A/N: All characters belong to the one and only Austen. I do not own Pride and Prejudice. That aside, I would rather like to take credit for the plot. Happy reading!
Elizabeth Bennet did not like to start her day off early. Everything was too bright, too noisy, and there was the ever-present ridiculous need to say 'good morning' to every sullen face she had to pass. Manners were overrated. Hence why the days always seemed so much pleasanter when the sun was high in the sky and the caffeine had made its way up to her brain.
Today, however, was not one of those days.
Angrily, she fumbled around on her bedside cabinet until she managed to grasp the vibrating phone. Her lips pulled back into an involuntary sneer as she read the caller's name.
"What do you want, Lydia." She answered, half asleep.
"Lizzziiieee," the voice cooed, "My darling favourite sister, would you be oh-so kind as to do me a favour?"
She groaned inwardly. Lydia's favours were nothing short of last-minute and hopelessly ridiculous.
"Let me guess. You need a text for English or something." She mumbled, throwing a languid arm over her eyes.
"Oh you are brilliant Lizzie! Anything will do, preferably something that sounds sophisticated, you know? Like that book by the Fitzgerald bloke. What was it called? The Good Gatsby?"
"I can't keep doing this for you Lyddie. It's OK to be disorganised once in a while, but come on, do you have to do this every fucking semester? And for the record it's the Great Gatsby you numbskull."
"I knew I could count on you! Meet outside the Longbourn at 8 yeah? I gotta dash, see you soon!"
"Hold up, Lyddie, its Sunday, why do you need the book toda–"
The line went cold. She lay on her bed for a couple more minutes before braving a cursory glance at her alarm clock.
"6 fucking am. You've got to be kidding me." She murmured.
After deliberating twenty or so possible ways for murdering her youngest sister, she rolled off the bed with as much grace as she could muster and began the agonising routine of making herself look presentable. She chanced a glance in the mirror.
"Why hello there death," she said to her reflection, "Don't you look the epitome of gorgeous today."
She studied her face for a while. It wasn't as if she was particularly ugly or anything, she just had the knack of having the worst bed hair and always woke up looking perpetually stoned, an expression which would not fade away for at least an hour or two.
Pulling on a cardigan and a pair of old jeans, she gave herself another once over and decided she looked borderline satisfactory. It wasn't as if she was meeting anybody else, and the store was closed for the weekend, which ultimately meant she could crawl right back under the covers as soon as she was done with Lydia.
Grabbing her car keys and purse, she couldn't help but feel a smile spread slowly across her cheeks. Ever since establishing the book store Meryton on Thames, life had been nothing short of wonderful. There was nothing like being surrounded by her favourite literature on a daily basis and simultaneously employing management and entrepreneurial skills. Such was the delight of running her own business, she thought, even if it did mean living close to frugality outside of work.
It's worth it, she thought, thinking of the new order of Hemingway novels bound to arrive on Monday.
The store was about a twenty-minute drive from her place, located snugly in Westminster, right along the river, and it was a haven for literary fanatics and wannabe vintage collectors. She'd been fortunate enough to have a good flow of customers, considering she had unknowingly situated her store right near Netherfield Literature, a booming book franchise with over 30 stores across London and Essex. And although she was slightly resentful of its popularity due to its consequent attraction of more customers, she was grateful that many people had still chosen to visit her humble store despite the fact that Netherfield had so much more to offer.
Pulling up outside, she clumsily stumbled onto the footpath and waged war with the shop keys until the door finally opened with a crashing jangle. Oh the horror of waking early, she thought, everything sounds ten times louder than they should.
As soon as she was inside, she was greeted with the earthy smell of aging pages and dusty shelves and felt a sense of relief wash over her.
"Now this is why I work here." She whispered to herself.
"What, so you can sniff books and have…invigorating discussions with elderly closet poets?" Came a disembodied voice from the doorway.
Her head whipped around too quickly and caught the edge of a shelf.
"Oww," she murmured, rubbing the sore spot, "What are you doing here Lyddie? You said to meet at Longbourn at 8."
She watched her youngest sister shrug nonchalantly and inspect her dark painted nails. "I had time to kill."
"What, at seven in the morning?"
"Couldn't sleep," she retorted. "So you gonna get me that book or..?"
She rubbed her temples and reminded herself that one day Lydia Bennet would grow up and understand the desirability of sleep.
"Come in," she grumbled, "I still don't get why you need at book at such an absurd time of day on a weekend. Aren't you teenagers supposed to be hungover from parties or something?"
Her sister glared at her, all politeness from the phone call gone. "You're only twenty-four, Lizzie, you're not that much older than me."
She snorted, reaching up to grab the wanted book. "I'm old enough to know when you're being weird and highly out of character," she handed her sister the book, "You know you're going to have to pay me back one day. I can't keep buying your books for you."
Her sister grinned cheekily. "Thanks big sis. I'm glad you're there to be responsible for the both of us!" She shouted, heading out the door.
"Hold up Lyddie! You still going to the Longbourn?"
Her sister seemed to consider this before answering slowly. "…Yeees…"
"I'll come with. God knows I need a coffee."
Her sister shrugged again before nodding absent-mindedly. "I'll shout you since you got me the book."
Her eyebrows rocketed up into her hairline. "You? Shout me? Is this Random Acts of Kindness day or what?"
"Don't be such a dick. I can be nice, you know. And I'm not that poor. Mum gives me an allowance, remember?"
"Oh right, I keep forgetting you don't have to make your own money. Lucky bitch."
"Hey!" she retorted. "I'm seventeen! Cut me some slack."
"I was a barista at Starbucks when I was seventeen."
"That's because you're you, Lizzie, and I'm pretty sure Jane got you that job, so you can ditch the Holier Than Thou attitude."
She chuckled softly. "Alright alright. But you still haven't explained to me why you needed the book."
At this, her sister's face turned an alarming shade of fire-engine red, and she fidgeted nervously with her hair.
"Well…"
"Well?"
"There's this guy-"
"Aw Lyddie, you're shitting me. You dragged me up at six to get you a book so you could flirt with some guy-"
"No we're just friends! I'm not flirting, I'm just…taking note of his interests…" She replied, gesticulating wildly.
Lizzie cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced. "…Riiiight."
Lydia smiled sheepishly. "Ok, ok, I'll admit. I fancy him a little-"
"I knew it!"
"-but we're just friends! And basically he's an English graduate studying in Leeds but he's on holidays at the moment so he's home, and well, he's a barista at the Longbourn, and he said he'd help be more than happy to help me with work for school and-"
"Hold up a minute chickadoo. He's in uni? How old is he?"
Her sister had the audacity to look guilty. "…Twenty-six?"
She stopped walking abruptly. "Twenty-six, Lyddie, are you serious? He's nine years older than you! This is ridiculous!"
"Calm down! It's not like we're dating or anything, he's just a friend-"
"-that you fancy-"
"-hey for the record, I fancy George Clooney. And he's what, fifty-two?"
She pondered this notion for a moment. "Point taken, but Lyddie, you have to be careful-"
"I know I know. No funny business."
But then a light bulb flickered in her brain and she paused in her step momentarily.
"Did you say he was twenty-six?" She asked.
Her sister looked up, confused. "Yeah…?"
"And that he's an English graduate at Leeds?"
"…Yes?"
"And he's working casual at the Longbourn?"
"Yes? Lizzie, where are you going with this-"
"Is he by any chance a bloke with wavy-ish brown hair by the name of George?"
She watched, half amused, as her sister's eyes widened and she deadpanned at her. "How do you know him?!"
She smirked, unable to help herself. "You forget, I am heavily reliant on caffeine to pass off as a relatively functioning human being. I've met him a couple of times before whilst getting a latte. George…Wickham, innit?"
Her sister nodded enthusiastically. "Oh Lizzie, isn't he just gorg?"
She couldn't help but feel her own cheeks warming a little, George Wickham was an eyeful. His incredibly boyish smile would have every girl fawning after him, and his twinkling blue eyes held you to your spot as he spoke.
"Yeah, a little."
But then she remembered her own dingy appearance and matted hair and old jeans and almost wished she had refused Lydia's offer to coffee.
Way to make a good impression, she thought glumly as Lydia dragged her into the shop.
"Hey George!" She heard her sister call, "I hope I'm not too early. I brought my sister with me today."
Lizzie gave him a half-hearted wave and a slight smile whilst working her hair into an acceptable plait.
"No worries kiddo. I'm just about to finish my shift. Why don't you go find a seat and I'll be with you in a minute." He replied, smiling widely.
She felt her hand being tugged to the opposite end of the shop and winced as Lydia squealed excitedly. "He's so nice, I wish I was as old as you so I could date him."
She watched as he hung up his apron and made his way over.
"Elizabeth, is it? Don't you run Meryton on Thames just a few shops down?"
"Yeah I do," she replied softly, "Good memory."
He laughed, the sound robust and joyous. "Believe me, I'm the most forgetful person in the world actually. Me and trivial details were bound for a divorce." He replied, smiling widely.
She felt the corners of her lips tug upwards as she listened to him speak. He was like the illegitimate child of a golden retriever puppy and the ice-cream man - an over-kill of friendliness that was bordering on being creepy.
She watched as he turned to Lydia and they talked about The Great Gatsby. Her job was done for the day, at least, and seeing as her sister had completely forgotten to shout her coffee, she quickly bid them both goodbye and stood up to leave.
"It was good seeing you again, Elizabeth." She heard George reply. "Soy latte tomorrow?"
Her cheeks reddened. "Yeah, sure. And call me Lizzie. Elizabeth makes me sound like our queen. Not that I have any objections to patriotism, but yeah. You get me."
He laughed again. "You're funny. I'll see you tomorrow."
She quickly slipped out of the shop, not wanting him to observe any more of her disgusting attire and morning grossness.
As she approached her bookstore, her phone vibrated again. She answered quickly.
"Is it officially 'bother the second eldest sister' day or what? I've already had a hell of a morning with Lydia and it's barely eight o'clock Jane." She whined.
Her sister laughed on the other end of the line, the sound tinkling and warming to her ears. "You poor thing," her sister reassured, "listen, are you at the shop? I've just bumped into a couple of lovely gentlemen and embarrassingly spilled all my coffee on this poor guy's shirt. Mind if we duck in and borrow your bathroom?"
She groaned audibly in exasperation, but she could never go against Jane. It would be like knocking down a toddler's ice cream or shooting a kitten. Jane was just too nice.
"Yeah I'm right outside actually, but make this quick. I'm the reincarnation of a make-up less Cher this morning and the fewer the people who see me, the fewer the casualties."
Her sister laughed again. God, why couldn't everyone's laugh be this melodic? "I'm sure you look fine, sweetie, and we won't be any trouble at all. See you in five!"
She hastily entered the shop and made quick use of busying herself behind the counter to avoid direct conversation. However, organising files became a bore and she ended up slouching unattractively on her swivel chair (those things were too fun for their own good) and propping her feet up on the counter as she devoured Voltaire's Candide for the nth time.
It wasn't long before she was completely lost in her own literary bubble and outside noises faded into a comfortable silence.
"…she should be here, I did ask her if we could come in – Lizzie! There you are! You look…comfy."
She groggily raised her eyes from her book before she realised that Jane was standing in front of her with two rather attractive men at her side, one who was barely containing his laughter, and the other simply staring at her with a look of disdain.
Well someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
But then she realised that she was in a rather embarrassing position and proceeded to humiliate herself even more as she struggled to stand up with what was left of her dignity.
"Hi," she managed, "I'm Lizzie."
The guy who laughed smiled in return and extended a hand. She shook it firmly. "I'm Charlie," he said, cheeks dimpling with his smile, and gestured to his miserable companion, "I'm sorry about this one here. He doesn't try to look like he's suffering a stroke on purpose."
"Hey!" His friend objected, "I'm not the one getting coffee spilled on." He turned to face her. "Darcy, Will Darcy." He introduced, face stony.
"Lizzie." She repeated, smiling awkwardly, extending a hand. When he made no move to shake it, she withdrew it hesitantly, suddenly finding a rather interesting spot on the ground to look at.
They stood like that for a couple of seconds before Jane broke the thickening silence.
"Right! So Lizzie, where's this bathroom?"
"Erm, down the literary fiction aisle and then there should be a sign to the left." She directed.
Jane smiled warmly before directing Charlie by the elbow. "Thanks sweetie, be back in a tick."
The small action did not go unnoticed, and she noted with amusement as Charlie's face flushed an adorable shade of pink as she watched her sister escort him to the bathroom. His friend, on the other hand, merely squinted at the pair and followed them sullenly.
She began contemplating on what Jane and Charlie's children would look like (a nice combination of strawberry blonde hair seeing as Charlie was ginger and Jane was beautifully blonde along with perfect cheekbones and perfect skin) when Jane's footsteps interrupted her reverie.
"Hey Lizzie, I'm just going to pop outside for a minute to call mum."
Lizzie nodded. "She still a menopausal bitch?"
Her sister gave her the evil eye. Well, as evil Jane could get, really. "I'll only be a while."
She hummed a response. The guys were conversing in the bathroom, and muted conversation drifted towards her ears.
Surely it wouldn't hurt to eavesdrop a little; after all, this was her book shop, which meant, consequently, that she had the authority to know what people were talking about. Technically. Sort of. Not really.
She lightly tiptoed towards the bathroom anyway.
"…I still don't understand why we couldn't have just ducked into Netherfield to use the bathrooms there. They're a lot bigger than this hole anyway."
She recognised the voice as that of the sullen friend's. The Darcy bloke. Her brows knitted together. This…hole? Her bathroom was perfectly adequate!
"Don't be such a girl Will, it's perfectly fine. We should be grateful that Jane didn't let us walk those extra hundred metres. The coffee would have been a bitch to clean out by then."
Darcy snorted. "Five minutes in and you're already on a first name basis?"
"No one's archaic like you, Will. I'd rather call her Jane than Bennet, and in case you haven't noticed, her sister's here too, which would've just made it even more confusing."
"How serendipitous."
"What?"
"One spilt coffee and you're into her already."
"What?!" Charlie spluttered. Lizzie stifled a giggle behind her hand.
"I can guarantee you that you'll have her number by the end of this hour."
"Don't be ridiculous Will. I'm being s-o-c-i-a-b-l-e. You might need to look that word up, you know, Oxford Dictionary and everything."
"You like her."
"Do not."
"You blushed when she touched your elbow."
"Yeah but-"
"You blushed, Charles, as red as your hair."
"Ok fine!" He admitted, exasperated. "I like her. She's…I can't explain it, you know? This must be what they say about love at first sight."
She heard Darcy scoff. "Charlie, I reckon you've just gone for too long without getting some, you literally met her not ten minutes ago-"
"-no that's not it Will. There's something about her. She's just so…lovely."
The men were silent for a while, and she wondered whether they had discovered she was eavesdropping, but then was reassured when they continued their conversation.
"They're both lovely girls, actually. Her sister, Lizzie, isn't it? She's quite friendly. What say you, Will?"
She leaned in even closer to gauge Darcy's reaction.
"She's passable at the most." He replied, indifferent. "Rather dull, to be honest."
She pulled back in mortification. Passable? Passable? In anger and indignation, she stomped back to the counter and proceeded to sulk childishly in her swivel chair.
Twirling a pen in her hands, she recounted the events that occurred this morning, determined to find where she had come across as passable. It was true that she wasn't dressed well, and she was caught slouching in a rather ridiculous position, but she'd been friendly and sociable and she even remembered to smile despite being so coldly regarded by him. And if she recalled properly, he was the one showing an alarming absence of manners when he refused to shake her hand. What sort of gentleman would do that?
She contented herself in thinking that perhaps he was just a pompous arse who pleased himself by putting down others. It wasn't as if she'd likely see him again anyway, which meant that there would be no real need to be polite to him after all.
She heard the men coming out of the bathroom and made haste to arrange herself in a somewhat dignified posture.
"Thanks for the bathroom Lizzie," Charlie started, "Your shop is lovely by the way."
Now there was a guy with manners. "No probs." She replied. "And thank you, I've had it for little over half a year."
He smiled amiably. "Well, business seems pretty strong, and you've found an awesome location, so really, kudos to you. Although, would you mind terribly if I gave you a few helpful tips?"
She smiled widely. "Not at all! Fire away."
"Well," he began, surveying the room. "Try positioning the bestsellers to the right of the room, that way, when the customer's walk in, they'll see them immediately. And you might want to think about getting some more lights up near the back."
She jotted the notes down quickly on the back of a receipt. "Do you run a bookstore too?"
Darcy snorted. Lizzie scowled. Charlie coughed. "Well yeah, sort of. You see, I kind of…uh…"
"His family owns Netherfield." Darcy finished.
She took a moment to retrieve her jaw from the ground. Sex-y Lizzie, her mind commented.
"Wait, as in Netherfield Literature? Holy shit." She ran a shaky hand through her unruly locks. "Holy shit."
Darcy seemed to stifle a laugh. "Why, aren't you eloquent-"
"Shut up, doucheknob." She countered quickly. Looking up a Charlie, she put on her most winning smile. "Can the expert share more of his wisdom?"
He opened his mouth to continue when suddenly his eyes were drawn away from Lizzie and he smiled charmingly to a figure behind her.
"Jane!" Called Charlie, "Nothing wrong with the fambam I take it?"
"No, nothing wrong." She replied, eyes twinkling. "What've I missed, Lizzie?"
"Well, I've just discovered that Charlie here is loaded-"
"Lizzie!" Jane reprimanded.
"-because his family owns Netherfield Literature."
Jane's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the news with much more grace than Lizzie did.
"And that sucks, because now that I know what an amazing person he is, I don't really have a basis to keep my never-shifting grudge on Netherfield for stealing customers." Lizzie whined.
Charlie pouted. "I'm sorry to have crushed your dreams."
Lizzie's lips twisted into a sly smirk. "I'll forgive you on one condition."
He waited expectantly for an answer.
"Take Jane out for coffee."
Jane blushed ferociously. "Lizzie!"
Charlie's reply was automatic. "Done." Looking towards Jane, he extended an arm. "Shall I escort this lovely lady to dine with me? How does Sunday brunch with a ginger stranger sound?"
"I think it sounds reasonable." Replied Jane, ducking her head slightly to cover up the expansive blush that was slowly creeping down towards her neck.
Lizzie proceeded to then shoo the trio out of her shop.
"Have fun children!" She called after them. "Don't let me down!"
Jane and Charlie needed no more convincing as they seemed to trot happily down the street arm in arm. Darcy however, looked increasingly glum as he slowly stalked out of her store.
"Oh, Will?"
He turned to face her, eyebrows raised in question. "Yes?"
She grinned wide. "I hope you had a passable time this morning. I'll admit, my store can be rather dull without customers."
She very much appreciated his 'just shat my pants' expression and his mortification of being overheard was enough for her to override his rudeness for the day.
He gave her a curt nod (scowl and sneer included) and closed the shop door silently behind him with a click.
Revenge exacted, she reclined comfortably in her chair and resumed twirling her pen. Although, no matter how delighted she was in making the bastard feel uncomfortable, she noted with a hint of jealousy at how he had still looked incredibly handsome whilst scowling the living daylights out of himself. She sighed.
Despite how much of an arrogant, bigoted, chauvinistic dick he was, she had to admit that he was devastatingly gorgeous, and that little fact proceeded to niggle itself at her subconscious for the remainder of the day.
What was it with handsome men and atrocious attitudes? Why couldn't everyone be like Charlie?
She slumped defeated in her chair. She knew that the perfect man didn't exist, but why did she keep on wishing that he did?
Grumbling under her breath, she locked up the store and drove home, content to spend the day grovelling away in her bed with a corny film and a bowl of Frosties.
Such was the delight of being single, she thought. No responsibilities, no expectations, no attractive men to distract her from work...
Will Darcy's face floated into view and she slammed the car door.
It was nine o'clock on a Sunday morning and manners were overrated. So were men.
A/N: Thanks for the read! Please leave a review! It would absolutely make my day x