But Mr. Darcy gets to me first.
He pivots, blocking me from Peter and the extra. “I am afraid the lady has a previous engagement for this dance.”
Peter, the extra, and I freeze up in shock.
The extra looks at Peter and then at me. Peter’s jaw begins to tremble. I desperately rack my brain for a polite way to put Jonas back on track.
He’s supposed to dance with Elizabeth now!
But before I can act, he bows to me. “You promised me this dance, Miss Bingley. May I have the honor?”
All I can do at this juncture is follow him to the dance floor. I take his offered hand, and we are off, my heart beating faster as we reach the center of the room. He looks so confident and determined even as he’s bungling the scene that I can’t help but wonder if something has come up. Are his actions warranted? Did Sandra convey to him to ask me instead of Elizabeth for this dance? Does he know something that the rest of us don’t?
The musicians play an upbeat melody, and within seconds, the entire hall is swept up in Julia’s modified country dance. We start out by circling each other slowly and gracefully. A few lively jumps follow, and then we turn and twirl, our footwork and arm movements matched to the beat. Jonas is svelte and nimble on his feet, his sense of rhythm pitch-perfect, and his guidance unobtrusively effective. Dancing with him is so utterly fulfilling that I forget to worry, and just indulge myself, luxuriating in the pure joy of this suspended moment.
Around us, pairs glide across the floor in sync. The extras who signed up to dance all seem to have followed Julia’s online tutorials. They still look to the professional actors for cues, but they aren’t completely lost. They practiced at home without a doubt.
Remembering myself, I scan the crowd for Elizabeth. She’s dancing with Larry. Ha-ha, Mr. Collins saves the day.Thank God!
“What are you doing?” I cover my mic and whisper to Jonas as we draw closer mid-figure. “Why are you dancing withme?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“I’ll count on it, Mr. Darcy.”
We perform the Regency high five, step away, spin, and continue the dance. I’m flying across the floor, light on my feet, almost levitating in a dreamlike sequence, when my peripheral sight registers something odd. I’m drawing a bit of attention.
Is it because Mr. Darcy picked me for this dance?
But then the looks I’m getting would be envious. As it happens, they are not. I’d describe them as ill at ease and… pitying? A nondancing audience member shifts her gaze away from me and says something in her friend’s ear. The friend shoots me a look of guilty amusement like when someone slips on a banana peel, and we feel sorry for them, but we also find it funny.
What the hell?
Through a canned smile plastered to my face, I whisper again, “Is something wrong with my hairdo? Is my makeup running?”
“No.”
Then why am I getting those looks?
One more sequence and the dancers will switch partners. That means I’ll have to wait, perhaps until the intermission, to find out what’s going on.Blimey!
Jonas takes my hand and twirls with me across the room and away from the dancing crowd. As we make our way off the dance floor and to the wall, I do my best to act like this is what we’re supposed to do. Moving together in harmony, Jonas and I reach the door. He pushes it open, and we sneak out.
As he pulls the door shut, I detach and turn off my mic.
“What just happened?”
“Something happened to your dress,” he says after muting his own mic.
I look down.
“Behind,” he clarifies.
I dart to the same mirror I’d used to check my appearance less than an hour ago, turn my back to it, and look over my shoulder.
Oh God.
A bright red stain is gracing my immaculate gown at the level of my bum like a botched flag of Japan! Clearly, my period came a full week early. Which never happens. Never! I’m timed like a Swiss cuckoo clock.
