Page 62 of The Engagement at Longbourn

She laughed.

A quadrille began. Darcy looked toward the floor. “I had wanted to dance with you.”

“You once refused.”

“I was an idiot.”

“You were.”

“Do you ever tire of being right?”

“Never.”

He looked at her. “Walk with me?”

“Dr. Morrison said—”

“Across the room. Not to Scotland.”

She offered her arm.

Darcy stared at it.

“You may lean on me,” she said.

“I am heavier than you.”

“I have noticed.”

He placed his hand lightly over hers. They walked slowly around the edge of the ballroom.

People watched. Elizabeth knew they watched. The engagement remained one of the season’s favourite stories. Some saw romance in his accident. Others saw fortune. Still others counted the weeks and wondered why no wedding date had been fixed. Darcy’s hand was warm over her glove.

“Does it trouble you?” he asked.

“What?”

“The attention.”

“Less than it did.”

“Why?”

She looked toward him. “Because it is no longer entirely false.”

He stopped walking.

Elizabeth’s heart jumped. Darcy’s face changed so completely that she almost regretted the words—not because they were untrue, but because hope entered him with dangerous force. She added quickly, “Do not propose.”

His mouth opened. “Not tonight.”

It closed.

Elizabeth smiled. “Come, Mr. Darcy. You were ordered to exercise.”

He obeyed, though he looked happier than a man with a cane had any right to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE