, that means I shall have to follow you all evening until the clock strikes midnight.”

Elizabeth did not at all mind the company of Mr Darcy and preferred it for as long as possible. Yet, she understood that it was not wise to admit it.

“That depends, Mr Darcy.” She paused to see whether she had his full attention, and she was delighted when his gaze was fixed on her face. “On whether you are able to keep up with me.”

Mr Darcy barked a laugh. “I assure you that I am not yet so feeble as to be unable to manage two hours of frivolity.”

“I love to dance, and to walk about. I do not relish sitting down with nothing to do.”

“Neither do I, Queen Elizabeth. I declare we are evenly matched. I too would rather be occupied versus languishing in idleness.”

“The only time I remain in one attitude is when I read,” Elizabeth admitted a bit too frankly.

“What do you like to read?” the gentleman asked.

“I like a variety of different genres, and I particularly enjoy Shakespeare’s comedies, but I shall admit to having a preference for novels. Now you may despise my taste if you dare.”

“Indeed, I dare not. I have read the occasional novel myself.” Mr Darcy chuckled at her incredulous expression and promptly offered an explanation. “I have a much younger sister, and I would not allow her to read a book for which I cannot vouch. In my experience, young ladies are rarely interested in books of a more serious stamp.”

“Do you often find novels to be inappropriate for your sister?”

“No, not very often. The ones I have read contain mostly romantic twad—um, innocent but fanciful romance.”

Mr Darcy looked abashed, so Elizabeth replied with a light tone. “You are an ideal brother, then.”

“I do not admit to being ideal, but I am the only one she has, and I do not take my responsibilities lightly. Since we lost both our parents, I have been more of a father figure to her than a brother.”

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Elizabeth replied with much feeling. “I cannot imagine it, as both my parents are alive and healthy. It must have been exceedingly difficult to raise a sister whilst grieving.”

“It was, but it has been five years since my father died and ten since my mother’s illness,” Mr Darcy demurred. “It gets easier with time, especially after I became more familiar with running the estate on my own.”

“Oh my! I did not even consider that.” Elizabeth put a comforting hand on the arm that was escorting her. “You have had so much to bear on such young shoulders.”

He did not reply, but by the sorrow easily read in his eyes, she gathered it had been much more difficult than he would admit to.

They had reached the refreshment table. Mr Darcy gallantly filled her cup and handed it to her.

“Oh dear, I have not given this endeavour enough consideration,” Elizabeth admitted as she peered down at the drink in her hand. “I do not suppose there is a meadow to be found nearby. I am in dire need of a hollow straw.”

Mr Darcy smiled, revealing an adorable dimple on his left cheek.

“None whatsoever.” He grinned.

He obviously believed she would have to remove her mask completely to drink, but Elizabeth had another idea. She faced him and lifted the mask enough to slip the cup underneath and to her mouth.

“I have now caught a glimpse of your lush lips, so you might as well reveal the rest of your face.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, looked deeply into his cerulean-blue eyes, and adjusted the ribbons on her mask. “I think not. You are not a patient soul, Mr Darcy, and it is my belief that you are woefully in need of practice.”

He groaned, but she contained the laughter bubbling in her chest. It had become a game, and she never lost a battle of banter.

“Let me relieve you of your cup. I just heard the master of ceremonies call our set.”

Mr Darcy took her cup and put it on a side table. He was so chivalrous compared to the gentlemen she had encountered in Meryton, and he grew even further in her esteem. He may very well be without flaws, but that remained to be seen, and she would defer her judgment until they had danced at least the first of their set.

“I must deduce by your reluctance to show your countenance that you are known to me,” Mr Darcy whispered tantalisingly close to her ear. “Would it be correct to assume that you would admit it if my guess is accurate?”

Elizabeth nodded, still bewildered by the frisson his breath on her ear had sent scurrying down from her head to her toes.

“And may I enquire whether my assumption that you are known to me holds any bearing?” he continued.

“We have previously encountered each other, yes,” she allowed but did not give any further detail.

“Intriguing,” he mumbled before he left her side to position himself opposite her in the line.

The first dance was a lively reel that did not allow much conversation. However, the second was a minuet, which was a slow-paced couples’ dance. They circled each other, and Mr Darcy approached her from behind, seized her hands, and twirled them around. Elizabeth’s step faltered, and her back accidentally touched his chest. She tightened her grip on his hands and hoped that he had not noticed. His support brought her steadfast and unwavering through the set, and when it ended, she was uncommonly out of breath.

“I deprived you of your glass of ratafia when they called our set, so I believe it is only fair that I provide you with another,” Mr Darcy suggested in his low, rumbling voice.

“Certainly. It would be quite ungentlemanly if you did not,” Elizabeth retorted with a parched throat.

Mr Darcy escorted her seamlessly to the refreshment table. His height and character parted the sea of dancers to allow them a quick departure. He filled two glasses and looked about him.

“It is rather warm and crowded. Would you like to take some fresh air?”

“Yes please.” Elizabeth took a sip of her ratafia and accepted his offered arm. He guided them through the supper rooms and up a flight of stairs. He turned left, and suddenly they were out on a balcony overlooking the street. They were not alone, but the balcony ran the length of the entire building, so no one was standing too close.

“I hope you do not mind the balcony. I would not have you ruin your dress and slippers in the mucky street,” Mr Darcy explained.

“Not at all,” she admitted, looking down on the busy thoroughfare.

“You are not too cold?” he asked with concern.

Elizabeth chuckled; she was warm from the dance, the crush, and Mr Darcy’s close proximity. “Not in the slightest,” she replied, making the gentleman smile.

He did not look at her but gazed upon the moonlit sky.

“You do not have an accent, so am I correct in surmising that you are from town?”

The seemingly innocent question did not fool Elizabeth. She knew exactly what he was about. “No, I am country born and bred.”

“And the name of your father’s estate?” he enquired.

“That, I shall not tell you, even though I doubt you are familiar with it. It is modest compared to yours, but then again, most estates are,” she retorted enigmatically.

He turned to her then. “You have visited Pemberley?”

“No, but I have relations who have more knowledge about it than I. But I was so fortunate as to be invited to tea by your esteemed mother once, at the Rose and Crown in Lambton.”

It was as much of a hint as she was willing to offer. The rest he must determine without further clues. A shadow crossed his face, and he bowed his head.

“You said that we had met before, but it does not count if I was not present.”

“You were, but it was not at Pemberley.”

“I wish I knew who you were, but I am at a loss,” Mr Darcy admitted dejectedly.

“It is bad manners, my heroic Mr Darcy, to admit that I left no lasting impression. I would rather have assumed that I did.” Which was the absolute last hint she would give him before the clock struck twelve.

He studied her intently whilst rubbing his chin. His eyes were dark pools in the faint moonlight, and she was captured in his steady gaze.

“Your eyes are uncommonly beautiful. I should have remembered you from that feature alone,” he admitted, sending frissons down her back.

“You are cold.” He misinterpreted her slight quiver and escorted her back to the ballroom. “Do I ask too much, or would you honour me with a second set?”

“Certainly, Mr Darcy.” She acquiesced readily, delighted that he had deigned to ask.

Their delicious banter continued through their subsequent dances; she had never been more entertained in her life and did not wish the evening to end. Elizabeth glanced at the clock; it was ten to twelve. In just ten minutes she would have to reveal her face. Would he be disappointed she was no one but the foolish girl he had once rescued? Or worse, disappointed by her looks. Perhaps he hated freckles; the sun had unfortunately left a light dusting on her nose.

Grandmother Bennet was hastening towards them, and by the expression on her countenance, Elizabeth surmised something was amiss. Once their gazes met, her grandmother slowed her pace and appeared to compose herself.

“Dear Eilís , I am exceedingly sorry, but Henry is unwell, and we have to return home rather urgently.”

“Pray, what is the matter? Is it his heart?” Uncle Henry’s health was a cause for concern. He suffered palpations of the heart, and his advanced years did nothing to alleviate her worries.

“I am not certain,” her grandmother prevaricated, which only made Elizabeth’s apprehension grow.

“Think nothing of it. I have had a splendid evening, and we must not tarry to return Uncle Henry to the comforts of Limerick House. Have you sent for his physician?” Elizabeth asked.

Grandmother Bennet nodded absentmindedly and turned away. Elizabeth supposed the gesture was to allow her to say her farewells to Mr Darcy with a modicum of privacy.

“Mr Darcy, it has been a pleasure.” Elizabeth dipped into a deep curtsey. Her heel shook, but she avoided disgrace by sheer strength.

“May I call upon you?”

The desperation in Mr Darcy’s voice pleased her deeply and matched the sentiments she felt in the pit of her stomach.

“I would like that very much,” Elizabeth admitted, unabashed, holding his gaze for longer than was strictly proper.

Her grandmother cleared her throat, and Elizabeth hastened after her. She led her on a convoluted route to the entrance, where Uncle Henry waited with their shawls and the carriage stood ready at the bottom of the steps. He looked pale and drawn but, to Elizabeth’s relief, not terribly ill.

Yet he slumped after he had seated himself and appeared to have aged a decade.

“Is there anything I can do for your present relief?” Elizabeth enquired.

“No, thank you, my dear. I have had a shock, but I shall revive soon.”

Elizabeth itched to enquire but dared not lest it upset her uncle further. Her grandmother held no such qualms.

“The nerve of the Campbells…” she hissed.

Uncle Henry shook his head. “The baronet must have died given that the family has returned to town.”

“It has been twenty-two blissful years with their absence from society. I suppose I believed they would never be welcomed in London, but no one seems to remember. Let us pray it will be of short duration and that they will soon return to the North.”

Uncle Henry pressed his lips together in a combination of displeasure and disbelief.

Her grandmother continued. “We should take precautions while we gather our wits. Meanwhile, I shall have the knocker removed. I cannot allow them to call until I have decided whether to acknowledge them or give them the cut direct.”

Elizabeth was shocked. To give someone the cut direct was hardly ever done and must be proof that those Campbells were utterly corrupt.

“As much as I would like you to cut them,” Uncle Henry murmured tiredly, “to do so may cause undesirable attention.”

“You are right. I would rather avoid the acquaintance without stirring old grievances.