Page 106 of Honor Requires

“Lizzy?” Jane’s voice came from beside her. “You are very distant tonight.”

“I am only tired,” Elizabeth replied, though she knew the excuse would not satisfy.

Jane studied her briefly, then smiled with gentle understanding. “You must not overexert yourself. Though I suspect,” she added lightly, “that the excitement of the evening may still revive you.”

Elizabeth managed a faint smile. If only she knew. The music began. Sets were called. Gentlemen approached. Elizabeth accepted partners when she must, declined when she could, and endured each dance with as much composure as she was able, though her awareness of him did not diminish.

He danced often. Of course he did. She felt irrational jealousy directed at any other woman who gained his attention. A man in his position—new, intriguing, and unattached—could scarcely avoid the activity, however. Elizabeth noticed, with a strange and inexplicable relief, that he did not remain long with any one partner. There was no lingering, no particular attention paid beyond what civility required.

He moved through the room as though it were a stage upon which he performed a role he neither enjoyed nor entirely disdained.

At length, he approached.

Elizabeth felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in attention, the awareness of his nearness.

She turned.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing.

“Sir.”

“I wonder,” he said hesitantly, “if you would do me the honor of this set.”

There was no hesitation in her reply.

“Yes.”

His hand, when she placed hers upon it, was steady.

They took their places. The dance began.

For several moments, they moved in silence, the pattern of the set dictating their steps, the music carrying them forward. Beneath the order of it lay something far less controlled—a tension that neither of them seemed willing to name, though both must have felt it.

“You have not brought your brother this evening,” Elizabeth said at last, her tone light, though her gaze remained constant.

Darcy inclined his head. “He was otherwise engaged.”

“I had thought him fond of society.”

“He is,” Darcy replied. “But not always of its demands.”

Elizabeth studied him. “You speak like you understand him very well.”

“I do.” There was no doubt in the answer.

Elizabeth felt something tighten in her chest. “You are very close, then?”

Darcy’s gaze met hers. “Yes.” The word was simple, but there was firmness behind it—something firm, unyielding.

“He has been with you long?” she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Darcy did not look away. “Long enough.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught. Wherever you were… he was with you. She said nothing, but the realization settled firmly into place. Whatever had happened—whatever had taken Darcy from the world she knew—Lucien had shared it. Their bond was not merely that of brothers, but of something forged under strain.

“He must be a comfort to you,” she said.

Darcy’s expression altered, just barely. “He is.” The dance carried them onward.