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"Your eyes," Darcy said when they were close again, "are very fine."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Are you being compelled to say that, or is this part of the game?"

"Both. I was instructed to notice them. I thought I might at least make a poor job of the compliment."

"How's that working out?"

"Poorly. I find I meant it."

"Two points," Elizabeth said, trying not to smile. "That's both on-script and off-script simultaneously. I'm impressed."

"Current score?"

"You: four. Me: three. This is closer than I expected."

"Three? I awarded you two."

"And I awarded myself one for enduring your amendments. You are not the only one who may propose them."

They separated again. When they came back together, Darcy's expression had shifted slightly.

"Fair warning," he said quietly. "I think the narrative is about to take over our dialogue for the next section. I can feel it pushing."

"How long do we have?"

"Maybe thirty seconds."

"Quick—say something completely absurd before it happens."

Darcy didn't hesitate. "I've been counting. My jaw has clenched nine times, but your breath has only caught three times. You're improving faster than I am."

"That's not absurd, that's just data."

"The absurd part is that we're having this conversation at a ball while dancing."

"Four points. Wait—" Elizabeth felt it too. The narrative pressure building. "Here it comes."

And then the script seized them both.

"You look displeased with the evening, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth heard herself say in a slightly sharper tone than she'd intended.

"I find such gatherings..." Darcy's voice came out stiff, formal. "...tedious."

"How unfortunate for you to be forced to participate."

"Indeed."

They moved through several more exchanges like this: stilted, awkward, each comment making them sound mutually insufferable. Elizabeth fought it, but the words kept coming. Darcy's jaw clenched repeatedly. The scene played out exactly as required.

When the dance finally ended and they separated with polite bows, Elizabeth managed one last whisper:

"Final score: me six, you seven. You win."

"Excellent," Darcy murmured back. "I choose our next experiment: trying to make Caroline Bingley laugh."

"That's impossible."

"Precisely. I should like the pleasure of attempting something at which we can't reasonably be expected to succeed."