“Ladies and gentlemen!” Barking in a powerful voice, a tall man dressed in a stunning suit of purple commanded silence and attention. In the hush that fell, he continued dramatically, raising the audience's expectation to a fever pitch, “Welcome one and all to Great Yarmouth and this extravaganza! Today all shall be witness to an aerial feat of magnificent proportions! Trusting to a liberal dose of mastery in the science of gases and atmospheric pressures, the balloonist is nonetheless an adventurer of astounding bravery! Ever at the merciful whims of nature and the Almighty, the courageous balloonist risks life and limb with each ascent! Who among you can claim such fortitude? Do you have the nerve? The sheer audacity to tempt fate? Nay, you confess? Well, allow me to introduce one who possesses all these traits and more! Ladies and gentlemen, please, a hardy round of applause for Miss Alita van Lingen!”

With wild applause following a brief caesura of stunned awe, the crowd greeted the impressive woman who materialized from the sidelines. Even from their seats high above the floor, Darcy and Lizzy could discern Miss van Lingen was easily six feet in height and probably as brawny as Darcy. As incongruous as it seemed, she wore a scarlet gown garishly adorned with lace and frills, a wide brimmed hat with ribbons and foot-long feathers, and a hem-length boa in white ermine. She waved her gloved hands grandly with florid bows in all directions, blowing kisses enthusiastically before entering the balloon's small basket. The announcer shut the door with a flourish, gallantly grasping Miss van Lingen's hand for a courtly kiss.

In point of fact, the actual ascension of the balloon was rather undramatic. One by one the tethers were released, the balloonist calculatingly emptied the hanging sand-filled ballasts as the balloon rose until well above the earth. So gradually as to be nearly indiscernible, the balloon began to glide horizontally as air currents were encountered. Necks arched and eyes strained with the effort to catch the infinitesimal alterations of the colossal device; time dragged as the ponderous contrivance gracefully and majestically soared until finally a mere dot lost among the wispy clouds.

All the while the people watched, collectively held their breaths and waved incessantly at the disappearing pilot. For long moments no one moved, as if under a spell difficult to break. Hypnotized, the audience began to stand and drift toward the exit. Talking was initially minimal, but progressively erupted in tiny bursts as total strangers shared in the awe.

Darcy avidly observed the spectacle with the singular twinkle in his eyes so familiar to Lizzy. She too was captivated by the demonstration, but having seen it once before she did manage to tear her eyes away and note her husband's expression. Lost in his reverie, apparently unaware that the balloon was far beyond even his keen eyesight, Lizzy squeezed his arm and leaned to his ear.

“I fear your busy schedule allots no time for you to take up ballooning as a hobby, love.”

He turned to her with a sheepish smile, eyes still sparkling nonetheless. “That was truly marvelous, Elizabeth!”

“Let me guess. We must hasten to the nearest library to purchase books on the science of balloons and flight?”

He laughed. “No. We must hasten to the nearest pub as I am parched and famished. Later I shall acquire a book on the subject. Only for enlightenment, you understand?”

They did not need to travel far. The entire southern end of the sandy peninsula formed by the River Yare and North Sea was rapidly evolving from a primarily military habitation and ship docking quay into a tourist destination. All along the boardwalk small shops and eateries were practically daily opening. The previously rustic track had been widened and smoothed, with trees actively being planted to shade pedestrians. Large fields were leveled for carriage parking; naturally arenaceous beaches were meticulously combed and inspected for bathers and players; hotels were being built; grassy plains and cultured gardens were landscaped; and a modern wharf was being constructed.

In the middle of it all sat the racetrack. Some ten years ago the military men decided they needed a track to race their horses. Over time, what was essentially designated as a cavalry training field and arena for mild amusement among the militia grew into a full-fledged betting racecourse. Spectator seating, areas of concessions, and the all important booths for gambling had been built. Twice a week the track was taken over by breeders, owners, jockeys, and thoroughbreds from around the country for a sport that had been synonymous with England since the days of Queen Anne. Although this track and the racers exhibited could not compare to the Royal Ascot or Newmarket, nor were the purses as substantial, wherever there were horses traveling at fast speeds and money to potentially be made, folks would flock.

Since this latter description perfectly encapsulated Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy; attending the races while at Yarmouth was an item high on his list. The truth is that of all the entertainments Darcy enjoyed partaking in, billiards being premier, watching the races ran a close second. He was not a gambling man by nature, so any betting was cautious and reserved for those animals he felt extremely confident in. As a longstanding member of the Jockey Club, as was his grandfather, as well as being a breeder who understood the animal as if one himself, Darcy was extremely knowledgeable regarding the sport. He could name every horse and jockey of merit throughout the country, was personal friends with the chief owners, and had patronized every racecourse of substance numerous times. Although the revenue Darcy had won through intelligent betting over the years was not copious, it far outmeasured the amount lost.

As for Lizzy, the world of horseracing was completely foreign. While in London Darcy had taken her to two events held at the Royal Ascot in Berkshire and once at Epsom Downs in Surrey. Naturally this was an essential for Darcy, not only due to his intense love of the sport but for business reasons as well. Lizzy had approached the adventure with a fair amount of trepidation, frankly imagining being bored senseless and overwhelmed with choking dust and noise, but smiled and expressed delight with the prospect for her husband's sake. Darcy, of course, was not fooled in the least.

To her surprise, she found the sport extremely exciting. First off, both racecourses subverted her vague imaginings by being extraordinary in construction, opulence, comfort, and provisions. The seats afforded the Darcys were plush, shaded, segregated, and offered a fantastic view of the impeccable track. Secondly, and most amazing of all, the racing itself was exhilarating. Lizzy's six months as a Darcy, surrounded by some of the finest horses in the country and married to a man who nearly lived and breathed all things equestrian, had birthed in her an unrecognized appreciation of the majestic animal. Her enthusiasm and knowledge would likely never come near to Darcy's, but she discovered the entertainment fabulous fun.

Darcy, naturally, was thrilled at her embracing the diversion; so much so that he was only mildly perturbed when she insisted on betting for a particular horse because, “he has a nice name.” Lizzy, unbeknownst to her spouse, had done so to tease him, confessing only after Sweet Whistler placed second!

“Look, Elizabeth,” he now said, holding the program open and pointing. “Race one has a mare named Lovely Peacock. Sounds like a winner to me!” Lizzy harrumphed and swatted him away, Darcy chuckling.

Ignoring him for the time being, she studied the program carefully. Darcy had taught her the rudiments of calculating odds and the profile aspects of import. Of course he had the advantage by intimately knowing the pedigrees and racing histories of many of the horses. She pursed her lips, glancing at her handsome spouse who was currently avidly observing the prancing animals down below.

“Fitzwilliam,” she began, Darcy raising a brow at the formal address, “I suggest a friendly competition. A challenge, if you will. Are you brave enough to match wits with your wife?”

“I believe I require further illumination, Elizabeth, as your wits frequently supersede mine. What did you have in mind?”

“I have fifty pounds in my reticule. If you will agree to limit your wagering to the same, we shall see who chooses the wisest by who wins the most.”

Lips twitching, Darcy nodded sagely. “High stakes, Mrs. Darcy, especially considering I had no intention of being so extravagant.”

“Is the idea too daunting, Mr. Darcy? Are you afraid?” Her eyes were twinkling, pert nose and chin lifted boldly in challenge. Darcy gazed at her, cursing inwardly at the restrictive rules of propriety that made it impossible for him to kiss her as he yearned to do with an agonizing stab through his gut. Lizzy knew him far too well, aptly reading the message in his eyes despite the controlled mien. Her smile widened as she waited.

“You know I never back away from a dare. Therefore, I accept your challenge, but shall grant no quarter, my dear.”

“None shall be asked for, William.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “I love you, you know. If I do win, I will expect you to reward me as I see fit.”

Darcy took her hand and kissed her fingers lightly, eyes locked with hers, naturally resonant voice husky. “It seems that I shall win in either case then.”

“Mr. Darcy, what a pleasant surprise!”

Both Darcy and Lizzy jolted. Lizzy flushed brightly, but Darcy recovered smoothly, standing with elegant grace to greet the older man smiling pleasantly from the aisle. “Lord Ellis. What brings you from Suffolk?”