As soon as the velvet curtains whir open, the musicians burst into an energetic, sparkling tune. Overhead, the crystal chandeliers light up all at once, bathing the hall in their warm glow. The audience gasps. They begin to applaud so hard you’d think we already delivered the show they came here for.
But I believe I know what inspired such emotion in them. At this point, it obviously isn’t the actors’ play or the immersive aspect. Nor is it the clever props, scenery, or digital projections. They’ll impress later when they transform this room into Meryton, Grosvenor Street, or Netherfield Park… But right now, it’s Sky Hall itself. Its sheer size, the height of its ceilings, the elegance of its windows, the intricate patterns of the gold leaf on the walls, the antique furniture pieces, the moldings, and the grand chandeliers. If someone held a worldwide contest for the best Regency ballroom, this magnificent Georgian hall might just win.
Most of the actors are already in the room, mingling and interacting with the audience. But my fancy-pants party consisting of my sister Louisa, her husband Mr. Hurst, my brother Charles, myself, and Mr. Darcy will remain backstage a little longer.
I glance in the mirror, adjust my miniature wireless mic, and twist left and right to inspect my sides.
Perfect—as it should be.
For this inaugural ball, Caroline Bingley is dressed in a lovely flowing gown cut in cream muslin and gold-trimmed silk. The Empire-waist gowns that our wardrobe master Tami picked for me were the best of the lot. She added some tasteful yet showy costume jewelry including a pair of earrings so artfully polished you’d bet they were real diamonds. She then pinned my hair into a high chignon and pulled a few locks out to frame my face.
Caroline is dressed to kill. She has both means and a purpose—to entrap Mr. Darcy.
Phil and Sarika who play the Hursts join me, their expressions focused. We do a quick breathing exercise. Phil brushes an invisible speck off Sarika’s sleeve. She fluffs his cravat. The three of us wish one another good luck, making sure to not say thank you.
Peter arrives next and plants himself by my side.
And then I see Jonas.
His dark hair is styled into short romantic curls peeking from under his top hat. He has long sideburns that suit him just as well as the evening stubble or the clean shave. His bottom half is clad in tall black Hessians and cream close-fitting breeches that show off his narrow hips and firm abs. A dark cutaway tailcoat hugs his broad shoulders, tapering down to his waist. Underneath it, a silk waistcoat is buttoned over an immaculate white linen shirt with frilly cuffs, a high collar and a lavish cravat.
I’d swoon now if I were a real Regency lady.
Stop gawking, Margot!
“You look beautiful,” Jonas says to me with an oddly annoyed look on his face.
Confused by such conflicting clues, I mutter, “Why, thank you.”
It’s almost time.
Peter offers his hand. “Ready?”
I roll my eyes, channeling Caroline Bingley. “To suffer through an evening of forced merriment among giddy country folk?”
My friends grin, their facial muscles relaxing a bit.
I expel a resigned breath. “Oh well, I suppose we must.”
The master of the ceremonies opens the door in the fake wall and announces us to the room, one by one. The room exhales audibly at “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
With a tiny nod to each other, we lift our chins and step out into the limelight.
* * *
The first twenty minutes sail by on cruise control.
Our first audience is amazing. They’re eager and responsive without being so zealous it would damage the performance. Elizabeth Bennet knows all her lines. There’s improv happening everywhere, and it’s all good. The cast and audience members mingle, converse, laugh.
Well, most of us do.
Jonas, on his feet, is observing the crowd with a darkly blasé, very Darcy-esque air. Phil, Sarika and I sit around, eyeing the others and making snide gossip, just as we’re supposed to do.
Later, I dance with Phil’s Mr. Hurst. Darcy asks Sarika’s Louisa Hurst for the honor, while royally ignoring Elizabeth, just as he should at this stage. Our party is too good for the countryfolk.
What Mr. Darcy isn’t supposed to do is stare at me. He keeps shooting my Caroline insistent looks that I don’t know what to do with. And so, I look away.
For the next dance, Caroline will deign to trip the light fantastic with an extra who plays a local dignitary. He’s heading toward me with Peter’s Charles Bingley—my beloved brother—who will introduce us before he runs off to dance with Jane Bennet.
