“I hope I do not intrude.”
“No, not at all. How are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Darcy?”
He considered the room before answering. “Enjoyment is not the word I should choose. I am not well suited to crowded rooms.”
“You mean you suffer through it?”
Charlotte snapped her head toward Elizabeth.
But his lips curved faintly. “I know that must sound extraordinary to a person like you.”
“A person like me?”
“One who appears perfectly at ease wherever she stands.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “You credit me with greater confidence than I possess.”
“I do not think so,” he replied quietly. “I am sure your friend agrees with me.”
Charlotte smiled and nodded.
“You engage easily. I do not.”
“And why is that, pray? A gentleman of the world should be practised in such things.”
“I am practised,” he said. “That does not render it natural. I do not converse readily with those to whom I have not been introduced.”
“Indeed? I had not noticed you suffer from that constraint.”
“Then I conceal it better than I suppose.”
There was the faintest challenge in her smile. “Perhaps you choose your company more carefully than you admit.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
The musicians began tuning for the next set.
“Are you engaged for this set?” he asked.
Elizabeth hesitated – not from uncertainty, but from awareness. A dozen eyes were never far away in Hertfordshire.
“I am not,” she said at last.
“Then may I have the honour?”
It was direct. Unembellished. And infinitely preferable to reluctance disguised as obligation.
“You may.”
His relief was so slight it would have escaped a less attentive observer. She did not miss it.
She glanced briefly at Charlotte.
Charlotte’s expression was composed, but her eyes were keen. Go, they seemed to say. You must not retreat now.
Elizabeth turned back.
As he offered his arm, he paused. “And Miss Lucas,” he added, with deliberate courtesy, “if you are unengaged later in the evening, I should be pleased to claim a set.”
