Without another word, Bingley made a straight line toward Miss Jane Bennet, leaving him stranded as the third set was about to begin. Miss Elizabeth Bennet happened to be passing nearby, momentarily without a partner, and their eyes met.
“Not dancing, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired, pausing before him.
“I am taking a brief respite,” he replied, noting with some irritation that his pulse had quickened at her approach.
“The heat is rather oppressive,” she agreed, her eyes showing genuine sympathy. “Perhaps some fresh air would be beneficial? The garden is quite pleasant in the evening.”
The suggestion was perfectly innocent, yet Darcy felt a flicker of alarm at the thought of being alone with this intriguing woman—this Bennet. “I prefer to remain indoors.”
“As you wish.” She glanced toward where Bingley was once again partnering with her sister Jane. “Your friend seems to be enjoying himself immensely.”
“Bingley enjoys everything immensely,” Darcy observed. “It is his particular talent.”
“A valuable talent indeed. Far better than finding fault with everything one encounters.”
The observation struck too close to his thoughts. “You speak as if we are acquainted, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Are we not becoming so? I know that you are from Derbyshire, that you possess a considerable estate called Pemberley, that you are a particular friend of Mr. Bingley, and that you find country assemblies trying. You, in turn, know that I am the second daughter of five, that my home is Longbourn, and that I occasionally speak with more candor than is strictly proper.”
Her self-assessment made him almost smile despite himself. “Indeed. Though I suspect there is much more to know.”
“I believe this is where you ask me to dance, Mr. Darcy,” she said with breathtaking directness. “The fourth set is forming, and I find myself without a partner.”
The presumption was outrageous. Young ladies of proper breeding waited to be asked; they did not issue instructions to gentlemen on matters of social protocol. Yet something in her manner suggested she was fully aware of the impropriety and was challenging him deliberately.
The prospect of having her full attention for the duration of two dances, of discovering whether her conversation could sustain thepromise of her wit, of learning what other surprises lay behind those remarkable eyes—it was powerfully tempting.
But his father’s voice whispered again:Never trust a Bennet.
He straightened, donning the mask of cold politeness that had served him well in countless similar situations. “I fear you mistake my character, Miss Elizabeth. I am not inclined to dance when young ladies are presumptuous.”
The light in her eyes dimmed, but her smile remained steady. “Indeed? How unfortunate. I had thought all gentlemen were required to dance at assemblies, especially when partners were scarce. Perhaps the rules are different for those of superior consequence.”
The observation stung precisely because it was accurate. He was being deliberately discouraging, and they both knew it. Worse, his coldness had wounded her, despite her brave attempt to remain unaffected.
“You appear to know a great deal about the requirements of gentlemen,” he said.
“I know enough to recognize when one considers himself above the company,” she replied, her chin lifting with a pride that reminded him, uncomfortably, of his family’s bearing. There was no mistaking the furrowing of her dark and elegant brows.
Sir William Lucas chose that moment to intervene. “Mr. Darcy, surely you cannot mean to deprive us of the pleasure of seeing you dance with such a charming partner as our dear Elizabeth!”
Darcy felt trapped between Miss Elizabeth’s challenging gaze and Sir William’s expectant smile. The throbbing in his temple intensified, and he found himself speaking with the sort of cutting dismissal he had perfected in London drawing rooms.
“Indeed,” he said coldly. “Miss Elizabeth is tolerable, I suppose, but hardly handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”
The words left his mouth before discretion could intervene. Hesaw Miss Elizabeth’s face change, the warmth in her eyes replaced by something that looked remarkably like pity. Not anger, as he might have expected, but pity—as if she felt sorry for him rather than herself.
Sir William retreated with obvious embarrassment, and Miss Elizabeth turned away without another word, her shoulders set with quiet dignity.
She had dismissed him as thoroughly as he had dismissed her, and with considerably more grace.
CHAPTER TWO
FORBIDDEN NAMES
The morningafter an assembly was usually spent in the pleasant occupation of recollecting every particular of the evening’s diversions, with each bow, compliment, and dance partner subjected to thorough examination and judgment. But Elizabeth was in no mood for such frivolities. Mr. Darcy’s cutting dismissal still rankled, though she was determined not to show it.
She entered the breakfast room to find her sisters already engaged with the morning-after ritual.
