Chapter One

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a good wife."

.

Although my full name is Elizabeth, no one has called me that in years. As far back as I can remember, my friends and family have called me Lizzie. I have quite a large family, especially for today's standards, I suppose. There's my parents, Natasha and Richard Bennett, and much to my horror, me and my four other sisters. Jane is my only older sister, who is twenty six (don't tell her I told you), then comes me, aged twenty four (unlike some I don't mind people knowing my age), then Marie, Kat and Lydia. Although he's never and would never say it, I know that my father was secretly hoping for a boy and I'm probably the nearest he's got. I'm by no means a tomboy, but I'm pretty keen on football and not mad about the colour pink. That was close enough for him and I had to put up with some 'daddy's girl' teasing from the rest of the Bennett clan throughout my childhood. They were obviously just jealous. My mother is, for want of a better word, a drama queen. Don't get me wrong, I love her with all my heart, but sometimes I do wonder about her sanity.

Let me explain. Ever since we were tiny, she had been obsessed with setting me and my sisters up with 'eligible bachelors' and playing matchmaker with her friends. As weird as it was when we were ten, it was getting increasingly disturbing the older I got. The only one of us who doesn't mind the incessant set ups is Lydia, and that's only because she's seventeen and boy mad. The others have somehow put up with it, including Marie, who always gets the weird ugly nerds (not that I wonder why), but I can't stand it.

I was a bit of a late bloomer in the romance and hormones department, I have to admit. Boys didn't really grab my attention until I was about sixteen, so by then I had already earned myself the title of prude and frigid (and also at one point lesbian, but coming from Greasy Gavin, it hadn't meant much). I decided that it would be easier for me to stay away from the male population until they had proved they weren't more trouble than they were worth, despite my popular opinion. At twenty four, some might be ashamed to say that they had never been in a real relationship, but not me - I wore that status like a badge, proud that I wasn't conforming to society's crushing and derogatory rules.

Sometimes I come across too feminist for my own good.

But I would learn, that summer, that maybe I didn't have to go through life as an old maid (much to my mother's delight) and that I could find love in a species who I hadn't thought were any good for anything except farting.

.

Being a teacher, I do get absolutely fantastic holidays. The summer came with a deliciously long, and much needed, eight week long break. This summer, though, the feeling of freedom was slightly quashed by my mother's birthday. She'd planned a party, which involved me going back to my parent's house for a 'long weekend' and being completely surrounded my distant family and friends who I hadn't seen in about ten years. No doubt there would be overly nosy questions about my love life (or lack of) - there always was, and, no doubt, there would be a number of disappointed faces when I gently told them that, no, in fact, I HAVE NOT decided to desperately join just to hook up with some desperate old fogey. Ahem.

"Jane? Are you nearly ready?" I shouted from my spot on the sofa, where I was waiting for my sister to lug her suitcase downstairs. Jane had moved to London when she went to university, and I had followed her two years after. I'd moved in with her after realising that the London housing market was a cruel and vicious place to be, and sort of ended up staying with her for five years. She didn't mind. That's what she told me, anyway.

"I'm just coming," she shouted back. I heard loud, irregular thumps from the direction of the staircase and I hoped that that meant she was finally ready. I'm not sure if you can tell, but I'm not the patient sort.

I went to open the door in the hallway to load up my old car, but my mouth fell open when I saw my sister's luggage. "Jane! We're only going away for four days! You have enough stuff to clothe a third world country!"

Jane just shrugged and waved an impatient hand across her face. "You wouldn't understand, Lizzie," she said, moving past me, dragging her massive case and two sports bags behind her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, following behind her, with my case, which was literally half the size of Jane's. As I slid it into the trunk, filling up what little room was left, I made a mental note to see to the rust that was beginning to form on the paintwork of my little Renault. It's a vintage car, alright? There was a disturbing groaning noise as I shut the boot, but it was all packed in. I couldn't see out of the rear windscreen, but hey - at least Jane can bring her straighteners, curlers and hair dryer!

"Right then," I said, clapping my hands together. "Who's ready for a road trip?" Before turning on the engine, I skimmed through my in car CD collection.

"Oh God, let me choose," said Jane, a worry crease forming above her eyebrows. "I don't think I can manage sitting through two hours of your music."

"Hey," I retorted, with wide eyes. "What's wrong with my music choice? It's brilliant!"

Jane arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. (Remind me to get round to that). "It's very loud," she said, very diplomatically and carefully. Loud, though, is pretty accurate; I'm a Led Zep, Stones and Queen fan. I would have fitted right into the 80s.

You would never guess Jane and I are sisters. She is tall, willowy and the kindest person I know. She was the sister who everyone loved all the way through school and always was the best at everything. I am 5'5", brunette and really grumpy. I've only been on three dates in my life (although Lydia always tells me that eating lunch with someone in the school cafe isn't really a date) and I have a hate list...God, I'm a primary school teacher, that should never have been admitted…

"Fine," I sigh dramatically, with a pout on my lips. I slumped back into my driving seat. "You choose then." I'm not bitter at all, in any way. "Put on Classic FM or whatever the hell it is you listen to."

"You're so dramatic," said Jane. "I don't always listen to classical music. Just when I'm painting." That's another thing about Jane. She's arty. Honestly, she majored in fine arts and history of art and uni and she works in a gallery. That sort of arty. She isn't quite a hippy yet, but I give her another two years. She fiddled around with the radio dial, while I reversed out of the parking space, perhaps a little enthusiastically.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Jane asked.

"No, I'm a perfectly capable driver."

Jane snorted. "Sorry, can you remind me how many driving tests you took before you actually passed?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry, was it four?"

"Jane!"

.

"Yellow car! I win, I win!" I shouted. We were playing my favourite car game and I was winning. As usual.

"You are so weird," said Jane. "Only you would take a game like this seriously."

"Whatever. What's the point of playing a game if you don't play to win."

"Liz. It's the yellow car game," she said slowly. "Honestly, I think the kids you teach are starting to rub off on you."

I shrugged. "As long as I'm not starting to rub off on them, that's okay!"

We were almost at my parent's house, Longbourn. It was a pretty house, more like a large cottage, and growing up there had been fun. The garden was huge and when I was little I used to spend ages exploring it. Although I considered Longbourn big, it was nothing compared to Netherfield Park, the huge Georgian mansion just up the lane. There used to be an old couple living there, while we grew up, and Jane and I used to visit them occasionally with Mum. A couple of years ago, the old woman died from a terminal illness and a short time later, her husband died too. My mother used to say that he died because of a broken heart, but I was too cynical to believe that. The house had been put up on the market, but in my opinion, this economic climate meant a huge house like that would be empty for a long time. So, it was a bit of shock when I drove up the lane that led to both houses and saw SOLD stamped across the For Sale sign that stood at the front of the Netherfield driveway.

"Jane, look!" I said, "Someone's bought Netherfield!"

"I wonder who," said my sister. "Another old rich couple do you think?"

"Yeah probably," I said, "Although I hope it's something more exciting."

"You always want something exciting."

At that moment, just as I was about to pull into the driveway of my parent's house, and off the joint lane that led up to Netherfield, a shiny black beast of a car roared past and overtook me from behind.

"Shit!" I yelled, swerving onto the grassy verge to avoid the collision. In hindsight, I am impressed that my car was able to move and break and quickly and efficiently as it did. Take that MOT. As the car passed, I saw the heads of two men; the passenger, with auburn hair and the driver, with dark hair. "Hooligan!" I yelled, shaking my fist out the window, holding up a certain finger, but by this time the car was already 50 metres away. I shook my head. "There's a man with more money than sense. Boys and their toys." And I couldn't think of any other wise sayings off the top of my head, so I put the car into reverse and took it off the bank.

Jane clutched nervously at her seatbelt. "God, he was a worse driver than you Lizzie."

.

Our mother was already standing outside the house, on the gravel driveway, a ridiculously large smile on her face. She was waving like one of those weighted cats that are in Chinese takeaways. Our father was behind her, looking at his watch. Poor dad, who knows what time Mum made him come outside.

I parked the car, and Jane and I both climbed out, glad to be able to stretch our legs. "Hello darlings," said Mum. "Did you have a nice journey?"

"If by 'nice' you mean, 'did Lizzie crash the car', then yes, it was nice," said Jane, ever the loving sister. She kissed our mother on both cheeks. The latter then proceeded to hold her daughter in front of her, looking her up and down. "Are you eating enough?" Mum asked, her piercing blue eyes on Jane.

"Yes mother, I'm eating plenty," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Lizzie makes sure of that. She's a terrible influence when it comes to food."

"Thanks Jane," I muttered, going over to give my dad a hug. Despite the whole 'family reunion' business, I was glad to be seeing him at least. "Where's everyone else then?" I asked, bracing myself and looking round.

"Lydia and Kat are inside," Dad said. "Probably brushing their hair or whatever it is they spend their time doing. Marie is reading, as usual. She's going through a Dracula faze again, so watch out for some dramatics." I grimaced. Nothing had changed. "Gran and Grandad are coming tomorrow morning," he continued. My mouth unwittingly turned down at the corners. Seeing my expression Dad grinned. "I know, love, but we have to butter them up so they leave us some money in their wills." There he goes again, surprising me not only with his ridiculously dark and dry humour, but also with his uncanny skills in the field of telepathy.

I went back to the car and tugged my suitcase out. "So we saw that Netherfield has been bought. Do we know who the new owners are?"

I heard my father groan. "Now look what you've started," I think I heard him mutter, but he was already heading back into the house with some of Jane's luggage.

"Well," said my mother, "The man who's bought it is called Charles Bingley. His father is on The Times' Rich List, would you believe?!" Sometimes is struck me how shallow my mother can be. "He's nearly thirty and very, very single. He seems just your type," she added to Jane. "I can't wait for you to meet him," said slyly.

"Mum..." Jane began, trying to take the calm route.

I cut right across her. "We are not interested in being set up, Mum. Even if it is your birthday."

"But Lizzie, darling, Mr Bingley has a friend staying with him at the moment. Very good looking. I'm sure you two would be-"

"Don't!" I said. "Don't finish that sentence. We both know that you, me and dating does not match."

My mother narrowed her eyes. "Fine. I'll just resign myself to the fact that I'm going to have an old maid for a daughter whose only relationship is with her cats!"

I exchanged an amused look with Jane. This speech wasn't new to us. "Damn straight, Ma," I said. But I only got an exasperated noise and hands in the air as a response.

.

"Girls!" Mum called from the foot of the main staircase. "Jane and Lizzie have arrived. Come and say hello."

I heard footsteps from upstairs. The first pair of feet that I saw were bare, but there were probably about a billion anklets on each leg: Kat. The next was wearing a pair of pink, flowery flip flops, matched with bright purple nail varnish. Definitely Lydia. The last feet to trudge slowly down the stairs were laced into a clunky pair of black Doc Martens, with a ratty pair of rainbow socks poking out over the top. Marie. Oh dear.

There ensued the usual flurry of hugs and kisses if you hadn't seen your family for months. Lydia was being as over dramatic as ever - I swear one day that girl will be on the stage. Kat was acting scarily mature and grown up (for her at least) and Marie...poor Marie - she was nineteen, but her hormones were still raging away like anything. Her skin was flecked with acne and her hair (that she obviously hadn't bothered to wash in days) was tied up in a greasy ponytail. I winced. The thing is with Marie, is that you expect her to be shy or at least timid. But no: she was loud, bossy and a complete show off. A definite case of middle child syndrome. This plus the fact that she dressed like a mix between a hippy and a punk meant that she was worse off in the boy department than I was. And that really is saying something.

"When's lunch then?" I asked, patting my rumbling stomach.

"Lizzie, we stopped off at a service station an hour ago," said Jane, who seemed intent on exposing all my bad habits to our mother.

I stuck my tongue out at her, proving how mature I can be. "Just because you have the appetite of a stick doesn't mean we all do, sister dearest. I'm a growing girl, I need my food."

"Growing around the middle, maybe," said Marie, snorting with laughter.

I shot her what I hoped was a withering, pitying look. I probably just looked like a gargoyle but the effect was still the same and Marie shut up.

"We can eat in about fifteen minutes," Mum said, ignoring our bickering, a technique which she has perfected over the years. "You and Jane go and unpack now and it'll be ready by the time you've finished.

Jane and I were sharing a room, but we didn't mind - it was plenty big enough for two. Jane unloaded her obscene amount of luggage, which took up the whole cupboard and half of the chest of drawers. I rolled my eyes at her huge bag of makeup and she rolled her eyes when she saw mine, which only contained mascara, eyeliner and a tin of Vaseline.

.

During dinner, I got my first 'surprise'.

I heard Jane give a very un-Jane-like snort from the other end of the table. "Hey, Lizzie," she said. "Guess who Mum has invited to the party."

Seeing Jane's laughter, my mother's I-didn't-do-anything-wrong face and Lydia practically in hysterics, I could only deduce one person. My heart sank. It couldn't be. "Mum, you wouldn't…"

"Colin!" Lydia shrieked with laughter.

I threw my head forward, into my arms in exasperation and disbelief. Colin was a bit of a standing joke in our family. He is my mother's third cousin, twice removed or something ridiculous like that. Practically no relation at all really. I first met him at some other family gathering about three years ago, when I was still at uni. For some reason, he had followed me around like some sick puppy. At the end of the evening (without my knowledge, may I add), he got my mobile number from my Mum, who was 'only too happy' to give it to him, finally thinking her daughter had scored. How wrong could she have been. Colin practically haunted me for months until I next saw him at a family wedding. After I had downed a few too many expensive champagnes (so sue me, weddings needed some incentive), there followed a rather embarrassing confrontation, that I had thought would be a good idea. Colin had tried to pull the Puss In Boots card, but I was having none of it. He did tone the text stalking down, but every time I see him at a family event, he still tries to pull those disgusting one liners on me. It's actually, genuinely painful.

"Mum, that's not even funny," I said.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said, in a voice that didn't sound sorry at all. "But I couldn't invite his parents and not him, now could I?"

"Yes you could," I muttered.

"There loads of people coming," said Lydia, in a gossipy tone that sounded scarily like Mum. "Has Mum told you about the new guys up at Netherfield?"

I groaned and slapped a hand across my forehead. "We were only here five minutes and she was already pushing them onto us."

"Well, maybe when you see them you won't mind being set up with them. I sure wouldn't mind an introduction," said Lydia, hinting hopefully and obviously at Mum who tactfully ignored her. If she encouraged Lydia anymore with boys, the world would possibly turn into chaos.

"I was thinking actually," said Mum, thoughtfully. "I've been meaning to drop in on them to see if they would like to come to the party."

"Why don't you," I replied sullenly.

There was a pregnant pause. Jane's eyes met mine. "Oh no," I said, shaking my head. "No way. You do your own dirty work. I have no part in this charade."

"It would really help me out if you two girls would go up the road to drop off the invitations, actually," said Mum, not even listening to my protestations. "I've still got so much to sort out here," she said, turning her puppy dog eyes onto Jane, who she knew was weaker than me. It took Jane about five seconds to cave. I would have to work on that with her later.

"Come on Liz," she said. "We could probably do with the walk anyway. I'm stuffed. It is for Mum's birthday after all.

And this is why Jane will always be the favourite daughter.

.

And that was how Jane and I found ourselves standing outside the huge doorway of Netherfield Hall, feeling stupid for having to actually hunt for a doorbell. "God, it's been a long time since I've been here," said Jane, from the other side of the stone porch where she was looking for a button.

"Me too..ah! Found it! I think…" I said, pulling at a rusty metal chain. From deep within, I heard a jangly noise.

We waited a while and about thirty seconds later, the door opened. A man with auburn hair opened the door. I wracked my brains to remember where I had seen that hair colour somewhere else recently.

"Hi," he said to both of us, although I saw his gaze drag over Jane's for slightly longer than mine.

"Hi," Jane said, taking the lead. I noticed that she looked just as soppy as he did. Well shock horror, maybe Mum's matchmaking was finally starting to pay off! "Sorry to bother you-"

"It's okay," he said quickly, then blushed, which even I have to admit was a little cute. "I mean...er...yeah."

Jane giggled shyly. "I'm Jane Bennett. Our parents live down the lane in Longbourn? This is my sister Lizzie."

"Hi," he said again. He had a nice, friendly smile, which he was using to his full advantage. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh," Jane said, "We didn't mean to impose."

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head, stepping back to let us in. "I'm Charles Bingley, but you can call me Charlie.

Oh, we know, I almost said, but bit my tongue before the words could escape.

"Well...Charlie...it's a bit of a strange request, but my Mother is having a party tomorrow, her birthday, and she was wondering if you wanted to come? You know, neighbourly relations and all that."

We were following him down a lavishly decorated corridor, that hadn't changed at all since my childhood. He opened a door to a light, creamy coloured room. "Oh, that sounds great," he said, "But, I don't suppose it's possible for my friend to come too, is it? Only he's staying with me for a few days and I couldn't really dump him, no matter how much I want to sometimes." He gestured over to one of the chairs and I noticed, for the first time, someone else sitting in the room too. He was looking at us with very little interest, a snooty expression on his handsome face. He was perhaps thirty or so. Suddenly, I remembered where I had seen them both before.

"Hey! It's you!" I said, pointing at him.

The man looked at me, like I was slightly mad. He raised an eyebrow. "Yes...it's me…"

"No, I mean, you're the guy who nearly drove us off the road earlier!" I glared at him.

"Oh shit," said Charlie. "It was you guys. I would like to apologize on behalf of my friend," he said pointedly. "I wanted to stop the car and see if you were okay, Michael Schumacher here was already miles away. Sorry, I haven't introduced you yet. This is Will Darcy, the demon driver."

"To be fair, you did say you needed to be back here quickly," said the Arrogant Asshole with a shrug of his lean shoulders.

"Quickly doesn't mean shoving cars off the road," I snapped.

"Lizzie," said Jane placatingly, tapping my shoulder gently.

"You were going ridiculously slowly!" He said, brown eyes locking with mine.

My mouth dropped. "Because I was about to turn onto a driveway! Unlike some of us, I'm a careful driver!" I think I heard Jane snigger, but I chose to ignore that.

"You can't base one experience on whether or not I'm a careful driver!"

I rolled my eyes. "That's beside the point, mister. I could sue you!"

"But you won't."

"That's beside the point too," I said with a pout, knowing the Asshole was right.

"I'm so sorry about her," said Jane, with an apologetic grimace to Bingley.

"I'm right here!" I said indignantly.

They both ignored me. "No, I'm sorry," Bingley replied. "It was totally our fault."

"Damn straight it was," I interrupted.

"Are you alright, though?" He continued.

"Yeah, I think so," said Jane. A little bit shaken after it happened, maybe, but I'm perfectly fine now."

Bingley smiled dreamily. "Yeah you are perfect."

I snorted.

"Perfectly fine, I mean," he said quickly, turning the same colour as his hair. I felt for him.

"I'm going to head back home now," I said. "I'm sure my mother has some other horrendous chore that she needs me to do. Nice to meet you Charlie." He managed to tear his gaze away from Jane for enough time to wave and smile. "It was lovely to see you," I said sarcastically to Darcy, who had stood up from his chair. He was really, really tall (especially compared to me), with delicious muscular arms and...STOP! This man is a menace.

Without even waiting for Jane, I turned to flee back to Longbourn.

.

I slammed the door behind me. That was a really bad habit I had, slamming doors. "Alright Mother," I called out. "You were partially right. Jane and Charlie Bingley are probably already at it. They're gross and soppy. But you are so, so wrong about the other one. Whatever his name is. Will Arse-y or something. Absolutely awful. Not my type at all." I didn't bother to wait for my mother's reply, because I had had the satisfaction of proving her wrong.

I went out into the garden and found Dad trying to put up a string of fairy lights in the row of apple trees. He was wobbling dangerously on the ladder, so I went over to help him. "Not for you then?" Asked Dad, with a grin from above me.

I grimaced and shook my head. "God no."

"You know if boys aren't for you that's fine-"

"Ew! Dad! Stop!" I choked through nervous laughter. "I have a topless poster of Johnny Depp on my wall, thank you very much!"

Dad winced. "I really didn't need to know that."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Your mother is worried that you'll be too saggy to fit into a nice wedding dress," he teased.

"What happened to that 'all in your own time' malarky?!"

"You know what your Mum is like with setting you girls up."

"Yes, but I thought she would grow out of it!"

Dad climbed back down the ladder after checking the lights were stable. "I doubt that'll ever happen. She will be at it until the day we die."

"Great," I groaned. "A whole lifetime of awkward hints and set up dates. What fun."

"You might find someone for yourself? Aren't there any nice men where you work?"

I raised an eyebrow. "The only unmarried male at the school is Boris the Hungarian Janitor. He's fifty years old and smells of cheese. That's just foul."