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Eyes gleamed behind golden filigree, behind swaths of lace and absurdly exaggerated noses. Some masks were grotesque, some elegant, some deliberately misleading, but all carried the same unsettling effect—the illusion that no one could be seen, and yet everyone was watching.

The music never faltered, nor did the dancing, but the rhythm of the night had shifted. A new piece had begun, one that required no instruments. Only whispers.

Darcy’s name was on too many lips. So was hers.

He had hoped this could be avoided. He had dared to think that his own reputation for honour might protect them both.

But he had feared that this would be the result and had been considering what must be done if Lord Ellington and his hyenas were successful.

He located Miss Bennet’s party with ease.

One benefit of being tall was that he could see over the heads of most in attendance.

The Abernathys were already watching them expectantly.

Without pausing, he led Miss Bennet towards them.

Mr. Abernathy’s brow lifted in question.

Darcy inclined his head. “Abernathy. Might I have a word?”

Before the man could reply, Darcy continued, just loud enough for the nearest spectators to hear. “Miss Bennet has accepted my offer of marriage.”

The silence was immediate. Then—

“Oh, Lizzy!” Miss Abernathy cried, seizing her friend’s hand with a delighted squeal. “How wonderful! What thrilling news!”

Lizzy. Her Christian name must be Elizabeth.

He liked it. And though they had only met this evening, he liked her .

Darcy turned just in time to see Miss Bennet’s expression morph from stunned disbelief to righteous fury.

Her mouth opened, and he could see the precise moment she found her words, but she never had a chance to speak them.

Miss Abernathy, a glass of champagne in one hand and her friend’s arm in the other, spirited her away, already loudly declaring that she wanted the entire story of the proposal.

Darcy allowed himself the briefest moment of satisfaction. Miss Bennet would undoubtedly have many, many words for him later.

Strangely, he believed he would enjoy hearing every single one.

Elizabeth had been angry before. She had fumed when Lydia remade her favourite bonnet without permission, she had seethed when her mother thrust a suitor in his thirties upon Jane when she was but fifteen, and she had bristled when Lord Ellington leered at her across the ballroom this evening as though she were a tea cake set upon a platter for his consumption.

But this was a new level of wrath.

She paced the length of the retiring room.

“Lascivious lords and overbearing gentlemen,” she raged, careful to keep her voice low enough so that anyone listening at the keyhole would be disappointed.

“One wishing to compromise me, the other insisting upon saving me, with the conclusion being precisely the same!”

Arabella removed her Aphrodite mask and tossed it on the dressing table, then lifted a glass of champagne to her lips. “Not precisely.” She wore an infuriatingly amused smile.

Elizabeth strode to the far end of the retiring room, pivoted sharply, and stalked back again.

“I am not some hapless maiden, swooning at the first sign of trouble,” she said with frustration.

“I did not ask to be hunted through a ballroom, nor did I request a noble rescuer to swoop in and declare my future decided before hundreds of people.”

Her friend made a vague, agreeing sound in the back of her throat.

Elizabeth pressed her hands to her temples and exhaled through her nose. “I shall never marry a man like Lord Ellington—nor a man like Mr. Darcy, either.” She resumed pacing, voice brimming with righteous indignation.

Arabella arched a brow. “I do not see how you will avoid it, Lizzy. As you have just pointed out yourself, Mr. Darcy’s declaration was rather public.”

“I will just go home,” Elizabeth said. “You know how everyone there feels about Londoners, except perhaps the Lucases. They will hear my story and laugh.”

“But you cannot return to Longbourn until your family is home again.”

Elizabeth frowned. Her family had all gone north to spend the festive season with Aunt Gardiner’s family. Mamma had refused to allow her to cancel her season with Arabella, which had been planned for close to a year. She had unreasonably high hopes that Elizabeth would find a husband.

Well, she had. But she did not want him.

“You could ask Charlotte to take you in, but if she hears that you are avoiding a match, she might not leave you in peace.”

“And between her parents and Maria, everyone would hear the gossip. The Lucases are well-meaning but entirely indiscreet. I am not certain how Charlotte is their daughter.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, Lizzy. Is not your own situation rather similar to Charlotte’s?”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyelids closed and stood still, her fists clenched at her sides. “I concede the point.”

“I understand that you are upset now, my friend, but when you come to your senses, you will realise that this is not so terrible an event.”

“Not so terrible? Oh, Belle, he cannot wish to wed me any more than I wish to wed him. We only met this evening!” She threw herself into a chair, arms crossed over her chest.

“And yet, here we are.” Arabella swirled her champagne idly, watching her with maddening composure. “A ballroom full of witnesses, a very public declaration, and you seated before me like a woman awaiting her wedding settlements.”

Elizabeth made a strangled sound and stood immediately. “He announced an engagement without even asking me first!”

Arabella hummed, unimpressed. “Mr. Darcy is a very efficient man. He simply informed you at the same time as everyone else.”

Elizabeth stopped pacing. “That is not even remotely amusing.” She paused. “You do believe me? That nothing happened?”

Her friend straightened immediately, setting her glass aside. “Of course I do. I have known you since we were still in the nursery and exploring all the secret passages of Longbourn and Netherfield together. You are not that sort of woman.”

Elizabeth exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“Which may be the reason he was attracted to you so quickly.”

“Arabella.” She drew out the name in frustration.

“As for any scandal—" Arabella waved a hand—“you have been in town only a fortnight and met Mr. Darcy less than an hour ago. I am aware, as are my parents, that you have not been conducting a secret courtship.”

“Then you will help me explain things to your father?”

“Lizzy,” Arabella said slowly, “although I absolutely believe that you are both innocent of anything untoward, the rumours that reached our ears just before you reappeared in the ballroom were absolutely vile. Considering Mr. Darcy has offered himself in marriage to save your reputation, might accepting him not be worth a moment’s reflection? ”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Reflection on what? I cannot marry a man simply because he is not Lord Ellington.”

“You are correct. He is not Lord Ellington,” Arabella agreed. “Mr. Darcy is a wealthy, exceptionally handsome man, and what is more, he is a good one.”

“I was not aware you knew him so well.”

“My father does.” Arabella’s lips twitched. “And I do read the society pages, you know. There are women in London who would poison every peer at Almack’s for the chance to be in your position. Many have schemed, yet none have succeeded.”

Elizabeth huffed a laugh, though it held no real humour. “Well, it shall not be necessary for the women of the ton to resort to such stratagems. They are welcome to him.”

“How selfless of you.”

“I cannot marry without love or even respect, Belle,” Elizabeth said softly. “You know I cannot. And I hardly even know the man’s name. No, I cannot marry him.”

“Think on it, Lizzy. You do know something rather important about Mr. Darcy. He stood beside you rather than disappear when the whispers began. That is more than most men would do.”

Elizabeth hesitated. It was true, Mr. Darcy had not fled.

He had seen what was happening, had tried to send Lord Ellington away.

And when the worst had happened, he had not cast her one mortified glance and turned on his heel, eager to extricate himself from scandal’s grasp.

Instead, he had calmly placed her on his arm, escorted her inside, and declared to half the ton that they were engaged before she could manage so much as a gasp of outrage.

A ridiculous man. A high-handed, impossible, insufferable man.

If he had just handed her slipper back when she had first asked for it, there would have been no need for him to stand by her.

“He might be a man of honour,” Elizabeth admitted at last, “but I am a woman of reason, and reason dictates that one must actually know one’s intended before agreeing to be bound for life.”

Arabella sighed. “Lizzy, if you are careful to maintain appearances, you might have time to come to know him.”

“That is not what I want.”

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and Mrs. Abernathy’s kind voice filtered through the heavy wood.

“Elizabeth, my dear,” she said, her voice warm and coaxing, “Mr. Darcy has requested the next dance.”

Elizabeth stared at the door as though it had issued a direct affront. A request for a dance. How very civilised.

Had she not been declared engaged before half the ton without her consent, she might have appreciated the courtesy of being asked. As it was, she was not inclined to be gracious.

Arabella nudged her foot. “Are you planning to keep my mother standing in the hall all evening, or shall I inform her that you have already departed through the window?”

Elizabeth sighed and rose, smoothing her skirts before stepping forward. She opened the door to find Mrs. Abernathy’s round, kind face alight with quiet encouragement.

“My dear,” the older woman said, stepping inside and closing the door firmly behind her, “I must tell you how very pleased I am. While it may not have been achieved in the usual way, it is a most fortunate match, and Mr. Darcy has conducted himself exactly as a gentleman ought. He will be good for you.”

Elizabeth glanced skyward briefly, as though appealing for patience. “Mrs. Abernathy—”

“I shall not lecture you on duty,” Mrs. Abernathy continued before she could object, “for I know you are very well aware. But I do believe a dance with your betrothed would go far in proving to the world that all is precisely as it should be.”

Elizabeth bit her lip to prevent a sharp reply.

Arabella took her arm and squeezed lightly, her voice a low murmur meant only for her ears. “Think of it as reconnaissance. An opportunity to learn more about him.”

Elizabeth let out a slow breath.

Perhaps it was the unrelenting certainty in Mrs. Abernathy’s expression, or perhaps even Arabella’s exasperating but undeniable logic, but at length, Elizabeth inclined her head.

“One dance.”

Mrs. Abernathy’s smile warmed. “Good girl.”

Before Elizabeth could reconsider, the Abernathy women took her arms and led her through the hall, their chatter light and easy, as though they were guiding her past the shops on Bond Street and not delivering her to a man she barely knew but to whom she had somehow become betrothed.

As they approached the ballroom, Elizabeth caught sight of Mr. Darcy waiting at the edge of the floor. He had removed his mask, and for the first time, she could see his entire face.

She was not prepared.

She had seen handsome men before. In the garden, with his mask removed, she had seen that Lord Ellington’s features were pleasant enough, and the Lucas boys were quite charming in their own way. But Mr. Darcy was of an entirely different sort.

Tall. Dark. Imposing.

And watching her with unreadable intent.

She could not forget it now, could not pretend that he was anything but what he was: a man born to command a room, to draw notice without effort.

He could not want her . Impudent, irreverent Lizzy Bennet? She was the very opposite of stately.

Mr. Darcy stood apart from the masked revellers, his bearing impeccable, his expression impassive but watchful, and when his gaze caught hers, she felt it drawing her in.

Blast him.

She could not allow herself to be affected.

He had not asked for this any more than she. A man of his consequence could only have been seeking a lady of great fortune, of impeccable connections, not a gentleman’s daughter with only a meagre dowry and an inconvenient habit of speaking her mind.

How irritated he must be.

That, at least, was a satisfying thought.

Mrs. Abernathy guided her forward, and as they approached, Darcy inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice smooth and measured. “May I have the honour of this dance?”

Elizabeth lowered herself into a precisely executed curtsy. “You may.”

A flicker of something she did not understand crossed his features before he extended his arm.

He did everything as good manners demanded. His touch was light, his manner assured but not overbearing, his expression betraying nothing. He was not cold; in fact his countenance displayed nothing but pleasure at their unexpected news.

And yet, she knew with complete certainty that he could not want this. Even less than she did, perhaps. He must have spent his life carefully choosing his associations, ensuring that every connection was advantageous, every friendship measured.

She could not wed a man who would never have chosen her on his own.

She would not be her mother.

As they faced one another, waiting for the music to begin, an idea began to form in her mind.

There was, after all, more than one way to remove oneself from an unwanted engagement. And if she had learned anything this evening, it was that Mr. Darcy valued propriety above all things.

A slow, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Yes. That would do.