The ballroom at Pemberley Place was awash with candlelight, the chandeliers glinting like diamonds overhead. The debutantes preened like peacocks, each hoping to catch the eye of a noble suitor, each whispering and giggling behind their gloved hands.

Darcy found the whole spectacle insufferable.

He had perfected the art of disinterest long ago. Let Bingley make a fool of himself over some golden-haired girl. Darcy had no such inclinations.

And yet.

"Darcy, come, you must meet her!" Charles Bingley all but dragged him toward a cluster of young ladies. His usual exuberance was impossible to deny, his smile bright with possibility. "Jane Bennet—the most charming creature in the room. And her sister, Elizabeth, of course."

Darcy gave a noncommittal hum. He had no desire to meet yet another pair of simpering girls. But Jane Bennet—he supposed she was pretty in a delicate way, all soft smiles and lowered lashes. Elizabeth, however—she was different.

He offered a stiff bow. "Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth."

"Mr. Darcy," Jane said sweetly.

Elizabeth merely raised a brow. "Sir."

Darcy could already tell he disliked her.

He turned his attention back to Bingley, ignoring the way Elizabeth studied him like a puzzle to be solved. Bingley shot Darcy a look—be nice—but Darcy merely straightened his cuffs and ignored her.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman who took kindly to being ignored.

It happened fast. One moment, he was turning away; the next, there was a blur of motion, and a sharp crack split the air.

Pain exploded through his jaw as he stumbled back, vision flashing white. There was a gasp, a clatter of glasses, and the unmistakable shriek of Mrs. Bennet.

"Elizabeth Bennet!"

Darcy blinked, still reeling, as Mrs. Bennet launched herself at Elizabeth, dragging her away before she could do any more damage. "What has gotten into you? Apologize at once!"