His person and air were equal to what her fancy
had ever drawn for the hero of a favorite story.
"Will there be any eligible barons there, do you think?" Kitty, the comb in her hand all but forgotten, gazed expectantly at Elizabeth in the dressing table mirror. "Or an earl? No — a duke! I would so love to meet a duke tonight! Might one be there?"
"I daresay there might. But mind, you shall not speak to any gentleman to whom you have not been properly introduced."
"Of course, Lizzy, of course. But Mr. Darcy knows everybody, doesn’t he? Surely he must know a duke or two."
In truth, Elizabeth was not at all certain who would be present tonight or how many people Darcy might know. They were engaged to attend a party at the home of some new acquaintances, Sir John and Lady Middleton. "Mr. Darcy does not know everybody. Why, he met Sir John only this week, and they have been members of the same club for years."
"Oh, where is the maid? Well be late if she doesn’t dress my hair soon!"
"She is still ironing your gown." Elizabeth pitied her lady’s maid, so intense was Kitty’s excitement this first week of her first London season. Her sister hadn’t been demanding in an imperious sort of way, so much as desperately afraid of missing something if she paused a moment to catch her breath. But the servant had borne Kitty’s flurry with patience and good humor. "If you had not changed your mind so many times about what to wear, we would not be in danger of arriving late."
Three dresses, donned and discarded, lay on the bed. Pink had given way to white, then lavender, before blue was determined the most flattering. Kitty regarded the rejects dubiously. "Perhaps the lavender after all — "
"Kitty!"
A gentle knock on the door interrupted them. Georgiana entered, fetchmgly attired in a dark green tunic over a white gown trimmed with gold ribbons. Kitty gasped.
"Oh, dear! My blue gown has gold ribbons!"
"I shall change," Georgiana offered.
"No, no — you are already dressed." Kitty bit her lower lip and considered once more the pile of cast-off silk and lawn. "I will wear the pink instead."
"The pink is most becoming," Georgiana said. "I think it is my favorite of yours."
"Truly?"
The suggestion carried: Pink was now the gown of choice. Darcy’s even-tempered sister had a soothing effect on Kitty, for which Elizabeth was grateful. Perhaps Georgiana’s presence would also spare the maid the trial of every hair ornament in Kitty’s jewelry box before they could depart.
Elizabeth left the younger girls and withdrew to enjoy a few moments’ peace in anticipation of the evening ahead. At her own dressing table, she tested her headdress to ensure it was secure, then slipped on her gloves and went in search of Darcy She found him in the hall, hat in hand and wearing his greatcoat. He glanced at the tall case clock, whose hands indicated that the Middletons’ soiree had already begun.
"Is your sister ready?" he enquired.
"Not yet. She was having a gown crisis, but I think disaster has been averted."
A look of concern crossed his countenance. "Your mother provided her with numerous new gowns for the season. What misfortune befell them?"
"The unknown preferences of a duke."
Concern gave way to confusion. "Which duke?"
"Any duke. She has high hopes of meeting an unattached peer tonight and turning his head. All chance of her future happiness, therfore, now rests entirely on several yards of pink silk and lace trim."
"I pray they are up to the charge." He looked again at the clock, then cast an impatient glance toward the staircase. "She shall not meet anyone if we never leave our own townhouse."
"The soiree will last for hours, and I am certain we will not be the only guests to arrive late. Most of the ton does not share your strict definition of punctuality."
"They might form a more tolerable group if they did."
"But then who would take note of them? One cannot make a grand entrance to an empty room."
"Precisely why I prefer to arrive in a timely manner, before an affair becomes crowded."
Her husband, she knew, did not care to draw attention to himself, nor to endure the tiresome company of those who did. He favored small gatherings of intimate friends over large assemblies of near-strangers, intelligent conversation over mindless gabble. His willingness, therefore, to sponsor Kitty for a full London season demonstrated affection for Elizabeth surpassing any that mere diamonds or other baubles could represent.
Tonight’s event, she suspected, would be just the sort of crush Darcy dreaded. She’d heard that the Middletons’ parties were always crowded affairs, the length of the guest list inspired more by the baronet’s gregarious nature than a realistic understanding of how many people his rooms could comfortably accommodate. Sir John, who had eight children of his own, took great pleasure in gathering young people together and wanted to include everybody in everything. Upon meeting Darcy and learning that he and Elizabeth had two young ladies in their charge, the baronet had insisted that the four of them attend Lady Middleton’s soiree.
She wondered whether Darcy realized what he had gotten himself into by accepting the invitation. "Have you any idea how many guests the Middletons expect?"
"Sir John called tonight’s party a small get-together, so I anticipate a pleasant evening."
Poor Darcy.
She wrestled a few moments with her conscience over whether to warn him of the probable scene ahead, but decided against spoiling his night any sooner than necessary "Did Sir John say whether his eldest sons would be there?" The Middletons had two sons in their early twenties — John, named after his father, and William.
"They will. They have no titles, however — will Kitty still wish to meet them?"
"Kitty wants to meet every eligible young gentleman in attendance."
He regarded her warily. "Elizabeth, I trust your sister will comport herself in a dignified manner?"
"Of course she shall." She prayed.
Since the elopement of their youngest sister, Lydia, last August, Elizabeth and Jane had worked hard to curb Kitty’s more foolish tendencies and check the undisciplined behavior in which she’d been allowed to indulge with Lydia. Kitty now, her sisters hoped, comprehended the difference between cream-pot love and genuine regard, and understood that genteel conduct solicited more respectable attention from gentlemen than did brazen flirtation.
"Kitty has learned from Lydias poor judgment, and benefits trom the steadier influence of our company," Elizabeth added. "Sometimes entire weeks pass without a single mention of officers or red coats."
"Yes, it seems she has moved on to dukes."
"You cannot fault her for harboring the same aspirations as every other young lady in town." A servant arrived with Elizabeth’s wrap and helped her drape it over her arms.
"Georgiana anticipates the evening more soberly."
"Your sister has experienced previous London seasons, so the prospect of a society affair does not hold the novelty it does for Kitty. Yet despite her natural reserve, I believe Georgiana, too, looks forward to increasing her limited acquaintance this evening."
"Her present circle is quite large enough."
"Darcy, you have shielded Georgiana from the fashionable world since the day she came out. You cannot sequester her forever."
He turned, avoiding her gaze by inspecting his appearance in the trumeau mirror. "I do nothing of the sort."
Behind him, she raised a brow. He saw the accusation in her reflection.
"I merely restrict her exposure to men whose motives or merit I question," he clarified, setting his hat down on the table to adjust the shoulders of his coat.
"That is to say, any men at all."
He faced her and shrugged. "Am I to blame if all the gentlemen one encounters these days are rowdies who lack purpose? Or worse — rakes and rogues who engage in less than noble behavior?"
She sighed, knowing that a single conversation could not surmount Darcy’s natural protective instincts toward his sister, nor his self-reproach for what he considered an inexcusable failure of watchfulness on his part. When Georgiana was but fifteen, even before she was officially out in society, she’d almost eloped with a fortune hunter — the same ne’er-do-well who had eventually seduced Lydia. That another, more sophisticated friend of theirs recently had been similarly deceived by another "gentleman" only increased his mistrust.
"Not every potential suitor is a secret scoundrel, Darcy. Honorable men yet exist."
"I should like to know where." Though he spoke lightly, she could read disillusionment in his eyes.
"I found one."
She crossed to the table, lifted his hat, and placed it on his head. As she met his gaze, she offered a playful smile. "Unless you really married me for my vast fortune?"
"Nay," he said, taking her hands in his as she lowered them.
"My superior connections?"
"Mistaken again." He held her gaze and returned her impish grin. "In fact, I believe it was you who drew in me."
"Indeed? I had no notion of my own talent for scheming. To what do I owe my success?"
"Your honeyed tongue. Who could resist being told that he was full of arrogance, conceit, and selfishness? Or that he was the last man in the world whom you could ever be prevailed upon to marry?"
"With enticements like that, you must have wondered that no one had whisked me to the altar already."
"I wondered only whether I could change enough to lure you there myself."
She studied him a long moment, grateful that they had found their way past early misunderstandings and to each other. "First impressions are not always accurate reflections of one’s character, are they?"
"No. Thank heaven."
They arrived at the Middletons’ quite late, even by fashionable standards. Kitty practically leapt from the carriage when it came to a stop in Conduit Street. They entered to find the formal receiving line ended and their hosts circulating among the guests.
To Kitty’s obvious delight and Darcy’s equally evident despair, the event was indeed a squeeze. The rooms were packed so full of people that Elizabeth wasn’t sure how anyone managed to converse, let alone dance. Yet strains of music from the next room indicated that couples made a noble attempt amid all the noise and heat.
"Have you ever seen so many people of consequence in one place?" Kitty exclaimed. "And so many gentlemen! Elizabeth, surely there is someone here to whom you can introduce me?"
Elizabeth scanned the room but saw not one familiar face. Luckily, she was spared the necessity of replying with a disappointing negative by the approach of an older man with a ruddy, genial countenance. "Is this our host?" she asked Darcy "Indeed."
"Mr. Darcy! I’m glad you are come!" Sir John clapped Darcy’s shoulder heartily, suggesting an acquaintance of years rather than barely a se’nnight. "I was just talking with Carville and Hartford about organizing a shooting party, and you must promise to be among our number."
"I would be honored, though my skills could but poorly complement any party led by you."
"Nonsense! I can tell by the look of you, you’re a fine shot."
"Fair," Darcy demurred. Though he enjoyed shooting and hunting, he was not a man who liked to boast of his skills or recount every detail of his last chase. "However, they tell me at the club that you are a sportsman without equal."
"Whether that is true or not I shall leave to the judgment of others, but I can think of nowhere I would rather be than out of doors with my hounds." He smiled broadly at the women. "These lovely ladies must be your wife and sisters."
"Sir John Middleton, may I present my wife, Mrs. Darcy, her sister, Miss Catherine Bennet, and my sister, Miss Darcy."
"Charmed!" The baronet, to Elizabeth’s relief, bowed rather than offer the same effusive welcome Darcy had received. "Please, you must come with me to meet Lady Middleton. She will not want to defer the pleasure of your acquaintance another moment."
They found their hostess in the card room, attempting to complete a rubber while half-listening to the whines of a girl about six years of age. A flustered nursemaid was trying to discreetly steer the girl from the room, but Lady Middleton’s distracted murmurs only encouraged the child to continue her campaign to be allowed to remain.
"Marguerite, what are you doing out of the nursery?" Sir John gave the child a playful pat on the head as if rewarding one of his hounds. He turned to the Darcys with a smile. "My youngest," he said, as if birth order provided sufficient explanation for the child’s presence.
"I’m sorry, sir." The nursemaid tried to take Marguerite’s hand, but the child jerked her fingers away. "She dashed out the door and down the stairs before I could stop her."
Sir John rubbed the underside of Marguerite’s chin. "Don’t want to miss the party, do you, little dove?"
"Let me stay, Papa! I want to stay! Make Mama let me stay!"
Elizabeth generally liked children — indeed, she cherished hopes of having her own before long. But allowing such a young girl at a formal society function was an indulgence she’d never witnessed before, and for good reason. Marguerite’s pleas and cajoles so distracted both parents that Lady Middleton could scarcely focus as Sir John made a rather disorganized introduction to the Darcys.
"It is a pleasure — hold still, please, Marguerite — to meet you, Mrs. Darcy," Lady Middleton finally said to Georgiana.
"No, no, my dear." Sir John interjected. "That’s — in a moment, dove — that’s Miss Darcy The other ladies — I said one moment, my little angel — "
"Lovely to meet you all. I have been dying to make your acquaintance for ages, ever since Tuesday." Lady Middleton turned her attention back to her cards. "Marguerite, do cease tugging on my arm."
Whilst the Middletons were thus besieged, three gentlemen entered the room. Two of them appeared very much alike: large, athletic young men who looked like they could sit a horse or box in Jackson’s Rooms with equal skill. They wore close-fitting single-breasted coats — one claret, one brown — and fair hair carefully styled to appear as tousled as if they had just come in from a foxhunt. The third gentleman wore his dark locks in the same mode, as deliberately arranged as his cravat. He had a more slender but no less vigorous build, his broad shoulders and narrow waist shown to advantage by a blue dress coat so up-to-the-minute in fashion that it could have been cut that morning. Tight-fitting pantaloons and silk stockings revealed muscular legs, and his polished shoes competed with the chandelier for shine.
By all appearances, they were typical London bloods, all three — aristocratic gents with too much time and money, and little ambition to do anything productive with either. Elizabeth dismissed them without another thought, until she heard Kitty sigh beside her.
"Look at them, Lizzy — pinks of the ton if ever I saw one." She sighed again. "Oh, they’re coming this way!" Kitty looked as if she might swoon with the effort of keeping her excitement in check. "Quickly — is my hair still in place?"
"At least as well as theirs."
The gentlemen reached Lady Middleton’s table. "Mother," said the young man in brown, "Lady Carrington is looking for you. We left her in the dining room."
"Thank you, William. I shall go to her directly I finish this rubber."
"William, tell Mama to let me stay!"
William looked somewhat amused by his sister’s demand, but the other fair-haired gentleman cast her an impatient glance. "Marguerite, ought you not be in bed?"
"Go away, John. You are always such a spoiler!"
"A soiree is no place for children."
Marguerite was on the verge of another retort when the third fellow intervened to diffuse the family squabble. "Miss Marguerite, if I asked your mother very sweetly, do you think she would honor me with an introduction to this gentleman and the pretty ladies with him?"
"They are only a Mr. Darcy and his sisters. Mama, if you do not let me stay, I shall scream. I shall!" Her shrill voice already carried above the din.
"Nonsense, child. You will behave like a proper young lady while Nurse escorts you back upstairs." Lady Middleton turned to the Darcys as the nursemaid stepped forward once more to take her charge. "Forgive me. These are my sons, John and William Middleton, and their friend Mr. Harry — Henry — Dashwood. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, his wife, and their sisters — "
"Nooooooo!" Marguerite’s shriek brought the burbling room to abrupt silence. Lady Middleton gaped at her daughter, her expression flashing from horror to embarrassment to anger to self-consciousness in rapid succession. Marguerite regarded her mother warily, realizing too late that even mothers worn down by the demands of seven previous children have thresholds of tolerance that cannot be crossed.
"Now that you have caused a scene, we need not indulge you further to avoid one," Lady Middleton said quietly.
The young nurse, whose further attempts to lead her charge away had occasioned the outburst, apologized profusely to her mistress and reached for Marguerite.
"I think you have sufficiently exhibited your ability to control the child," Lady Middleton said to her servant. She took her daughter by the hand. "We are going upstairs. Now. And if you want Nurse to keep her position, you will stay in the nursery and behave yourself for the remainder of the night."
Those at the card tables went back to their games of whist and lottery but awkward silence lingered in the air.
"Mr. Darcy, was it?" Mr. Dashwood stepped toward them. "I believe I’ve heard of you down at White’s. You have an estate in Derbyshire, do you not7"
Darcy bowed. "Yes, Pemberley Near Lambton." He studied Mr. Dashwood. "Your name sounds familiar to me, as well."
"Perhaps you are thinking of my father, Mr. John Dashwood — a longtime member of White’s."
"Of course. How is your father?"
"He passed away last autumn."
After Darcy and the rest of their party offered condolences, Sir John cleared his throat.
"Mr. Darcy, if your wife will excuse us, Carville and Hartford are in the billiards room, along with some other gentlemen I would like you to meet. You must hear Hartford recount his last foxhunt. What a tale! To tell it properly takes a full half-hour."
"Half an hour?" Darcy stammered.
"At least."
He turned to Elizabeth, his expression revealing to her alone the felicity he anticipated. "Can you get on without me for a while?"
"We can survive." She suppressed a wry smile and lowered her voice so that it reached only his ears. "Will you?"
Before Darcy could respond, their host addressed his sons and Mr. Dashwood. "I’m sure you fellows will attend to the ladies?"
"Of course, Father," answered William.
Darcy departed with the baronet to enjoy Hartford’s regaling account, and William immediately fulfilled his filial obligation by asking Georgiana to dance. She accepted, and the two went to join the reel just beginning.
John Middleton suggested that perhaps the two remaining ladies might care for some refreshment. Though not hungry or thirsty, Elizabeth welcomed the opportunity to move to another room of the house. No sooner did the party pass through the doorway, however, than Mr. Middleton spotted a chap he simply had to speak to about a horse, or a hound, or something or other, and would the ladies please excuse him? He abandoned them before they could answer, leaving Elizabeth and Kitty in the sole custody of Mr. Dashwood.
Elizabeth half expected him to drop them as quickly as Mr. Middleton had, in search of more fashionable people with whom to while away the night. However, he offered his arm to Kitty, who almost tripped over her own feet in her eagerness to accept it, and proved himself most attentive as he steered them through the crowded rooms.
"So, why haven’t I seen you at Almack’s yet this season?"
"We have only just arrived in town," Kitty replied. "And Mr. Darcy doesn’t like Almack’s."
Mr. Dashwood laughed. "None of us likes Almack’s."
"Then why does everybody go there?"
"Because everyone else is there. And to talk about how much they dislike it. The only thing more fashionable than being seen at Almack’s is complaining about it."
"Oh." Kitty’s gaze bordered on worshipful every time she looked at Mr. Dashwood. "Well, then, if I am fortunate enough to go, I shall object the whole while."
Mr. Dashwood laughed again. "I should wail until afterward, were I you. The last feathers you want to ruffle in London are those of Almack’s patronesses."
"Why is that?"
He stopped, regarding her with a look that was half surprise, half amusement. "My — you are new in town, aren’t you? Admission to Almack’s is decided by seven ladies who guard its vouchers more fiercely than dragons their gold. Their influence in society extends well beyond the walls of their assembly rooms. Cross one of them, and you might as well go back to the country for the rest of the season."
Kitty absorbed this intelligence with the solemnity of an acolyte being indoctrinated into a new religion. Had Mr. Dashwood revealed that the beau monde subscribed to an official creed, she would have memorized it.
They moved on. Mr. Dashwood greeted numerous acquaintances, appearing to know nearly everyone. As they passed two fastidiously dressed dandies, he nodded in acknowledgment. "Albertson. Leopold." They bowed in response.
"Those jeweled buckles on their shoes look absurd," he said when they had passed out of earshot. "But I shall have to ask them who designed their waistcoats."
Kitty turned round to get a second look at the shoes, but another party had closed in behind them, blocking the view. One could still glimpse Albertson’s chest, however. "Your own waistcoat is more flattering," she said.
He stopped to look her lull in the face, assessing her sincerity "Truly?"
"At least — well, I think so anyway." A flush crept into her cheeks. "But what do I know about gentlemen’s clothes?"
"Enough to know your own mind. That puts you ahead of half the ladies in this room." He took her arm once more and continued leading them toward the dining room. "I’d be careful about expressing it, though. You wouldn’t want to let on that you can think for yourself."
"Is that a liability in a woman?" Elizabeth asked.
"In some corners of the Polite World, that is a liability in anyone. We are a frivolous, mindless lot."
Kitty continued to gaze at Mr. Dashwood as if he were the first gentleman she’d ever encountered. Indeed, she seemed to be concentrating harder on making conversation with him than Elizabeth had ever seen her focus on anything else in her life.
"Are you in London for the whole season?" Kitty asked.
"I live here most of the year. I have a house in Sussex, but I haven’t spent much time at Norland since I was a boy. First I was at Eton, then Oxford, and now I prefer the entertainments of town to country living."
Unlike so many other women in the room, whose eyes roamed while in conversation with one partner to see whether anyone better happened nearby, Kitty bestowed her full attention on Mr. Dashwood — a fact not lost upon him. When the press of people attempting to squeeze through a too-narrow doorway required their party to pause, he observed that they stood mere feet from the Marquess of Avonbury, one of society’s most eligible young gentlemen.
"Have you met the marquess?" Mr. Dashwood asked.
Kitty, who just hours earlier would have swooned at finding herself in such proximity to any unattached peer, barely spared him a glance. "No."
"Would you like me to introduce you?"
Mr. Dashwood extended his offer in a nonchalant manner, but Elizabeth sensed a larger question lay beneath the surface. His eye held a subtle look of appraisal.
"Perhaps later. You were speaking to me of Sussex," Kitty replied. "Is your mother still at Norland?"
His expression bespoke approval. The marquess was left behind as Mr. Dashwood guided them through the doorway. "She divides her time between Norland and London, though she’s been in town since my father died."
"Is that when Norland fell to you?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes, although it was entailed to me when I was a child by the will of a great-great-uncle I can’t even remember."
"I’m sure it’s a lovely house," Kitty said.
He shrugged. "As I said, I don’t spend much time there." He led them around a cluster of ladies who eyed them with particular interest. He ignored their curiosity. "I understand Pember-ley is quite grand?" he asked Kitty.
"It is! Lizzy calls it the most beautiful house in all England. I look forward to visiting there this summer."
He regarded her as if she’d said something odd. "You don’t live there, then?"
"No. Why would I?"
He cast her another approving glance. "I see we are of like mind."
Kitty drew her brows together in puzzlement, not knowing how to interpret his reply. For that matter, neither did Elizabeth.
"In preferring town over the country," he clarified.
"Oh! Yes — town has so much more to offer, doesn’t it?"
Mr. Dashwood acknowledged three more friends, one of whom bestowed a rakish grin on Kitty.
"You are keeping fine company tonight, Dashwood," he said.
"Save the charm for your wife, Cavanaugh." After they passed, he leaned toward Kitty and spoke in a conspiratorial voice Elizabeth heard only with difficulty. "Only one week wed, and already the baron is back on the prowl."
Kitty’s jaw dropped. "Does his wife know?"
"I don’t think so. She’s been too busy this evening making eyes at his closest friend."
Mr. Dashwood delivered the gossip as dispassionately as if reading a Times item about wholesale tea prices. The beau monde, with its endless intrigues and scandals, was a world away from the small Hertfordshire village where the Bennet sisters had grown up. It remained an utterly foreign culture to Kitty and a place Elizabeth would much rather visit than inhabit. But Mr. Dashwood was clearly in his element, moving through the intricacies of this society as easily as he navigated the busy rooms.
At last, they reached the tea table. Mr. Dashwood saw that they were served, but did not partake of anything himself.
"Are you not thirsty?" Kitty asked.
"Perhaps I’ll want refreshment after dancing the next set."
Kitty’s smile faded. "I didn’t realize you had engaged a partner." She glanced round at several of the ladies nearest them and seemed disconcerted to discover many of them already regarding her.
"I haven’t. I hope to dance with you."
Joy lit her face. "I would like that very much." She glanced again at a cluster of ladies nearby who spoke in whispers and avoided her gaze. "Mr. Dashwood, perhaps you can explain something to me?"
"I shall do my best."
"We seem to be drawing quite a bit of notice."
"Correction, my dear miss. You are the one drawing notice. I merit attention this evening only because I am talking to you."
Kitty shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "Of what interest am I to any of these people?"
He paused, his gaze once more probing. "Do you play at modesty, or do you truly not know?"
She shook her head.
"You are a new face at the Middletons’. Everyone is assessing your prospects in the marriage market. Within three minutes of your arrival, there was a report in general circulation that Miss Darcy has thirty thousand pounds, and within four, rampant speculation about which gentlemen would be leaving their cards at your house tomorrow."
Kitty simply stared at him in confusion. "But what have those thirty thousand pounds to do with me?"
His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Of course, any lady wants to be courted for herself, not her dowry. But Miss Darcy, surely you realize how attractive your fortune makes you in the eyes of the ton?"
Kitty’s whole posture deflated as she absorbed the import of his words. "I am not Miss Darcy," she said in a small voice.
Now it was Mr. Dashwood’s turn to look confused. "But when Lady Middleton introduced us — "
"Nor do I have thirty thousand pounds."
Mr. Dashwood stared at Kitty. "Then who — "
Kitty swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
Elizabeth interceded. "It was not the clearest introduction. We were all distracted by Marguerite," she said. "Mr. Dash-wood, may I present to you Miss Catherine Bennet? She is not Mr. Darcy’s sister, but mine."
Mr. Dashwood continued to regard her in stupefaction. Kitty looked away, struggling to contain deep disappointment and retain her composure with so many eyes upon her.
Elizabeth’s heart broke for her sister. To learn that the attention she’d been enjoying was intended for another! And to know that her own meager dowry was so paltry in comparison to Georgiana’s that she couldn’t possibly hold the fashionable Mr. Dashwood’s interest. It was all so mortifying that Kitty would probably want to leave as soon as Mr. Dashwood stammered out whatever excuse he could quickly invent to flee her company.
In the ballroom, the music drew to a conclusion. Kitty met Mr. Dashwood’s gaze once more. "Georgiana’s set with Mr. Middleton is ended," she said. "I believe you wanted to dance the next with Miss Darcy."
Mr. Dashwood at last recovered himself. "No, I wanted to stand up with you."
"But I’m not the person you thought you were conversing with. Doesn’t that change things?"
"It certainly does."
Kitty drew a shaky breath. Elizabeth could tell she fought back tears.
"I shall now enjoy the distinction of being the first gentleman here to dance with Miss Catherine Bennet." He held out his hand to her. "If she will so honor me."