“Then you must learn. It is the only interesting part of balls, according to Allegra.” Georgiana stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect. Now, come with me. Lady Sophia wants to review your card one more time before we add the final names. She said something about the strategic placement of country dances.”
Mary glanced at Elizabeth, uncertain and a little guilty, as if she knew she’d been handed a freedom Elizabeth could only envy.
“Go on,” Elizabeth said, her smile brittle. “Enjoy Lady Sophia’s plotting, and remember, Mary, you’re beautiful and accomplished, no matter what the dance card says.”
Georgiana and Mary departed in a rustle of rose fabric and girlish chatter, and Elizabeth and Jane returned to Elizabeth’s bedchamber to contemplate the ivory silk while Jane completed dressing Elizabeth’s hair.
Allegra swept in as Jane put the finishing pins. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes brightened with delight. “Elizabeth, you look devilishly charming tonight. Your maid will dress you while I detail the strict choreography of a London ball.”
“I wasn’t aware that the steps to the cotillion are any different in town.” Elizabeth held her arms up as the maid lifted the entire silk contraption over her head while Allegra positioned herself where Elizabeth could see her in the mirror.
“London is not Hertfordshire, where one simply turns up at the assembly rooms and dances with whichever squire happens to be sober. The sequence from your entrance to each dance, conversation, greeting, or curtsy will be studied and noted. In the provinces, a gentleman asks you because he likes your face.In Mayfair, he asks you because he wishes to advertise his consequence or measure yours.”
Elizabeth stood so the maid could tug the bodice into place and adjust the fit of her sleeves. “Start with the entrance, then. Will Mr. Darcy be escorting us in?”
“No, but Lady Sophia has arranged everything. You will arrive in your carriages with your prearranged escorts. Lord Fusington will escort you into the ballroom. Sixty, gout-ridden, and entirely harmless, which makes him perfect. He will deliver you to the edge of the floor and retreat to the card room, and you will not see him again until the carriage is called. Lord Willets will lead Jane into the room, and young Mr. Davenport with Mary. No Bennet sister shall stand by the wall looking like an orphan.”
“And you?”
“Lord Coke will escort me, as agreed. I am a friend of the family, and will dance the second set with him.”
“And Mr. Darcy? What will he do? Will he be inspecting each gentleman who approaches me?” Elizabeth asked as the lace cuffs were smoothed over her arms.
“He may choose to dance as he pleases, but he has strict duties as Lady Sophia’s deputy.”
“Will you be dancing with him?” Elizabeth watched in the mirror as the maid began fastening the long row of hooks at the spine.
Allegra let out a short, exasperated sigh, her head tilting in the glass. “Heavens, Elizabeth, one would think your trustee was the only man in the ballroom. Fitzwilliam will be occupied enough without you adding his name to every question. Lady Matlock has invited Miss Amelia Elveden as her special guest—she is the daughter of the Marquess of Mainwaring—impeccable lineage, forty thousand pounds, and a face that could launch moderate naval vessels if not quite a thousand ships. Her familydoes not call on anyone below the rank of baron. Lady Matlock intends to place her near Fitzwilliam at every turn this evening.”
Elizabeth’s hands went still against her petticoats. “If Miss Elveden is so immaculate, why does Lady Matlock not produce her for her own son?”
“Ah.” Allegra’s eyes gleamed. “That is the beauty of Lady Matlock’s calculation. Miss Elveden is meant for Darcy, who has the fortune but lacks the title. You are meant for Lord Coke, who has the title but lacks the fortune. Lady Matlock wishes to capture both prizes—a marquess’s daughter for her nephew, and an heiress for her son. Two birds, one very determined countess.”
“Charming.”
“Yes, well, Lady Matlock has decided you are suitable for now, and she will be observing you. You must dance the initial set graciously without seeming overeager.”
“That will not present an issue.” Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye on the bed, eliciting a giggle from her normally serene sister.
“Please, Elizabeth, attend to me.” Allegra sounded exasperated. “You shall dance the next two sets with non-notable men—a Mr. Langley, perhaps, and one of those weeping Arthurs from the shires. I forget whether he is the one who paints the sunset watercolors or the one with the horse… oh, it does not matter. But Lord Coke will claim the supper waltz, because he must claim it. Lady Matlock outranks Fitzwilliam’s authority. You must understand exactly what follows.”
“Oh, perish the thought,” Elizabeth said under her breath.
“The supper waltz is the sixth set. Lord Coke will approach you after the fourth dance concludes, and you will accept graciously. The waltz itself is intimate—his hand at your waist, your bodies closer than any other dance permits. You must appear comfortable but not overly familiar. Pleased but not besotted.”
“Are we allowed to converse during these trials?” Elizabeth asked. “Or is the entire display to be conducted in a stately, funereal silence?”
“Conversation during the waltz is not merely permitted—it is expected,” Allegra said. “You will be in a close position for the duration, which means approximately three minutes of uninterrupted discourse with Lord Coke’s face six inches from yours. Silence would suggest either extreme awkwardness or active hostility. Neither serves your purpose.”
“Then I should sincerely hope he hadn’t dined on turnips and leeks,” Elizabeth quipped and considered this. “I could accomplish a lot in three minutes.”
“That is precisely what concerns me.” Allegra fixed her with a look that suggested she had observed Elizabeth’s wit in action and harbored well-founded fears. “The waltz is intimate, Elizabeth. The conversation you share will be heard by no one else in the room. But your expressions will be visible to everyone—every smile, every raised eyebrow, every flash of that devastating tongue of yours. Lady Matlock will be watching. Half thetonwill be watching. If you deliver one of your legendary set-downs to Lord Coke while his hand is at your waist, the entire ballroom will know it from his face before the music ends.”
“And what if I find Lord Coke’s conversation insufficient to sustain three minutes?” she asked.
Jane made a small sound from the bed—not quite a laugh, but near enough.
“Then you ask him about his horses,” Allegra said flatly. “Men can discuss horses indefinitely. You need only nod and appear fascinated while planning your supper menu in your head. It is a skill every woman must master.”
