Caroline appeared at his elbow. "You are staring, Mr. Darcy."
"I am observing."
"You are observing Miss Eliza Bennet with an attention that the room has noticed." Caroline's voice was pleasant and precise."I would not have thought her the sort to attract your particular notice."
"I was not aware my notice was a matter of public discussion."
"Everything is a matter of public discussion in this neighbourhood. That is part of its charm." She paused. "Or so I am told."
Darcy said nothing. Caroline waited for a response that did not come, and then she drifted away toward Louisa, and he was grateful for the silence.
He made a decision. It was not a careful decision. It was not the product of deliberation or strategy. It was the sort of decision a man made when he had spent a week missing the sound of hooves in the corridor and had just seen the woman responsible for the hooves walk through a door in a white gown.
He walked across the ballroom. He reached her between sets. She was standing with Charlotte, slightly flushed from dancing, a glass of lemonade in her hand.
"Miss Elizabeth. Would you do me the honour of the next dance?"
She looked at him. For a moment, her expression was unguarded, and he saw surprise and something else, something quick and warm that vanished before he could name it.
"I would, Mr. Darcy."
Charlotte Lucas's eyebrows rose to a height that suggested she would be discussing this moment for weeks.
They took their places in the line. The music began. A country dance, lively, with figures that brought them close and then apart, close and then apart, in the maddening rhythm of a conversation held across a gap.
"Are you enjoying the ball, Mr. Darcy?" Her voice was light, but her eyes were watchful.
"I am enjoying it more than I expected."
"That is not saying a great deal. Your expectations for enjoyment are notoriously low."
"You speak as if you know my expectations."
"I have observed them. You stand at the side of every gathering with an expression that suggests you would rather be reading."
"Perhaps I would."
"And yet you asked me to dance."
"And yet I did."
They turned. Their hands met, pressed, released. Her fingers were warm through her gloves.
"You have not brought the pig," he said.
"Was that an invitation?"
"It was an observation."
"Truffles is at home. I reinforced the kitchen. I used two broom handles and a barrel. Hill is standing guard."
"That is a formidable defence."
"It is the best I can manage without a moat."
He almost smiled. He could feel it, the pull at the corner of his mouth, the loosening of the muscles he kept locked when he was in public. She was doing it again. She was disarming him, not with charm or flattery but with the simple, devastating weapon of being exactly who she was.
"You were kind to my pig at Netherfield," she said, more quietly. The dance brought them together. Her face was close to his. "You did not have to be."
