I ground my teeth, determined not to let him get the better of me. Elizabeth’s eyes were already too perceptive; the last thing I needed was to draw her attention to the fact that I was having a conversation with thin air.
To my surprise, the dance was going... well. Elizabeth’s steps were light, playful even, and I found myself relaxing into it. Maybe, just maybe, I could manage this without tripping over my own awkwardness.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice chimed in next to my ear: “Ach, lad, yer footwork’s all wrong! Let me help ye.”
Before I could react, Ewan had materialized beside me, his ghostly hand hovering right over mine. “What are you—” I hissed, barely managing to keep my voice low.
He grinned, completely oblivious to the fact that I was already on edge. “Just a wee nudge in the right direction. Like so—”
That was when my foot tangled with Elizabeth’s.
She stumbled, gasping softly as I scrambled to catch her before she fell. I failed. Miserably. Instead, we both nearly toppled over. Somehow, she righted herself, but not without sending me a puzzled look. “Mr. Darcy, are you—”
“Will everyone stop asking me if I am well? I am bloody wellnotwell!” I snappped. And then I instantly regretted it.
Elizabeth blinked, clearly unsure of what had just transpired. “Perhaps... you would like some refreshment?” she suggested, eyeing me as though I might collapse at any moment.
I nodded, desperate to escape before anything else went wrong. “Refreshments,” I managed to say. “Perhaps some... punch.”
As I escorted her toward the refreshment table, Ewan sauntered ahead, weaving through the crowd, still taking the opportunity to shove any redcoats he happened to pass. Old grudges, perhaps. I could only thank whatever shred of luck I had left that no one could say I was close enough to those men to be the reason they suddenly lurched into their dance partners.
I prayed he’d stop there. But, of course, he wasn’t done.
Just as I was handing Elizabeth a glass of punch, Ewan reached out with a grin, plucking one for himself from the sideboard. I watched in growing annoyance as he lifted it lazily to his lips, as if he were the guest of honor. And then... horror set in.
The glass wasn’t invisible. It was just... floating.
I froze. Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the glass. Then they flicked to me. Then back to the glass.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. All I could do was stare back at her, wordless and useless.
For a second, I thought she might faint. Instead, without a word, she took the glass from the air, her hand trembling slightly, and placed it firmly back on the table—much to Ewan’s consternation.
“Ach, ye’ve some nerve, lass! I wasna done with that!” he sputtered. I prayed he would not pick it back up.
Elizabeth Bennet swallowed the rest of her drink in one swift gulp, set her own empty glass down with a quiet clink, and hurried off—no doubt faster than propriety would allow.
I didn’t stop her. I couldn’t.
Meanwhile, Ewan burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “Well, that went better than expected! She didnae even scream! Ye’ve got yerself a brave lass there, lad.”
I stared at the glass Elizabeth had set down, still feeling the ghost of her fingertips on mine, and did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the glass, hoping it was rather heavily laced with spirits, and downed it in one go.
Sixteen
Elizabeth
Iglanced over myshoulder as I scurried away. Mr. Darcy was still standing by the punch table, his eyes fixed on the far wall, his back far too rigid for someone who had just offered me a drink. I suppose that wastechnicallywhat had happened, though what I’d actually seen left me questioning whether I should ever accept a refreshment from him again.
That glass… it hadfloated. I was certain of it.
I’d stared at it, wide-eyed, not even bothering to hide my shock. And when I looked at Mr. Darcy, all he could do was stare back, his expression nearly as bewildered as mine. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even tried to explain himself, and yet I knew he had seen it too. That ridiculous glass of punch had hovered between us, as though it were suspended by invisible hands.
And I knew it was real because I had touched it. Lifted it from the shelf of air upon which it had rested and set it back on a firm surface.
My heart was still galloping like a runaway team. I’d swallowed the rest of my drink as quickly as possible and then fled—not because I was afraid ofhimexactly, but because... well,whathad just happened?
Now, standing on the fringes of the ballroom, I glanced around, trying to steady my breathing. No one else seemed to have noticed. There was no frantic whispering, no murmured gossip about floating drinks. Just the same endless swirl of gowns, polite laughter, and music.
