“Mr. Darcy—” stammered Miss Bingley.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, speaking to forestall whatever the woman might say—nothing good, to be certain. “You may have this dance, though I hope it does not devolve in the way previous occasions have.”
This seemed to shake Miss Bingley from her consternation. In an instant, it was replaced by the expression of haughty disdain that so often colored her features. Elizabeth could see the barb long before Miss Bingley unleashed it.
“This is most curious, Mr. Darcy,” said she.
“How so?” demanded the gentleman. “How can a man asking a woman for a dance at an assembly be anything other than the most normal thing in the world?”
“Because youneverdance the first.” Miss Bingley looked at Elizabeth as if raised on some lofty vantage. “You may dance the first if you wish, of course, but to choose to do so with a woman so unsuitable, so obviously below your standards is quite beyond my understanding of you.”
“Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, turning considerable displeasure on her, “I have no notion of the scale by which you judge such matters, but your understanding is flawed. Miss Elizabeth isnotbelow my standards, and this is nothing more than a dance.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, extending his hand to her.
Elizabeth accepted and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor. Soon the first strains of the music floated over the room.
For several moments, Mr. Darcy was silent, moving through the steps with the sort of focus he gave everything he did. A glance toward Miss Bingley revealed that the woman was watching them, her face red with fury. Not far from them, the Hursts were also engaged in the set, though Elizabeth could see Mrs. Hurst scrutinizing her sister as if she expected Miss Bingley to say something impolitic. It was not an unreasonable assumption.
Mr. Darcy noted nothing of this—the gentleman had fixed his attention on her and the dance. The longer they danced, the more Elizabeth recalled the circumstances that had led to it, the more annoyed she became with Mr. Darcy’s presumption. Elizabeth did not appreciate being used as a convenient escape from a woman he did not like, even for just a dance.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, pique bleeding into her voice. “Are we to have some conversation, or do you mean to stay silent as the grave for the entire dance?”
The way Mr. Darcy regarded her, curiosity mixed with apprehension, Elizabeth knew he understood she was annoyed. Whether he understood the reason was less certain.
“As I recall,” replied he, “you talk by rule when dancing.”
“I maintain it is odd to remain silent for a half hour complete. Or is this your usual behavior when attending a ball?”
“As you know, I am not at my best among strangers.”
Elizabeth arched a brow as she took his hand. “Am I now a stranger?”
“No, but I sense that you are not pleased about something.” The gentleman shrugged. “It seemed better to wait for you to explain than to guess the reason.”
“Would it not be better to speak, to deflect, to charm me into a better mood?”
Mr. Darcy offered her a wry smile. “If you will forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, I have never considered you the sort of woman to allow such devices. I rather believe you are a forthright sort of person, one who does not hesitate to state your feelings openly.”
“You are a strange sort of gentleman, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
“I have never feigned otherwise,” said he with a shrug. “I do not perform to the masses, nor do I think that is a failing of yours. Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me of my misstep so I may correct it.”
Though she considered tormenting him further, Elizabeth shrugged. “To own the truth, it is curious that you do not understand yourself. After all, did you not just use me as a convenient means to escape Miss Bingley?”
The gentleman’s gaze held a gravity quite beyond what she might have expected. “So that I understand you, let me reiterate—you believe I asked you to dance because I found Miss Bingley’s presence grating and wished to escape?”
“Did you not?” challenged Elizabeth. “Miss Bingley has made much of your reticence and your preference to avoid dancing the first, yet when your patience with her dissolved, you turned to me. What other interpretation is there?”
A sigh was his response, and one that Elizabeth had not expected. As she turned in the dance, she noted that Miss Bingley was still watching them as a hawk might watch a fat hare—unless she missed her guess, the woman would pounce on them the moment the set ended.
“I shall not sport with your intelligence by denying Miss Bingley’s behavior provoked me,” said Mr. Darcy. “However, I shall say that is not the entirety of my reason for dancing with you.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth dubiously.
“No, it was not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “The notion has been on my mind for some days—when Bingley asked your sister for her first sets, I almost followed his example.”
“Then why did you not?” asked Elizabeth, her annoyance giving way to curiosity.
