The oohs and aahs were intense. “What were they doing, Dr. Darcy?”

“That is the exciting part, Mrs. Allen. Leopards, like all the great cats, are shy creatures. They tend to hide in shady areas away from any traffic zones, stealthily lurking and gliding through the forests, nearly undetected in the thick underbrush or high within the tree branches. Of course, the river was not exactly a major thoroughfare, so we were invading their solitude. Unlike lions, who travel in large packs called prides, leopards prefer small clusters of three or four. Also, they generally are nocturnally active so what we witnessed, I came to realize in time, was extremely rare indeed.”

Another infinitesimal caesura, the rapt audience holding their breath. “It was mating season, you see, and two males were in the throes of a serious dispute over an outstanding specimen of a feline female. All species on earth, so it appears, become incensed and foolishly aggressive when captured by an attractive lady.” He flashed a dazzling smile and nod toward each captivated woman, blushes flaring prettily all around. “She paced imperiously, tail swishing while her suitors circled each other a time or two before engaging. It was brutal and noisy. Roars, fangs, and claws.”

“Was there… blood?”

“Some, yes. All thoughts of medicinal treatments for the stricken villagers fled my mind, I daresay. Both leopards appeared evenly matched. Easily five feet long, not counting the tails, two hundred pounds with stocky bodies covered with gorgeous black spots on tannish brown fur. Incredible animals! Jaws squared and strong, teeth as needles, and a growling roar that sent shivers up my spine.”

“Did they notice your boat? Were they angry?” Gasping with a hand to her mouth, Mrs. Longham whispered, “They did not… attack, did they?”

“Be still, dear lady. They were far too caught up in the moment to notice us. We glided silently and slowly past, for the first time truly grateful for the lack of breeze, as we were able to observe the entire spectacle. The fight itself was not lengthy, but intense with ferociousness and animalistic power. They did not seem to seriously be attempting to kill the other, but merely to display their prowess and superiority. They would stalk each other for a few moments, angry eyes locked with ears flattened on their massive heads. Then they would leap. Several times they embraced in combat, the noises rising while the she-leopard observed her would-be mates. A particularly vicious swipe with half-foot-long claws across the nose of one effectively ended the battle. He slunk away while the victor wasted no time in approaching his harshly won mate.”

“Was she impressed and amenable to the winner?” Mr. Longham asked.

“Apparently, she was quite impressed as they instantly attended to those activities I believe most species would consider a pleasurable reward for such valor and exhibited virility.” He grinned widely, the ladies flushing and twittering as decorum demanded although it was clear that most were energized by his allusion.

While George Darcy charmed his way through every available and unavailable woman in the entire establishment, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s heart was firmly planted in High Wycombe with Lady Simone Fotherby. George enchanted with a flamboyant cheekiness fully intended to sow the seeds for future socializing and romantic trysts if possible, whereas Richard congenially socialized for the sheer enjoyment factor. Bachelors of all ages were in abundance, but the son of Lord Matlock, a colonel in His Majesty’s service, and a man of no mean attractiveness and wealth was a prime object of flirtatious advances in varying degrees. Simply put, the good Colonel was not in danger of boredom from lack of receptive dancing partners, but he might well have been in danger of bold female advances! Thus, he primarily visited with his oldest friends from childhood.

“After tonight’s revelry I am not so certain a hunt scheduled for the morrow was a wise idea. Who thought of that anyway?” Gerald Vernor asked.

“Obviously the one man who is not here imbibing imprudently and is undoubtedly already sleeping!” Rory Sitwell answered with a laugh.

“Be cheered, Vernor. At least we are trekking through your lands, so you have that advantage over the rest of us.”

“True, Colonel, but he has that fabulous long rifle. Gerald tells me he managed quite well with it, at targeting anyway.” Mr. Henry Vernor gestured toward his son, who nodded affirmative.

“Yes, he did well, but you know Darcy. He can hit nearly anything. Almost as good as I am as annoying as that is to confess.” Richard winced.

Lord Matlock spoke in his quiet tenor, “Did he reach four hundred yards?”

Richard shook his head. “Not quite. Probably 300, 325 would you say, Hughes?” Mr. Hughes nodded. “Fairly impressive for the first go around. Took a bit of sighting it in and compensating for the dimensions and weight, but Darcy has a knack for firearms. Sitwell did quite well also,” Richard concluded with a clap to his friend’s shoulder.

Mr. Sitwell had a glow of heavenly rapture upon his face. “It was stupendous. Exquisite instrument! Well worth trudging through the snow from Reniswahl Hall. I may never have forgiven him if not invited. You really must shoot it, Lord Matlock.”

“I shall be joining you tomorrow, if I can drag my old bones out of bed by noon. I will ask Darcy if I may try it out. Prove to you young bucks that the mature stag can aim true.”

They all laughed, Mr. Gerald Vernor voicing their admiration, “We have no doubt of that, my Lord. My father can outshoot me any day of the week.”

“And don’t you forget it, my boy,” Henry Vernor declared with an authoritative scowl leveled at his son, who flippantly saluted in return. Mr. Vernor the elder smiled and chuckled. “You may need to exert your familial clout, Lord Matlock, as I doubt Darcy will readily part with his weapon on this first hunt utilizing it. You know how serious he can be.”

“Well there is the understatement of the century,” Richard intoned under his breath, earning a humorous nudge from Albert Hughes and chuckle from Charles Bingley.

“Not a problem. One of the advantages of closely knit families is knowing things, you see. Blackmail, if all else fails, Mr. Vernor.” Lord Matlock winked broadly, eliciting more laughter.

“When do you return to your regiment, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Mr. George Fitzherbert asked.

“In two days. This is why the hunt was scheduled for tomorrow. So we can teasingly blame Darcy, but honestly it was due to me.”

“At least it is for mid-afternoon, and if the weather remains fair, it should be tolerable. Worse come to worse we can always retire to Sanburl Hall sooner than expected where the fireplaces are ablaze and the brandy flows.”

“Here! Here!” Several glasses lifted at that pleasant vision.

“How shocking. Thank goodness the womenfolk no longer solely rely on tough manly men to provide our sustenance or we would likely starve.” They collectively turned at the words of Harriet Vernor who had arrived with the wives and a few hopeful singles as the strains of music recommenced for another set of dancing. “Afraid to be rained upon, my dear?” She smiled at her husband.

“Moisture is damaging to the mechanisms, Harriet,” he answered dryly. “We would hate to see Darcy’s fine weapon suffer. Think how upsetting that would be to Mrs. Darcy.”

“Of course. Mr. Bingley, your lovely wife sent me to request your company on the terrace. She was in need of fresh air. Just through the music room there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Vernor. Excuse me.”

“Is she well, Mrs. Vernor?”

“Merely with child, Colonel, as you would not quite comprehend… yet.” Richard blushed and smiled before remembering to grimace as he normally would have.

Across the room a trio stood apart, one pair of vivid green eyes following the movements of a certain jewel-adorned, red-haired coiffure.

“John, you cannot be serious,” Lady Sybil Clay-Powell uttered with disgust. “Her family’s wealth is from trade, for heaven’s sake!”

“All families make money from trade of some sort, Sybil, whether they acknowledge it or not. Besides, that was generations ago; her brother now is a landowner, and frankly I can do whatever I want. Who is going to shun me, for goodness sake?”

Lady Sybil released an indelicate sound, adequately voicing her contempt. “Be that as it may, I still do not comprehend the attraction you hold for her.”

“Of course you do, my dear,” Lord Mather interjected. “You simply choose to ignore it.”

“What is it with you and red hair, John?” His sister asked with a sigh.

“Red haired women have fire, a passion hidden beneath waiting to be awoken. It is intoxicating!”

“So keep bedding your flaming-tressed harlots. Satisfy your lusts there. Why marry this one?”

“Because she fascinates me, Sybil. Always has. Besides, it is not just the hair, as you well know.”

“So make her your mistress. You can conquer this fire you claim she has, have her whenever you want, and marry someone of your station.”

Lord Blaisdale shook his head. “No, not now. Three years ago I considered it, although I do not think she would have agreed. Fire, Sybil, and a strong will. It is different now. Nothing hinders me. She is poised, beautiful, fashionable, highly accomplished, and socially acceptable. All traits for an excellent Lady Blaisdale. And, if I may remind you, I did marry as our parents and you judged worthy and look at what a disaster that was. Susanna was a timid mouse! Three months before I could consummate our marriage and it proceeded to be a struggle thereafter. Each time I felt as if I was assaulting her! Nine years to conceive and then she miscarried and died.” He shook his head in remembered grief and repulsion.