Miss Darcy Falls in Love (2 page)

She smiled affectionately at Lady de Valday, who smiled back as long ago memories washed over them. “It was a wonderful experience,” Lady Matlock resumed, gazing at her friend. “I perfected my French, learned many new musical techniques and compositions as well as artistic talents, since Inès is brilliantly accomplished. We became dearest friends.”

“What Madeline does not say is that she is an incredible painter who could never teach me to hold a brush the correct way, let alone actually create an image of worth, and that she soundly beat me at every sport we engaged in! Her archery skills are incomparable.”

“I shall concede the truth of that, although we were equal equestrians and a generous portion of our days were spent exploring on horseback. But of course the most memorable time was when Césaire, your father, came with his family.”

Inès blushed, much like an adolescent with her first crush, and took up the narrative. “He was so handsome. He still is, of course, but then?
Ah, magnifique!
His grandfather knew the previous Lord Matlock; I cannot quite recollect how the connection originated, but it did not matter. My heart was instantly captivated.”

“And Papa? Was he as captivated?” Yvette asked breathlessly, as if she had never heard the story.

“Alas, no. He was intrigued, but far too capricious to willingly settle based on a summer acquaintance.”

“But you were persistent,
oui
, Mama?”

“A huntress determined to capture the man of your dreams! Your will firmly set to acquire what your heart needed to survive!”

Lady de Valday laughed at her girls’ exclamations, shaking her head as she replied, “To a point, I suppose. We females can be quite tenacious. But in truth, it was our parents who finagled matters. Unbeknownst to us, they agreed the match was to be. All your father and I knew was that once the war ended, with Napoleon restoring a semblance of order so we could return to France, our families were suddenly the best of friends!”

“It took nearly a year, Inès’s letters to me filled with her romantic machinations.”

“Poor Papa never had a chance,” Frédéric declared. “How could he resist your charms, Mama?”

“How could he indeed!” Yvette agreed. “He merely needed time, as all men are pathetically obtuse in matters of
amour
.”

Frédéric huffed derisively, Zoë speaking before he could counter that assertion. “It is a wonderful story. So full of love and longing, romance and drama.” She sighed. “And because of your friendship with Madame Countess de Matlock, forged via the fires of war and heartbreak, we now have our own refugee to harbor…”

“I am not a ref—” Georgiana began, Yvette’s breathless
oui
interrupting her protest.

“
Oui!
Thus it is our sworn duty to entertain our lost friend, and, as fate is destined to be repeated, lead her to finding her true love!”

“Oh, how delicious a tale it will be,” Zoë squealed, her curls bouncing with her emphatic nodding. “Mademoiselle Darcy’s heart succumbs to deep, passionate love while dancing in Lyon, or”—she suddenly gasped—“better yet, Paris!”

“Please!” Georgiana laughed. “I assure you my heart is perfectly safe and not intending to succumb to anyone, in Lyon or Paris.”

Frédéric groaned, pantomiming a dagger to the heart, his death taking a dreadfully long time as he staggered about the room. Georgiana merely shook her head at the dramatic display.

“Surely you do not mean you will not dance or
flirt
?” Yvette asked, her eyes wide with astonishment at such a bizarre concept.

“I will dance, yes, but I do not flirt.”

Yvette remained incredulous, but Zoë waved her hand dismissively. “Every girl flirts. It is natural. As is falling in love, especially in Paris where love is tangible in the very air you breathe.”

“Well, I did not fall in love while in Paris last summer, nor have I become even remotely smitten while in Austria or Italy, so I fear I shall disappoint, my dear Zoë.”

Zoë shrugged, clearly not convinced. In fact, she wore a rather devious expression that caused Georgiana no small amount of alarm!

Yvette recovered from her amazement, springing up from her knees. “I certainly shall flirt. Flirt and dance, dance, dance! We shall teach you how it is done, sweet Georgiana.” She grabbed her “dead” brother, where he laid draped over a chair, and the heartbroken lover was instantly resurrected and began gaily waltzing with his sister.

Georgiana was yanked from her chair by Zoë, the latter apparently deciding that the woefully ignorant Georgiana needed lessons in coquettish behavior begun immediately. Within minutes, all three de Valdays encircled their protégé, the eyelash fluttering, simpering smiles, and seductive gazes only causing Georgiana to laugh.

Lady Matlock and Lady de Valday shared a glance, the unspoken communication inherent in most long-term relationships easily comprehended. With nods of silent agreement, it was decided not to share what they knew of Lord de Marcov’s fiancée, his “English Rose” as he called the lovely Lady Vivienne.

Indeed, it would be much more fun to have the connections discovered at the ball.

***

The Château la Rochebelin, ancestral home of the de Marcovs, was simply stunning. Georgiana could think of no other word to describe it. Lit with hundreds of lamps dotting the drive, fence posts, tree branches, windows, terrace railings, pinnacles, and a dozen other surfaces, the mansion was a dazzling spectacle. A surpassing example of Renaissance architecture with Gothic influences, the massive building of nearly three hundred rooms was the largest in the county. The host of carriages and bejeweled guests lining the wide drive and spacious walkways were dwarfed by the magnificance of the surrounding structure.

Yet, as eye-catching as the château was, Georgiana was captured by the legion of glitteringly attired people who became visible as they exited their carriages and milled about the lawns and terraces.

Attending balls was no longer the frightening experience it once was. The two years since her debut in London had provided numerous occasions for the inherently shy young woman to learn ways to overcome her nervousness. It would never be as easy for her to mingle and vamp as it was for some, such as the three de Valday youths, but it was not the tortuous circumstance for her it was for her brother. In fact, as she alit from the carriage, heard the strains of music wafting amongst the chatter of conversation, and was buffeted by the energy created from so much gaiety, her enthusiasm fizzed.

Zoë and Yvette each grasped an arm, Frédéric imperiously leading the way with a grand flourish. Together the threesome escorted Georgiana into the vaulted foyer as if she was the Empress herself. Lord and Lady Matlock, accompanied by the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Valday, fell into step in their wake while sharing amused smiles.

“Let the children play with their new toy,” Inès murmured to Madeline, all of the adults laughing at the jest.

The guests mingled about, gradually advancing through the press of bodies to where the evening’s hosts were greeting them, in the reception area in the grand salon. The formal receiving line was long, protocol calling for fastidious arranging of the honored guests in order of rank and association with the
noblesse
d’épée
de Marcov family. Thus, the marquis and marquise stood at the head of the long line, their eldest son and his betrothed beside, with her parents, Lord and Lady Essenton, flanking. The lesser-ranked relatives trailed behind, the precision formation losing order as people conversed.

Zoë, Yvette, and Frédéric kept Georgiana entertained and distracted during the long wait with witty banter, gossip, and innumerable introductions. They apparently knew everyone, Georgiana never bored as they inched closer to their hosts.

A nudge and whisper from her Aunt Madeline brought Georgiana’s attention to the next person in line, the young woman pivoting about and finding herself a mere foot from a tall, handsome young man with blonde curls.

“Oh, Mr. Butler!” She stepped back a pace, smoothly recovering with a graceful curtsy. “What an amazing surprise. How fare you, sir, and what brings you to Lyon?”

Mr. Sebastian Butler smiled, thick tawny brows rising in amusement, but bowing elegantly before answering with a question. “Do you frequent balls often, Miss Darcy, without knowing who your hosts are?”

Georgiana flushed, momentarily nonplussed as she searched his gray-colored eyes for mockery. But all she saw there was harmless teasing. She laughed. “You have justly perceived my faults, Mr. Butler. I am convicted. I confess I am caught up in the frivolity of the occasion and unpardonably ignorant of the particulars. All I know is a marriage approaches.” Her blush deepened, but Mr. Butler chuckled, his merry countenance easing her embarrassment.

“No conviction is laid at your feet, Miss Darcy. I would much prefer to be freely attending to the joys of the festivities, but, alas, family duty beckons. And to answer your first query, I fare very well. I trust the same is true for you?”

“Indeed, yes. Very much so.”

“As to the particulars, it is my sister who is affianced to Lord de Marcov. Since I am largely to blame for his fate, having introduced the two while de Marcov and I roomed together at Oxford, I have been conscripted to be the best man. That explains my partial hosting obligations, position in the receiving line, and presence in obscure Lyon. What of you, Miss Darcy? I had heard that the Darcys were touring the Continent, but I assuredly did not expect to encounter you here.”

Georgiana tilted her head, unable to resist a return tease. “Am I to understand, sir, that as host you are unfamiliar with your invited guests?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Tried and convicted, Miss Darcy! Well played. My only defense is that I am of minor importance. My sister, the future Lady de Marcov, is the true star. She prefers to have her pesky older brother remember his place, which is behind the piano preparing the wedding music.”

“That is a vitally important duty. Her trust must be immense.” She smiled. “Then you are still pursuing your music?”

“Most aggressively, yes. However, I do find time for the occasional occupation upon the ballroom floor. May I have the honor of a dance, Miss Darcy, if your card is not yet filled by dashing Frenchmen?”

“I have a slot or two, Mr. Butler.”

“The first waltz, if it pleases you?”

She nodded, her mind suddenly blank as she scrambled to think of something else to say while his intriguing eyes boldly scanned her face.

“You must introduce us to your friend!” It was Zoë and Yvette, speaking in tandem, eyes brazenly assessing every attribute of the striking Englishman being monopolized by their friend. Frédéric was humorously watching Georgiana, his roguish smirk and quirked brow indicting her unabashed flirting. Georgiana flushed belatedly, the realization that she had indeed been flirting shamelessly, however unconsciously, bringing her diffidence to the fore.

Georgiana welcomed the interruption, slipping into French and performing the introductions dutifully as her face cooled and nervous flutters eased. “Monsieur Butler, allow me to introduce my friends, Mademoiselle Zoë and Mademoiselle Yvette de Valday, and Monsieur Frédéric de Valday. This is Monsieur Butler, a kinsman of mine.”

“Ooh! A kinsman, you say? How utterly intriguing and coincidental!” Yvette held her hand out, bobbing a curtsy and flashing an alluring smile.

Georgiana rolled her eyes, but Mr. Butler bowed, kissing the gloved fingers with due pomp and a serious, “
Enchantè
, mademoiselle.”

Zoë’s hand was quick to follow, her gaze blatantly seductive. “Please tell us, monsieur, how you and the lovely Mademoiselle Darcy are related?”

Mr. Butler’s smile burst forth, his mischievous gaze touching Georgiana. “My grandmother, the Marchioness of Warrow”—he indicated an elderly but lushly beautiful woman further down the line—“is the youngest sister of Mademoiselle Darcy’s grandfather, the late Mr. James Darcy. Alas, despite the familial connection, our paths never crossed until two summers ago in London at a ball to honor Mademoiselle Darcy’s debut.”

“And since then we seem to be treading close upon each other’s steps.” Georgiana laughed at his puzzled expression. “My family passed last May at the Swiss estate of my Aunt Mary, the Baroness of Oeggl, while apparently you and Lady Warrow dwelt at their manor in Vienna.”

“Indeed we did. And, yes, we heard of your visit to the château when they returned to Vienna in the autumn. I would very much like to hear of your Alps crossing, Miss Darcy. I have not been brave enough, nor had the time, to attempt such a feat. I am highly impressed at your fortitude.”

Georgiana blushed at his warm, respectful inspection, and tried to ignore the teasing expressions worn by the de Valdays. It was not that hard, actually, Georgiana discovering her attention was quite captured by Mr. Butler.

Sebastian Butler stood well over six feet, his body lean and masculine. His stylishly trimmed, thick, golden-blond hair was naturally erratic with soft curls. His handsome face was narrow, the jawline firm with a faintly pointed chin, almond-shaped eyes of slate gray, and a thin nose set above a full mouth; all was perfectly balanced within a complexion fair from too many hours inside though with ruddy cheeks from abrupt exposure to the sun. Later the twins would point out the flecks of blue in his eyes, the small scar on his left earlobe, the slightly crooked smile, and so on, but then, they enumerated such miscellany about most of the men at the assembly! It would be several weeks before Georgiana added their discovered minutia to her own list of incidentals.