"May I request the next two dances?"
Directness surprised her. She had prepared for reserve, avoidance, or another silence to interpret.
"You may."
His eyes changed. Relief, quickly hidden.
Their first dance passed under the scrutiny of half the room. Elizabeth felt it in the turn of heads and Caroline's fixed smile.
"We must speak," she said as the figure brought them together. "A silent dance will confirm every rumor about Derbyshire."
"What rumors?"
"That your assemblies are conducted without conversation."
"I was not aware Derbyshire possessed so formidable a reputation."
"You created it in Meryton."
He absorbed the reference without retreating. "I behaved badly that evening."
Elizabeth nearly missed the next step.
"That is almost an apology."
"It was intended as one."
"Then it lacks only the useful portion."
They separated. When they came together again, Darcy said, "I am sorry I spoke of you with discourtesy. My ill humor was mine and did not justify making you its object."
The words were formal, but nothing in his face was easy.
Elizabeth's anger, carefully polished through repetition, lost its clean edge.
"Thank you. I accept."
His shoulders changed by a fraction. "Your father advised honesty without collateral damage."
"Papa heard?"
"He observed."
Elizabeth wished both to laugh and to speak sharply to her father. "He has become inconveniently attentive."
"You do not regret it."
It was not a question.
"Never."
They moved through the figure. Darcy danced with precision but not stiffness. His hand at hers was steady. When another couple crowded Elizabeth's path, his palm hovered near her waist without touching, ready to protect and restrained from presumption. She felt the absent contact more acutely than a real one.
At supper Caroline attempted a different attack.
"Charles has preserved the house almost exactly as the Bennets left it," she told Mrs Lucas. "One feels they might return at any moment and ask for the keys."
Mrs Phillips bristled. Lady Bennet drew breath.