She dipped faintly. “Likewise, Mr Darcy.”
A sudden cry of “Mind the line!” rose behind them, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of feet losing their place. Before Darcy could turn, a pair of dancers veered off the figure and brushed hard against Miss Elizabeth’s back.
She tipped a fraction, and he reached without thinking to draw her away from calamity. His hand met her wrist—lightly, only enough to keep her from stumbling—but at the instant of contact she gasped, then jerked as if burned. The movement snapped through her arm so quickly that he let go at once.
Miss Bennet gave a little cry of alarm. “Lizzy, what is it?”
“I am well,” Miss Elizabeth said, though her breath caught on the word.
Darcy stood still, more startled than either of them. He had touched hundreds of hands in polite society, never provoking such a reaction. Had he injured her? Had he grasped toofirmly? He replayed the moment in his mind and could find no fault except the simple fact of his hand on her arm.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I meant only to keep you from falling.”
She did not look at him directly. “The dancers gave more of a push than I anticipated. Pray, think nothing of it.”
Bingley laughed. “These rooms do grow lively, do they not? I fear they were built for quieter generations.”
Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth. Her composure had returned, but a faint line remained about her mouth. “You need not remain in the midst of it, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “The hall is crowded. If the movement is troublesome—”
She studied him briefly, the smallest tilt of her head. “I was only surprised, sir. Nothing more.”
He inclined his own head. “Then I misunderstood.”
“So it seems.”
Elizabeth would have givenmuch to disappear for five minutes—just long enough to cool her cheeks and reorder her thoughts—but the crowd surged directly toward the punch table, carrying her with it. Jane kept close, her arm warm against Elizabeth’s.
“Lizzy, you gave such a start.”
“I tripped. Or someone trod on my gown. Or the floorboards creaked—really, someone ought to see to them before the next Assembly, or we will all fall through one day.” Elizabeth reached for the ladle before Jane could wonder her further. She could feel that traitorous pulse still fluttering in her wrist.
Mama descended upon them at once. “Girls! There you are. I have been trying to reach you for an age! Mrs Long would not release me, though I told her I must see how Jane fared with Mr Bingley. Oh, Jane! You looked delightful together. Quite delightful. And Lizzy—” she turned abruptly, breathless— “Lizzy, I saw you speaking to his friend. What did you think of Mr Darcy? Is he as fine as they say? Does he dance? Did he—oh! Kitty, move aside and let your sister breathe.”
Jane coloured but smiled. “Mr Bingley was very amiable, Mama.”
“Amiable? He was enraptured,” Mama declared, turning in triumph from one daughter to the other. “Even from across the room, we could see it. And Lizzy—my dearest girl—youspoke to his friend. Mr Darcy. Tell me everything.”
Elizabeth lifted her cup, hoping to hide behind it. Jane, whose composure never deserted her at such moments, answered instead.
“Mr Bingley introduced him very handsomely. Mr Darcy seemed a gentleman of excellent manners.”
Mama clasped her hands. “That is precisely what I hoped to hear! Imagine it—both of you making such impressions. Oh, this is the best evening—”
“Well, Lizzy madesomeimpression on Mr Darcy,” Kitty blurted. “Though not the one she hoped, I am sure.”
Mama froze, half-beam, half-gasp. “What sort of impression?”
“The sort where she wasfightingwith him,” Kitty said, clearly delighted to have the superior tale.
Mama let out a soft shriek. “Fighting? Lizzy!”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth nearly sloshed the punch.
“Oh yes,” Kitty said. “Aunt Philips said you flashed at him. And Mrs Goulding said she saw him look most offended. And Lydia says—”
“I do not wish to hear what Lydia says.”
“She says you nearly leapt out of your skin.”
