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Darcy glanced down. He was still holding Miss Elizabeth’s hand, and relinquishing it had become impossible.

“Fletcher, conceal the bowl.”

“I shall attempt it, sir. Its cooperation has never been a condition on which I depend.”

Darcy guided Miss Elizabeth away. Their pace was faster than the crowded ballroom permitted, and several guests interrupted their conversations as they passed. Mrs Bennet turned from Lady Lucas, saw Darcy leading her daughter to the card room and abandoned the subject of shattered glass mid-sentence.

By the time Darcy and Miss Elizabeth reached the doorway, privacy had already become a lost cause.

Mr Bennet was seated at the card table, his cards arranged neatly before him, while Sir William explained the strategic brilliance of a play which had evidently lost him the hand. Mr Bennet lifted his eyes first to his daughter, then to Darcy, and finally to the hands they had neglected to separate.

Darcy stopped before him.

“Mr Bennet, I require a private conversation with you.”

Behind them, the music continued, but the voices began to diminish as Hertfordshire discovered a more compelling form of entertainment.

Mr Bennet glanced at the gathering which had begun to form behind Darcy and Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Bennet was already advancing from the ballroom, Lady Lucas close behind her, while several dancers had abandoned every pretence of interest in the music. Sir William lowered his cards, discovered that he was holding them with their faces exposed and placed them on the table as though this had been his intention.

“I fear privacy is no longer among the advantages available to you.” Mr Bennet gathered his cards into a neat pile and rested both hands on them. “You may speak quietly, however. Hertfordshire considers reduced volume a personal challenge, but it may delay general comprehension by a few seconds.”

Darcy had intended to approach her father with dignity, preparation, and some reasonable account of his prospects. Instead, he stood before a card table holding the hand of the gentleman’s favourite daughter while half the county arranged itself to witness his fate. He had negotiated treaties under more favourable conditions.

“Your daughter has done me the great honour of accepting an offer of marriage.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I have come to request your blessing.”

Sir William rose so abruptly that his chair scraped the floor. Mrs Bennet stopped and seized Lady Lucas by the arm, while the conversations died so completely that Darcy could hear the cards shifting under Mr Bennet’s hands.

Mr Bennet did not examine him. His eyes rested on Miss Elizabeth.

“Has she?”

“She has,” Miss Elizabeth said, moving nearer to her father without releasing Darcy. “Although Mr Darcy required considerable persuasion before he could be induced to make the offer.”

A murmur travelled through the listeners. Darcy recognised Bingley’s voice among them, expressing astonishment that any man might require encouragement to propose to a Bennet lady, followed by Hurst’s assurance that Darcy had never performed a simple action when a prolonged internal crisis was available.

Mr Bennet studied his daughter’s face. “You are certain, Lizzy?”

“Entirely, Papa.”

“You wish to marry him, rather than merely triumph over his objections?”

“The triumph is agreeable, but it is not my principal motive.”

“That is fortunate. Victory is a poor foundation for matrimony, though many marriages have been established on less.”

Darcy felt her thumb move against his glove. The small pressure steadied him more effectively than all the discipline he had acquired over the centuries.

Mr Bennet turned his scrutiny on him at last. “You will forgive me if I do not surrender my daughter to the first wealthy gentleman who takes her hand at a ball. Her mother has long considered that sufficient qualification, which has obliged me to provide resistance for us both.”

“You owe me no apology, sir.”

“There are matters concerning you which remain unexplained.” Mr Bennet’s voice had lowered until only Miss Elizabeth, Darcy, and Sir William could hear him clearly. “This household runs in uncommon habits. Mr Wickham appears to have departed under circumstances which no one wishes to describe, my cousin entered the ballroom in another man’s shirt and without the walking stick to which he had been attached all evening, and my daughter has spent much of the final dance conferring with a punch bowl.”

Darcy held his eyes. “You are entitled to an explanation, sir, and you shall receive one.”

“Before the wedding?”

“Before morning, if you permit me to call at Longbourn after the ball ends.”