Page 4 of The Gilded Masquerade
Her uncle bowed, and she curtseyed low. “How do you do, Lady Anne.”
“Welcome to Pemberley. I trust you shall find the Christmas spirit most agreeable this evening,” Lady Anne said kindly. “And in keeping with my breach of masquerade protocol, allow me to present my nephew, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
The colonel bowed with an easy grace and an agreeable lilt to his voice, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Turning to her, Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head. “Miss Gardiner, I believe the next dance is a gallopade. Would you fancy a spin around the floor?”
Elated to be asked so soon for a dance, she glanced toward her aunt, who answered with a small nod and a knowing smile. She surmised the colonel was at Lady Anne’s service for the evening; the introduction was to place her—a newcomer—into his care until she felt comfortable.
“I should be delighted, Colonel,” she replied.
He offered his arm, and within seconds they had taken their place beside the dance floor among the gathering dancers. The musicians barely allowed the waltz’s final courtesies to conclude before the conductor smartly rapped his baton against the stand. The introductory notes burst forth in a bright, spirited Strauss gallopade, its tempo sending a ripple of unrefined cheer through the crowd.
After a curtsey and bow, she and the colonel swept into motion. She loved the gallopade and embraced the opportunity to practice what she had only recently learned in school.
“You dance exceedingly well, Miss Gardiner,” the colonel complimented as they effortlessly glided around the dance floor. His lead was steady without stiffness, alert to every chassé and slide, his gloved hand sure in hers. “One would almost think you had been raised to gallop.”
She smiled brightly, then missed a step—much to her embarrassment. “I fear I’m far too American to possess any natural grace for English dancing, but I’m determined—mistakes and all.”
“You move with confidence, something we English too often mistake for pride.”
“You’re very kind, but confidence seems to be our national vice,” she said, holding his hands and turning. “That, and a refusal to stand idle when music is playing.”
He smiled. “I concur! There are few things more enjoyable than dancing.”
They danced in joyful silence, easily passing through the figures, advancing to the center and back four times before resuming their dance position, circling the dance floor.
“Have you been long in England, Miss Gardiner?” he smoothly asked, despite the invigorating step hops.
“Only for the Christmas season. I return to Switzerland in two days.”
“And, have you enjoyed your visit?”
“Oh yes! The natural wonders of the Peak District are magnificent, almost unreal.”
“The Derbyshire countryside and Pemberley rather have that effect. One never knows whether one is attending a ball—or stepping into a fairytale.”
“And are you enjoying Lady Anne’s hospitality?” she asked.
“Immensely. Since my regimental duties rarely permit such frivolity, I find it refreshing to be surrounded by light and music. It’s uplifting to meet people who are not attempting to outmaneuver me.”
“What a delightful opportunity for everyone here to pretend to be someone else. In a masquerade, the past and future are wholly forgotten,” she remarked.
“I might argue this is the one evening in the year when people allow themselves to be precisely who they are,” he replied as they completed another galloping turn.
She grinned. “Then, perhaps some may desire to outmaneuver you—on the dance floor. That would explain your readiness in costume.”
“Indeed! I am always prepared for battle, especially among the fashionable set,” he laughed.
Chapter III
A Minor Plunder
Lizzy had not stopped dancing since arriving, and she welcomed the twenty-minute intermission. She promised to resist the urge to explore, and fully meant to adhere to her assurance, but her natural curiosity overcame her willpower. Besides, her uncle likely expected her to stray the moment they were swept away into conversation with other guests. Not that he said anything, but he understood her fondness for the redolence of old volumes and bookish thirst for learning. In a library, there were no judgments, no comparisons, or dissecting gazes from the plethora of single men and rivaling women, only the comforting familiarity of liberation and enlightenment. Abandoned at the edge of the dance floor felt too wasteful when the company of books lured her beyond the assembly.
She would be back before the next set began. Just a brief interlude. Why, it’s entirely harmless. Even so, she felt guilty for disobeying her aunt and uncle.
But how could one be faulted for appreciating eons of wisdom and knowledge? If her slippers happened to carry her past the ballroom doors, down a dim corridor aglow with candles, and toward the promise of leather-bound tomes, so be it. Who could blame a student of the esteemed Château Mont-Choisi and the daughter of one of the most gifted minds in New York City? The moment she slipped away from the ballroom—unescorted!—she felt a delicious current of rebellion shoot through her veins. Father would be so proud of her! She passed a row of ancestral portraits—stone-faced, bewigged noblemen who looked as though they disapproved of everything except the sound of money changing hands. One, in particular, scared the dickens out of her! Another, the last of the lineage, she assumed, caused her scrutiny. Arrestingly handsome. Perhaps this was the Darcy son they spoke of in the carriage.
