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“Quite so,” Elizabeth replied. “I imagine Miss Bingley will have handled the arrangements for Mr Bingley. She is to be congratulated.”

“And particularly for the selection of the musicians. My sister would approve if she were here. Indeed, they are so skilled that I must regret she is not.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “I wonder where Miss Bingley found them? They are considerably better than the musicians we had for the last Meryton assembly.”

Each exchange of pleasantries was well enough, only Elizabeth could not help thinking that they all amounted to exactly nothing. None of it was what either of them were thinking.

Mr Darcy conducted her about the room with a care so evident it bordered on ceremony. Mrs Bennet, observing from across the floor, beamed as though the spectacle were of her own devising.

Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks. If she had ever imagined that the engagement might afford ease between them, she would have been swiftly disabused of the notion. There was no ease, only care and vigilance.

“You are excessively attentive, sir,” she murmured as they paused near the hearth.

“It is expected of me,” he replied quietly.

“And do you always perform to expectations so flawlessly?”

His gaze flickered to hers, as guarded as ever. “When expectation aligns with propriety, I see no reason to do otherwise.”

Elizabeth might once have teased him for such an answer. Tonight, she could not. “Propriety is much in demand this evening,” she said instead.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And as such, it would be best for us to dance the first together. If you would not object?”

Elizabeth knew very well that she could not. Indeed, she should not even really wish to. What was a dance, compared to the likelihood that they would end by being tied together for all their lives?

“I should be honoured,” Elizabeth said. Mr Darcy responded with a wordless nod and a smile. They must have spoken of something until it was time to take their places for the dance, but Elizabeth could not remember later what it had been. It seemed only moments before the time came. Suddenly, they stood on the dancefloor with the others, and the musicians were beginning the first set.

He had once declined to dance with her, and Elizabeth had never wished it might be otherwise. Though Mr Darcy was a graceful man, with a sense of controlled power about his movements, she had never thought of how he might dance with so much as curiosity, let alone interest. Tonight, she was simply aware of the eyes of the room upon them, of Mr Darcy’s steady gaze. Every movement between them was observed.

The set began.

Mr Darcy’s manner was impeccable. He executed each figure with precision, offering assistance where required, maintaining the correct distance, his expression composed but not severe. Mr Darcy did not attempt intimacy or presume familiarity. He did not even permit their hands to linger beyond what the dance demanded.

Elizabeth recognised the effort in it. “You are very careful,” she said softly as they passed in the line.

“I would not wish to give offence.”

“To whom?”

His eyes met hers briefly as couples moved around them.

“To you.”

She faltered half a step before recovering. “You believe you might offend me so easily?”

“I believe,” he said, “that circumstances have rendered every gesture only too liable to interpretation.”

Elizabeth looked away, knowing she could not dispute it. When the next figure brought them close, she murmured, “This is considerably more difficult than I had anticipated.”

“The dance?”

“The performance of the dance,” she said. “Being watched.”

“You are doing very well,” Mr Darcy said. From another, more conventional man, it might have meant nothing, but from his lips, Elizabeth believed it was intended as information rather than as empty courtesy.

“You are better at it than I am,” Elizabeth said. “You have always looked composed. It is less conspicuous on you.”

“I am not, perhaps, as composed as I look.”