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Prologue–1789

At eighteen, Fanny Gardiner,  made her entrance into society–well, if one could call the rural area of Hertfordshire society . She was a beauty by the day's standards, to be sure: slim without being skinny (heaven forbid), delicately pale (she studiously avoided even a quarter of an hour in the sun), and a small, pouty mouth (well-exercised by the length at which she could speak). In short, she had everything to recommend herself to the gentlefolk of Hertfordshire save for a respectable dowry. Her father, Mr. Gardiner, Esq., owned no estate, kept just two servants, and on the whole, was a shy, bookish man that could not be convinced of the necessity of promoting his two marriage-eager daughters. 

The elder Miss Gardiner, disappointed but not deterred by her slim prospects after her first year out, had sought and gained the attentions of her father’s law clerk, a dull young man named Phillips. The younger daughter, Fanny, had bested her older sister in looks, favor of their father, and control of the young Master Gardiner’s education. She was not about to let her sister best her in marriage to a dangerously boring lawyer . As for the Gardiner’s son, a sweet-tempered boy named Edward, he had no stake in this race, being but eleven. 

So it was that at the first assembly the Gardiner sisters had access to, Fanny Gardiner staked her claim and her future on the only single gentleman of note: Mr. Thomas Bennet, gentleman of Longbourn. Nevermind that he was almost twenty years her senior: nevermind that he was almost certainly more of a bore than even Mr. Phillips. He was the wealthiest man in the region, and had the distinction of being of gentle birth, which was more than Fanny, for all her longing, could claim. And he would be hers.

A little over a fortnight later, eighteen year-old Fanny Gardiner, daughter of the country lawyer, and possessor of little dowry, did what no young lady in town had been able to do. She secured the affections and proposal of Mr. Bennet. Even before the marriage, Fanny made a promise to herself: no daughter of hers would suffer the setback she and her sister encountered in making a match. Any daughter of hers would have a dowry, sufficient to sustain her for life.

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Chapter One

Elizabeth Bennet was angry. No, furious. She had just wheedled out a morsel of information from her father, beloved though he was, that set her teeth on edge. Presently, she stood with the oldest and favorite of her sisters, Jane.

“I cannot believe Father has allowed this! This…this aberration in error! This overlarge lapse in judgment! This–this–”

“Am I to understand that you’ve heard the news, then, Lizzy?” Jane asked with perfect serenity.

Elizabeth balled her hands up in fists. “And am I to understand that you knew about this already, Jane?”

Her sister nodded, smiling slightly. “Lizzy, I do think you’re overreacting. Please, come and sit down, before you work yourself into–”

“Is this not the worst outcome imaginable?” Elizabeth all but shouted, very nearly stamping her foot in a very un-ladylike sort of way.

“--a frenzy,” sighed Jane. She held out her hand. “Dearest, do sit.” Elizabeth obliged, granting her sister her hand, face contorted into a frown. “It is my sense,” Jane began gently, “that you are–no, listen to me, Elizabeth–that you are worried about our sister. You are worried,” she said, louder, as Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, “that Lydia will be susceptible to the same dangers that befell me in my first year out. That is why you do not wish for Lydia to make her entrance into society this year. Is this not true?”

“No,” Elizabeth said begrudgingly, feeling a little chastised at the use of her full name from her adored sister’s lips. 

Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I think it is important to remember two things. First, no harm ever occurred to me–truly, it did not, Lizzy–I am content and as unattached to any man as one might be. Second, Lydia has the advantage: she has her four sisters to protect her.”

“And Mama,” Elizabeth added softly.

“And Mama,” Jane agreed, bell-like voice chiming in an indulgent laugh. “Mama is quite certain that no unworthy man will be granted the honor of our hand–on the dance floor or in matrimony,” she said thoughtfully.

Elizabeth let out a huff of relief. Jane was right. While young and silly as young people tended to be, her fifteen year old sister Lydia, a favorite of her mothers, would not be allowed to be whisked away for a waltz, much less married by anyone less than a gentleman who had at least a clear 5000 a year to his name. 

“There you go,” Jane smiled. “Now, we best get ready. A youngest sister only makes her debut once in a lifetime, afterall.” With a knowing twinkle in her eye, Jane Bennet stood and swept out of the room.

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Chapter Two

They arrived fashionably late. In Darcy’s mind, it bordered on offensive. Still, he abashedly rejoiced at not having to spend any more time in the company of total strangers than was strictly necessary. So he withheld his guidance on the propriety of entering an assembly a whole hour after it had started, and it was with a slightly soothed mind that he entered the dance hall behind his friends. They need only stay for a half-hour.

“Ah, Mr. Bingley.”

A short, squat man wearing the fashions of two seasons approached with the eagerness of someone who knew he was inferior to his neighbors. He grinned excitedly and bounced up and down on the balls of his well-worn boots.

“I have the distinct honor of welcoming you and your party to our humble little gathering, Mr. Bingley. I know it is not much compared to the finery you must be accustomed to, but it is certainly a…” at this point, Darcy refused to subject his ears to the outrageously sycophantic groveling the strange little man dove into and turned away. 

He watched, with ill-disguised impatience, the proceedings before him, ignoring the curious murmurs and stares. Across the room, a flurry of motion caught his eye. A fair young lady in a cream-colored frock was practically sprinting through the crowd. In an instant, her arm was snatched, seemingly out of thin air, by another lady, and the culprit was forced to halt. This one looked older and wore a pale yellow dress that contrasted very prettily against her dark curls. The younger of the two, who was a full head taller than the other, caught Darcy’s eye. She gasped and tugged on her companion’s arm, bending down to say something, flinging her hand in his direction. The shorter woman raised her gaze to meet Darcy’s and–

Before remembering who had just been making their acquaintance, he whipped his eyes from hers and turned back to Bingley’s party.

“--and there is really nothing that can compare to the splendor of St. James. Why, when I was introduced there myself, I had the honor of meeting a person no less than Earl Howe, who was all affability and politeness that his noble birth bequeaths him. I say, sir, your–”

“Thank you, Sir Lucas, for your kind welcome,” Bingley said quickly, smiling so affably that one could not be offended by the interruption. “My sisters, you already know from calling on us last week. This is Hurst, Lousia’s husband–” Hurst gave a short bow which Sir Lucas returned, smilingly, “and this is Darcy, a dear friend of mine, from Derbyshire.” 

There was no alternative, so Darcy deigned to return Sir Lucas’s bow. “Mr. Darcy from Derbyshire–you can’t be the Darcy from Pemberly mentioned when I was presented at St. James’s Court?”

Darcy bowed again. “The very same.”

“Oh! But this is too fortuitous; I was just saying to Lady Lucas–”

“I was hoping, Sir Lucas, that I might have the honor of an introduction to your eldest daughter,” Bingley said, shooting Darcy a nervous smile. 

“Indeed! There she is, over there, in the pink.” Sir Lucas gestured over to a cluster of young ladies whereabouts there happened to be two ladies in pink. “No, no, not Miss Kitty, the taller of the two.” Bingley’s party looked. There was a cluster of around half a dozen young women, including the two Darcy had spotted earlier. The girl in the egg-shell dress looked properly chastened and was standing, long elegant neck bowed, in apparent reverence to the shorter lady in the daffodil dress. The young lady in pink, evidently not Sir Lucas’s eldest daughter, had the fair coloring of the youngest of the bunch and was just as handsome. The same could not be said of Sir Lucas’s daughter, who stood awkwardly, wearing a fuchsia frock that did nothing for her sallow complexion. It did not help that she was standing next to perhaps the prettiest girl Darcy had seen thus far in a sky-blue dress that brightened her golden curls and gave the overall impression of a sun against a brilliant horizon. 

Bingley stared at this vision in cornflower blue. Darcy frowned and leaned over, knocking a little harder than strictly necessary into his friend. 

“Er, yes. Miss Charlotte. Please, Sir Lucas, lead the way.” Darcy watched as Bingley was shown across the room to homely Miss Charlotte in the offensive pink dress. Miss Bingley, who had been quiet until now, sidled up to him with a grim smirk stretched across her face.

“Shall we be quite safe here, Mr. Darcy, do you think?”

He gave a curt nod. On his right, Mrs. Hurst was cajoling her husband into leading her onto the dance floor. Miss Bingley inched closer, twisting her tall figure towards him.

“You did promise me a dance tonight, Mr. Darcy. I have quite the perfect memory, you see.” She said with a flourish, mouth stretching wide into a smile as he held out his hand.

They danced. Darcy felt hot under the intent stares of the entire room and could hear murmurs of “10,000 a year!” and “half of Derbyshire!” whichever way they spun. Miss Bingley snorted, and Mr. Darcy shared her disdain. How garishly gauche of this small town to discuss the personal financials of a stranger–and a gentleman, no less.

The song ended, and they made their bows to one another. He could see in her eyes the hope he would request her hand again but disappointed her with his silence. Instead, he offered his arm to her sister, who had followed them off the floor, which she delightedly accepted.

While Mr. Darcy led Mrs. Hurst out to the center of the room, Elizabeth watched as her new neighbor, a Mr. Bingley escorted her dear friend Charlotte Lucas back to her side. She had never seen her friend as happy as she now was, having been singled out by the handsome new man as his first dance partner. Elizabeth could barely conceal her own broad grin for her friend’s triumph. Poorer and plainer than the Miss Bennets, Charlotte had the disadvantage wherever she was introduced while in company with her prettier friends. Elizabeth thought it entirely unfair: Charlotte was a lovely woman who had cleverness and a care for others that so many of her peers lacked. Also, thought Elizabeth irritably, it wasn’t Charlotte’s fault that long, lean figures with little in the way of curves hadn’t been in fashion for a while now. With her willowy frame and warm fawn coloring, Charlotte always reminded Elizabeth of the woodland nymphs and naiads from Grecian legends.

“Miss Lucas, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your beautiful friends?”

Elizabeth grimaced. Probably unintended by the beaming Mr. Bingley, who now stood diagonal to herself, his use of the word “beautiful” in reference to the Bennet sisters in the proximity of Charlotte always needled their friend. Indeed, Charlotte’s face had drawn in a smidge, but with good humor, she obliged.

“Mr. Bingley, these are the dear friends I was telling you about, Miss Bennet–” Jane curtsied, cheeks coloring prettily, “Miss Elizabeth,” Elizabeth gave a shallow curtsy, “Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia” in turn, Elizabeth’s three younger sisters bobbed in greeting, Lydia, who was tall and coltish still, a little clumsily.

“A pleasure,” Bingley cried, bowing to each sister. “Miss Lydia, Miss Lucas informed me this is your first assembly out–how are you enjoying it?” He spoke to the youngest Bennet, but Elizabeth could see his eyes kept darting back to the oldest.

Lydia blinked owlishly. She sent a furtive glance to Elizabeth, who nodded in encouragement.

“Very good, sir. Although, no one ever says how hot it gets in the ballroom. They’d be better off knocking down the walls and letting us waltz out in the pasture. At least then you could hop in a trough if you got too warm.”

“Lydia,” Mary Bennet hissed, looking positively aghast, “hold your tongue.” 

She needn’t have worried. Mr. Bingley roared with laughter, startling nearby people on their way to the dance floor. 

“Too right you are, Miss Lydia,” Mr. Bingley said, grinning. “I’ve often thought the same.” Then, shooting another conspicuous look at the eldest Bennet sister, he said, “I hope to have the privilege of dancing with each of you this evening, as I’ve rarely seen such an abundance of beauty and good humor. Miss Bennet, are you engaged for the next?”

Only Jane looked surprised at this query. “No, sir, I am not engaged,” she replied quietly. Mr. Bingley was smiling so hard that Elizabeth thought it was a miracle they hadn’t heard a tooth crack.

With some reluctance she returned the small smile Jane had given her as she was escorted onto the dance floor, standing near one of Bingley’s sisters and his tall friend, Darcy.

John Lucas, a younger brother of Charlottes’, approached with a toothy grin and his friend, one of the Goulding men.

“There you are, Charlotte. It was a real treat watching you dance with our new neighbor–how did you find him? Father says he is all kindness and cheeriness.”

“I liked him well enough,” Charlotte murmured, a ghost of a blush dancing across her cheeks.

“More than well enough, I’d rather think, Charlotte,” Kitty Bennet said, her voice alight with mirth. “And why not? So handsome and good-humored–”

“Kitty,” Elizabeth said, her voice light but full of meaning. She could tell her friend liked this Bingley more than she was inclined to let on and wasn’t about to let Charlotte’s tender sensitivities be injured by a sister of hers. 

“That is to say, I rather hope he keeps his promise to dance with us all. What fun, don’t you think?” Kitty finished somewhat awkwardly.

“In the meanwhile, you had better dance with us, Miss Kitty,” Mr. Lucas quickly. “Miss Lydia, might I have the next?” He bowed very formally and with a somberness that made Lydia giggle.

“Why, of course, good sir!” Lydia said happily and let herself be whisked onto the dance floor.

“I guess you’re stuck with me, Miss Kitty,” Mr. Goulding said with a wry smile. Kitty grinned and accepted his proffered arm.

It was all very neatly done, Elizabeth thought: Mr. Lucas, a childhood friend of the Bennet girls, would be an inoffensive dance partner for Lydia, and Kitty, slightly older and out two years longer, had the advantage of dancing with almost whomever she pleased without fearing the wrath of–

“Elizabeth Bennet!”

Charlotte, Mary, and Elizabeth turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Mrs. Bennet was storming towards them. Beside her, Elizabeth felt Mary mutter something very close to “Oh heavens,” and back away into the surrounding cluster of onlookers, Charlotte on her heels.

“Mama?”

“What on earth possessed you to permit this?” Mrs. Bennet thundered.

“Permit what, Mama?” Elizabeth asked innocently.

“All…this!” Mrs. Bennet flapped her arms looking very much like an angry bird.

“Mama, I haven’t the pleasure of knowing what you are referring to.”

“Oh, you do try my nerves, Miss Lizzy. You know very well my specific instructions for the night: Kitty may dance with the Lucas men only, Jane with the Lucases, the Gouldings, and the Purvises, and Lydia with no one!”

“What of Mary and me?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“Mary wouldn’t leave the wall if it kicked her,” Mrs. Bennet said dismissively, “and you have far too much sense to take a fancy to any of these men.”

“Well, Jane could hardly refuse our new neighbor,” Elizabeth volleyed back, ignoring the slight against her middle sister. “And we’ve known John Lucas since we were in leading strings. He’s not going to seduce Lydia.”

“Watch your tongue, child. You have no idea how far men will go when there is money to be had.”

“We are hardly wealthy, Mama. Besides, the men in this neighborhood know very well what you think of them.”

“Don’t be so contrary, Elizabeth; it’s not becoming. You know what I mean.”

Elizabeth smiled and did not say anything more.

“Now, about this Bingley fellow,” her mother began, her eyes wrinkling in concentration, “They say he has 5000 a year, which is nothing to sneeze at, of course, but no property! No estate to his name! No, no, Jane will do better. Now, about his friend– well. I would be very well pleased if Jane could snag him. They would make a handsome couple, besides.

“Mama, people will hear you,” Elizabeth warned, watching as the aforementioned friend of Bingley’s swept past them with his partner.

“ He has 10,000 a year, and owns half of Derbyshire, they say. Of course, I was rather hoping that Jane would hold out for a titled gentleman, but I wouldn’t have your father say nay to offer from him .”

“Once you’re done charting Jane’s future,” Elizabeth said irritably, “you might turn your attention to the fact that the friend isn’t the one so taken with Jane. I think Mr. Bingley seems quite pleasant.”

“Oh, pleasant to be sure, my dear, but you wouldn’t want Jane with someone so untethered, would you? Always jumping from one place to the next and all for lack of a proper house.”

“He might very well buy one. That does seem to be his intention given that he is currently at Netherfield and not, say, jumping around from place to place.” At that moment, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s sister, a Mrs. Hurst, spun past them. Mr. Darcy shot her and her mother a look of the deepest loathing, which Elizabeth returned in kind. Her mother remained painfully oblivious.

“Of course, darling, but Jane would do much better with someone firmly settled. Perhaps I will ask her dance partner to introduce her to his friend at the end of this set.”

Knowing there was nothing for it, Elizabeth sighed and walked away, dodging one of the Grant brothers, who considered once a month to be a sufficient amount to bathe.

She sat out the next. Mr. Bingley had swapped partners with Mr. Goulding and was now chatting affably with Kitty, though he never seemed to be very far from Jane and Mr. Goulding. Mr. Darcy had left Mrs. Hurst to her husband and was now stalking almost angrily down the length of the room and came to stand not very far from Elizabeth.

My, but he was a dour man! thought she, looking at him from the corner of her eye. She figured it was his purported wealth that made the other Bingley sister, Miss Bingley, follow him around the room almost as closely as her brother followed Elizabeth’s sister. Miss Bingley looked positively affronted when Mr. Grant bowed before her but, to Elizabeth’s delight, could not refuse if she wanted to stand up with Mr. Darcy again.

The set ended, and the hapless Mr. Grant led Miss Bingley to the floor while her brother claimed Jane’s hand again. Elizabeth watched as he said something to her sister and then moved towards Darcy, who was but a few yards away.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing and stalking about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

Darcy replied: “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable.” He paused, and there was a hint of grim satisfaction as he continued, “Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, whom it would not be a punishment to stand up with.”

Elizabeth smiled to herself. There went her mother’s great plan to engage Mr. Darcy to Jane. 

Bingley looked offended. “I would not be so fastidious as you are,” he said with no real bite, “for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and,” he said almost as an afterthought, “there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.” His gaze turned toward Jane. Darcy’s eyes followed his friend’s, narrowing as he replied:

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.” 

Elizabeth’s smile slipped. Familiar though it was to play second fiddle to Jane’s beauty, the bluntness of Mr. Darcy’s proclamation still packed a sting.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!” Mr. Bingley cried, which returned part of Elizabeth’s good humor. “But there is one of her sisters sitting down behind you, who is very pretty, and, I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?”

Elizabeth hastily withdrew her gaze as both men swiveled to examine her. 

“She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me” said the taller of the two.

Mr. Bingley had a very uncharacteristic frown on his face as he retreated, but, Elizabeth noted, was quickly replaced by a brilliant smile upon his return to Jane’s side. 

Elizabeth felt a hot anger wash over her briefly but, as she was not made for ill humor, stood and was almost immediately entreated to dance by Mr. Lucas, who had just brought Lydia off the dance floor.

Quickly, the story that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been slighted by Bingley’s friend had circulated around the room, and within half an hour, the offender had been given the cut direct by her mother. Not handsome enough, indeed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

“My God, Darce, now you’ve really done it.”

Darcy blinked. Very rarely did Bingley have such an exasperated tone in conversation with him.

“What have I done?”

“Gone and ticked off the mother of Miss Bennet, who I was rather hoping to get to know better.”

“Oh, please, Charles. The fact that the woman gave Mr. Darcy the cut direct is not exactly indicative of a well-ordered mind. It seems to me that you have avoided the most inconvenient of acquaintances.” Darcy could feel the intensity of Miss Bingley’s stare on him but kept his eyes trained on the inky blackness of the twilight through the large window in Netherfield’s largest parlor.

Even though he was almost entirely turned away, Darcy could see Bingley’s uncharacteristic frown. “She gave you the cut direct?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, unconcerned.

“You are aware she is one of the principal families in the neighborhood I now reside in, yes? What could you have possibly done that was so bad?”

A tense pause. Darcy turned to face Bingley et al.

“Do you remember the–er–discussion we had about one of Miss Bennet’s sisters?”

Bingley’s face went white. “You mean to say that she heard you calling her daughter ugly ?”

“No, and I didn’t call her ugly; I called her tolerable,” Darcy said before amending, “I believe the younger Miss Bennet might have overheard us.” He remembered clearly catching the lady’s dark, glittering eyes and then flushed at the recollection. He had known that she could hear them, just as he had known it was impolite (not to mention dishonest) to say.

“Good lord,” Bingley said, looking almost amused, “It’s that natural Darcy charm, is it?”

“Well, I don’t see what’s so wrong with being called tolerable, ” Miss Bingley sniffed, walking nearer to Darcy, who stiffened uncomfortably, “It must be considered a compliment, especially coming from you, Mr. Darcy.”

“Yes, definitely, Caroline,” her brother said, now unmistakably amused. “I’d like to imagine you would be perfectly composed and flattered if Darcy called you tolerable.”

Darcy refused to take the bait. Miss Bingley shot daggers at Bingley and then Mrs. Hurst, who snorted and immediately staged a coughing fit.

“Well, anyhow,” said Bingley hastily, moving to stand between his two sisters and glancing desperately over at the slumbering Mr. Hurst on the settee, “There’s nothing for it, Darce. You’re going to have to apologize.”

Loud protests from Miss Bingley drowned out Darcy’s “I beg your pardon?” both of which were ignored by their host.

“Look, you’ve slighted the sister of a lady I’d like to be better acquainted with,” Bingley said in an un-Bingley serious way, “Not to mention, she’s very well-liked by the whole neighborhood: I heard not one bad report about her, except for her protectiveness toward her sisters which reveals an affection towards her family that is very pleasing. In any case, I can hardly live in a place where my presence is a painful reminder of an insult to one of the principal families, can I?”

Darcy knew his friend was right. He also didn’t want to make Bingley’s stay in the country, no matter how short-lived, unpleasant because of an oversight on his part.

So, to the protestations of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who saw groveling beneath them, agreed to call on Miss Elizabeth and her sisters the following day.

“He’s just what a young man ought to be, Lizzy,” said Jane the morning after the Meryton assembly. The eldest Bennet sisters were employed in overseeing the arrangement of baskets for their tenants and finally had a moment alone to discuss the previous night’s engagements. “Sensible, good-humored, lively–and I never saw such happy manners!”

“He is also handsome,” Elizabeth said, smiling, “which a young man ought likewise to be if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.”

“Lizzy!” Jane brought her hand to her mouth, covering an indulgent smile, and looking away from the basket she was supposed to be approving, “I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Did not you? I did for you. Compliments always take you by surprise and me never. But what could have been more natural than asking you a second time? He could not help but notice that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. Yes, I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”

“Dearest Lizzy, how you like to jest.”

“Truly, Jane, I am not. I would have been greatly affronted, you know, if he hadn’t asked for your hand the second time. The first, of course, was most gallant of him. He asked me one time too, you know, and it’s been said I’m only tolerable. The second showed a real preference.”

“It was very wrong of Mr. Darcy to say that, Lizzy. Not to mention, wholly without basis.” Jane’s features were contorted with genuine sympathy, and Elizabeth wished she hadn’t brought it up at all.

“Ah, well,” Elizabeth grinned, hoping to convince Jane that her equilibrium had been entirely recovered after the insults of the previous night, “Now I have the advantage of knowing at least one man in my acquaintance that is not desirous of the money I’d bring to the match. Not that it is a match for 10,000 a year !” she raised her voice in an imitation of the shrill gossipers from last night.

“I hope you are not speaking of that odious man, Miss Lizzy.” Their mother had bustled into the room carrying a load of wildflowers the younger girls had gathered that morning.

“Only in passing, Mama.”

“Pray, do not mention him at all! I will never recover from the insults of last night.”

“One would think,” Elizabeth said in a slightly raised tone, “That you had been the receiver of the slight.”

“Oh my dear, no, but I was paid the greatest insult! To have one’s daughter called ugly –why, I have never been so offended in my life.”

Jane made a meaningful look at Elizabeth and busied herself with dispersing the flowers in the baskets.

“I found it rather refreshing, Mama,” Elizabeth said, maintaining a perfectly straight face, “To meet a man who was not immediately in pursuit of my dowry. At least now we can begin our acquaintance on equal terms without care to the trivialities of money.”

“How can you think that Elizabeth, when–,” Mrs. Bennet’s eyes narrowed. “You are speaking in jest.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Pray do not tease your mother like that. She is but an old woman, merely trying to get her five daughters well-matched and settled before she departs this earth.”

“You are hardly an old woman, Mama,” said Jane with a gentleness Elizabeth would not have had, “and you are in perfect health.”

“Oh my dear, you are too kind. When a lady has five grown-up daughters, however, she ought not to make pretensions to any sort of youth.”

“You could have had only four grown-up daughters if you had waited a year or two for Lydia to enter society,” Elizabeth snapped, unable to contain herself.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Miss Lizzy,” her mother responded in kind, “What was the point of keeping her in? She was so lonely in the schoolroom and jealous of you all for your parties and balls. Now at least I know she won’t do something foolish such as trying to sneak out.” And from that, Elizabeth suspected her mother still blamed her for the events of last year when Lydia had, in fact, tried to sneak out to an assembly her sisters were all in attendance.

“She could still do something foolish such as elope ,” Elizabeth retorted brazenly and was gratified by Jane’s shocked gasp. 

“She could,” Her mother admitted, “but as with all of you, the money is not to be settled upon her without the express approval of one or both of her parents–or until she reaches her majority, which is safely half a dozen years away.”

“Very clever,” said Elizabeth with asperity, “If only you could be certain that if Lydia did happen to fall in love at an age past her majority, that the subject of her heart would be a very wealthy, very titled man.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyebrows raised. “Of course, I can’t be certain of that, Elizabeth. No one can. I can only be certain that my daughters will not be denied an offer of marriage on account of a lack of money. We may not be of the first circles or even extraordinarily wealthy, but no one will accuse my girls of not being cared for.”

A bit of silence followed that incredible speech. Elizabeth stared at her mother, openmouthed. Jane recovered first.

“No one could accuse you of that, Mama,” Jane said gently, reaching out her open hand to take one of her mother’s. “You have been generous indeed in your care for us.”

Their mother sniffed. “Of course I have. How many other mothers do you know that forfeit so much of their own money for their daughters? Now, girls, really–do hurry up with those baskets so we might distribute them on time.”

The eldest Miss Bennets watched their mother go, purpose and verve in her step.

Jane shook her head and arranged vegetables and bread in the basket before her. Elizabeth picked up a cluster of flowers tied together with a bit of twine.

“Poor Mama,” Jane said quietly, “Always so caught up in ensuring our future security, she cannot enjoy her own. We won’t be so very poor entering the marriage state, will we?”

“No, indeed,” Elizabeth said, arranging the flowers in the bouquet she was holding, “With the initial £2000 Mama and Papa settled on us plus the 150 our Uncles gifted us invested at the time of our birth, we’d have over six times what Mama had when she married Papa–provided we all marry around your age, dearest. But with the combined 15 pounds a month between Uncles Phillips and Gardiner and Papa and Mama–well. If you were to marry your Mr. Bingley tomorrow, you’d be bringing just over 34,000 pounds to the marriage, assuming an average return on investment of ten percent.”

Jane blushed in her Jane-like way. “He’s not my Mr. Bingley, Lizzy.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth could not help but smile, “I think he is. Or he very soon will be.”

The two sisters smiled at each other. Then, “How did you calculate my settlement so quickly?”

“Oh.” It was Elizabeth’s turn to blush. “I did it last night after the assembly. I’ve never felt that I’ve had a sister so close to the precipice of marriage, and I wanted to see what Mama’s efforts had amounted to in that quarter.”

“Lizzy!” Jane laughed, “How perfectly wrong of you.”

“Capital offense!” Elizabeth joked, twirling the bouquet around her wrist. 

Mrs. Hill, the longtime housekeeper of Longbourn, materialized at the door.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” she wheezed, from having run down the stairs, “Two gentlemen here to call on you.”

“ Two ?” 

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, a Mr. Bingley and a Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Hill spoke with a hint of disdain, no doubt having heard the tragic tale of the slights of last evening.

A look was exchanged between the sisters. “Tell them we’ll be right up, Hill,” Jane said, grabbing Elizabeth’s hand. In her other, the bouquet of flowers remained, quite forgotten.

Elizabeth and Jane ascended the steps, minds racing with possibilities, yet neither could have fathomed the truth of the matter.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

The house was unassumingly plain. By no means uncared for, it had a certain sense of economy and, while not grand, had an elegant sort of charm to it. Just beyond the back of the estate, Darcy could see a prettyish sort of wilderness that had a lovely aspect. He fussed with the bouquet of yellow daffodils he had delivered from town that morning. He had never before given flowers to any women except for his sister and late mother and hoped that it would remain an uncommon practice. The damned things made him sneeze.

“Where did you get those at this time of year, Darce? Must have cost a fortune.”

Darcy nearly blushed. “From a London hothouse.” He failed to mention that he had chosen the flower as the color had reminded him of the dress Miss Elizabeth had donned for the assembly.

“And why did you not share the blasted idea with me?” Bingley cried, looking put out. “I rather wanted to make a good impression.”

Darcy chose not to dignify that with a response. They were shown into a small parlor by a stout, stern-looking housekeeper. Mrs. Bennet and one of her younger daughters–Darcy could not recall her name or order beyond being younger than Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth–sat stiffly beside one another.

“Mr. Bingley,” the Bennet matron said, rising with seemingly real difficulty, “how do you do? A pleasure, I’m sure. And I see you’ve brought your friend. How charming.” She sat immediately back down, and the girl who had just started to rise hurriedly collapsed beside her.

“Er–yes, madam, I–that is, Darcy–Mr. Darcy and I were hoping to call on your family this morning and express our–uh–gratitude for your warm welcome to the neighborhood last night. I also wished to call on your very amiable daughter, Miss Bennet, nearly as much as Mr. Darcy was desirous of paying his respects to Miss Elizabeth.”

Darcy felt that his friend was laying it on a bit thick as the young Miss Bennet’s mouth dropped open in a rather foolish-looking gape. Mrs. Bennet, however, did not look in the least bit moved.

“Is that so? Well, what you can have to say to them , I’m sure I don’t know, but far be it from me to deprive my daughters of forming new friendships. Hill?” Her head swiveled to the housekeeper, who bobbed in a short curtsy and vanished out the side door.

“I believe you know my daughter, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet said, gesturing to her somber companion. “You made a remarkably handsome couple for the set you stood up with her, Mr. Bingley.” Handsome, thought Darcy, was something of a stretch. The young lady, by no means hideous, was very plain and as grave as a stone.

“An honor I hope to have repeated again soon, Miss Mary,” Bingley said warmly with a smile Mary barely returned. 

The door swung open. Bingley and Darcy turned. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth stepped into the room. One lit up in delight and the other’s face twisted into a confused grimace, which quickly smoothed over into a passive expression. Only Bingley shared in Miss Bennet’s visible joy at the reunion.

“Miss Bennet! And Miss Elizabeth, I can’t tell you how pleased we are to see you all again. Isn’t that right, Darcy?”

Darcy gave a jerky nod of the head. He was gazing at Miss Elizabeth, who was resolutely avoiding his eye.

Miss Bennet spoke quickly. “Won’t you both sit and join us? It is so delightful to welcome you to Longbourn.” She swept her hand to the remaining seats and sat neatly on the other side of her mother. Miss Elizabeth remained standing.

Darcy coughed. He wished Miss Mary would stop staring. Bingley took care to tread on his toe and sat opposite Miss Bennet.

“I…I brought these for you, Miss Elizabeth.” He brandished the daffodils like a sword, faltering when he saw a collection of red and pink wildflowers limp in her hand. She looked down at the assortment in her hand and up at him.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” She said, not making any effort to accept them, “They are very… tolerable .” She smiled archly at him, at last meeting his eye. Hers were a rich walnut color that looked almost golden in the pale light of late morning. He blinked, transfixed.

“Aren’t you going to hand them to Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Mary asked with great interest. 

“Hush, child!” Mrs. Bennet said snappishly. “Elizabeth, dearest, do sit down.”

Miss Elizabeth made to walk by him, and before he could lose his nerve, he bowed to her and offered the daffodils out. She looked very much startled but took them with good grace. Then, with a wry smile, she pressed her own multicolored assortment of by no means hothouse-grown wildflowers into his hand, gave a pert curtsy, and took her seat.

Feeling rather caught off guard, Darcy sat opposite her, beside his friend, who beamed and launched into admiration of the charming neighborhood, society, and very agreeable Bennet family whom he would not mind knowing better.

With Bingley ensconced in engaging the Bennet women in lively conversation, Darcy felt relatively safe to observe the first women of his acquaintance to whom he had ever presented flowers. Sitting, he could not see much of her figure or form, but he recalled with some mortification that it had been light and pleasing–not fashionably plump, as her sister Miss Bennet was, but still womanly shaped from the swell of her bosom. Her dark hair was swept up in a practical bun for the day, but several chocolate curls had come loose to frame her face. He decided that, on the whole, she was a very handsome woman indeed–very much more than he gave credit for. He was thinking on her features with some complacency when he was most disagreeably drawn back into the conversation.

“--I’m sure we’d both be delighted to escort you into the village, right, Darcy? Darcy?” Bingley was asking.

Darcy started. “Remind me of the topic?”

“Miss Bennet mentioned that she and her sisters were making baskets to take to their tenants today, and I thought it a marvelous idea if we were to escort them. After all, it does no harm to establish ourselves in the surrounding areas of Netherfield.”

“I am sure, Mr. Bingley, that your friend is a might too busy and important for trifling little visits into a village of no real importance beyond its occupants,” Mrs. Bennet said, raising an eyebrow at Darcy.

“Not at all, madam, I assure you,” Darcy replied stiffly, gripping the flowers Miss Elizabeth had given him tightly in his hand.

“There!” Bingley cried, glancing nervously at his friend, “It’s settled. We’ll all walk through the village, from where Darcy and I can depart back for Netherfield.”

Miss Bennet smiled joyously, Miss Mary less so, and Miss Elizabeth not at all. They all stood. Darcy noted that the matron and Miss Elizabeth stood about a head below the others.

“Let me send for my other daughters,” Mrs. Bennet said sweetly. “It is customary, you see, Mr. Bingley, for all my girls to give the gifts to the tenants.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Bennet! How charming.”

Mrs. Bennet gave Bingley a thin-lipped smile. “Elizabeth, dear, do come with me to fetch your sisters.”

“Mama?”

“Come along, dear.”

Mother and daughter left the room, and Darcy and Miss Mary were left to fend for themselves in the midst of a shy conversation that had begun between Miss Bennet and Bingley. The former was left to consider, with some surprise, that the latter’s mother had still not forgiven him.

Down the hall, Elizabeth’s mother crowded her into a small room and shut the door.

“Mama!”

“Hush, Lizzy, we haven’t much time. Now, tell me, are you quite alright with this arrangement?”

“You mean walking? I’ve never been bothered before by it, have I?”

“By Mr. Darcy , dearest. Are you sure you’re quite comfortable to spend the hour and a half in his company? I couldn’t think of an excuse to dispose of him without injuring the friend against us. Hateful man!”

Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. “I think I can manage less than two hours, Mama.”

“Do try and endure it as best you can, darling. Feign a headache if you must. And–” her mother’s eyes narrowed, “do keep me apprised of Mr. Bingley and your sister’s progress.”

“Jane seems to like him very much.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Well, there’s not much romance in trampling through the mud with one’s sisters and one’s dour friend, is there? I must send a note to your Aunt Gardiner and see if she can take Jane in for the winter. Heaven knows she’ll have much better prospects there.” And with that happy thought, Mrs. Bennet patted her second daughter on the shoulder, scooped the daffodils from her arms, and hurried from the veritable closet she had chosen as her one-on-one space. 

Once Kitty and Lydia had been located, pelisses donned, and an offer to carry all the baskets gallantly offered by Mr. Bingley, the party set out. 

As a consequence of Elizabeth’s routine long walks, she could match pace easily with the long-legged Mr. Darcy, while the more delicate Jane fell back and with whom Mr. Bingley stayed. The younger girls skipped ahead, arms free of the tiresome baskets they were used to carrying.

After watching Mr. Darcy struggle to balance the half a dozen baskets hanging from his arms for a little while, Elizabeth spoke up. “It seems to me that you require assistance, Mr. Darcy.”

“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth.”

“You are veering off course.”

She observed with great amusement as he realized her words were correct and nearly cursed, trying to steady himself.

“Let me take a basket, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley need never know.”

Darcy smiled in spite of himself. “Never have I had a lady extend such gallantry to me. ”

“That will not do,” Elizabeth cried, “for gallantry must stem from a more altruistic origin than my offer does. I must reject this honor of gallantry, sir.” And, with the sweetest smile, she gently detangled a basket from his arm and looped her own hand through it. 

“There,” she said, cheek dimpling, “Now, the debt of your beautiful flowers have been discharged. You are free from me, Mr. Darcy. We may part this day as equals, as equals we must be, for mutual disinterest and indifference must ensure a common advantage.”

With a bell-like laugh, Miss Elizabeth trotted after her sisters, basket swinging merrily from her arm. In his pocket, the surely-crumpled wildflowers she had bequeathed upon Darcy earlier felt hot against his heart, and he could not but help feel the sourness of disappointment at her absence.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

For the Bennets at Longbourn, not much was materially altered by the residence of their new neighbors. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had deigned to call on them the day following Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy's visit, which Jane felt all the compliment of, and Elizabeth, the impertinence. Mr. Bingley's sisters had claimed grave headaches the morning when their brother and his friend called to explain their absence. While Jane was satisfied with that answer, Elizabeth was suspicious. She knew the sisters to think the Bennet sisters beneath them and could only amount their civility as the most particular desire of the brother. 

The daffodils from Mr. Bingley's friend, however, were the source of much interest and reflection not only within the family but throughout town. A report had circulated of Mr. Darcy showing up on the Bennet's doorstep, drenched from rain, pristinely exquisite bouquet all the way from Denmark in hand, and begging for an audience with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth suspected Lydia as the culprit of this rumor.

After exasperatedly explaining to a very amused Charlotte Lucas that the truth of the matter had been much duller ("it wasn't even raining! "), Elizabeth did take into consideration the reason the flowers had been brought. They had been beautiful, she had grudgingly admitted to herself. Yellow was a favorite of hers. She was also much less practiced at receiving flowers from gentlemen than her sister Jane. Even more so, she was less practiced at accepting so glorious a bouquet. He must have sent an express to a hothouse in London, she realized after consulting a botanical book in her father's library. It simply didn't make sense. He was as disinterested in her as she in him, so why had he put on a facade suggesting otherwise? 

Elizabeth resolved to put him out of her mind–easier said than done, as following the Great Daffodil Distraction (as she now privately called it), he always ended up within a short distance of her at gatherings. He attended her conversations silently, soberly, and without a hint of a suggestion that he might partake.

It was at one such soiree at Lucas Lodge that they both were in attendance that she commented on her tall shadow to Charlotte.

"What can Mr. Darcy mean by listening to my conversations?"

"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer," replied Elizabeth's friend.

"Well, if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that we see what he is about," Elizabeth said pertly. "He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him."

Soon after, he approached her, but without any indication that he would do more than observe. Charlotte gave her friend a significant look. Elizabeth took the challenge.

"Do not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself extraordinarily well when I was teasing Colonel Forster for a ball?"

Mr. Darcy looked stunned at being addressed but recovered quickly.

"Certainly. But the subject must be one that always renders a lady eloquent."

"You are severe upon us!" Elizabeth cried with false indignation.

"It is her turn to be teased," Charlotte said quickly, "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you must know what follows."

"You are a strange creature by way of a friend! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have proved invaluable. But as it is–oh, very well, dear Charlotte." She shook her head with an indulgent smile and allowed herself to be led to the pianoforte.

The whole room quieted, and every head turned towards Miss Elizabeth in apparently the most remarkable anticipation. Half a minute into the performance, Darcy understood why. Though she played but a simple folk song, neither complex in music or lyrics, it was performed with genuine passion and sweetness he had not seen in the first circles. Only in Georgiana, the thought, unbidden, came to him. He blinked it away. 

Upon the completion of her tune, Miss Elizabeth was promptly implored by the room for another. She demurred gracefully, curtsying and returning to Miss Lucas's side. Darcy was disappointed. At least while playing, he had reason enough to look at her. 

"-- Some of us cannot afford to be choosy when it comes to the matter of approving our daughters' husbands, but I for one, Lady Lucas, will never experience that. It is highly gratifying, you know, to have five such ladies of beauty and accomplishment under my care."

Mrs. Bennet was audible before she was visible. Darcy ducked beside a pillar, choosing his dignity over the pleasure of watching Miss Elizabeth.

"It must be so agreeable, then, Mrs. Bennet, to have them all un-married yet," Lady Lucas was saying, rather frostily.

A laugh that could only be attributed to the Bennet matriarch. "Yes, indeed, Lady Lucas. Why my girls have already turned away any number of proposals already–Jane most of all. And why shouldn't she? With her beauty and temper, she would grace the arm of a Duke and bring no inconsiderable fortune to the match. Ah–but, on that score, perhaps it is better to remain silent."

"Indeed," snapped Lady Lucas. Darcy heard them shuffle past. He stepped out from his hiding place, a sense of unplaceable forlornness washing over him. Here was Mrs. Bennet's reason for not throwing her daughters at his feet: she did not believe they needed him. Or Bingley, for that matter. But how? He understood Bennet's estate yielded only £2000 per annum–a respectable number, to be sure, but nothing near enough to provide impressive dowries for five daughters.

His eyes found Miss Elizabeth's figure, who happened to be facing him. She was talking animatedly to Miss Lucas and the eldest Mr. Lucas, without a sliver of a hint of her quiet observer.

Is this why she seemed impervious to the allure of 10,000 a year? He had not gotten the right of her character: she was just like Miss Bingley. She was a mercenary–nay, a social climber. She would (and could) settle for no less than an Earl, which Darcy reminded himself, he was not. 

He firmly resolved at that moment to despise her, and her stupid, scheming mother and her small, amount-unknown fortune she possessed. While it is little effort to decide the direction of one's heart, it is much more to hold fast to such convictions, a lesson that Mr. Darcy, Master of Pemberly, was in short order of learning.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

The militia had come to Meryton. Kitty and Lydia were delighted; their mother mortified. For what could an officer bring to her girls but trouble and temptation? The youngest Bennets were, hence, banned from associating with any man in regimentals. This had perhaps the opposite effect, as Kitty and Lydia, both romantic at heart and naive by youth, were ever more allured to the athletic young men quartered but a mile from their home. Walking, however, was permitted, so long as they were with either of their two oldest sisters, so thither went Jane, but most commonly Elizabeth, and her youngest sisters to town three or four times a week. This was most fortuitous because though Jane was the natural favorite of her sisters, Elizabeth could check their behavior with swifter and more efficient skill. 

One morning, such a scheme to enter Meryton with Elizabeth had been arranged when a note arrived from Netherfield at breakfast. 

“A proposal from Mr. Darcy to Lizzie!” Lydia cried, completely losing her head.

“No, for Jane!” Kitty proclaimed. She more had the measure of it and was rewarded when the footman handed it to the eldest Bennet sister and stood to wait for an answer.

“Who is it from, Jane? It’s not from that Bingley, is it? Make haste, my love!” Her mother asked, craning her neck as though she could read it from across the table.

“It’s from Miss Bingley,” Jane said with pleasure, “inviting me to dine at Netherfield with her and her sister.”

“And the gentlemen?” Mrs. Bennet asked with an air of casual indifference.

“Are to dine with the officers,” Jane said with equanimity. “Father, may I have the carriage?”

“Of course, you can’t,” said her mother briskly. “The horses are needed on the farm, and they can’t be spared. You had better send your regrets and stay in, for it looks like rain. Practice your French with Mary; she’s been struggling with her past perfect tense.”

“Oh, couldn’t I go on Nellie, Mama? I do enjoy their society and would be sorry to miss it. Mary, dear, I’ll help you tomorrow with your French.”

“Absolutely not, Jane, I forbid it. You are not to ride to that house, do you hear me?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice was forceful and final.

After breakfast, Elizabeth caught Jane’s arm, speaking low and fast. “Do you really want to see your friends, dearest?”

Jane looked sadly at the note crumpled in her hand. “With my whole heart.”

“Take my place and go into town with Lydia and Kitty. I can help Mary with her past present well enough, though Lord knows how I’ve struggled ever since Miss Allen left when Lydia came out into society.”

“I’m not much in the mood for town today, Lizzy.” 

“Once you walk to Meryton,” Elizabeth said slowly and clearly, “You’re only two miles out from Netherfield. Mama said nothing against walking to visit Miss Bingley and her sister. You could get there by mealtime if you head out now. Maybe your Bingley will come back early, and you can see him before you come home. I’m sure Miss Bingley will loan you their carriage.”

Jane’s eyes sparkled. “I think I shall take the girls into Meryton if it’s all the same to you, Lizzy.”

Dining with the officers was not an experience Darcy was loath to repeat anytime soon. He sat in silent indignation at Bingley’s boyish deportment with the uncouth men and spoke only when directly addressed, and feigning ignorance was unavoidable. He was envious of Hurst, who had fallen asleep directly and was not subject to the same line of insolence that was pointed towards himself. He left in an aggrieved temper and hurry to return to the safety of Netherfield–confined with Miss Bingley and her nearly as odious sister he may be, but at least there he could escape to his rooms, where thankfully, even the temporary mistress of Netherfield could not follow him. 

Rain pounded on the carriage roof, deluging the windows with such a heavy downpour that the glass was nearly opaque. The thundering din of rain had lulled Hurst right back to sleep, and between the shower and his snores was a strong disincentive for conversation.

They rode on without so much a word between Bingley and Darcy when Bingley leaned forward, frowning.

“I say! That rather looks like a woman on the side of the road.” He shouted over the storm and the sounds of the slumbering Hurst.

“In this storm? It can’t be,” Darcy called back.

“No, look! It is!” And sure enough, was a womanly figure sprawled beside the road. “Stop the carriage!”

The carriage squelched to a stop, spraying mud everywhere. Bingley leaped out of the chaise, clambered over a puddle, and ran to the body. Darcy, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.

“Miss Bennet!” Bingley cried, leaning over the figure. “Darcy, it’s Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet, can you hear me?”

“Mr. Bingley? Mr. Bingley, is that you?” a weakened yet familiar voice said, hoarse and gummy with dampness. Darcy nearly swore. It was Miss Bennet. But what on earth was she doing collapsed in the rain on the way to Netherfield?

“It is I, Miss Bennet, do not worry: you will be safe with us. Darcy–Darcy! Can you inform the driver that we will be bringing Miss Bennet into the carriage? She’s wet through.”

Shocked into obedience, Darcy went to the coachmen, all the while watching as Bingley removed his coat and, with the most incredible tenderness, draped it around Miss Bennet, who was struggling to retain a sitting position.

“We will have one more in our party on the way back to Netherfield,” said Darcy with greater apprehension than he was used to speaking with.

“Very good, sir.”

“Darcy! Darcy! Quick, man, your arm!”

Darcy wheeled around. Behind him, Bingley had propped up Miss Bennet against him, whose head was lolling on his shoulder. She was favoring her left side, even in her delirium. Darcy rushed to her other side, but Bingley beat him to it. He scooped the lady up in his arms and staggered to the carriage. A coachman leaped down and grabbed the door, holding it as Darcy scrambled into the chaise and coaxed Mr. Bingley to place Miss Bennet in his arms. Bingley did so with the greatest reluctance, holding on a moment longer than necessary to her hand. Hurst grunted but did not wake as he was shoved into the window.

“Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bennet murmured, blinking with great surprise at him. “You were to dine with the officers, were you not?” She was trembling with cold, and Darcy realized with fear that she was cool to the touch. Bingley had seated himself on her other side and, with no great delicacy, slapped the carriage roof and yelled, “forward!”

“Tell Miss Mary I shall be there directly and remind her it is about the preceding particle more than anything else,” Miss Bennet said drowsily, raising a sluggish arm. “Do not let Miss Elizabeth mix her pronouns, as she is apt to do, and after all that, please fetch me a glass of cool water, for I feel most warm.” And with that, she shook out from underneath Bingley’s coat, stripped out of her ruined pelisse, bent forward, and started hiking up her dripping skirts. Darcy quickly averted his eyes at the sight of a pale ankle peeping out from under the dress.

“No!” Bingley cried, grabbing her hand. “Miss Bennet, you’re are not of a stable mind right now, I fear. Don’t do something now you’ll regret later.”

“Miss Bingley,” Miss Bennet seized the front of Bingley’s waistcoat, looking half-mad. “Do tell Miss Bingley I am running late. I had to walk: there was no alternative.” And with that, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she slumped against a stone-still Darcy, who was unaccustomed to such accosting methods by young ladies.

Shaking, Bingley wrapped his fallen coat back around her shoulders. The view of Netherfield was rolling rapidly into sight.

 “We need to get her out of these wet things,” Darcy said tentatively, “We need to warm her up. Have Nicholls prepare a room with a fire for her.” Bingley nodded but did not speak.

Before the carriage had stopped, Bingley had swung the door open and leaped out, skidding through the mud. Mrs. Nicholls and a couple of servants came out, and their placid faces immediately transformed into looks of alarm.

Darcy watched the scene unfold as the mild-mannered Bingley shouted down and ordered around his staff in a way he hadn’t thought his friend capable of. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came rushing out of the house. Upon seeing Miss Bennet carried out of the chaise, head supported with care by Bingley, the great ladies gasped and swooned. Miss Bingley had to be escorted inside for incapability to walk, which caused almost as large a commotion as did the transport of the invalid up to a guest room.

Bingley was reported by a maid to be as pacing as near to Miss Bennet’s temporary quarters as would be deemed appropriate and could not be prevailed upon to leave.

In a daze, Darcy relayed what had occurred to the ladies, the housekeeper Nicholls, and a groggy Hurst, who had incredibly slept through the chaos. Mrs. Nicholls, a thin, middle-aged woman, received this information with good grace and respectfully recommended a dispatch for the doctor, which Darcy approved, and a note to the lady’s family, of which Darcy agreed to take up the office. Unbeknownst to the writer, that note would not be received until the next day.

By evening, Elizabeth was well and truly worried. Jane should have long been back, and it seemed that it had now come to a point where telling her mother of her sister’s intended location was inescapable. When Jane had not returned with Lydia and Kitty from Meryton, Elizabeth conjectured that Jane must have dropped in on the Phillipses. Then the rain had started: a torrential downpour that washed away the prospect of Jane’s return that day.

Anticipating an unpleasant conversation for both, she arranged for the most privacy and least dangerous time to bother her mother: right after she had gone through financial reports on her daughter’s dowry investments and was consequently in a very cheerful mood.

“Mama, I feel I must tell you about Jane.”

“Yes, dearest?” Her mother asked, folding up her papers with a satisfied nod. “How unlucky that she got caught in such a storm! Well—she’ll be very well for the night at my sister Phillips.”

“That is what I wanted to speak to you of—you see—”

“I am thinking,” said her mother, “of asking my brother to host Jane in town for a month or so. She has a much better chance of meeting a husband there than here, do you not think—ah!” She said, catching Elizabeth’s crestfallen expression, “but you are naturally jealous of your sister. Not to worry, dear, you’ll have your turn in due course.”

With that, Mrs. Bennet left the room. With no other option, Elizabeth knew: she must appeal to her father.

Mr. Bennet was such an odd mixture of indolence and impertinence, reserve, caprice, and sarcastic humor that four of his five daughters and his wife failed to understand his character. Elizabeth was the exception to this and was consequently a favorite of her father.

She approached Mr. Bennet after the evening meal. “Papa,” she said, “Might I speak with you on a matter of some seriousness?”

He turned an amused eye to his second eldest. “Am I to learn the true whereabouts of your sister?”

“Yes,” she admitted, seeing no reason to obfuscate. “Papa, I fear I misled you and Mama as to her intention when she entered Meryton today with Kitty and Lydia.”

“Oh? This wouldn’t have anything to do with the invitation she received this morning, does it?”

“It does, sir. I am rather ashamed to admit that I encouraged her to walk to Netherfield, as Mama made no order against walking, ” Elizabeth said, a touch of impatience entering her tone.

“Quite so. And now, Jane has gone and got herself caught in a rainstorm–well, we shouldn’t expect her back until tomorrow, now that she is safely ensconced in the care of Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth flushed. It all sounded so untoward when her father put it like that. “Mama won’t listen to me, you see. I don’t want Jane in trouble for my misjudgment–I just know she likes that family, and what is so very wrong with her associating with Mr. Bingley–aside from his choice in sisters and friends, though I suppose the sisters he cannot much help.”

“Indeed not.” Mr. Bennet was now openly smiling. “Well, I shall raise the subject with Mrs. Bennet soon. Even she is not so dull as to not take note when Mrs. Phillips cannot testify to Jane’s presence at her home.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue but held silent at her father’s dismissal of her mother. They had little affection for one another, she knew, from her mother’s constant insistence on economizing and money-managing for their daughters, which, Elizabeth knew, he would have just as soon as forsake such responsibility.

In vain, she waited through the evening for her father to venture his word. It was not until the following morning, however, at breakfast, when two notes arrived for him, did he speak.

Passing both to Elizabeth, he began. “Well, my dear, it seems that we are obliged to the residents at Netherfield for their attentive care of our daughter.”

“What are you speaking of Mr. Bennet?”

“I speak, Mrs. Bennet, of your eldest daughter’s stay at Netherfield last night.”

The shock was immediate and had the desired effect. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened, and her mouth went slack in what one could only imagine was preparing for a great scream when Mr. Bennet spoke again.

“It seems the gentlemen of that…august house came across our unlucky daughter and for good reason to, as it seems she suffers from a twisted foot and now a severe chill, according to Mr. Jones who paid her a visit this very morning.”

Mrs. Bennet swelled with fury. “How dare she…How could she…I gave her direct instructions to–”

“The blame is entirely mine, Mrs. Bennet,” her husband said smoothly. His daughters and wife gaped at him. “Jane wished to see her friends, and who was I to disapprove? I gave her leave to walk to Netherfield Park so as to not contradict your specific direction not to ride to go and dine there.”

Elizabeth, having read the two notes from Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, respectively, was feeling rather worried. “I shall go to her,” she declared, standing from the table.

“You will not!” Her mother cried, “ Never have I been so disrespected in my own home. No, Miss Lizzy, you will do no such thing.”

“I wish to tend to my sister, ma’am,” Elizabeth said with a calmness she did not feel. “Surely my presence there must be more welcome to you than not–I might observe that nothing unscrupulous occurs.”

“How clever of you, Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet said, barely concealing a smile. 

“Very well,” her mother snapped, “I see I am overruled. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, you may walk like your sister. Take care not to roll your ankle as well.”

And so, obliged to walk, Elizabeth set out. Her anxiety for Jane considerably dampened her mood. Still, after such a rain, the landscape was so lovely and fresh anew that she could not help but leap over puddles and trod with great energy down the path. 

She arrived at Netherfield with a rather muddy hem, hair askew, and a face alight from the exertion of her walk.

She skipped around a hedge, towards the great house, when–

“Mr. Darcy!”

“Miss Bennet!” 

The two stared at each other. “I am here to inquire after my sister,” Elizabeth said finally, “we received your notes this morning.”

“On foot?”

“As you see,” Elizabeth said, feeling rather annoyed. Mr. Darcy said nothing, gazing at her incredulously.

“Would you be so kind as to take me to her?”

As if regaining his composure, he straightened and brushed his arm toward the house. She marched right by him and into the lion’s den.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

To Elizabeth’s consternation, Jane was even worse off than the notes had conveyed. She had become feverish and fatigued and could not manage much more than her delight at seeing her sister. Her ankle was puffed up and reddish, and it was clear that she could not have left the bed had she the power to. Elizabeth was her silent attendant and spoke only when necessitated by the arrival of Mr. Bingley’s sisters. She found herself much obliged to the younger, Miss Bingley, when upon Jane’s request, the offer of the carriage back to Longbourn was transformed into an offer to stay the night. A man was sent to deliver the update and pick up some clothes for her stay. She discovered that on the whole, when the sisters had the inclination, they were excellent companions, and she was in danger of starting to like them when they left to dress for dinner.

At dinner, however, all her dislike of Jane’s friends returned. They were supercilious in their inquiries after her health and subsequent declarations of how they hated being ill and how shocking it was to be both sick and injured. Their brother was more solicitous, and Elizabeth felt all the pleasure on behalf of her sister in his obvious concern for Jane Bennet. 

To the impertinent questions about the cause of Jane’s afflictions, Elizabeth deflected with the agitation of someone at fault. She was ashamed; she was mortified, and she felt unsafe disclosing either of those feelings to her dining companions. It was at Miss Bingley’s sly insinuation that Mrs. Bennet had sent Jane on foot to catch a husband that Elizabeth resolved to speak only in praise and admiration of her mother around the insufferable woman.

“Mama,” She said lightly, setting down her fork with shaking fingers, “takes a prodigious amount of care of her daughters with regard to their respectability. It is her pleasure–and might I add–she is perfectly proficient in it. If ever her daughters act foolishly, it must be out of a disregard for her wishes and from their own inclinations entirely.”

Miss Bingley did not reply: perhaps she felt the insult of Elizabeth’s words too keenly. Mr. Darcy filled the lull, startling all.

“You are very fond of your mother?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, smiling slightly, “It bodes well for neither when there is great variance in the wishes of both.”

 “You agree with her as a rule, then?”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “I do not follow her blindly, nor would she expect me to. We simply share an understanding of one another’s character. I have great respect for my mother and what she has given up for our sakes’.”

At this point, Miss Bingley had found her confidence again. “I would not have considered marrying up to be any great sacrifice.” 

“Perhaps because you have not experienced it yourself,” Elizabeth said coolly, forgetting herself, “My mother has taken many measures to ensure the comfort and security of all her daughters.”

Again, Miss Bingley was struck dumb, but Elizabeth endured a hollow victory. She cursed herself for her selfishness that would get her in trouble with the family Jane esteemed so much as dear friends. 

Mr. Darcy did not speak again, and for that, Elizabeth was grateful. He seemed to draw out the worst impulses in her. She excused herself shortly after that, claiming her sister as her excuse.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met,” said Miss Bingley hotly, “a more vulgar, impertinent girl than Miss Eliza Bennet. She truly has the ugliest countenance I’ve ever seen. Her manners are so bad as to make me doubt the insipid rumors that she has been educated by the masters.” 

Mrs. Hurst nodded her assent, adding, “She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker–something we cannot credit her sister with. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.” 

“She did indeed. And why come at all? Hardly a reason for her to scamper about the country because her sister fell ill and twisted her foot.”

“Yes, certainly, sister–and her petticoat! I hope you saw her petticoat, brother. Nearly six inches deep in mud, I’m absolutely certain. The gown had been let down to conceal it and was certainly not doing its office.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t, Lousia,” Bingley said mildly, “But I was not paying attention to her skirts. I noticed her face and thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she entered the room this morning.”

“Surely, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, switching tactics at top speed, “You would not wish your sister to make such an exhibition.”

“Certainly not.”

“To have walked three or five or eight miles in the mud all alone–what could she mean by it? Her mother’s prodigious care was certainly lost on her. It seems to me to show an abominable sort of independence–and a hatred for her mother’s wishes if she truly wished Miss Eliza to stay home.” Miss Bingley continued. Mr. Bingley jumped in.

“It shows an affection for her sister, which is quite pleasing–and she spoke well enough of her mother this evening when you were abusing poor Mrs. Bennet to her.”

A short pause followed this pronouncement. Miss Bingley flushed and looked away. 

Mrs. Hurst broke the silence carefully. “I have an excessive regard and sympathy for Jane Bennet–but to be imposed upon by such a sister! I do hope with all my heart she might be well-settled–but the father! And such a scheming mother! Even with such a stupendous fortune, her family cannot be overlooked. They will stop at nothing to throw Jane Bennet in the path of the peerage.”

“I heard that the mother has given up her own allowance to build their portions,” Miss Bingley said, recovering her equanimity, “And that she has actually entrusted their education to her brother’s wife, who lives in Cheapside!”

“Had their education been overseen by the town fool,” cried Bingley, looking distressed, “would not make them a jot less charming and pleasant.”

“Yes, but the fact is that the mother, of low birth though she may be, will not allow any of her daughters, least of all the eldest Miss Bennet, to marry anyone less than a Baron. That is the material point.” Mr. Darcy, who had been observing this back and forth with seeming indifference, finally cut in.

“What is a title,” Bingley said, “to real inclination of the heart?”

“I am sure you will find Miss Bennet’s heart to be touched by no less than a member of the peerage,” Darcy said coldly, “for she will oblige her mother in choice of husband as in anything else.”

That point, however, must be recognized as false. Miss Bennet, who lay upstairs, delirious with fever and foggy with pain, had begun to think of only one man with any complacency, would have not satisfied Mrs. Bennet’s many requirements for matrimony. Her heart had been touched by a man not of gentle birth but of a gentle smile and such happy and indulgent manners as to make Jane Bennet believe herself half in love with him.

Her sister thought of no man with such affection but was feeling rather sorry for how she had behaved to her hostess. Her poorly-considered words could be traced to the high temper she shared with her mother. Ironic, then, that it was in defense of her mother that she had spoken with such venom. Elizabeth resolved to be perfectly civil (but nothing more) in her interactions with Miss Bingley and act in all matters with cool composure. 

Her next opportunity to practice such genteel manners came later in the evening when Miss Bingley and her sister paid a visit to the invalid upstairs. They were as gracious as gracious could be, and Elizabeth could only detect a little of the contempt she believed they held her in.

The sisters departed after some time on receipt of the call for coffee from the gentlemen. Only upon seeing her sister well and truly asleep did Elizabeth leave her side to join them.

“Miss Bennet! How fares your sister?” Bingley looked up from his hand of cards on her entrance into the drawing-room where the party was assembled.

“A little better, I thank you,” Elizabeth smiled. “I believe her to be improved from this morning.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Said Bingley, with equal warmth, “Now, will you join us for cards?”

“No, thank you, I shall amuse myself with a book.”

“You prefer reading to cards?” Said Mr. Hurst, astonishing the group. “How very singular.”

“But you see, Mr. Hurst, one can enjoy all the exhilaration of cards from a book with little fear of the repercussions,” Elizabeth said, “After all the excitement from last night and day, I find myself in want of the steadiness only a book can provide.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet is a very great reader,” Miss Bingley proclaimed, “And takes little pleasure in anything else.”

Elizabeth bit back a retort. She settled for a milder: “I am not a great reader, Miss Bingley, and I take pleasure in many things.”

“In nursing your sister, for one,” Bingley said quickly but with finality, “Which I hope will soon be increased by her recovery.” He led her to a table where a small pile of books lay, brooking no more discussion.

Elizabeth thanked him and selected her book. “I wish for your sake I could offer you more selection,” he sighed, “But though I have but a few, I have more than I ever will read.”

Elizabeth laughed. “It is the quality of one’s reading, not the quantity, Mr. Bingley, that is the mark of a well-read man.”

“You would neglect, then,” said Mr. Darcy, frowning at her, “the continued maintenance and growth of your family library?” 

“Not at all, sir,” Elizabeth said lightly, “But not all of us have the privilege of deciding the growth of a family library. Some find their circumstances imposed upon them by fortune or fate. I have had the benefit of having a book-lover for a parent.”

“Not your mother, surely,” Mrs. Hurst said with great innocence.

“My mother saw to our education in other ways, Mrs. Hurst,” Elizabeth said with forced patience. “It was she who found us masters of French, history, arithmetic, and letters, among others.”

“Arithmetic and history? One might have thought she was raising sons!” Miss Bingley smiled, teeth flashing.

“My sister, Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy said icily, “Also studies with arithmetic and history masters. A mistress must be able to keep her house on budget and have enough sense to know why we’re fighting Napoleon.”

Miss Bingley’s mouth closed with a snap. Elizabeth felt almost sorry for her. “I must confess that the employ of our arithmetic and history masters were much more arbitrary than what Mr. Darcy has indicated,” She said, “For my mother, not having had the advantage of having masters herself, knew not which were for genteel young ladies, and so instructed her brother to hire an array of masters. By consequence, each of us has a particular proclivity for a couple subjects over the others: Jane excels at French and drawing, Mary, music and arithmetic, Kitty needlework and the sciences, and Lydia, German and singing.”  

“And what of you, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy inquired, eyebrow raised.

“What of me?”

“You said that you all had a proclivity for certain accomplishments over the others. Which are yours?”

Elizabeth could scarcely keep the grin off her face. “It would hardly be modest for me to say, Mr. Darcy. No, I shan’t speak on that score, lest I give you reason to think me hatefully boastful.” 

Mr. Darcy looked at her with surprise, which melted into something else she couldn’t interpret. Feeling awkward, she turned away.

Mr. Hurst grunted. “This is no way to play cards! Come now, focus!”

“Oh,” sighed Miss Bingley, standing, “I don’t wish to play cards. I think I’d prefer a book too–after all, there is no enjoyment like reading.”

Elizabeth stood, shut the volume she was perusing and handed it to Miss Bingley with a smile. The latter took it somewhat apprehensively.

“You’re not leaving us, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Bingley asked, startled.

“Oh,” said she, “I am afraid I must. Jane must have been requiring my presence for some time now. Goodnight.”

Waiting just long enough for their polite protestations that transformed into ‘goodnight,’ she left the room and went upstairs to keep her vigil beside her sister’s bed.

By morning, Jane was a little better, having had some of the draughts prescribed to her by the physician, a Mr. Jones. To Elizabeth’s suggestion that Jane be moved to Longbourn, however, Mr. Jones would not hear of it and rather insisted on Jane’s being as stationary as possible. Thus, Elizabeth was obliged to send a note to Longbourn, requesting her mother’s visit to form for herself an opinion of the situation.

At length, Mrs. Bennet came and came alone. She was greeted coolly by the hostess and her sister, which was returned with equal coldness.

After half an hour with the patient, she descended the stairs and into the breakfast parlor with her second daughter, where the household was assembled.

“I trust you did not find Miss Bennet worse than you expected?” Mr. Bingley asked immediately on their entering the room.

“Indeed I have, sir. Mr. Jones says she is a great deal too sick and hurt to be removed. It seems we must trespass on your hospitality for a little longer.”

“Removed!” cried he, aghast, “We must not think of it. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of it until she is better.”

“Miss Bennet will receive every attention while she remains with us, Madam, I assure you,” Miss Bingley said.

“You are too kind,” Mrs. Bennet said stiffly. “I am sure my daughter is much obliged to your kindness. You must forgive her silliness in walking in a rainstorm; it was all rather hastily thought of. Normally,” with a pointed look toward Elizabeth, “My eldest behaves better.”

Upon the silence that followed this pronouncement, Mrs. Bennet spoke again, with the greatest reluctance. “You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, with a pretty prospect from the southernmost window. I hope you will not think of quitting Netherfield in a hurry.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” Mr. Bingley replied, grinning, “And if I do resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. But at the present time, I find myself quite engaged and settled here.”

If he thought this would garner sympathy with Mrs. Bennet, however, he was gravely mistaken. She stared at him baldly.

“That is exactly what I supposed of you, Mr. Bingley,” cried Elizabeth, not bearing the silence.

“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” He asked, sounding relieved.

“Oh! Yes–I understand you perfectly.”

“Elizabeth,” her mother said haughtily. “Do remember where you are.”

They fell into silence again. “Mama,” Elizabeth ventured. “Have you heard from Charlotte Lucas since I went away?”

“Yes, dear, she looked in on us yesterday. I asked her to dine, but she was obliged to go home as her mother needed her about the mince pies. What a good girl. Pity she’s not more handsome, but there, she will make someone a very excellent wife, I’m sure of it.”

“Miss Lucas seems a very pleasant sort of girl,” said Mr. Bingley politely.

“Yes, she is. And she is our Elizabeth’s most particular friend: I do not know one who could be a better influence on her. Miss Lucas, you see, sat in with my girls during their studies, as her mother, I’m sorry to say, had been most lax in arranging for annual masters. But as I told Lady Lucas, I am quite determined to see her as well married as any of my daughters–or at least, as best she can be given her circumstances.”

Here, Elizabeth found it absolutely necessary to interject before her mother could continue to indelicately imply a connection, inferior though it may be to any match her daughters could make, between Mr. Bingley and her dearest friend.

“I do believe that Charlotte’s character and equal parts pragmatism and frankness must be inducement alone for any gentleman. She was always so steady.”

“I had never considered frankness of character as inducement for matrimony,” Mr. Darcy said suddenly.

“It has been my observation,” Elizabeth said, “that a couple who are upfront from the outset of their attachment must be much more inclined to felicity in marriage than those that attempt to conceal or omit parts of their personhood. To be in a relationship built on a foundation of falsehoods reflects well on neither.”

To this, Mr. Darcy said nothing and merely smiled. Few words were exchanged following that, and Mrs. Bennet departed for Longbourn shortly after, and Elizabeth to Jane. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst quickly resumed in censuring their dear friend’s officious mother and sister, but for all their effort, Mr. Darcy could not be counted on to join them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

Jane Bennet was by no means an ignorant or unfeeling person. Her friendship with Mr. Bingley’s sisters had begun out of a real interest in getting to know them better, having found them women of fashion and pleasant manners. She even felt the warmth of gratitude for their kindness towards her following her (somewhat foolishly, upon reflection) arrival on their doorstep, sopping wet and with a lame foot to boot. So it was with genuine regret that she realized her acquaintance with them and, by extension, their agreeable brother must come to an end, on the charge of their most uncharitable behavior towards her dearest sister and beloved Mama. No, the sooner they left Netherfield, the better for all. She resolved on leaving the day after her mother’s visit and informed Elizabeth of her intention.

“I confess that is exactly what I wish,” Elizabeth said, relieved. “Only, I don’t want to relocate you so soon if you are not truly strong enough. If I must endure another day or two of the superior sisters and odious Mr. Darcy, I must.

“I am quite set upon leaving today,” Jane said. “You have told me too much for me to deceive myself into ignoring their unwarranted disdain for our family. To continue this friendship would be injury to my loved ones, and that I cannot abide.”

So the matter was settled, and to Elizabeth fell the burden of informing their hosts. She did so that same morning, after breakfast.

“I thank you all for your gracious care towards my sister and your persevering hospitality towards me, but I am afraid we have overstayed our welcome. If not inconvenient to you, we will head out as soon as the carriage from Longbourn has arrived.”

“So soon!” Cried Mr. Bingley, distressed. “I’d rather hoped you’d stay until Miss Bennet’s foot was repaired. Is it not dangerous to travel in such a condition? Do stay at least until the end of the week.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said, “but my sister and I are quite resolved on leaving as soon as possible. She’s having the servants pack our things now.”

“You will be greatly missed, I’m sure,” said Miss Bingley, devoid of feeling.

“No more than I shall miss your company,” Elizabeth said sweetly, and the former was left to reckon with the insult she had been paid.

“I do hope we will be honored with another visit soon, Miss Bennet–maybe under better circumstances, of course.”

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “Though I am afraid we will be much engaged through the whole of the winter.”

“Surely you can spare a visit to your neighbors? I am thinking of holding a ball here myself, you know,” said Bingley.

“Our engagements are of such a nature,” she said, “that make it hard to guarantee our attendance at any party of yours.”

The whole party caught her meaning, save for two (Hurst was asleep, and Bingley oblivious). The effect was immediate: the sisters treated her with more warmth than usual throughout the whole of the morning (the carriage had yet to arrive).

Elizabeth withdrew to her room to put away a few books she had borrowed from Mr. Bingley. She was in the back of the library reshelving the volumes when she heard the door open and the padding of feet toward her. The steps faltered, and then sped up, growing louder.

“I had thought you prized frankness of character, Miss Bennet.”

She looked around. Mr. Darcy stood at the end of the long shelf, arms crossed. She placed the book back in its home and turned slowly to face him.

“I do,” She said. “Though any evaluations of my display of frankness must be left to my acquaintances.”

“I speak of your recent performance.”

“Well, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said drily, “Given my preference for blunt candor, you can hardly be surprised when I ask you to speak plainly.”

“Very well, Miss Bennet. Do you often insult your host after having imposed on him in such an odd manner, or do you take care to do so only to those you see as being beneath your notice?”

“I wonder at the irony of saying that I meant to insult Mr. Bingley for all the kindness he has paid to my dear sister and myself and my considering him beneath me. Nay, I leave the office of being supercilious and offensive to his friends.”

“You agree, then? That there are times when want of propriety or even the natural state a genteel birth induces can oblige one to distance themselves from their relations? That in doing so is to the credit of both parties?” Mr. Darcy asked eagerly.

Elizabeth blinked. “I think the greatest credit to either would be to stand by a relation in such cases as you have described. My uncle and aunt–the best people I’ve ever known–are of trade, and I would not think of cutting them from my life solely on account of that.”

Darcy said nothing more but examined her earnestly. Elizabeth could only assume that her answer had been the wrong one, but feeling no angst over that, made a curtsy and returned to Jane. The latter informed her the carriage was there to take them home.

Elizabeth helped Jane with a cane down the stairs to the front hall, where Mr. Bingley and his sisters had assembled. Though her heart gave a thud at the sight of Mr. Bingley, Jane merely smiled and bobbed in an awkward curtsy, still unbalanced from her foot.

“I am indebted to you, sir, for the kindness you have bestowed on me and letting me recover in your house.”

Mr. Bingley stared at her hopefully in a way that made her stomach drop, but she said nothing more. Leaning on her cane, Jane turned to the sisters as Elizabeth made her goodbyes to the brother.

“Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst. Your friendship has been invaluable to my sister and me in my time of need. Thank you.”

“You are always welcome at Netherfield, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, to which Jane nodded but did not respond.

“I hope your travel home is a pleasant one,” Mrs. Hurst added. “Ah! Miss Eliza–how entertained we all were by your lively conversation these past few nights.”

“So interesting and interestingly accomplished,” Miss Bingley said in a soft voice. “Your mother must be delighted with you.”

“Jane is the perpetual favorite, I believe, and for good reason too,” Elizabeth said cheerfully, “ She never encourages her sisters to walk through rainstorms to dine with friends. Goodbye, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst.”

So it was a state of bemused contempt that Elizabeth and Jane left the sisters in. Bingley was no less confused and feeling as though he had lost out on something. Mr. Hurst had slept through midday and had missed the farewells, but to Darcy must go the credit for feeling as though he comprehended the younger Miss Bennet’s mind perfectly, indeed. Miss Bingley, shrewd as she was, suspected him and hated Elizabeth all the more for it.

At dinner following the Bennets’ escape from Netherfield, Miss Bingley had started in on her favorite pastime: abusing Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

“--And really, I don’t think I’ve met someone as high and mighty as she. Trying to snub us ! As though it wasn’t onerous being in company with someone of her low breeding–she is unquestionably her mother’s daughter.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Mr. Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, replied, “is a lady. Her father might not be of the peerage or even of the first circles, but he is of genteel birth, and so is she. Whatever the mother might be, Miss Bennet’s genteel status is quite fixed.”

This answer did not wholly satisfy Miss Bingley, who said in a falsely bright tone: “I had no idea Miss Eliza was such a favorite of yours Mr. Darcy! Pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

“A lady’s imagination moves very rapidly from acknowledgment to admiration, admiration to affection, and affection to matrimony. No, I meant only that no gentleman could or should dismiss Miss Elizabeth Bennet or any of her sisters on account of their less fashionable relations–their fortune, education, and genteel breeding would all recommend them to any man. They at least have that advantage.”

Miss Bingley could not ignore the insult directed at her in these words, so wisely said nothing more. The rest of the dinner passed wordlessly, with only the clinking of silverware to fill the silence.

The evening meal at Longbourn was much more lively. The whole house had felt the absence of the two eldest daughters, and even Mrs. Bennet could not help but smile at their return, her anger mostly forgotten. 

It was the next day when Elizabeth had resolved to inform her mother of the updated standing with the family in the house they had returned from.

“--and so Jane has agreed to drop the acquaintance entirely, on pain of their arrogance towards her relations’ situations.”

“Hmph. Well, this whole business has been very poorly managed, Elizabeth–I am severely disappointed in the lack of judgment you demonstrated in sending your sister off on some hare-brained scheme only to fall injured and ill. And all for a meal with women who are so far beneath you in every way!”

Elizabeth sighed. “They are not wholly bad, Mama. I believe some of their haughtiness to be derived from their insecurity around their own connections to trade. They are wealthy both in their own right and have had the benefit of attendance at one of the finest seminaries in the North, I understand. Nonetheless, want of stability is no excuse for their capricious nature in interacting with our family and must be looked upon with trepidation. You need not fear that Jane will pursue a friendship with them going forward.”

“And what of the brother? What are her intentions in that quarter?”

“She has resigned herself to believe that a connection with him is impossible on account of his sisters and friends.”

“All the better, I say. Don’t give me that look, Miss Lizzy; you know it will all be as I say. I have some news from your Aunt Gardiner that will cheer her up.”

The news was divulged the next day at breakfast in the following manner:

“Jane dear, I’ve had a letter from Aunt Gardiner. She writes to invite you to stay with her family in London for the winter season.”

“Oh, London! I’m sure I’d love to go to London. Mama, why can’t I go too?”

“Hush, Lydia, London is not for you. Well, Jane, what do you say to that?”

Jane replied quietly, “If my aunt is kind enough to invite me, I should be happy to stay with her and Uncle Gardiner.”

“Wonderful! They will take you back with them from Longbourn after the Michaelmas holiday.”

So it was arranged. Jane’s ankle had nearly healed, and Jane was almost returned to her good spirits by Monday when Mr. Bennet made an announcement to his family.

“I hope, Mrs. Bennet, you’ve ordered a good dinner today because I have reason to suspect an addition to our family party.”

“Who can you mean? I am sure my meals are good enough for Charlotte Lucas if she should be stopping by,” said his wife.

“The person I refer to is a gentleman and a stranger–the man, who when I am dead, may turn you out of the house if he so pleases–my cousin, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Bennet said all this very calmly.

“Oh! But why must he come here? I’m sure no one wants him here: why can’t he just wait until you’re dead?”

“And on that happy thought,” Said Mr. Bennet drily, “Let me continue. Mr. Collins, it seems, seeks to extend an olive branch to ‘heal the breach’ that has long subsisted between his ‘late honored father’ and me. In his letter, he stated his intention to make amends to our daughters–there, Mrs. Bennet–and intends to call upon us this evening and stay for the following fortnight.”

To the speaker of this pronouncement went the joy of throwing the table into chaos as his family exploded in an uproar and peppered him with questions, to which he had the satisfaction of answering as little as possible. Without a doubt, however, Mr. Collins was coming to Longbourn.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

“I have heard of the beauty and amiability of your daughters, Mrs. Bennet, but in this case, their fame falls short of the truth. I am sure you will see them all well disposed of in matrimony in due time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins. I hope it may be so.”

They were at dinner. Mr. Collins had taken his place beside Mrs. Bennet, the latter of whom looked livid at this arrangement. Mr. Bennet was watching the scene unfold with delight: all of his expectations of his cousin had been exceeded beyond his wildest dreams. Mr. Collins was a fool. A fool who intended, from the leering way he had examined his daughters, to marry one of them. Mr. Bennet could hardly wait to see that exchange play out.

Mrs. Bennet’s mouth pressed into a thin white line as she watched their guest evaluate her silverware and daughters as if they were quite his own. She did not miss how his gaze lingered on her oldest daughter in particular. No. That would never do. By the end of the meal, she was determined that this horrible man would not see Longbourn until the dreaded day of her husband’s passing. 

Elizabeth, feeling the rudeness of her father and fearing the wrath of her mother, addressed her cousin–if also only to spare her sisters from having to do so.

“It seems, Mr. Collins, that you are very fortunate in the way of patroness–Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I understand, is her name?”

“Ah! Cousin Elizabeth, you are quite right–I have never seen rank combined with such condescension in one person. She is all affability, all civility. I am sure I have never met her equal.”

“Has she any children?”

“Indeed, Cousin Jane! She has one daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, heiress to Rosings Park, and very extensive property. She is a true testament to her mother’s extraordinary capabilities.”

Conversation continued on in this way for a time: stilted and sanctimonious, in equal measure. For Mr. Collins’s part, he was delighted at the progress of the evening. Believing the eldest Miss Bennet as in love with him as he fancied himself with her, he resolved to broach the issue of marriage with the mother as soon as possible. This delusion satisfied his pride so much that he did not even raise issue with the youngest Bennet, Miss Lydia, a well-formed girl of fifteen when she objected to his reading of Fordyce’s Sermons after the evening meal. He watched with admiration and vindication as her eldest two sisters took her in hand immediately, so much so that he read a novel to the ladies with great dignity. What harm could there be when there was clearly so much capacity and charm? Miss Elizabeth Bennet, though not as handsome as her eldest sister in that classic way, was then as quickly decided to be on the reserve if, for whatever reason, Miss Bennet was engaged elsewhere.

To Miss Bennet, these intentions were unknown, but to Elizabeth, who had more of a skill of discernment, could guess at their sycophantic cousin’s plans immediately and feared for her sister.

At Netherfield, the days after the eldest Bennet sisters’ abrupt departure were quite dull, as the ladies of that house frequently reminded the gentlemen. Everyone in the neighborhood was beneath their notice to form an acquaintance, aside from perhaps Miss Jane Bennet, but that opportunity had exhausted itself.

“What do you mean?” Asked Bingley, looking distraught upon hearing his sisters’ mentioning the circumstances of the Bennets’ snub of the Netherfield snidely. “Why would they have snubbed us?”

“Oh, Charles, don’t you see?” said Miss Bingley, disdainful. “Mrs. Bennet has it fixed in her mind that Miss Bennet, at the very least, will marry a lord. She would hardly condescend to throw her in your path. And with Miss Eliza being so high and mighty, I’m sure she thinks herself quite above our company.”

“But what can you mean? Miss Bennet came at your invitation if you recall. And they both were perfectly pleasant while they were here—I never heard a complaint out of either of them, and goodness knows Miss Bennet had reason enough.” 

“Miss Bennet is a sweet girl,” said Mrs. Hurst, glancing at her sister, “I would rather think she had been imposed upon by her sister and mother to go along with their slight to us rather than her wishing to cut our acquaintance herself.”

“But why would they wish to? Could it be a misunderstanding of some sort? Might we have offended them? You were always so teasing of Miss Elizabeth, Caroline.”

“Does not a hostess have the right to ask questions of the guest she has so graciously allowed into her house? I thought Miss Eliza abominably rude in her replies to me.”

“Curt, perhaps, but only because you were being so very invasive. And this is most vexing! I had rather hoped to acquaint myself with that family more.”

“No, Charles, you will do better than Jane Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, casting her eyes at Mr. Darcy, who was apparently deeply engaged in his book. He turned a page idly.

Later, however, when Bingley and Darcy were going over numbers from the last harvest, Bingley thought it imperative to follow up.

“Darce, do you understand any more about this business of the Bennets than I? I would so hate to be at odds with such a prominent neighbor so early into my lease. Suppose I decide to buy?”

“Very sensible of you. It’s my opinion that your sisters are right–for the most part,” Darcy said grudgingly.

“The Bennets are so conceited as to not wish to be connected with me? Rather out of character, isn’t it? I thought the mother’s brothers were in trade.”

“A connection she perhaps despises for the sake of her daughters. It is my view, however, that Miss Elizabeth is not so discriminatory. She told me of that herself.”

Bingley raised an eyebrow. “How did such a subject come up?”

“I asked her directly if that was the reason for her snub of you. She said it was not your situation but rather your sisters’ behavior.”

Bingley frowned. “She said that?”

“Not in those words. She merely took offense at being called supercilious and offensive to your friends, and there is no doubt in my mind that she meant them .”

“Oh dear,” sighed Bingley. “I was rather hoping Caroline wouldn’t offend my guests—especially as lovely and pleasant as they were. Well, I will speak to Caroline and Louisa both about their behavior at any rate—unless—,” his eyes shone with excitement, “perhaps I can get them to extend an apology to the Bennet family for their insults!”

“You’d have better luck getting Napoleon to concede,” observed Darcy, feeling privately relieved that continuing a connection to the Bennets was out of the question. He had admired Elizabeth Bennet far more than he cared to admit for all her sharpness and ridiculous parents.

“Blast it! You’re right. Wait—I’ve got it! I’ll apologize on their behalf. Could I send them back to London? Nicholls is more than capable of running the house, and Lousia and Lawrence have got to settle down soon enough.” Bingley clapped his hands together.

Alarmed, Darcy interjected: “You’d send your relations back on so slight a reason as their offending the country gentry?”

“They can’t complain—well, more than they already have. My sisters have expressed more than once how dull they find the society and how limiting the entertainment is. No, I’ll set Caroline up in a house in town, and Louisa will be soon to follow: she always has trailed after Caroline.”

And so, a plan was hatched. Bingley decided on having his sisters leave the day after his planned ball, journeying with him when he went on business, and staying in London. Darcy could not lament the loss of Caroline Bingley or her sister and brother-in-law. He found their society to be overbearing and lacking in sense, and so it was only half-heartedly that he advised against the scheme. The reparations to the ladies of Longbourn were to be made the following day.

The very day of Mr. Bingley’s scheduled apology came. At Longbourn, Elizabeth’s worries over Mr. Collins and her poor sister were in vain. A fifteen-minute meeting with the mother informed Mr. Collins of Jane’s plans to travel to London. Mrs. Bennet hinted that it was widely expected that she would meet her match there. Thus, unknown to the mother and second daughter, Mr. Collins, gratified in his prognostication and forethought, made the switch to proposing to Elizabeth Bennet without much regret. He planned pragmatically to do it at the end of his stay—after all, convinced he was in his success, it was better to court the lady he intended to spend the rest of his days with to show the proper consideration to her sex and gentle breeding.

That same day, Lydia reminded her sisters of the promise of a walk to town. Mr. Bennet, in no less foreseeing a humorous event when his cousin should propose to one of his daughters then being desirous of seeing Mr. Collins out of his library, endorsed this scheme. To Meryton, the Bennet sisters (minus Mary, who much preferred to look over the estate’s bookkeeping) and their cousin Collins set off.

“Do you often walk into Meryton, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Collins panted, endeavoring to keep up with his sprightly cousin. He had solemnly asked for the favor of accompanying her, which both parties were regretting: he for her lightness of foot, and she, for his general company and heavy breathing.

“Yes, Mr. Collins, we walk to see my Aunt Phillips.”

“This is your mother’s sister?” Mr. Collins said, almost running to keep pace.

“Yes, indeed.”

“And her husband is perhaps in some line of trade?” He asked, wincing delicately at the vulgar relations he must demean himself to marry into.

“He is a solicitor,” said Elizabeth cheerfully. 

“A modest calling, but respectful!” Mr. Collins said, a little relieved.

They reached the town, paying first a visit to the milliner’s shop, per Kitty’s request, and then the circulating library, per Lydia’s. As they were exiting, a handsome young man of about six-and-twenty brushed by Elizabeth, knocking the novel from her hands to the ground, causing both to start and leap apart.

“Oh! Pardon me.”

“The fault is entirely mine, Miss—?”

“Bennet, sir. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Well,” said he, stooping down to retrieve the book and gallantly offering it to Elizabeth. “I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Miss Bennet—I promise I am not in the habit of crashing into young ladies, especially ones as lovely as yourself.”

At this point, both parties of the unknown (a gentleman, Elizabeth guessed, for his disarmingly handsome face and cut figure), and Elizabeth, had clustered around the pair. Kitty and Lydia were chattering excitedly, and Mr. Collins was all awkward chivalry, beginning to fuss after Elizabeth.

“I believe, sir,” the unnamed gentleman said, smoothly displacing Mr. Collins from Elizabeth’s side, “the responsibility of looking after a lady must fall to the one who so thoroughly upset her. Please allow me the honor to attend Miss Bennet, as is my duty.”

Mr. Collins huffed and puffed but did as the man asked.

“Might I have the honor of knowing my attendant’s name?” Asked Elizabeth, smiling.

“Wickham,” said he, smiling with equal warmth. “And this here is Mr. Denny. Now you must introduce me to your friends, Miss Bennet, as fairness demands.”

“These are three of my four sisters, Jane, the oldest and best of us, and Kitty and Lydia, my youngest sisters. Mary is at home today.”

“Such loveliness and amiability I have never seen!” Mr. Wickham cried, to which Mr. Denny nodded their assent. “Ladies of beauty and refinement,” he added, tilting his head toward the now-forgotten book in Elizabeth’s hands.

“Lizzy,” Jane breathed in her ear, “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”

Distracted, Elizabeth looked around. Sure enough, the two gentlemen of Netherfield were nearing them on horseback. “Turn away,” she hissed, “turn away, maybe they won’t—”

“Miss Bennet!”

Mr. Bingley had caught sight of them and was urging his mount forward. Mr. Darcy followed. Bingley dismounted, jumping to stand in front of Jane. Mr. Darcy quitted his horse with more dignity and came to stand near Mr. Denny and Kitty. It did not seem, Elizabeth realized, that he had recognized her presence yet.

“Did you know,” said Bingley happily, “we were on our way to inquire after you, Miss Bennet? But I see you are very well.”

Jane could not help but smile. “Indeed, sir. You find me much recovered.”

“Oh, and your sisters are with you—delightful! Good day, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Kitty—-and Miss Lydia, of course.”

The girls curtseyed in greeting, and Elizabeth took great pleasure in Mr. Darcy stepping back in surprise at the mention of her name. 

“I believe I must apologize,” Bingley said, who had eyes only for Jane. “I am afraid you have found my conduct during your stay at Netherfield wanting. I hope you will do me the honor of forgiving me.”

“I wish I could, Mr. Bingley, if I only knew what to forgive you for.”

“Mr. Bingley! Are you, perhaps, the Mr. Bingley from west of Kent, where my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, resides?”

The whole party turned to stare at Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth blushed at her cousin exposing himself in such a manner. She stepped forward to see Mr. Darcy go a shade redder than he had been.

“Mr. Bingley, I’m afraid you haven’t met our cousin, Mr. Collins, who is lately staying with us. Mr. Collins, this is Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, and these gentlemen are Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham.”

As she introduced their new acquaintances, Mr. Darcy’s expression grew more and more drawn until it was finally a stony, unreadable expression. Mr. Wickham’s face she also saw: he went pale at the mention of Darcy but reached up to touch his hat, a gesture that Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.

Mr. Bingley, perhaps detecting the tension, said that no, he was not the same Mr. Bingley west of Kent but that he had heard of Mr. Collins’s patroness. Predicting a scene more embarrassing for herself and her sisters than for her cousin, Elizabeth quickly spoke again.

“How kind of you to call on us, Mr. Bingley—how fortuitous it was we ran into you as we were just on our way to visit our Aunt Phillips, who lives up the street.”

“Well!” Mr. Bingley said, with real desperation now, as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham were seemingly locked in a telepathic dialogue, and there was a real danger of Mr. Collins continuing to speak. “We should be very happy to escort you there. Might we call on you tomorrow?” 

To this, Jane acceded and took his proffered arm, his other holding the reins of his horse.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Wickham said, giving Elizabeth his arm and stepping past Darcy. Mr. Denny offered his arm to Kitty, who took it, giggling, and Lydia took Mr. Darcy’s arm without invitation, dragging him past the hapless Mr. Collins.

To the Phillips’s, they walked, this odd party of five gentlemen, four ladies, and two steeds. At the door, the gentlemen and horses bid farewell to the ladies and Mr. Collins and left in the opposite direction, both pairs speaking furiously amongst each other. What could be the meaning of the interaction between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy? It was impossible not to wish to know. Numb by her musings, she endured the company of the tedious Mr. Collins’s company through the rest of the call to her aunt. The latter invited them all to a soiree at her home the following day and promised to extend the offer to any of the gentlemen that had so handsomely escorted her fair nieces.

Upon their separation from the Bennet sisters, Darcy found himself immediately questioned by his friend as they rode back to Netherfield.

“What is your defense for your rudeness to the Miss Bennets? What could they have done to offend you now?”

“I was not rude.”

“Blast it, Darcy, you were. You didn’t so much as greet the ladies and looked entirely angry at escorting Miss Lydia to her aunts. She is only fifteen, you know: her forwardness is the byproduct of her youth.”

“It was not the Miss Bennets that was the object of my fury. It was their friend, Wickham.”

“Wickham,” Bingley frowned. “Not the Wickham from your youth?”

“The very same. He should not be allowed in the company of young ladies, though I am not surprised he has wormed his way into the company of the Bennets .”

“That seems quite harsh a punishment for his faults of character,” said Bingley, discomfited.

“His faults of character,” said Darcy coldly, “are nothing to the lack of honor and vile mercenary acts that sketch his person.” 

Bingley gaped. “What has he done to merit this condemnation?”

Darcy shifted in his seat. He had not planned on sharing this story with anyone, but he felt that Bingley, at least, must know of the dangers such a man posed in this neighborhood.

“He imposed himself on Georgiana last summer in a manner that will make it hard to soon forget his crimes.”

“He didn’t—-?!”

“Her reputation and honor remain intact. By chance, I discovered his scheme to elope with her for her fortune the day before they were to Scotland. It seems I had hired an unscrupulous companion for her in Mrs. Younge.”

“Good heavens, Darce, I didn’t know.”

“I bought his silence and that of any other witness. Georgiana, as you could imagine, was mortified and devastated at disappointing her brother so. Her heart is still healing under the thoroughly-vetted Mrs. Annesley’s stewardship.”

“You don’t imagine it could have been a real attachment on either part?”

Darcy bristled. “Certainly not. Wickham meant entirely to revenge himself upon me and reward himself with my sister’s portion. And Georgiana is young yet—she must have been entirely confused and convinced to believe herself in love with the scoundrel.”

“My pardon, Darcy. I only hoped Wickham not so bad as you believed. Do you think we ought to warn our acquaintances?”

“How would we accomplish that without ruining my sister? The man is as slippery as an eel and will surely let slip the circumstances of his despicable acts.”

They had reached Netherfield, where Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stood at the front door to greet them.

“Bad behavior or not,” said Bingley in a low voice as they dismounted and handed off their mounts to the grooms, “I would not wish such a horrid fortune hunter upon my sister. You may do as you please and hold the world in contempt, but I will not expose Caroline to such a man. Ah, Caroline, Louisa—good of you to come and collect us.” And, taking the arms of both his sisters, Bingley gave Darcy a meaningful look and led his sisters inside.