“It was no argument. That,” Elizabeth said crisply, “was a shock.”
Kitty leaned in as if this were delicious. “Ashock?”
“The merest sting. From the carpet or the air. Something in the room.” Elizabeth sipped her punch, grateful for the cool. “Mr Darcy must drag his feet. Or his valet failed to air his coats properly. Static clings to neglect, you know.”
Jane pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.
Charlotte appeared at Elizabeth’s elbow, folding herself neatly into the circle. “Is that the latest theory? A poorly-aired coat?”
“It is the only rational one. And what do you mean, ‘latest theory?’ Half the room cannot already be talking of it.”
Charlotte’s eyes glimmered. “I assure you, they are. Mama says you took against him for something, and you say it was some sort of shock. I think it far more romantic thanthat—aspark.”
“Romantic?” Elizabeth nearly laughed. “Being jumped like a cat startled from a nap? I assure you, Charlotte, nothing in it resembled romance.”
“Still,” Charlotte said, “itisunusual.”
“So is Mr Darcy,” Kitty chimed in. “He stared at you a great deal.”
“He did not.”
As if summoned by the remark, she caught sight of him across the room. Mr Darcy stood a little apart from Mr Bingley, half in shadow, as if studying a sconce with the grave attention of a man judging a work of Greek statuary. He looked every inch a gentleman who wished to be left alone, and Elizabeth was more than inclined to oblige him.
“Lizzy,” Mama urged, fluttering her fan, “pray tell me you admired him. I must know—”
“Mama, I have nothing to tell.”
“But youdidspeak to him!”
“We exchanged the customary phrases.”
“And then you startled so!” Kitty said.
“Because of a shock,” Elizabeth repeated. “If a gentleman’s garments are so poorly brushed that he carries half the carpet with him, the blame cannot lie with me.”
Charlotte hid a laugh behind her cup. “Poorly brushed garments. That is your final answer?”
“It is the only answer that preserves my dignity. The alternative is that Mr Darcy’s manners are so ill-assembled that even a touch from him sets one on edge. And that, I believe, is entirely possible.”
Elizabeth glanced again toward the far side of the room—and froze.
Mr Darcy had turned his head. He was not studying the sconce.
He was looking directly at her.
And she remembered, all too late, that she had spoken the last sentence aloud.
His posture altered—not a step, barely a breath, but something in the angle of his shoulders changed. A brief tightening, as though a string had drawn him upright. Then he moved away from the column and into the deeper crowd, disappearing behind a line of dancers.
The heat scalded her cheeks again, and not from any spark.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Charlotte murmured, “he heard you.”
“I know,” Elizabeth muttered. “And now I shall certainly never meet that great dog of his.”
Lydia burst through thefront hall first, laughing as she shook the night air from her sleeves. “I danced every set, every single one. Wally Purvis said he had never seen such spirit!”
Kitty followed at her heels, nearly colliding with Jane as she called, “And Jane danced twice with Mr Bingley! Twice! Mama was fit to swoon over it!”
