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Miss Elizabeth greeted him with a polite inclination of her head before turning her attention back to her cousin. “You are quite certain you are well, Mrs. Ellington? If you wish, I could return to Longbourn with you.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mrs. Ellington, patting her hand. “I am merely tired and mean to rest here. Besides, Mr. Darcy has been most considerate already. I am sure he will not mind keeping an old woman company for a short while. It seems we are both content to observe for now.”
Miss Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy, her face questioning and her eyes still bright from the exertion of dancing.
“I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, I will attend to your cousin,” he said.
“Very well. Mr. Darcy, I do entreat you, good sir, to let either myself or my elder sister know should you consider it to be for the best that Mrs. Ellington returns to Longbourn, or if you wish to spend your evening otherwise engaged. My sister, Miss Bennet, is the one dancing with Mr. Bingley.” She indicated his friend, who was talking and laughing with a lovely, fair-haired young woman, while another couple travelled down the set.
“I shall,” he promised.
“Now, go and enjoy your evening, Lizzy!” said Mrs. Ellington. “You are wasting your time with me. Look, there is young Mr. Goulding, waiting ever so patiently for you to finish your conversation.”
Miss Elizabeth did then excuse herself, taking Mr. Goulding’s offered arm and allowing him to lead her into the set. Darcy’s gaze followed her into the set, his thoughts lingering on the lively intelligence in her fine eyes.
∞∞∞
Hiding from his father, David Lucas retreated to the periphery of the room. Any moment, he knew, Sir William would insist that he dance with Miss Bingley—a lady whose chief virtue was her novelty. He scanned the edges of the crowd and soon found the familiar face of Miss Mary Bennet. She watched the many dancers, but with an expression that told of very little enjoyment. She did not respond as he approached, so he stopped directly in her line of sight.
“Do you wish to dance, Miss Mary?”
She answered without turning to him. “I thank you, but no.”
“Are you still angry?” he asked.
“I am not,” she replied, her voice perfectly level.
He offered a hesitant, sheepish smile. “I will replace your book. I promised you that I would, but I had to order it from London.”
“I know. I can be patient for it.”
“Yet you will not dance with me.”
“I will not,” she said, clearly unmoved.
He leaned toward her with a slight smile. “Have you foresworn dancing entirely?” His tone was teasing, but he was curious to hear the answer. He had not seen Mary Bennet dance since they were children.
Mary glanced at him, her lips twitching almost into a smile before she mastered them. “I know how to dance,” she replied. “But knowing how to dance and desiring to partake in the activity are not one and the same.”
“Why do you not dance?” he asked, now curious. “Is it the dancing itself that you object to, or the company?”
“I find little pleasure in such frivolities,” she answered, sounding for all the world like a governess informing her charges about proper deportment.
“Surely it is acceptable to engage in frivolities at times. After all, the Bible tells us that ‘there is a time to mourn and a time to dance’, does it not?”
Mary’s decision was unyielding. “While the scriptures may permit dancing, I do not wish to partake. Had I any say in the matter, I should not be here at all.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Since my book was ruined, I have found another in my father’s library. I should much rather be at home with it now.”
Taking a seat beside her, he asked, “And what is this book that has so entirely captured your attention?”
“It is Herodotus’s Histories. Have you read it?”
David searched his mind. The name Herodotus stirred a vague memory of university lectures he had largely ignored. “I cannot say that I have.” As he often did, he relied upon charm to disguise his lack of application. “Was he a philosopher?”
“He was a historian,” she said, her tone suddenly flat. “The father of history, in fact.”
