Their hosts’ honoured guests of the ball were a noble Italian family who were staying in Paris for the spring, and who, being of a certain age, chose to observe rather than dance themselves. The Duc did not himself dance; therefore, upon their hosts declining to lead, the Comte had precedence amongst the company, with the result that he and Miss Darcy led the dance. This honour was a regular occurrence for the Comte, but an unwelcome additional embarrassment for Georgiana, who knew that all eyes would be upon herself and her partner. Her discomfort was heightened when the Comte requested from the orchestra, as a second selection, a waltz—-a dance whose intimate nature continued to impede its general acceptance in English society—although, as with the general relations between men and women, pleasure invariably triumphed over propriety.

Georgiana was well-schooled in the art of dancing, and was always more comfortable in doing something for which her studies had given her confidence than in speaking the common-place nothings upon which good society depends. Her figure was the perfect counter-part to the Comte’s, and she moved with an artless grace that pleased rather than captivated; the elegant figure and natural ease of the Comte’s dancing kept perfectly the step and time of the dance, whilst expertly avoiding the crush of the other couples. The Comte, unlike the majority of Englishmen, danced with purpose and pleasure; the delight he took in the activity was transparent, and the earnestness with which he attended his partner was equally conspicuous. There was not an eye in the room that did not fix upon the couple as they circled the room. At first, the Comte made an effort to converse with his demure partner, observing the excellent similarity in Mr. Darcy’s and his wife’s stile of dancing, asking how long they planned to remain in Paris, whether she had enjoyed her visit thus far, and such-like, to which Georgiana responded but briefly. She was far too self-conscious to form any ideas beyond the cliché, and was so disinclined to any form of display to converse, when so publicly placed, with anything resembling ease. She could think of nothing to venture in reply, and the pair soon lapsed into silence, Georgiana feared that the Comte was, at that moment, thinking her especially uncivil. The silence grew, but Georgiana felt something quite unlike the awkwardness she expected, and glanced up, only to hastily look away again, for she found that the Comte was earnestly looking at her, his every expression bespeaking his pleasure in his choice. The directness of that look discomposed her, and, in her confusion and embarrassment, she misstepped so that the Comte had to gently guide her for the next few figures. To Georgiana’s surprise, her error had not altered the Comte’s smiles, other than perhaps to mark the happy complaisance more visible in his countenance.