“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, his voice lower than usual. “May I have the next dance?”
The question caught me so off guard that I almost didn’t respond.Mr. Darcy, askingmeto dance? In the middle of all this?
I hesitated, glancing between him and Mr. Wickham, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Well,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I suppose—”
Before I could finish, Mr. Darcy gave a short, tight bow and walked off, leaving me standing there, completely bewildered.
Mr. Wickham watched him go, concealing a faint smirk behind his glass of punch. “Odd fellow, isn’t he?”
I didn’t respond. My mind was already racing in a dozen different directions. What had just happened? Why had Darcy approached me like that, only to flee? And why, despite everything I knew of him, did I keep feeling sorry for him?
Darcy
Iwas an idiot.There was no other explanation for it.
What else could possibly explain why I was striding toward Miss Elizabeth Bennet, hand half-raised in a gesture that was supposed to look polite but probably resembled a man about to shield his face from a punch?
Of all the ridiculous things I’d done lately—nearly decapitating myself in the militia’s presence, fleeing conversations like a schoolboy—I had decided that asking Miss Elizabeth to dance, right in front of Wickham, was somehow a good idea. Why? Because I was tired of Ewan’s endless goading? Because she was practically the only woman in the room who didn’t bore me to tears? Or because I clearly had a death wish?
“Mr. Darcy?” Her voice was amused, curious. I snapped my arm the rest of the way up before it could collapse to my side like a damp rag.
“Miss Bennet,” I said stiffly. “Would you... do me the honor of a dance?”
She blinked at me, as if she hadn’t quite heard me correctly. Probably becauseIwasn’t sure I’d heard myself correctly. “You already asked that once, and the dance is about to begin, sir.”
“You did not sound sure.”
Her brows raised. “You did not stay tohearmy entire answer. Shall I go in search of another partner, sir?”
Her eyes flicked to the dance floor, where a few couples were already pairing off. I saw the hesitation there, the slight lift of her brow. I wouldn’t have blamed her in the least if she did seek another partner. In fact, I might have had a chance to flee the room if she’d done so. But instead, she took a deep breath and looked back at me, waiting for me to pull my head out of my arse.
It was too late to back out now, so I offered my arm, and she accepted with a grace that made me feel about as steady as a horse on ice.
Ewan, of course, appeared the moment we stepped onto the dance floor. “Och, lad, look at ye! Finally showin’ some spine—if ye dinnae look like ye’d rather be grape-shot.”
I nearly tripped over my own feet.
“You are distracted again, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, glancing up at me as we took our places. Her voice was light, teasing. But there was a flicker of something else in her gaze. Suspicion, perhaps? Or maybe amusement.
“Yes, I... I apologize,” I muttered, trying to ignore Ewan as he sauntered up beside me, leaning in to inspect Elizabeth as if she were a prize horse at market. He let out a low whistle. “Bonny lass, that one.”
“Shut. Up,” I whispered under my breath.
Elizabeth blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace and immediately turned my focus to the music starting up, desperately trying to find something to say that wouldn’t make me look even more insane. “Drying up—the weather,” I blurted out. “It’s... a fine evening.”
Ewan snorted, leaning against a pillar as if he’d been there the entire time, and I saw him roll his eyes and make an obscene gesture. When was I going to stop letting him goad me?
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, and she shot me a sideways glance. “Indeed. It’s remarkable how much the weather can change in such a short time.”
“Yes,” I agreed, desperately clinging to the thread of conversation like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. “Remarkable.”
We began to move, and for a few moments, I managed to focus. The rhythm of the dance helped. The steps were familiar,and I’d always been a competent dancer. In fact, I found myself relaxing slightly. Elizabeth moved with a grace that was both effortless and captivating. She wasn’t as oppressive for me to be in company with as other ladies—no fussy affectations, no coy glances. Just an unpretentious confidence that was impossible to ignore.
“Why so stiff, lad?” Ewan called from the sidelines, twirling a glass of claret in his hand. “Och, ye’re meant tae enjoy it, lad! It’s a dance, no’ a bloody funeral march!”
