“Indeed, madam,” he said gratefully. “Ladies, you will excuse me.” He stepped forward. Women both young and old scattered like frightened sheep.
Elizabeth giggled as he joined her, something she had not done in a very long time.
“You find humour in all of this?” he asked indignantly.
“I do,” she replied plainly. He was painfully straightforward with her; she felt it only fair to speak the truth to him.
“I am pleased to be a source of amusement,” he said stiffly.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a sigh. “Do try to laugh at yourself rather than judge and censure others. You will be the happier for it.”
“Is that what you do?” he inquired a bit more gently.
“Not as often as I should,” she admitted, “but I do make the attempt. There is enough misery in the world without creating more over trifles.”
They lined up opposite one another in the third position. Elizabeth did this intentionally so that Mr. Darcy could observe the first two couples complete their movements before it was their turn. “This is a duple minor,” she informed him as the dance began, “‘The King at the Camp.’ We have practiced this. It is a circle. Do you see it? You must take smaller steps when you follow me and narrower when we walk close.”
He nodded. Elizabeth saw he was anxious, and she smiled at him. “You will be fine. I daresay you may even enjoy yourself.”
Mr. Darcy blinked in surprise, but then he offered her a small smile in return.
He really ought to smile more often. Even this small offering improved his already handsome features. Elizabeth thought she heard a few sighs behind her and could not help but shake her head.
They stood patiently whilst the other couples preceded them. When it was their turn, Elizabeth skipped back and then forward. Back and then forward again. Mr. Darcy stepped confidently into the next move, where they would hop past one another and exchange positions, but he stepped too close. She spun agilely away and continued on her path, but the damage had been done. He was rattled. As they passed again, he stepped too wide, giving her plenty of room but nearly colliding with another young lady whose partner pulled her out of harm’s way.
As they turned to face one another, Elizabeth smiled reassuringly at Mr. Darcy, trying to communicate with him:Laugh at yourself. He returned it with a scowl.
Elizabeth squelched her temper. So he had stepped wrong and then overdid it when he attempted to correct his course. It was not the end of the world. She would have liked to stalk up to him and scold him into better behaviour, but she had already been reprimanded by Mrs. Quimby once this week.
He finished the dance without further mishap, though a few gasps from onlookers told her that Mr. Darcy’s shoes were perilously close to the hem of her dress as they made their circle. He was certainly being paid a great deal of attention. She regretted that some of that scrutiny might be because he had partnered with her.
As they waited for the second dance of the set to begin, there was a commotion near the entrance, and the room’s attention was diverted. Elizabeth took the opportunity to cross to her large companion. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a low voice, “I beg you would not glower at me when I am only trying to help.”
“You are laughing at me again, Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered harshly in reply, “and I do not appreciate it.”
“I was smiling, you great ox,” she blurted. “I was trying to be encouraging!”
“Well, you do it ill,” he snapped.
“Never you mind,” she shot back. “I shall not do so again.”
As she turned her back on him, fully intending to leave him standing alone on the floor, a warm hand caught her wrist.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said evenly, remaining still and pitching her voice low, “unhand me.”
“Please, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, and she could hear the resignation in the words, “please. I offer you a thousand pardons, but if you leave me here . . .” He paused. “The women are eyeing me as a dog does a bone.”
She pressed her lips together. It would not do to laugh. The man might never regain his composure. “Your hand, Mr. Darcy,” she repeated.
He released her, and she pivoted to face him. “If you will do me the kindness not to always be expecting the worst of me, I will not only finish this dance with you but introduce you to my friend Charlotte, who will not fawn.”
He released a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Darcy.” She glanced behind her but could only see a crowd.
“It is likely the Bingley party you mentioned,” Mr. Darcy said. “I count four: two ladies and two gentlemen, as Miss Bennet mentioned.”
“Who is closest to them?” Elizabeth asked. It was unexpectedly useful, having such a tall man at her disposal.