Page 3 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
Chapter 2 A Masquerade Ball
Elizabeth
The Argyll Rooms, 9thJune 1811
It was a tightly governed subscription masquerade held by the Countesses Jersey, Cholmondeley, Cowper, and the latter’s mother, Viscountess Melbourne. Only those with a voucher from one of the patronesses were allowed to pay the two guineas for a ticket, regardless of their position in society. Elizabeth was fortunate that her grandmother was acquainted with Viscountess Melbourne, or not even her great-uncle, Lord Limerick, would have managed the feat.
Viscountess Melbourne née Milbank had entered London society the same year as Maeve Bennet née Conyngham. They had formed a friendship that had lasted for decades.
The only fly in the ointment was that Jane had not accompanied them. She was at home, missing all the entertainments in town and looking after the Gardiners’ four children. Mr and Mrs Gardiner were currently in Sussex visiting a friend whilst Elizabeth led a life of luxurious parties and balls.
Grandmother Bennet had ordered them all new costumes, and Uncle Henry had, after much persuasion, allowed his sister to dress him more adventurously than was his wont. He preferred the dull domino with a hooded black cloak and a black half mask that covered only his eyes.
Elizabeth had chosen to dress as Queen Elizabeth, wearing an exact copy of the then twelve-years-old Princess Elizabeth’s attire in a portrait[1]by William Scrots from 1546. The red dress had wide arms and a hooped skirt. She had even coloured her hair red with powder to match the Virgin Queen’s. The queen had been known as tall and striking, so her grandmother had ordered a pair of shoes with high heels for Elizabeth, who was below average height. To conceal her tanned face, she had painted a full-faced mask in a pallid complexion with the renowned bright red lips. Only her eyes were visible, and she hardly recognised herself in costume.
Queen Elizabeth was quite the rage at present. Her memory had been revived with the Napoleonic War and the threat of invasion as a romantic symbol of the national resistance to foreign threats.
Naturally, Uncle Henry was dressed up as Henry VIII and her grandmother as Anne Boleyn.
Their carriage drew to a halt by the steps of the Argyll Rooms. Elizabeth was awed by the entrance hall, which was ornamented with Corinthian pillars illuminated by gilt lamps and led to the first of the three supper rooms. Elizabeth let her eyes roam the crowd of guests and felt a bit overdressed. Amongst the costumes she spotted a mail coach guard, a peasant girl, a sailor, a lame Chelsea pensioner, and one Venetian nobleman.
“Doctor Lancet, at your service. May I feel your pulse?”
The masked gentleman had appeared out of nowhere because her mask obscured her peripheral vision.
“You certainly may not!” Elizabeth huffed in indignation. “What nerve!” she whispered to her grandmother.
“Beware of the gentlemen tonight, my dear Eilís.” Her grandmother often used the Irish equivalent of Elizabeth when addressing her granddaughter. “People seem to believe that donning a mask excuses them from adhering to propriety. You should only speak to those who seek to obtain a proper introduction from your family. You must be careful about those with whom you decide to form an acquaintance, because once introduced, it cannot be undone. The inconvenience arising from an ill-judged introduction may not be slight, and much worse than a dull or annoying friend. The dangers posed by low company must not be forgotten. You should regard every request with a suspicious mind and ensure that it is desirable to both parties.”
“Certainly. I shall solemnly promise not to allow any doctors to feel my pulse.”
“I am not too concerned. You are an astute young lady whom I am immensely proud to call my granddaughter.”
Elizabeth smiled, took her grandmother’s offered arm, and they ventured deeper into the assembly. There were so many rooms, each one larger than the last. The fanciful elegance was a credit to the taste of Colonel Greville, the man who had founded the institution.
The first supper room was superb and of a grey colour with scarlet draperies. Her grandmother escorted her straight through to the second room, this one stone-coloured with a green trellis paper on the walls. They continued on to the grand saloon with three tiers of elaborately ornamented boxes designed for theatrical performances. Today, the oblong space with elliptical ends was dressed as a ballroom.
Elizabeth’s gaze travelled the room, past the scarlet-covered benches for those who wished to sit out the current set and to the opposite end where the stage was situated. Above it, the appropriate mottoSollicitae jucunda oblivia vitae—Pleasant forgetfulness of a troubled life—was written in wide gold letters.
Three gentlemen entered from the billiard room, and Elizabeth was relieved that her gasp of surprise could not be heard above the din. It was him! It had to be… His back was turned, but the way he moved struck her as exceedingly familiar, and how his lush brown curls played atop his coat was further proof. He was fully grown now and filled out his tightly fitted coat very nicely. Yet there was not a shadow of doubt in her mind. She could feel it from the depths of her soul that the gentleman dressed as a gentleman, with no mask or adornments of any kind, was her Lambton hero, Master Fitzwilliam.
That she might happen upon him as a fully grown woman was an unexpected pleasure, and she was beset by an onslaught of nervous flutters that threatened her very existence. Her lungs constricted, whilst her heart beat frantically in her chest when the gentleman turned slowly in her direction.
Itwashe! The years had only enhanced his features, and he stood before her as the most handsome gentleman she had ever beheld. No one could compare to him with his strong jaw and striking eyes. She could stay as she was, relishing the prospect of Master Fitzwilliam for all eternity, and be quite content.
Unfortunately, her grandmother chose that very moment to introduce her to a friend. Elizabeth obediently exchanged the civilities necessary before resuming her vigilant watch. He had not moved but was gazing at the crowd when his eyes suddenly were directed at her.
Elizabeth thought she might swoon. The colonel from His Majesty’s Army standing beside him whispered something in his ear, and he smiled. Elizabeth’s knees quivered; they had transformed from reliable joints to something of jelly-like consistency.
The third fashionable gentleman in his party joined the conversation. He was the only one who had made an effort to conceal his identity, unless the colonel was not truly an officer. However, judging by how he carried himself, Elizabeth supposed that he wore regimentals on a regular basis. From their slight gestures and inquisitive looks in her direction, she was convinced they were talking about her. Could he have recognised her and be debating with his friends whether he should approach her or not?
Belatedly, she remembered that her face was fully covered in a painted mask, and she exhaled in disappointment.
“Dear Eilís, are you well? I can hear you sighing as if the world was coming to an end,” Grandmother Bennet enquired in obvious concern.
“I am very well indeed. I just recognised a friend I have not seen in years.”
“If it is a gentleman, I suggest that you do not appear too eager and allow him to approach you. Nothing lingers longer than a bad reputation.”
