Page 13 of The Earl’s Second Chance

Alton watched Elizabeth accept a dance from Lord Selwyn. “A beautiful one.”

Darcy, disordered by admiration and resentment at the attention surrounding her, answered as he once had at Meryton.

“She is clever enough to persuade others to overlook deficiencies that rank and polish cannot wholly disguise.”

“Can they not?” said a cold voice behind him.

The Earl of Matlock stood at his shoulder.

Darcy bowed. “Sir.”

“You have just disparaged Lady Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of the Earl of Herfershire, within hearing of her father, her mother, and half the room.”

Darcy went still.

Across the ballroom, Lord Herfershire’s gaze rested upon him—not mocking, not angry, but deeply unimpressed.

“Herfershire?” Darcy repeated.

“The title descended last year. Had you spent less time judging the lady and more time learning her name, you might have known.”

“I did not mean—”

“That defense grows less attractive each time it is required.”

Elizabeth had heard enough. The familiar heat of humiliation rose, sharper because she had believed herself beyond the reach of that particular injury.

Lord Selwyn murmured, “Shall we walk?”

“No,” she said. “We shall dance. I refuse to surrender excellent music to a gentleman’s poor manners.”

She danced brilliantly.

Darcy watched every set. He saw her smile at Selwyn, debate with Lord Amesbury, and sit beside an elderly dowager whom others neglected. He saw what he had failed to see in Hertfordshire: her ease did not come from rank. Rank had merely provided a larger room in which her character might be visible.

He approached Lord Herfershire during supper.

“My lord, I owe Lady Elizabeth an apology.”

“You owe her two, I believe.”

Darcy’s face tightened.

“Do not offer one tonight,” Herfershire continued. “An apology made because my title surprised you would insult her a third time.”

At home, Elizabeth paced her bedchamber while Jane removed her earrings.

“He did not even know,” Elizabeth said. “He believed me still beneath his notice and insulted me again.”

“He looked miserable afterward.”

“Misery is not virtue.”

“No.”

Elizabeth stopped. “Do you think me proud?”

Jane smiled. “Yes. But not without reason.”