[Open RP] -- A Ball at Pemberley
For all his faults, let it not be said that Fitzwilliam Darcy was anything less than a most gracious and generous host. For almost a full two weeks and several hundred pounds out of pocket, he had managed to organise a ball of some magnificence as to almost reach the standards of his aunt, Lady Catherine (though he suspected that fully achieving such a feat would truly be next to impossible). Pemberley Hall was more than prepared to receive her guests, something that she had not be granted to do since the older Mr. Darcy had passed away.
Thus, his son, Fitzwilliam, much to his own surprise, found himself anxiously awaiting his guests with a nervousness of a person far less sure of himself. The absence of his usual disdain for such gatherings, especially given the eclectic mix of societies that he expected would come together that evening, had left him in unfamiliar, untested territory. He could only hope that it would not be a hostile one.
The first of his guests arrived earlier than he had expected and offered him rushed apologies for their presumption, given that they found him only half-dressed, still debating with his manservant as to the better frock coat for the evening. He had, of course, dismissed their contrition and welcomed them into the ballroom, where his servants attended to them. Soon, they were followed by almost two dozen guests within half an hour, among them members of the more prestigious families of Derbyshire.
More still arrived, of course, until the ballroom was filled with the sounds of loud conversation, swells of laughter and the lively jangle of music from the small stage. Servants rushed hurriedly amongst the throng of dancers and socialites with trays laden with food and drink, whilst Darcy’s guests mingled from one group to another, prejudice temporarily forgotten in the face of alcohol and interesting conversation. To all this, even the mass of twirling dancers in the centre of the room, Darcy did not fully immerse himself.
He strayed about the room, occasionally inquiring after the health and happiness of some of the families and shaking the hands of old acquaintances whilst being properly introduced to the new. He responded to it with the same cool indifference that those who had met him before might have come to expect, all politeness and formality. No one seemed to notice his preoccupation as he continually searched the faces of the milling crowd, looking for one or two in particular.
Perhaps he would be left disappointed, but the night was still young and while the ball lasted he was determined to remain hopeful.
Thus, his son, Fitzwilliam, much to his own surprise, found himself anxiously awaiting his guests with a nervousness of a person far less sure of himself. The absence of his usual disdain for such gatherings, especially given the eclectic mix of societies that he expected would come together that evening, had left him in unfamiliar, untested territory. He could only hope that it would not be a hostile one.
The first of his guests arrived earlier than he had expected and offered him rushed apologies for their presumption, given that they found him only half-dressed, still debating with his manservant as to the better frock coat for the evening. He had, of course, dismissed their contrition and welcomed them into the ballroom, where his servants attended to them. Soon, they were followed by almost two dozen guests within half an hour, among them members of the more prestigious families of Derbyshire.
More still arrived, of course, until the ballroom was filled with the sounds of loud conversation, swells of laughter and the lively jangle of music from the small stage. Servants rushed hurriedly amongst the throng of dancers and socialites with trays laden with food and drink, whilst Darcy’s guests mingled from one group to another, prejudice temporarily forgotten in the face of alcohol and interesting conversation. To all this, even the mass of twirling dancers in the centre of the room, Darcy did not fully immerse himself.
He strayed about the room, occasionally inquiring after the health and happiness of some of the families and shaking the hands of old acquaintances whilst being properly introduced to the new. He responded to it with the same cool indifference that those who had met him before might have come to expect, all politeness and formality. No one seemed to notice his preoccupation as he continually searched the faces of the milling crowd, looking for one or two in particular.
Perhaps he would be left disappointed, but the night was still young and while the ball lasted he was determined to remain hopeful.