J Croft - Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge

“Well, Mr. Darcy, that is probably not quite true; because I certainly do not know what to think. Though I believe I just saw Mr. Bingley in a position in which I was rather hoping to find myself later tonight.”

“Miss Elizabeth, I shall not bear false witness. I … I do not bear waltz fitness.”

She stepped away from the door, paced a few steps, and unthinkingly ran gloved fingers through her hair, dislodging a ringlet Rachel had so carefully arranged. “Mr. Darcy, are you a trifle foxed? You are not at all speaking in your usual articulate manner.”

“I apologize, madam. I assure you I am stone cold sober. I hope you and I shall always be straightforward with one another and avoid any further misunderstandings. The simple, unvarnished truth is I am not an accomplished waltzer. I did not want to be an embarrassment to you or, heaven forbid, humiliate myself. I did actually learn the steps last year but was not a great proficient.”

“Sir, the dance is just now making its way to our shores; so none of us are truly proficient … well, with the exception of some young officers like Lieutenant-Colonel John Dun perhaps. He spent some time on the continent and learned to waltz there, but … Mr. Darcy! Did you just … growl, sir?”

“Please tell me you did not waltz with Dun.”

“Oh. Very well then, sir. I will not tell you.”

“Miss Elizabeth, the waltz is considered quite immoral, you know, because of the … close … embrace … madam, what are you doing?”

She stood directly in front of him and had reached for his right hand. “I am offering my services as waltzing instructor, unless you would rather recall Mr. Bingley to continue.”

“Who? I do not recall a dance instructor by that name.”

“Very good, Mr. Darcy. Now, move in a bit closer. Closer. Stop! My goodness! Back up a bit, sir.”

“Must I?”

“Yes!”

He reluctantly complied but rakishly smiled at her.

“There. Good. Now, sir, take your right hand … and … very good. See. You know just where to put your hand. Oops. Ah, Mr. Darcy, that is no longer my waist … Perhaps this is not such a wise course of action … Oh! My! Very, very good, sir. You move so … wonderfully and … masterfully. You are actually making it difficult to concentrate when you look at me in such a manner. Whew! It is rather hot in here, is it not? Sir, I really do think it would be best if we return to the ballroom now, before we … ah … Mr. Darcy, I can certainly guide you through these steps while on the dance floor, although you really do not require instruction at all. It is quite easy … and beautiful … and … my goodness! You are a very apt pupil, sir. I believe you could teach me a thing or two. Oh, how did we end up so close together again? Mr. Darcy, we simply must return to the ballroom now, so we can put this rehearsal to practical use.”

“Not just yet, my love.”

They had stopped dancing but held their positions. Fitzwilliam Darcy prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of her heart, trusting it was not more than might be won in the course of the next few moments. He smoothed her wayward curl back into place, and then his hand slid down to cup the side of her face.

“I grow impatient with this drawn-out courtship, Elizabeth. I need to know, for certain, you will forever be mine. You were quite right earlier today. I have been courting you for the past fortnight; and although it may be somewhat unconventional, those elapsed two weeks shall have to serve as our official courtship. Since parting with you this afternoon I have struggled to find a perfect way to propose, yet words utterly fail to express what I feel for you. You deserve the sentiments of a poet, but I refuse to employ another man’s words.” He roguishly smiled at her and continued, “Although I did toss around the idea of discovering what a certain army officer said during his failed offer and then saying the complete opposite. I thought that way I might be assured of a positive response.”

“Oh, Mr. Darcy! Sir, how dare you bring up the thought of another man during such an intimate moment; and you were doing so splendidly up until that point.”

“I was?” His other hand had found its way to her face as well, and his long thumbs caressed her rosy cheeks. “Then please immediately forget that nonsense. You must allow me to continue in the previous vein and tell you how ardently I admire and love you. For love you I do, Elizabeth Bennet, with all my heart and soul, and always will. You are the most beautiful woman, both physically and intellectually, I have ever beheld. I love your wit, your joie de vivre, your kind and caring nature, and the way you look at me … like you looked at me on the lawn at Pemberley, and the way you are looking at me right this moment. Please say it means you return some measure of what I feel. Please say you will make me the happiest of men by consenting to be my wife and the mother of my children. Elizabeth, my one and only love, please say you will marry me.”

Elizabeth moved even closer, raised her right hand to his face, and dazzled him with the full force of her smile. “I return equal measure of what you feel, Mr. Darcy. In fact, my cup runneth over with love for you. We must be the two most fortunate people in the world to have formed such a strong attachment in so short a time, and I truly do not know what I did to deserve such happiness. Most matches are made for wealth or connections; so I can scarcely believe my fondest wish of marrying for love is coming true, for love you I do, Mr. Darcy.”

The gentleman reminded himself to remain a gentleman and settled for a chaste kiss on her forehead. She felt his lips curve into a smile against her skin as he said, “Answer the question, please, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, but Mr. Darcy, if you will review your engaging proposal, which I shall probably spend the rest of my life doing, you will find there was no actual question. Perhaps you should have consulted the book for advice on how to make an offer.”

“I am almost afraid to ask. What book, madam?”

“On Bended Knee by the author Neil Down.”

“God, how I love you, you impertinent little minx!” Fitzwilliam Darcy lowered himself and, on bended knee, gazed up at her, and said, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you please marry me?”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy, I would very much love to marry you and be your wife; and if you can bear my teasing, I shall most willingly bear your children.”

The general consensus of the Quality guests at the lavish ball given by the esteemed Darcy and Fitzwilliam families was that the extravagant event was going extraordinarily well. Matlock Manor was done up in Town bronze; and it glittered with candlelight, crystal, and costly gem-encrusted jewelry that adorned the ladies. Attendees were fashionable, musicians superb, dancing refined, supper delectable, and conversation sophisticated. Miss Anna Darcy had played the pianoforte brilliantly, and her proud father had happily announced to the assemblage the engagement of his elder daughter, Miss Georgiana Darcy, to Mr. Ellis Fleming. There had been warm rounds of applause for both the sweet young performer and the handsome couple; and then anticipation grew as most of the company eagerly awaited the grand finale, which was to be the controversial new dance, a waltz.

Behind the scenes, pandemonium ruled as the manor’s servants pandered to guests’ requests, some mannered and others ill mannered. Young pages were paged to assist footmen, who were run off their feet with many servile feats. The butler whined about the wine cellar’s rapid depletion as attendees were wined and dined; and he was glad the ball would soon wind up. After supper was served, the chef, his assistants, and their tempers finally stopped steaming, stewing, and simmering. Unfortunate scullery maids would labour until daylight before they were all washed up.

Above and beyond the overworked servants, a few other occupants of Matlock Manor had not exactly enjoyed the night’s proceedings. Lady Anne Darcy had collapsed outside the library; and Miss de Bourgh had summoned Lady Rebecca’s efficient French abigail, a pretty maid by the name of Mademoiselle Frances Atwarre, who brought the English patient around with smelling salts. Miss Anna Darcy had fetched her uncle; and after his sister recovered from her swoon and related the sordid story of Richard and Miss Jane Bennet, the Earl dispatched an express message to a home several blocks away. Lady Anne left her brother to deal with his youngest offspring while she headed back to the library and an ordeal involving her eldest.

A sheepish Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was escorted to his mutton-chopped father’s study, where he was raked over the coals and lambasted for unseemly behaviour and its ramifications. As a soldier, the officer was used to standing in formation to receive information; so with the best intention, not to mention apprehension, without pretension he stood at attention to defend his own contention.

Jane had been taken aside by Miss de Bourgh, and Anna soon joined them and tried to comfort her friend while the raised voices of her uncle and his son filtered down the hall from the vicinity of the Earl’s study. Miss Bennet was absolutely mortified, guilt-ridden over her shameless conduct, and torn between wanting to flee and the need to take a stance with Richard while he faced the music, even if she did not particularly care for the tune. “Oh, Anna, I am so sorry for causing such turmoil; and I believe it would be preferable for me to leave now. I should fetch my sister from the library; and regardless, we really must warn Mr. Darcy and Lizzy before … ”