“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte replied smoothly.
He then turned to Elizabeth and extended his hand. “The set is forming.”
She took his head and gave her friend a warm smile. They took their places at the top of the dance, just next to Bingley and Jane. The music began, and for several measures, they moved in silence—turning, separating, rejoining—each acutely aware of the other and of the many eyes upon them.
It was Elizabeth who broke first.
A small laugh escaped her. “We must not alarm the assembly with our solemnity,” she murmured. “They will think we quarrel.”
Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “Do you consider conversation a necessary component of dancing?”
“I consider it the safest opportunity for it,” she replied. “One may say nearly anything in the course of a figure and be carried away before it can be properly examined.”
His brows lifted. “A most strategic use of choreography.”
“Indeed. The set advances whether one’s courage does or not.”
He studied her more closely then.
“And what subject requires such fortification tonight?”
She met his gaze steadily.
“You know very well.”
A brief pause.
“Have you reached a decision?” he asked quietly, as they turned.
“I have reached a resolution,” she said. “Which may not be precisely the same thing.”
He waited.
They crossed paths again.
“I will not convert for the sake of expedience,” she said calmly. “Nor because I fear losing you.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“But,” she continued, “I have satisfied myself that consenting to our children being raised in Catholicism. As to whether or not I, myself, will convert, that I cannot promise. I understand your heritage and beliefs are important to you, and you will want to pass that down to any children we have.”
He missed a fraction of the measure before recovering.
“You are certain?”
“I am certain that God is not so fragile as to be offended by sincere seeking,” she replied. “And I would rather my children be guided by a father who takes belief seriously than one who treats it as an ornament.”
Something in him softened entirely at that. They moved closer in the next figure, and he remarked, “You have considered this quite extensively.”
“I have,” she said simply. “I do not wish to enter your world lightly.”
“And you do not fear it?”
She met his gaze fully. “I fear only acting without conviction. Not faith itself.”
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers before the dance separated them once more.
“Elizabeth,” he said—quietly now, without formality— “you have given me more than I had any right to expect.”
