When she alighted from the carriage Richard’s breath caught and the stab of yearning felt in his heart was exquisitely painful. She wore a modest gown of deepest blue, the velvet shimmering in the gaslight and accenting her womanly figure. No jewels or embellishments adorned the austere gown of mourning, nor were her flaxen tresses garnished, but the basic chignon and simple dress only highlighted her natural beauty.

“My dear Lady Fotherby, how delightful it is to see you here. Many of us were concerned for your welfare, distressed over your self-imposed exile, and praying that your grief would soon be relieved.”

“Thank you, Lady Matlock. You are kind. Allow me to assure you that I have been well comforted by my children and family. I am quite well indeed. Lord Fotherby would not wish me to wallow in pity and despair.”

Lord Matlock nodded, bowing low in greeting. “I believe I can assert that to be a true statement, my Lady. Your husband cared deeply for your well-being and would shudder to think he has caused you undue pain.”

Lady Fotherby inclined her head politely, eyes shifting to Richard, who stood silently beside his father. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I trust you are well?”

“Quite well, my Lady.”

“I am surprised to see your son here, Lord Matlock. If I may be indulged to tease just a bit, I seem to recall a young man not overly fond of opera. Of course, tastes do change with time.” She smiled winsomely toward Richard, whose knees felt decidedly weak but whose heart was warmed by her presence and favorable demeanor.

Lady Matlock laughed gaily. “You have an excellent memory, Lady Fotherby. And I am afraid little has changed in my son’s tastes, but he has learned to oblige his mother’s whimsies and is a dutiful son.”

“A mother can only hope for such a gift, I believe. Be cheered, Colonel, as I am told this particular offering of Faust is an exceptional one.”

Richard bowed his head. “I am counting on this allegation, my Lady. I daresay we shall both pray truth in the statement; you so as to find joy in marvelous entertainment, and I so as not to fall asleep.”

Her lilting laughter rang out. It was an auspicious beginning. Colonel Fitzwilliam would manage only a short conversation with her during intermission. Her uncle, acting as escort, hovered nearby with a stern frown keeping the worst of the vultures at bay. Still, the brief words shared and casual glances passed were encouraging.

The Darcy Ball offered an improved interaction.

The ball hosted by the Darcys at Darcy House for their end of the Season extravaganza was anticipated by a number of people for a variety of reasons. Darcy just wanted to get it over with, Mrs. Darcy was eager to display her talents as hostess and advance her husband’s celebrity, Georgiana hungered for more dancing and flummery, George simply reveled in the amusement and attention, and Richard prayed to converse with Lady Fotherby.

Every room on the ground and first floors, with the exception of the Master Chambers, was open and aglitter with hundreds of candles and lamps. Sheens of gold and silver erupted from the profusion of metallic ribbons, gilded frames, crystal tableware, enameled vases, marble statues, and polished light holders, harmonizing brilliantly with the opulence of varnished floors, banisters, tables, chairs, and room trimmings fashioned from the finest wood available. The staff had outdone themselves in cleaning, arranging, and preparing, all at the instruction of their Mistress, who overlooked not a single detail.

The guest list of nearly one hundred was modest by typical standards. These final parties of the Season were the ultimate cap, the last chance to make a permanent impression upon Society either as host or attendee. Invitations were coveted, accepted by the dozens, and extended widely. It was not at all unusual for one to visit several glittering houses in one night, the briefest appearance enough to comment upon; conversely, it was the norm to send hundreds of invitations if so bold as to plan a fête during the competitive final weeks, in hopes that a fraction would show up. Glory was attained both in how many invitations one received and in how many personages of importance passed over the threshold.

Lizzy’s remaining ignorance in some of the finer machinations of the ton kept her unaware of the fact that by limiting the number of invitations, the Darcy ball instantly ranked as one of the prime tickets in town! Her reasoning was simply the desire to entertain only those people they genuinely enjoyed. Therefore, her first list was smaller still, but fortunately she, as in most matters, asked her husband’s opinion. Darcy, naturally, was well aware of all the fine nuances of Society and, despite his marked lack of enthusiasm in hosting a grand soiree of this magnitude, recognized the suggested snub if they ignored too many key members of the London social set. The revised guest list remained modest but was perfectly balanced. The question would not be why the Darcys excluded certain folks, but what those folks had done to deserve the Darcys’ censure! Thus, while Lizzy immersed in menus and decorations, Darcy smugly sat back and laughed to himself.

The Darcy Ball resembled more of a Salon atmosphere in the eclectic assortment of guests with their unique personalities. Darcy proudly stood on the bottom step of the foyer stairway, the location elevating his imposing, fashionably attired figure at the juncture of the ballroom and drawing room. He greeted new arrivals with his classic dignified reserve and cordiality while furtively observing Elizabeth as she gracefully glided among the assembled guests. From time to time he could faintly hear her musical laughter, noting with awed contentment how she easily joined conversations with the most diverse of groupings. He did not need to hear her words to tell that she was welcomed by one and all, her dynamic but genteel personality appreciated.

Currently, she stood talking to his great aunt, the Marchioness of Warrow. Darcy smiled briefly, again impressed at the curious rapport she possessed with his flamboyant Aunt Beryl, but then his thoughts were distracted as he greeted the astronomer Sir William Herschel and his wife. The plain truth was that Lizzy thought her husband’s notorious relative captivating in her outrageousness. Thrice married and widowed, each husband wealthier than the previous and possessing of a higher title, this younger sister to Darcy’s grandfather was one of those English novelties in the same mold as the historic Bess of Hardwick. Well into her seventies, she still radiated a residual beauty and sensual charm that sparkled and left no mystery as to how she once attracted her husbands and numerous lovers.

“Of course, the Duke never could maintain his dignity when sodden with wine!” Lady Warrow declared with a throaty chuckle, Lizzy and the other listeners laughing with her. The fact that the Duke whose story of impropriety she regaled was deceased and unknown to each of them was insignificant; the humor was in how she related the tale with verve and embellishments. Not for the first time, it occurred to Lizzy that George had obviously inherited his flair and abundant humor from his father’s sister. “Lord Essenton, my second husband, you know, and dear Sebastian’s grandfather”—she lightly patted the arm of the young man standing at attention beside the chair she sat on as if the grandest throne—“smoothly intervened, supporting the soused Duke and escorting him to the terrace for a bracing walk in the January Durham air before he upset any additional trays of food onto Prince Frederick’s lap. Luckily his Highness has a marvelous sense of humor and was well past the point of clear-headedness.”

“Quite fortunate you both were there, my Lady. Imagine the scandal!”

“Oh, my dear Mr. Gilcrist, such faux pas rarely became true scandals; otherwise, no one would ever have the liberty to enjoy themselves! I could shock you endlessly with tales of solecism in the elite. Truly, in my vast years of experience, I have come to believe the poor rural farmer possesses a decorum and sense of etiquette superior to his betters.” She smiled slyly, fluttering her fan toward Mr. Gilcrist with the array of jewels covering her delicate gloved hand flashing in the light. “But this must be our secret, sir. We mustn’t let on that we know the reality behind the carefully erected façade.”

Lord Alvanley laughed boomingly. “Indeed, Lady Warrow, a shocking truth to be sure. Imagine His Highness’ consternation if he were to learn of it.”