A/N In my head, this story is set in Windsor but you can basically set it in any old English town with a castle, there are quite a few of them. To foreigners, that means it looks like every other town – high street, side streets, restaurants, a green or park of some sort – it just happens to also have castle. These castles are usually looked after by the National Trust or English Heritage; Windsor castle is one of the few inhabited one. It is famous for being a favourite weekend home of Elizabeth II.
There are quite a few footnotes, don't feel obliged to read them unless you are interested, or don't understand the reference. I'm a rookie writer, so would really appreciate constructive criticism, or just let me know if you enjoyed it!
The bar was hot and stuffy - the air was thick with perfume and people. Quiet strains of eclectic music fought to be heard over the swell of polite conversation and loud drinking. It was Elizabeth's idea of an absolute nightmare. Here she was, squeezed into a dress that her best friend Charlotte had bought without the recipient's consultation, wearing impossibly tall high heels, and valiantly escaping from the restaurant across the street. She needed a drink. Badly.
Elizabeth perched herself precariously on a stool at the bar, and glanced about the room. Structurally it was quite large, but the dark wallpaper, low hanging lights and bulky furniture seem to suffocate the space. The room was long but not particularly thin - the area between the bar and the back wall housed two rows of tables (although the 'rows' were by no means uniformly arranged). Her eye caught the gaze of a man across the room - she continued her perusal of the bar, but the man had interpreted her look as an invitation. He slunk around several tables and slipped onto a stool next to her.
"A strawberry mojito for the lady" he requested, as he leant towards her.
"I buy my own drinks, thanks." While she wasn't rude, Elizabeth tried to hint with her tone that she wasn't in the mood for any advances.
"Suit yourself."
Elizabeth caught the attention of the bartender. "Whiskey. Neat, please."
The bartender raised an eyebrow, glanced sideways at the man who had taken up residence next to her, and smirked down to the bench. "Anything in particular?"
"Do you by any chance have Royal Brackla, hmm, sixteen year old?"
"We do indeed" was the response, and Elizabeth's drink was in her hands moments later. The man to her left didn't seem impressed by her choice - he started to make a comment with a snide expression on his face, but seemed intimidated when Elizabeth squared her shoulders and turned to face him completely. He was gone seconds later. "Good riddance," she muttered under her breath.
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Elizabeth stayed nursing her drink long enough for the pain in her feet to begin to lessen and the tight band of frustration around her ribs to loosen. After settling the tab, she started the tortuous journey from her barstool to the door - a quest plagued by hazardous chair legs and the occasional arm enthusiastically flung out mid-conversation. Just as she made it to the door, her attention was caught by an uncomfortable looking guy several tables over. He looked tall, although he was sitting down, so it was hard to judge, and on either side of him, two women were seated. The uncertain expression he wore became strained as one of the women leant forward and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.
What would I want someone to do if I was stuck in the same situation? The cornered, dark-haired man appeared under siege, surrounded on all sides by musky-scented predators. Nope, damn the shoes, he needs rescuing. Elizabeth raised her hand in the air, made deliberate eye contact with the trapped man, and called,
"Hiya! I didn't realise you were here, I just nipped in for a quick drink. Did you not see me? You should have come over." Elizabeth had reached the table where the poor man was stuck, patted him gently on the shoulder, and slumped in the last open chair. "I was just across the road – the dinner I was going to with Jane and Charlotte? Turns out Charlotte had convinced Jane to go along with a ruse to get me on a date. So, I was getting all dressed up – Charlotte bought this dress by the way, and I didn't have any others to wear, you know this isn't my usual thing – when Jane walks in in leggings, and tells me it was all a set up. I felt so bad about cancelling on some guy I didn't even know just an hour before the reservation, but he turned out to be just awful! He went on and on about himself… look at me, I'm doing the same. How are you? It feels like ages since we last spoke."
The man's eyes had grown wide and shocked when she first started speaking, but he very quickly cottoned on. He schooled his features to look pleasantly surprised, then leaned forward as though thoroughly interested in what she was saying. The women either side of him were less impressed by her appearance. The brunette in a low-cut blue dress and daring heels looked as though Elizabeth had stuffed a lemon slice in her mouth. Her lips had pursed and her eyes had narrowed into threatening slits. Her hand slid her hand down his arm until it had established a firm grip on his forearm.
"Are you going to introduce us, Will?" the brunette questioned. It was obvious she would have frowned, if not for the risk of wrinkles appearing.
"Ah, yes, well.." the man's cultured voice was smooth and gravelly, but his tone was flustered.
"Elizabeth Bennet," she offered with a hand outstretched towards the blonde on the man's other side, "Did you meet Will just now?" The blonde shook her hand with a look of distaste, the brunette refused.
The man – Will – clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "You know what, it was a pleasure to meet you, Caroline, Louisa, but I really should be going. And there is a, er, something I have needed to talk to, er, Elizabeth about, so I may as well take the opportunity." With the innate grace of good breeding and a public school [1] education, Will scooped Elizabeth up by the elbow, tucked her arm in the crook of his, and held her steady as she wobbled on her heals. "Perhaps I'll… bump into you again."
Elizabeth kept her arm in his until they made it out of the bar. Once they had turned the corner and were out of the view of the windows, she slipped it out, nodded her head to her escort, and stepped away. She was stopped as his hand reached out for her arm.
"Thank you for that, really. They wouldn't leave, and I had run out of ways to subtly tell them to go away. So, thank you."
"You are welcome. Just doing my good deed for the week," she acknowledged with a warm smile.
"Was that true, the story you told?"
"About my terrible evening? Absolutely. My best friend Charlotte has this idea that any single woman is secretly miserably even if she seems perfectly happy – which I am, by the way. She set up a dinner with someone she works with, then got my sister to tell me it was a night out for the three of us. I don't think I will trust either of them ever again."
Will's face was contemplative; his brows drew together thoughtfully. "Would you, perhaps, like to extend your evening? I can see those shoes are not too comfortable – would you consider joining me somewhere you could sit? There is a lovely little park that is lit, not too far from here. It has delightful view of the castle."
"That sounds quite nice, actually. I might have to hold onto you, I think my balance has finally gone out of the window." Elizabeth took his arm again, adjusted her dress, tucked her handbag more securely on her shoulder, then declared "Ready! Lead the way."
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They were sat side by side on an ancient bench in an open park, the sodium streetlights casting a soft yellow glow on the red and orange autumn leaves. The black paint on the metal bench was cracked and peeling, exposing the dull silver beneath. The moon was slim. In the places beyond the light of the lamps, the shadows moved and danced as the trees swayed with the gentle breeze.
"Gosh, it is warm for late September, isn't it? This time last year I was wearing three layers and boots – today, I went to work in just short sleeves. Not even a jacket. You have got love British weather. I think the meteorologists say it is some weather system that came up from Africa, across the Mediterranean. Of course, what do I know? I was never good with the scienc-y stuff at school. Too many numbers, not enough words." Elizabeth, while appreciative of companionable silence, didn't feel she knew Will well enough to sit without conversation. The man at her side did not seem to agree. He made an affirmative humming noise, caught her eye briefly, then twisted slightly away.
"Do they not teach small talk at Eton these days? Oh no, wait, was it Harrow?" [2]
Will cast a sheepish look at her, and smiled wryly. "Westminster. I didn't want to board, so we spent term time at the London town house." His tone was self-deprecating. "I've never been a particularly accomplished conversationalist, I'm afraid. Now, the debating society? Of that, I was prefect. [3] I'm just not as comfortable with casual conversation as I am with arguing."
Elizabeth was amused by his tentative manner, although she was too kind to openly laugh at him. "Will you excuse me if I don't start a debate about politics or current affairs, especially given the present political climate. Don't tell me who you last voted for! I don't want to have to have to dislike you this early in our acquaintance."
"As though you couldn't guess." Will's smile had started to grow. It spread across his face, illuminating his eyes with a quietly joyful glow, and flushing colour into his cheeks.
"I don't like to make such assumptions about people," Elizabeth countered, delighted that her companion was slowly emerging from his shell. "You could be a communist, for all I know."
"There is no need for that sort of language." Will's expression had changed – the corners of his mouth drew down, and his dark brows furrowed. Elizabeth was momentarily worried, until she noticed his lips twitch, and his eyes light up. "I'm afraid this conversation has taken a dark turn."
"See, you can do small talk (even if it is of the risky variety) you just need to open up a little."
The castle proper was illuminated by lights on the boundary walls, and the flag could just be seen to gently wave, with the stars twinkling behind it. Every so often, a swathe of cloud would drift across the sky, blocking out the crescent moon and stars. This only made the castle stand brighter against the night. It was a beautiful backdrop to an amusing exchange, Elizabeth decided. The park wasn't an area she spent much time in, especially not in the evening, so it was a new sight for her, and it was charming.
"Thank you for this little lesson. You have cheered up my evening considerably. My sister is convinced I am becoming a recluse, so she persuaded me to go out to a bar to prove her wrong. I promised to stay for half an hour – I almost did it – but as you saw, it was becoming difficult. I would tell her about talking to you, but I'm sure she would think I was making it up to get out of doing her little socialisation exercise again."
"If you hand me your phone for a second, I'll put my number in. You can tell your sister to give me a ring, and I will tell her that not only did you nearly spend all the agreed time at the bar, you took a girl to the park and proved yourself to be quite the amiable conversationalist." She nudged the man seated beside her with her shoulder, then held out her hand, palm facing up. Will's eyebrows raised in incredulity, but he complied. He rolled his eyes, and reached into his jacket pocket from his phone, before typing his passcode and placing it into her hand, contacts open. Elizabeth quickly filled in her name and number.
"I put it under Lizzie," she said, as she passed it back to him.
"Is that the name you prefer?" he enquired. "In fact, you know what, we were never properly introduced. I can't quite remember your surname, I was too in awe of your knight-in-shining-armour skills at the time."
"I think a reintroduction is in order," Elizabeth announced, sticking her hand out in front of her. "Lizzie Bennet, nice to meet you."
Will caught her hand in his, gave it one firm shake before bringing it up to his face and placing a soft kiss to the back of it.
"They teach you that at posh school, as well?" she laughed in an attempt to stave off the rising heat in her cheeks. "You never told me your name."
He lowered her hand, but not before lacing her fingers in his, and a roguish smirk settled on his mouth. "William Darcy, at your service. Please, call me Will."
FINIS
[1] In the UK, public school is school that is payed for by the students' family ie. it is payed for by the public. Confusingly, it is the same thing as private school. State schools are the ones funded by taxes.
[2] Eton College (Berkshire) and Harrow (Middlesex) are well known public boarding schools for boys.
[3] Westminster School's debating society has been known to produce some brilliant thinkers. I don't know if they have a prefect for it, but it wouldn't surprise me if they did. Americans, think of the position as captain of the debate team – they help to run it and are generally the best debater and the most involved.