Sally O'Rourke - The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

Somewhere an orchestra was playing a lively tune she had never heard before, flutes and strings predominating.

As each carriage reached the steps of Pemberley House its occupants were assisted out by liveried footmen, and then guided to the entrance by a gowned hostess carrying a silver candelabrum before her.

“Pretty spectacular, wouldn’t you say?”

Eliza hadn’t heard the bedroom door opening. Now she turned to see Jenny standing at her shoulder.

“It’s breathtaking,” Eliza agreed, returning her attention to the scene below. “Do you think this was really what Pemberley looked like once upon a time?”

“Once upon a time,” Jenny replied, smiling at the timeworn phrase, “Pemberley House looked exactly like this. Thanks to Rose Darcy’s diary, which describes the very first Rose Ball down to the smallest detail, everything you see down there has been faithfully reconstructed according to her description, and then repeated every year since.”

Eliza stared at her. “They’ve been holding this ball at Pemberley Farms for more than two hundred years?”

“Except in wartime. During the Civil War the Union Army rode through here and during the Second World War they were rationing food and gas. Every other year there’s been a Rose Ball at Pemberley Farms. It’s only been a charity event since Fitz started hosting it; before that it was just a society party.” Turning back to the room, Jenny said, “We’d better get going now. Don’t want you to be late.”

Eliza laughed. “How can I be late, when I’m already here?”

Jenny flashed a mysterious smile. “As long as we went to all the trouble to get that dress out of the museum for you, Artie and I figured we ought to put it to good use. So we made a little suggestion to Fitz and he agreed. And now you have an important role to play at tonight’s ball.”

Eliza felt her knees go suddenly weak. “What role?” she asked suspiciously.

Jenny’s smile broadened and she took Eliza by the arm. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said, propelling her smoothly across the room and out into the candlelit corridor. “You don’t have any lines to remember. It’s what they call in the theater a walk-on part.”

“Jenny!” Eliza, suddenly very nervous, stopped dead in her tracks. “What are you talking about? Playing what part?”

“Relax, we’re doing it for Fitz.”

Terror gripping her, “Doing what? I don’t want to do anything but show up at the ball.”

Jenny’s disappointment was evident. “Didn’t you say that you treated him badly?”

Eliza dropped her head, saying grudgingly with some embarrassment, “Yeah.”

“Well, this is a chance for you to make it up to him,” Jenny said. “It’s just a small thing and it will make him happy.” Jenny’s tone softened and she looked into Eliza’s eyes. “Can’t you just trust me on this one and do it because Fitz would like it?”

“Jenny, I’m sorry,” Eliza replied, her heart suddenly filled with gratitude for this lovely and intelligent woman’s kindness to her, an outsider. With her voice trembling slightly, “What do I have to do?”

“Just do what I tell you,” Jenny said with a mysterious smile. “I promise you it will be completely painless.” She took Eliza’s arm and led her down the corridor and around a corner. They followed another, narrower, corridor—one that Eliza had not noticed before—to a brightly lit landing atop a staircase.

“Where does it go?” Eliza asked, squinting in the sudden glare at the ornate carved railings before her.

“See for yourself.” Jenny nudged her to the top of the landing.

Eliza moved forward and found herself looking down into the grand ballroom. The night before, the huge, high-ceilinged room had been lit by only a few flickering candles and so she had not noticed the staircase in the shadows at the far end. And today, when she had peeked briefly into the ballroom through a crack in the door, the stairs had been shielded from her view. Now she saw that they curved gracefully down to the end of the great chamber opposite the double doors.

Tonight Pemberley’s ballroom was illuminated by hundreds of candles glittering through the crystals of three large chandeliers that cast a magical glow on the glittering assembly below. As Eliza gazed down into the storybook scene an orchestra in a gallery at the opposite end of the room began to play and the shining floor was filled with the swirl of colorful gowns, elegant tailcoats and dazzling uniforms as the guests of the Rose Ball began to dance.

Enchanted by the marvelous spectacle Eliza could merely stand and watch, unable to imagine what role she could possibly be expected to play in this grand display. She turned and looked back to Jenny for reassurance, but the corridor behind her was empty.

Suddenly, someone down on the dance floor looked up and pointed at her. Following that cue, others began to look up, too. Eliza felt herself verging on panic as the dancing slowly came to a halt and an electric murmur ran through the crowded room. The orchestra fell silent.

Then a familiar figure dressed in gleaming boots and a coat of hunter green stepped out of the crowd and came to the bottom of the staircase.

Like a hero out of a dream, Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled up at Eliza and extended his hand to her.

At the same moment, Artemis Brown stepped onto a small balcony directly across from the landing where Eliza stood. The crowd fell silent as he began to speak in his deep, resonant baritone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Artie announced, “it is our great honor to present to you Miss Eliza Knight, who this evening is portraying Rose Darcy, the inspiration for the first Rose Ball and the first mistress of Pemberley Farms.”

The guests began to applaud and the orchestra softly played a dramatic fanfare as Eliza tentatively placed one satin-slippered foot on the topmost step and slowly descended the stairs toward Darcy.

“In 1795 it was love at first sight for an adventurous Virginia horse breeder named Fitzwilliam Darcy when Miss Rose Elliot, the daughter of a socially prominent Baltimore banker, accompanied her father to the Shenandoah to bargain for several of Pemberley Farms’ renowned steeds,” Artemis continued. “But when the prosperous young Darcy proposed marriage the beautiful Rose rejected him, citing his rural farm as a poor substitute for the glittering pleasures of the Baltimore society she loved so well.”

Halfway down the stairs Eliza paused to gaze regally over the awestruck crowd, inclining her head and rewarding them with a smile. For, as she had begun her descent the turbulent emotions she had struggled with all day seemed to miraculously crystalize and she no longer feared what she must say to Darcy.

Artemis was still speaking as Eliza continued her slow, deliberate progress toward her waiting host. Nearing the foot of the staircase, she raised her hand in anticipation of receiving his touch.

“Determined to win her hand at any price,” Artemis read, “young Darcy immediately hired the most prominent architect in the United States and had him set about constructing this fine house. Other trusted individuals were sent off to scour the design salons and art galleries of Europe and the Americas, charged with furnishing the mansion with the finest of everything. And when next Miss Rose Elliot was scheduled to visit Pemberley Farms with her father, Darcy invited the cream of American society to attend a grand ball that he had named in her honor.

“So overwhelmed by her dashing swain’s gesture was the lovely Rose that she accepted his proposal of marriage that very evening. And ever after there has been a Rose Ball held at Pemberley Farms.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs at the exact moment that Artie’s introduction concluded, Eliza looked directly into Darcy’s eyes and smiled. A thrill shot through him as he took her hand in his. As the assembly erupted into applause, he bent and kissed her hand, and then led her to the dance floor.