Her eyebrows lifted. “I see. Then do you dislike conversation?”
This time, his gaze flicked to her ever so slightly before his eyes settled back into the distance. “No.”
Elizabeth felt a flicker of triumph despite herself. At least she had drawn a reaction. “You are a man of few words, sir.”
“I prefer economy,” he replied, his tone clipped but not unkind.
“Economy?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing with faint amusement. “How curious. I find that words, like steps, are meant to fill the space.”
“Do you?” His tone betrayed no opinion on the matter.
“I do,” she said firmly. “Though, I suspect you disagree.”
He glanced at her again, his gaze briefly catching hers before he turned back to the room. “Not entirely.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “Then what do you prefer, Mr. Darcy? In company, that is. If not dancing and not conversation?”
“I prefer purpose,” he said simply.
Elizabeth had lost herself for an instant in studying his face, and now she nearly stumbled. She caught herself, her cheeks burning as she felt his steadying hand hover near her arm without touching it. “Purpose?” she repeated, recovering her steps. “And what purpose do you find in this dance?”
He hesitated, his gaze darkening slightly. “I do not know yet.”
The answer unsettled her more than his silence had, and for a moment, she had no reply. If he had no guesses, either, then whatwasthe earl thinking? She focused on the music, on the movement of the dance, as her mind churned with questions. What purpose could the Earl of Matlock have in forcing them together like this? Why had Mr. Darcy agreed to it, however reluctantly? And why did she feel as though the entire room were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen?
She became acutely aware of the ladies along the edges of the ballroom. Fans fluttered and whispers darted. Murmurs rose and more than one figure had moved strategically for a better view. Elizabeth’s heart was in her throat, and she felt queasy. She had no illusions about how she must appear to them—a country nobody, plucked from obscurity and thrust into their glittering world with no explanation.
“Do they always stare like that?” she asked before she could stop herself, her voice lowering slightly.
Darcy’s eyes flicked toward the group she meant, his jaw tightening visibly. “Sometimes.”
“And do you always pretend not to notice?”
“Usually.”
Elizabeth almost laughed at the dryness of his tone. “I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I find that rather admirable.”
“Admirable?” He arched an eyebrow. “I should think indifference would be a more appropriate word.”
“Perhaps,” she said lightly. “But indifference is no small feat when one is being dissected by a roomful of strangers.”
Darcy did not reply immediately, and Elizabeth felt the conversation slipping away again. She opened her mouth to speak, but the music swelled, signaling the end of the dance. Darcy stepped back, bowing with impeccable grace, and Elizabeth curtsied in turn, her cheeks still warm.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
“And I suppose I must thank you, as well, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, her voice soft with confusion.
His brow furrowed slightly. “That is a curious way of phrasing it.”
“Because I still do not know whether I have been accorded some honor or merely put on display for the earl’s purposes… whatever they may be. But you performed your part valiantly, sir.”
He grunted and offered his arm, but no more flickers of expression crossed his face. She took it reluctantly, allowing him to guide her back toward her aunt and uncle.
As they approached, his uncle, the earl, intercepted them. Elizabeth could not hear what was said, but the earl leaned close, murmuring something into Mr. Darcy’s ear. Whatever it was made Darcy glance at her briefly, his features darkening. Then he bowed again, excused himself, and strode from the room without another word.
Elizabeth watched him go, her thoughts a tangle of confusion and unease. Her aunt’s hand on her arm drew her back, and she forced a small, polite smile as they approached the earl. For all her bewilderment and discomfort, she had to make herself agreeable—for her uncle’s sake, if nothing else.
The earl regarded her and the Gardiners in silence for a long moment, his sharp eyes sweeping over Elizabeth as though assessing something she could not comprehend. At last, he spoke.
