Chapter Fourteen The Frostbitten Romance #3
"I am. I am thinking about tomorrow," Georgiana admitted. "The ball."
"Are you nervous?"
"A little. I have never been to a grand ball. And Lady Catherine will be there. She is staying at Matlock House. She will be watching me."
Mrs Gardiner stopped winding. She reached out and patted Georgiana's hand. "Lady Catherine is a loud woman with very old-fashioned ideas, I am told. But she has no power over you. You are under the protection of your brother, and the Earl. And, I dare say, my niece."
Georgiana smiled tentatively. "Elizabeth is very brave. She stood up to Fitzwilliam. No one stands up to Fitzwilliam."
"She stands up to him because she respects him enough to tell him the truth," Mrs Gardiner said. "And because she loves him."
Georgiana's eyes widened. "Do you think so? Truly?"
"I have known Lizzy since she was a baby. I know when her heart is engaged. She watches him when he is not looking. She defends him when he is criticised. And she looks happier than I have seen her in years."
"Fitzwilliam is the same," Georgiana whispered. "He hums. He never hums. And he asks my opinion on his waistcoats."
"Then we have nothing to fear from Lady Catherine," Mrs Gardiner declared, resuming her winding. "Let her glare. We shall be too busy dancing."
"Will you dance, Mrs Gardiner?"
"If my husband insists. Though I prefer to watch. I want to see you dance, Miss Darcy. You have a grace that deserves to be seen."
Georgiana sat up straighter. "I shall dance. I promised Richard the first set. And I think I shall ask Elizabeth to stand with me during the supper."
"A wise choice. Lizzy is an excellent shield against dragons."
Darcy and Elizabeth, having exhausted the view of the rainy street, drifted over to join them.
"Plotting?" Elizabeth asked, eyeing the wool.
"Planning," Mrs Gardiner corrected. "Strategies for the ballroom."
"The strategy is simple," Darcy said. "We arrive. We survive. We leave before Lady Catherine can corner anyone near the punch bowl."
"That is a very pessimistic," Elizabeth teased. "My strategy is to dance every dance and eat a great deal of white soup."
"I have already claimed the first two dances," Darcy reminded her. "And the supper dance."
"You are very greedy, Sir."
"I am making up for lost time." Darcy's voice dropped low. "I missed the opportunity in Hertfordshire. I do not intend to miss it in London."
Georgiana looked from her brother to Elizabeth, her eyes shining. "I think," she fluttered her eyelashes shyly, "that tomorrow will be a perfect night."
The morning of New Year's Eve was frantic. But for once, it was a happy frantic.
Darcy stood in the hall of Darcy House at midday. He was dressed for a final call at Gracechurch Street before the evening's festivities began.
He checked his pocket. The ring was there. The diamond ring he had taken from the strongbox three days ago. It felt heavy. It felt right.
"Ready, Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana appeared on the stairs. She was calm. The tumult Lady Catherine caused seemed to have receded, replaced by the excitement of a young girl going to her first ball with friends.
"Ready," Darcy said.
"Have you practiced your speech?"
"I do not have a speech. I have a question."
"Even better. Keep it simple. You tend to ramble when you are nervous."
"I do not ramble."
"You lectured me on the history of the fork once."
Darcy sighed. "Point taken. Simple. Direct."
They rode to Cheapside through the streets of a city which was buzzing with New Year's energy. When they arrived, the house was already in a state of preparation. Hairdressers were expected, gowns were being steamed, and who knows what else ladies found necessary for a ball.
Robert was already there, of course. He was showing Jane a piece of sheet music he was absolutely certain she would love.
"Just a brief call," Darcy said to Elizabeth, finding her in the library—their usual spot. "To ensure you are still willing to brave the lion's den tonight."
Elizabeth abandoned the book she was reading. She wore a morning dress of sprigged muslin and looked fresh and lovely.
"I am willing," she smiled up at him. "Though I hear Lady Catherine has been practicing her glare."
"Let her glare," Darcy said. "Tonight is not about her. It is about the new year. New beginnings."
He stepped closer. He wanted to ask her now. He wanted to get down on his knee right here on the Gardiners' rug and secure his future. But he had a plan. He had a strategy. Midnight. The Matlock Ball. The start of 1812.
"Save me the supper dance," he asked hoarsely.
"You have already claimed it," she reminded him, her eyes soft.
"I am claiming it again. I want no confusion."
"There is no confusion, Fitzwilliam," she whispered. "I am yours for the dance."
And for the rest? he wanted to ask.
Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight.
"Until this evening," he said, bowing over her hand.
"Until this evening."
He left Cheapside with his heart hammering a rhythm against his ribs. The courting was done. The battles were fought. Now, there was only the victory to claim.