Author's Note: I've been a huge fan of Jane Austen for a long time, but to tell the truth each time I read Pride and Prejudice I come out completely satisfied, like I don't need to add anything more. However, I've decided to delve into the past a little bit and in that head into Darcy and Elizabeth's future. So, yes, there may be a hint of romance outside of Darcy and Elizabeth, just as a warning. Go with me a little, and forgive any mistakes I make for accuracy, grammar, etc.

Hope it's enjoyable :-)

Chapter 1

The lady dressed in a black silk gown took her place among the other seated guests and folded her hands delicately across her lap. To the few individuals she recognized she nodded and returned polite smiles, but for the most part she remained still and silent, conscious of her anonymity among the crowd of people. Trying to relax, she looked around the simple yet well furnished great hall and sighed lightly, her fingers releasing their terse grip on the lace gloves she held.

She had been invited here out of courtesy, as a guest, as an acquaintance. People regarded her as a mystery, with innocent curiosity, baseless suspicion. There was no reason why she should not enjoy herself. Taking a breath and listening to the whisper of her gown against the floor, she finally turned up her veil and even ventured to murmur a few words to her neighbor in casual greeting.

The room grew silent suddenly as the lights around her extinguished and a few knowing guests clapped. Above her, a loud simple chord reverberated to the high ceilings of the room. She searched for its source as the notes melted away into a haunting intricacy of scales and arias of unparalleled speed. Her insides churned as the sound built, changing keys rhythmically until the sound climaxed with a surprisingly soft cadence. The silence that followed was brief, but she swivelled in her chair to find the origin of the inexplicably disturbing sound.

"You won't find him there," someone whispered to her at her side. A hand in the shadows indicated above them in the balcony. "He always plays from the rafters."

The lady followed the extended fingers to the faint outline of a piano-forte and its master, sitting with his back to the body of his audience. The music brought tears to her eyes, but not of moved awe and wonder, but of a fear that she could not rationalize. There was something in the sound, a phrase or a repetition of notes, that she recognized.

The interlude of gentle rolling cadences and pleasantries ended abruptly and she was plunged back into the furious theme of the concerto as if drenched in ice cold water. The form of the musician remained impossibly still, his back stiff as if he were restraining himself, but his hands gave away the force of his emotion. They slowed, however, traveling more and more gently along the glowing white keys until they stopped over a collection of them. He pressed gently and then lifted them from the ivory.

After a pause, the guests rose from their seats and applauded vigorously. A host of servants once again lit the extinguished lamps and the warm, welcoming light refilled the pleasant hall. The lady stood with the rest of them and clapped absently, her eyes focused on the still shadowed form until he moved away from the piano-forte and into the light. Her hands froze mid-clap. He bowed curtly to the audience and gave a restricted smile as their appreciation quieted down to a hush.

"I thank you all for doing me the honor of dining with me tonight," he said, his voice deep and clear. "Welcome to Pemberley Hall." They applauded in reply and were ushered by the many servants into the dining hall. The lady felt a light touch at her right arm and tore her eyes away from the balcony.

"Miss Drake, will you do me the great honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" The young man who had invited her tonight offered her his arm, but his sister shook her golden-curled hair and laughed.

"But, Lady Drake, I daresay you would prefer to be introduced to our host first, would you not?" the girl smiled, and took her hand in hers. "You do understand, don't you, Charles?"

"Of course," he said, bowing deeply. "I should have thought of it myself. I shall go with you; I haven't had the opportunity to greet the man myself, as it were."

Her faint protests went unheard as they ushered her to the foot of the marble staircase that descended from the balcony. She dragged her eyes up the carpeted steps until they collided with the tall, rigid statue into which some cruel god had breathed life, and planted her feet firmly against the ground to steady herself.

"Mr. Darcy, you have outdone yourself once again," the young man called Charles called with a wide grin. "Never have I heard the piano-forte played so masterfully. Tell us, who composed such a moving piece?"

Mr. Darcy bowed slightly. "I am the man," he replied. "You see, my wife encourages me to develop my music. I'm afraid my sister has had much influence upon her."

At the word 'wife' he had intoned his voice almost imperceptibly, but the lady noticed with a smothered shiver.

"And where is Mrs. Darcy this evening? I don't believe I've seen her," Charles' sister asked cheerfully. Mr. Darcy turned to her and for the first time his eyes rested on the lady full blaze.

"She is walking presently behind you," Mr. Darcy answered, his eyes still with the lady for barely a second more before moving past them. The party turned, last of which the lady, and beheld the mistress of Pemberley Hall.

She was tall, like her husband, and very thin. Her eyes were warm and welcoming but still retained a constant sharp intelligence that, accompanied by her stubborn chin, added to her unique charm. She wore her reddish-brown hair in lose curls around her long, graceful neck around which an elegant necklace hung, no doubt a gift from her husband. She moved forward and placed her hand on Mr. Darcy's forearm, wrapping the other around as well with uncensored affection.

"Good evening," she greeted from her husband's side. Her eyes moved from face to face until they came upon the only one she did not recognize. She promptly extended a thin hand and took the lady's gloved one briefly. "I don't believe I've made your acquaintance."

"May I present Lady Charlotte Drake of Edinburgh, Scotland," Charles cut in, blushing at his forgetfulness. "Lady Drake, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley Hall." The two women curtseyed and straightened politely.

"You have an exquisite home, Mrs. Darcy," Lady Drake complimented softly. "It is very beautifully designed." Mrs. Darcy smiled and squeezed her husband's arm.

"I should be most honored to give you a tour of the gardens, Lady Drake," Mrs. Darcy offered, not noticing the flicker of light that refracted in her husband's gaze. "It is by far the most breathtaking element of the manor grounds. I say the grounds because in my opinions it is in the forests that Pemberley is truly unsurpassed, but I doubt you'd like to tromp around in the mud in your evening finest."

The party tittered in amusement and Lady Drake inclined her head lightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, I shall enjoy that very much." Her eyes moved away from the mistress of Pemberley Hall and lingered for a moment on its master.

"Enough talk, then, I say!" Charles laughed after a moment, and offered his hand to Lady Drake. "He's bewitched us with his playing and made us into paupers with his finery, let's see if his supper can bring him off of his throne!" Lady Drake took his arm with more gratitude than the young man knew and was led away to the dining hall.

Remaining in the hall while the rest of the guests filtered into the dining room, Elizabeth sighed happily and planted a light kiss on her husband's cheek. "Whoever was that young woman, Mr. Darcy? I don't believe I've ever seen her before."

Mr. Darcy's eyes followed the black form as it disappeared behind an ornate threshold and took his wife's hand on his arm. "I knew her mother once a long time ago. She was good to my father before his death." He replied shortly, and moved forward as the last of the guests moved into the dining hall. "As for her daughter, Lady Drake, I have no affiliation with her beyond the knowledge of her existence.

"Shall we go to dinner, Mrs. Darcy? I think you will enjoy the entree very much tonight." Smiling, Elizabeth squeezed her husband's arm and glided toward the dining hall, her deep burgundy gown floating along the floor behind her.

After a five-course meal, Lady Drake took her leave from the table with a few of the other women and moved towards the parlor. Already several other ladies had seated themselves around a cackling fire and one played several chords on a small, gilded piano-forte. Her nerves were nearly destroyed as it was, and the choppy, social melodies that repeated monotonously from the heart of the instruments threatened to undo her.

"Do you mind if I take the chair?" Lady Drake asked politely. The girls, recognizing her and her rank, quickly stood and let her sink down at the bench. She knew the moment her fingers would touch the ivory, she'd not be able to look her host directly in the eye again, but the alternative, a solid two hours of amateur tinkering and choppy sonatinas, was far less suitable.

As she expected, the smooth keys brought repressed memories to the surface but she ignored him with the ease of one with great practice. She played simply at first, but as more women crowded around the piano-forte in appreciation, she relaxed slightly, comfortable with her place in the spotlight, and played harder. Although she played Beethoven, not accepted as a social composer for his passionate sonatas, the melancholy composition she chose was welcomed by the women and as the sound grew more and more complex, the women fell silent and simply stood with their hands on the lustrous wood, feeling the vibrations with their soft, lubricated fingers.

The conclusion, her favorite because of its unabashed abruptness, fell upon the women like a thunderclap and a few jumped at the quick, stocatta quarter notes that ended the melody. Her hands slid from the keys and she looked up from their station at the candle that sat in the center of the piano-forte. After the women realized the sonata had ended they clapped warmly and complimented her on her playing. One, a young girl not more than fourteen, asked her if she would teach her to play, and Lady Drake felt a pleasant warmth at the innocent form of flattery. The warmth grew cold, however, as she looked up and found her gaze intercepted by two dark brown orbs across the parlor.

Okay, so I tried. Feedback would be very much appreciated. Will post again soon. Thanks!