The Earl of Matlock led Lady Rebecca onto the dance floor to start the controversial new sensation. George Darcy and his wife followed; and then other daring couples, bold enough to try the intemperate waltz, began to leave the sidelines and joined them.

Fitzwilliam Darcy proudly escorted his radiant fiancée through the throng of relatives, friends, and acquaintances bent on offering hearty congratulations and best wishes. The newly betrothed couple graciously smiled and courteously thanked everyone, but they were bound and determined to find an available spot on the dance floor. Since they had already embraced and waltzed in the privacy of the library, they were eager to do so for a second time and gave not a thought to holding one another in public once they again became cocooned in their own world. The handsome young gentleman in the black tailcoat and trousers, snow-white shirt and cravat placed his gloved right hand on the yellow silk covering Elizabeth Bennet’s tiny waist. He inhaled her heady perfume and gazed into the sparkling, intelligent eyes of the woman who would soon be his wife. The strains of the beautiful waltz music began, and they stepped into the romantic dance in perfect rhythm. Darcy and Lizzy moved as one, smoothly and surely. As they glided and twirled, the candlelight caught and reflected the tiny, glittering spangles on the lady’s shimmering dress. The gentleman’s coattails billowed, and the hem of Elizabeth’s flowing gown swirled and floated around her as they circled the dance floor. The dazzling couple outshone all others, not only with their grace and style but also by the blissful expressions on their smiling faces.

The majority of dancers were understandably tentative, uncoordinated, or downright clumsy; and some were embarrassed by their obvious ineptitude. But frequently overheard expressions of apology were also oft times accompanied by peals of laughter and gaiety as ladies and gentlemen tripped, toes were trod upon, and couples collided. Darcy and his bride-to-be had silently found a rhythm all their own as they held each other and elegantly waltzed around the room. Elizabeth felt as though she were floating while she matched the exemplary lead provided by her tall, strong, debonair partner as he moved with style and grace. Her head was delightfully dizzy, and her body tingled wherever it made contact with his. Breathless with exhilaration, she wished the waltz would never end.

With a tear in his eye, Mr. Bennet watched his two beautiful daughters as they moved around the dance floor with their dashing fiancés. Although he occasionally frowned when a male leg came into contact with that of Jane or Lizzy, he thought the waltz was actually quite graceful and not in poor taste at all. He turned to his wife and said, “Frances, my love, would you do me the great honour of dancing the remainder of this set with me?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Bennet, you devilish old coot. I would very much like to give this new dance a whirl.”

No longer under the watchful eye of his future father-in-law, Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled Jane a bit closer than the accepted distance for a waltz. “My darling girl, I am so sorry you are being rushed into this engagement without an actual courtship. You deserve so much better. Truly, do you have any regrets?”

“Absolutely not, Richard, not a single one.” She smiled and then amended, “Well, perhaps one regret.”

“Tell me, and I will do everything in my power to make it right.”

“I regret we were interrupted earlier, and I do not mean being caught. That goes without saying. I just wish we had been able to continue …” Jane blushed and lowered her eyes. When understanding dawned on the Colonel, he immediately manoeuvred their position to a set of open doors leading to a conveniently close balustrade and waltzed his fiancée outside. They stared into one another’s eyes for a few seconds before he dipped his head and did everything in his power to erase her one regret.

Similar to another newly engaged couple, Fleming and Miss Darcy moved together with perfect timing. Azure eyes gazed into indigo eyes as time stood still for the young lovers. The glowing, fair-haired lady was completely focused on the tall, dark, and handsome man who held her in his embrace while she recalled the first time they met. Georgiana had been attracted to Ellis even then, and it was quite obvious theirs was not the only attachment formed on Pemberley’s lawn one sultry summer afternoon.

“Georgie, my dearest heart, you suddenly have a rather mischievous glint in your eyes. May I ask what is running through that very pretty head of yours?”

“You may ask; and I may tell you sometime, but not now. Oh, Ellis, this has been the most wonderful night of my life! I am to wed the most magnificent man in the world, and my two best friends will marry my brother and my cousin. ’Tis too much! By far too much! Oh, why is not everybody as happy?”

“Well, I am, most certainly.” He remembered there were other people in the room; and he took a quick glance at them before adding, “And if I am not mistaken, there are lots of other joyful people here as well. Just look at all the beaming faces surrounding us, Georgie. Like your father said, love actually is all around us tonight.”

Charles Bingley and Miss Anne de Bourgh may not have been as well coordinated as Darcy and Elizabeth, but at least they did not tumble down like several other unfortunate colliding couples. Bingley and Anne merely laughed away their missteps and awkwardness and waltzed on. They spoke on many topics and found they truly had much in common. Both had a close female relative with ‘issues’, and those ladies had caused considerable embarrassment over the years. They also discovered those same women, coincidentally, had equally set their caps on Fitzwilliam Darcy. Bingley’s sister had pursued Pemberley’s heir hoping to become Mistress of the estate he would someday inherit, and Lady Catherine aggressively promoted a match between her daughter and nephew.

“Miss de Bourgh, I have often heard Darcy and Fitz make mention of you in a most complimentary and affectionate manner. Why would you not want to wed someone like Darcy? He is handsome, I suppose; wealthy, certainly; and quite intelligent, really. Is that not what a girl wants in a husband?”

“We are more like brother and sister than cousins, Mr. Bingley. Besides, Fitzwilliam is far too taciturn and staid for my liking. Although I appreciate the importance of being earnest, I prefer being in the company of more fun-loving, frivolous people.”

“I am frivolous, and I love fun. For all the years I have known Fitz and Darcy, I am rather surprised our own paths have not previously crossed, Miss de Bourgh.”

“Well, sir, I am seldom permitted to spend time in Town. So, unless you have crossed Rosings Park’s pathways, it may be pathetic but not really surprising our paths never crossed until tonight.”

While they danced and enjoyed being in one another’s company, Mr. Bingley and Miss de Bourgh discussed literature, the arts, items in the newspaper, and the latest gossip.

“Miss de Bourgh, have you read the novel about the musician in treble? It was a real cliffhanger.”

“Oh, Mr. Bingley! You ruined it, sir. You were supposed to say clef-hanger.”

“Oops. Drat! Sorry. Just the same, I did hear of some treble at the new music store on Bond Street. It was robbed, and the thief made away with the lute. Speaking of loot, have you heard Miss Pearl Loyne is suspected of stealing a brooch from Miss Plaist?”

“Oh, dear. What happened, Mr. Bingley?”

“They could not pin it on her. They did, however, pin a famous writer for stealing an idea for a stage drama; and he is now considered a playgiarist.”

“Tsk, tsk. Before writing his final version of the play, he should have had a pre-text.”

“Yes. I suppose authors’ lives are punctuated with good writing periods. Nonetheless, in my opinion the fellow should have been more pen-sive. My sister, Caroline, usually mends my pens for me, but she will soon be going away to live with our aunt and uncle. I suspect my handwriting shall suffer, and it is already nothing to write home about.”

“Mr. Bingley, to write with a broken pen is pointless.” Anne gave him a teasingly coy smile and exaggeratedly batted her eyelashes. “I mend pens remarkably well, sir.”

“Do you know, Miss de Bourgh, you make a good point for furthering our acquaintance? Please allow me to ask you a question point-blank. May I please call on you tomorrow?”

“I hope you make a point of it, sir.”

Whenever Bingley and Anne stepped on the other’s toes, they apologized for the misstep. Step-by-step, they became accustomed to dancing together; and it was a step in the right direction. When they parted, the young gentleman had a spring in his step as he silently recited from Alexander Pope’s ‘An Essay on Man’: ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest’.

Miss de Bourgh made a mental reminder to jot down her feelings later. Her daily journal was like a confidante, and she had named the diary ‘Brigette Johns’.

An avid reader, Charles Bingley recalled a section of a letter from Werther, the main character, to his friend, Wilhelm, in the book The Sorrows of Young Werther by Wolfgang von Goethe: ‘Never had I danced more lightly. I felt myself more than mortal, holding this loveliest of creatures in my arms, flying with her like the wind, till I lost sight of everything else; and--Wilhelm, I vowed at that moment that a girl whom I loved, or for whom I felt the slightest attachment, should never waltz with another, even if it should be my end!’