Lady Matlock gave him a shrewd look. “Matters of Derbyshire? Or matters of Stanton?”
“Both,” Darcy said curtly, the clipped edge of his voice signaling the subject was closed.
Before either his aunt or cousin could press him further, the earl emerged from the crowd, walking toward them with a young woman on his arm. Darcy recognized her instantly—the nervous figure from his uncle’s study. Her dark eyes darted about the room, and her gloved hand kept brushing for the edge of her skirt as though it were the only thing anchoring her to the floor. Her gown, though simple, was flattering and suited her well, but she looked completely out of place amidst the glittering guests.
“Ah, there you are,” the earl said, as if they had been waiting for him. “I thought it was time for some introductions.” He turned to Lady Matlock. “My dear, allow me to present Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and their niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He gestured to the Gardiners, who stood just behind the young woman, their polite but uneasy expressions mirroring hers. “This is my wife, Lady Matlock, my son Reginald, Viscount Matlock, and my nephew, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Elizabeth Bennet curtsied, looking as if the movement might break her in half. Darcy inclined his head automatically, unsure of what to make of her sudden presence. What was his uncle playing at?
The earl gave no indication of noticing anyone else’s unease. Instead, he clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Fitzwilliam, you will ask Miss Bennet to dance.”
Darcy blinked, certain he had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”
“A dance, man. Surely you do not require me to define the word.”
“No, but… there is no music.”
“There will be in five minutes, and I expect you to do your part. Ah—there it is.” He held up his finger at the sound of the orchestra striking the first notes. The discordant strains, a siren call to matrimonial-minded ladies and gentlemen alike, turned dozens of heads instantly toward the dance floor.
Miss Bennet’s rather… astonishing eyes had somehow grown rounder, her expression one of utter confusion mingled with dismay. Darcy felt his own jaw tighten. This was entirely out of line, and yet the earl looked as though he had merely asked him to pass the salt.
“Uncle,” Darcy began carefully, “I am not unwilling to oblige you, but I had intended to leave for the evening. We spoke at length earlier, and I have much to consider. Perhaps—”
“Nonsense,” the earl interrupted. “There is no better time than the present for such matters. Are you telling me you lack the stamina for a simple turn about the room?”
Darcy felt heat creep up his neck. “My stamina is quite sufficient, I assure you, but—”
“Then you understand me. Unless, of course, there is something the matter with your hearing.”
Darcy straightened, his teeth grinding until he feared they might turn to powder. “My hearing is perfect, Uncle. My understanding, however, is somewhat lacking.”
“Allow me to clarify. Miss Bennet is your partner for this dance. Now, go.”
Darcy hesitated, his gaze flicking to Miss Bennet, who looked as though she might sink through the floor. Her expression mirrored his own confusion and reluctance, and for a moment, he wondered if she might refuse outright. But then her eyes met his, and in them, he saw something unexpected—a flash of defiance, tempered by embarrassment.
Clearing his throat, Darcy took a step forward and offered his hand. “Miss Bennet, may I have the honor of this dance?”
Her hand trembled slightly as she placed it in his, but her voice, when it came, was steady. “You may.”
Darcy inclined his head, turning toward the floor as the music swelled. Behind him, he caught a glimpse of the earl’s satisfied expression, but he had no time to dwell on it. Miss Bennet was beside him, and the eyes of the entire room seemed to follow their every step.
Elizabeth placed her glovedhand in Mr. Darcy’s, his grip firm but cool, and allowed herself to be led toward the center of the ballroom. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest that she could scarcely hear the music over it. None of this made any sense. Just moments ago, she had been answering the earl’s clipped, probing questions about her father, her family, and her connections—or lack thereof. She had thought he was onthe verge of dismissing her entirely—or calling for some uniformed official to drag her away—when he abruptly offered his arm and escorted her back to the party.
And now this.
The tall, forbidding figure before her—Mr. Darcy—looked no more pleased with the situation than she felt. His expression was composed but distinctly unhappy, his jaw tight as he moved with the crispness of a man performing a duty he would rather avoid. Elizabeth had barely recovered from the shock of being introduced to him when she was deposited into his care for a dance.
Adance, of all things! How could this possibly help restore the earl’s trust in her or repair her uncle’s reputation?
She glanced around the room as they took their places. It was a small dance, appropriate for a private gathering, and only a few couples joined them. But her surroundings hardly comforted her. She could feel the eyes of half the room fixed on her—guests watching with veiled curiosity or open scrutiny, fans fluttering as whispers spread among the ladies nearest the walls. Her stomach twisted as she caught a glimpse of the French minister among them, his sharp gaze flicking toward her before shifting away.
Even worse, Mr. Darcy had clearly noticed the attention, too. His lips were now a rigid line that might as well have been sculpted from wood, his face tilted slightly away from the room as if trying to ignore the scrutiny entirely.
The music began, and they moved. For the first few moments, Elizabeth focused on her steps, grateful for the distraction of the patterned movements. Mr. Darcy danced well, his tall frame moving with the grace of the consummate gentleman. But his silence was oppressive. He spoke not a word, his gaze fixed somewhere above her shoulder, leaving her to feel like an unwelcome obligation.
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. “Do you dislike dancing, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, keeping her tone as light as possible, though her nerves made her voice waver slightly.
His dark eyes flicked to her briefly. “No.”
