Chapter Eighteen #2
“I wonder how many times my great-great-great-great-grandmother danced in that kirtle! She was a beauty – there is a painting of her in the great hall. It has been said in the family that the first earl positively worshipped her!” Lady Blanche smiled proudly.
“Who would not, if she was adorned so very well?” Elizabeth straightened her posture, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror they passed. She could scarcely recognize the marvel she presented.
“Of course, some of the gowns are reproductions – and most of the gentlemen’s attire.
I daresay men back then were rougher on their garments, while the fine ladies sat around all day, not disturbing their gowns.
Yours are my favorite, two identical productions in different shades, for Lady Margaret, the first Countess of Hollingsworth. ”
Lady Rebecca, Anne, and Harriet had been loaned the other three authentic pieces, while Lady Julia, Miss Elliot, and Miss Bingley had been outfitted in what were clearly newly made copies.
Elizabeth grinned at Lady Blanche, delighted that they disliked the same people. “It is an honor to be trusted with a rare relic of your family’s history.”
“Well, you have taken it in stride. Lady Julia, this morning! I thought she should have a seizure! I am sure if I were a man, her brother would have struck me! Well, if he thinks this is beneath his dignity, I might remind him we are not half of the way into our month of celebration. He is not going to be a happy man.”
Jane and Elizabeth shared a look of bemusement at this hint of what was yet to come.
The Goulding ladies had thus far tended not to reveal too much of the upcoming activities that they had planned; it was thrilling enough that the guests knew of the theatrical events on the morrow.
Since the game of the phantoms, it was clear that the ladies did nothing by halves; Elizabeth was sure that the Shakespearean evening would be a grand spectacle indeed.
As to what may come after, she could scarcely guess, but the number of matches made at the annual fête led her to suppose that the events would be designed to throw couples together and display all the young people to advantage.
“We generally do Shakespeare on the twelfth night of the party,” Lady Blanche explained with a laugh.
“All that horrid rain put our schedule completely off! We had to postpone everything planned out of doors – of course, the village races we could not control, but my favorite event, the treasure hunt…” Lady Blanche brought her fingers to her lips and gave them a rueful chuckle.
“Well, enough about all that! Look, Jane! Here comes your beau.”
They had made a circuit of the ballroom and been admired by the other guests, displaying the costumes and the lovely ladies who wore them, rather than being introduced to anybody.
The party had been obliged to take half a dozen carriages to convey them to Marbleton Park, with the ladies in genuine gowns arriving first. The gentlemen were now announced, and Jane eagerly watched Captain Wentworth approach her.
Sir Arthur Marbleton was faster; he presented his three sons, who each solicited a dance from Jane and Elizabeth, though Jane had promised her first to the captain.
Nobody had asked Elizabeth for her opening set – but then she had not given anybody the encouragement to do so. She found herself searching the ballroom for Mr. Darcy, but she did not see him until her third set with the youngest Marbleton brother.
Mr. Darcy was in one corner of the room, speaking with Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The three men were all clad in Tudor garb, dashing counterparts to the trussed up ladies.
Doublets and jerkins, breeches and ruffs – they looked very lordly, indeed!
The colonel even sported a garish copatain hat embellished with jewels and braided gold.
Mr. Darcy looked very dashing with a short cape lined with ermine draped over one shoulder, though she suspected he was not at all pleased to be making such a spectacle. Bingley perceived Elizabeth from afar, threw back his own cape, and doffed his flat crown hat as he waved to her.
Finally, Elizabeth was granted escape from the increasingly dull brothers who had spent the evening murmuring inane half sentences that concluded with them peering into her décolletage.
Of course, Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy doing the same, as she took some refreshments at a table near where he lurked.
Lady Rebecca was now at her brother’s side, laughing with the colonel and Mr. Bingley; beside them, Mr. Darcy simply stared at Elizabeth, as if he were drinking in the sight of her.
She impulsively held up her glass of wine – even the goblet was rather medieval in style – and she bobbed into a curtsey.
When he did not react, she motioned as if doffing a cap.
A smile flickered on his face and he made a slight bow at her, his eyes never leaving hers.
And then Lady Rebecca perceived what was passing between them, and slowly began to detach herself from her companions.
Elizabeth knew her friend was coming to her – so that she would not go to them.
Elizabeth was fed up with her friend’s flagrant maneuvering to keep her away from Mr. Darcy; she moved faster.
“Ah, Lizzy! What do you think of me? Bingley was just telling me that I look like Anne Boleyn. I told him that one of us may lose our head, but it certainly shall not be me!”
Bingley dipped his glass of wine and gave his usual careless guffaw. “I read somewhere that she had dark hair and black, beautiful eyes.”
Elizabeth waited for Lady Rebecca’s inevitable crack about Mr. Bingley being able to read, but she only looked up at him with affection.
Mr. Darcy shot Elizabeth a look of bafflement, as if he expected the same.
And then she lost interest in their friends, for Mr. Darcy strode toward her and offered her his hand.
“You look resplendent, Queen Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth let out a breathy giggle as she fidgeted with the ruff about her neck, and then the jewels that hung below – and then swiftly withdrew her hand when his gaze was drawn to her plunging neckline.
The bosom fit her more snugly than it must have done its original owner, and Elizabeth felt her body ablaze under his stare.
She was handsome enough to tempt him now.
Elizabeth took Mr. Darcy’s hand, every thought banished from her mind as the wine hummed in her body and the music swelled in her chest. They joined the dance that was forming, and Elizabeth found herself taking in the pleasing sight of her exquisite partner.
She did not speak as she watched his graceful movements; he looked like the hero of a fairy story, and she felt every bit the heroine as he stared back at her with equal intensity.
The words that he had spoken to Lady Rebecca on the balcony echoed distantly through her mind – words she held transcribed into her diary, words stained with tears, words she had reread every morning since.
Finally his piercing gaze softened as a smile spread across his lips, growing into the bright smile she seldom saw, but often wished to behold. “I heard you have worked some long-needed mischief upon Rebecca.”
She blinked. “Have I?”
He laughed, mistaking her inability to form a coherent reply for some coy impulse. “I… certainly comprehend her wickedness. You know me capable of matching it.”
“You are just the sort of friend I should wish for her, and I believe her fondness for you has made your insinuations more profound.”