Chapter Text
They managed to keep their secret for two full days before they were discovered. When Lizzie thought about it later, she was impressed it had taken that long. There were too many variables to control. Lizzie lived with Lydia, a notoriously bad secret-keeper, and her parents, both of whom were on high alert: Mr. Bennet because of Lydia's recent troubles, and Mrs. Bennet because she simply could not operate in any other fashion. Charlotte could be counted on to keep their fledgling relationship quiet, but she was the least of their concerns.
Then there was the fact that Lizzie's town wasn't a busy metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, and people recognized and took an interest in her simply because she had lived there all her life. Anywhere they went, they ran the risk of casually bumping into an old classmate or teacher or acquaintance, any one of whom could just as casually mention to Mrs. Bennet that they had seen her daughter out with a tall, handsome gentleman. Even being spotted coming or going to Netherfield could attract attention, especially given the fact that Bing and Caroline had been conspicuously absent for months.
The fact that they had two days of blissful secrecy was kind of a miracle, all things considered.
On Tuesday morning, they had planned to take a trip into town so Lizzie could show off her favorite used book store. ("We'll find you a copy of The Brothers Karamazov that you can highlight and scribble in to your heart's content. Nonsense, William, used books are made for margin notes! It's practically a rule.") The shop was peculiar and charming; the owner sold pipe tobacco and cigars alongside dogearred volumes of poetry and trashy romance novels, and worn out, squashy leather chairs hid around every corner. Of course, what she had failed to tell William was that she found nothing so erotic as the smell of old books, leather, and tobacco. She entertained a private fantasy of pinning him up against shelves in the 19th Century British Literature section and thoroughly rumpling his carefully groomed hair and buttondown shirt.
The house was quiet that morning. William arrived after Mr. Bennet and Lydia had left for the day, and Mrs. Bennet was running errands. Lizzie didn't expect her back for hours, so they took full advantage of their solitude. What had begun as Lizzie insisting she just needed one more cup of coffee had turned into an hour of kissing and flirting and not so innocent touches in every corner of the kitchen and den.
Lizzie hadn't meant to stop in the full view of the front door, but she simply could not wait to kiss William again for a second longer. It had started out innocent enough, just a peck on the lips, really. But she was learning that something about being that close to William Darcy seemed to ignite her, and before too long she was pawing at his shoulders, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, and squirming impatiently as she struggled to reach. Sensing her impatience, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted, groaning incomprehensively when she wrapped her legs around his waist and began to kiss him with renewed vigor.
Neither one of them heard the quiet click of a door swinging open.
"Elizabeth!"
Mrs. Bennet's exclamation came out in a breathy sort of squeal, equal parts delight and utter shock. She stood framed in the doorway, a bag of groceries in one arm and a large purse under the other, gaze trained on the spectical before her.
William reacted instantly, swinging Lizzie down to her feet and disentangling her arms from his body with a speed that impressed and perturbed Lizzie. She made a vague grunt of dissatisfaction, but any sound she made was lost under a torrent of Southern hospitality, which Mrs. Bennet could turn on and off like a hose.
"Mr. Darcy, we had no idea you were in town. I can't imagine why my Elizabeth didn't mention anything about it." She paused for the space of a breath, pointedly glaring at her middle child before turning a megawatt smile on William. "I hope you'll excuse her manners, I swear we raised her better."
"Mother," Lizzie muttered, finding her voice. She reached out and grabbed William's hand, squeezing it comfortingly. His returning squeeze was more like a vice grip. "My manners are fine; I don't think that William was complaining. And actually we really have to get-"
"Honestly, Lizzie, it's like you were raised by wolves. Your father will want to speak to your gentleman caller at some point, I'm sure, and you haven't even invited him to dinner yet! And after he's already been in town for..."
Mrs. Bennet paused again, this time directing her piercing stare at William. Her eyes were exactly like Lizzie's, he found, only at her most intimidating and self-righteous moment Lizzie never looked so calculating. Still, her smile was warm enough, and something about the way she was sizing him up reminded him of long-off memories of his own mother.
"Two days," he supplied, not wanting to be rude.
"Two days! I apologize on behalf of my daughter, Mr. Darcy. Such inexcusible inhospitality. You must join us for dinner this evening. I'll make a roasted chicken and my famous mashed potatoes. And you have to try my Lizzie's chocolate pie! It's the best in town. You'll never want to eat anything else ever again."
"Mom, I really don't have time to make a pie. We have plans." Lizzie leveled a fierce stare of her own, and for a moment, William forgot the terror of this first official parental engagement, lost in the memory of the things Lizzie Bennet was capable of when she stared that way.
"Nonsense, Lizzie." Mrs. Bennet's smile managed to be both serene and manic. "I'm sure you have plenty of time. And while you're doing that, I'll entertain Mr. Darcy here. We didn't get nearly enough time to talk last time he was in town, and I'm just dying to get to know him better."