Author's Note: Wow, I didn't think I'd be back on this site after over 4 years of silence, but here I am! I've really missed writing, and I want to give Pride and Prejudice fanfiction another shot. This idea came to me recently and I'm excited to see where the story goes. I would really like critiques especially on any grammar and spelling errors, but please be respectful. This is a work in progress and I have a general outline already, I just need to flesh out the story and characters. I'm going to update every two weeks or sooner if I can get the chapter done sooner.

I wanted to do a Pride and Prejudice fanfiction set in America during the dawn of technology. I wanted it to be more modern than 19th century England but more dated than the current times. If there are any history buffs out there, let me know if something I mention would not fit with the times, I will try and make it as historically accurate as possible.

I'll mention at the beginning of the chapter whose voice I am writing in so that you don't get confused by my going back and forth between characters. That's all I want to say for this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading!

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MICHAEL

"Michael!"

I set my newspaper down and look up at my mother. She is staring at me with her piercing green eyes, her mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. Her hair is pulled backed tightly and her forehead shows no sign of wrinkles despite the severe hairstyle. As always, her face is perfectly made up and her clothes are immaculately pressed. Even at a little over forty years old, she doesn't look a day over thirty.

"Yes, mother, I'm listening," I sigh picking up my coffee and taking a long gulp. I rub my temples and roll my eyes upwards preparing for the onslaught of reprimands.

"I do not understand why you are acting as if I am the devil." My mother loves to emphatically enunciate when she is upset. "As if I am not looking out for your best interest."

I pick up another muffin and bite into it. Immediately notes of cocoa and cinnamon with a hint of pepper overwhelm my taste buds. Betsy's decadent chocolate cinnamon muffins are just as good as I remember. A wave of nostalgia hits me as I am immediately transported back to my schoolboy days. Ah, the simple days when all I had to worry about was sneaking candy and collecting the smoothest rocks. I turn to the older woman standing dutifully in the corner. "You have truly outdone yourself with breakfast, Betsy. If not for your unwavering sense of loyalty I would have already stolen you away as my personal cook."

"Michael! Pay attention! Muffins can wait! You are no longer a child. You need to find a wife… Now!"

I finish off my muffin and lean back in my chair. "Well, mother, I'll be happy to marry whichever fine girl you happen to find for me. Just give me a few days' notice before the wedding so I have time to prepare the house for the unfortunate bride. Also, I'm particularly fond of brown eyes, so I'd very much appreciate if you kept that in mind when choosing candidates."

I am in no mood to hear the tirade that is sure to follow my bold comment, so I pick up my newspaper and grab another muffin before heading to the coatrack to pick up my hat. "Until then, I'd like if you did not mention my impending nuptials anymore. It's rather tiresome and boring."

I leave my mother too shocked to rebuttal which is quite a feat seeing as she loves to argue. I jog to my car and pull out of my childhood driveway just as my mother begins her tirade from the front door. Within seconds, I am out of earshot and cruising towards the main street.

At twenty-five years of age, I am approaching the male equivalent of old maid status in my mother's eyes. My mother hopes that getting married will provide my life with new purpose, but all of the doe-eyed, coquettish courtesans she has thrown my way so far have only inspired dread, doom, and a desire to run far, far away. I am so tired of trying and failing to sustain conversations with the predatory young women of high society. For once, I would like to meet a woman whose comments don't seem rehearsed and whose laughs don't seem timed. Every gesture, every compliment, every look is perfectly calculated and practiced and the contrived air of it all is so obvious.

I blindly turn down streets and avenues following an unknown path leading to only God knows where. Ever since I took over the family entertainment company, I have thrown myself into the business, learning about the inner workings of film production and distribution. I am always looking for ways to best the competition and keep our company on top. Directors clamor for the chance to work with our studio and writers sometimes pay us to produce their work. I am proud of my company, and I take pride in doing my best to always realize its full potential.

It is hard to talk about my desires and dreams with others in my immediate circle of acquaintances. Nobody quite understands why I have such a fascination with finding meaning outside of making more money and acquiring more power. My mother, fearful that I might one day take off to "find myself", believes that marrying is the only way to keep me grounded and on top of my responsibilities. She does not get that I yearn to step outside of myself while still being myself. I want to continue running the company, and I want to continue being a good son, but I want to explore more artistic endeavors. If my mother can find me a young woman who fits her standards and can hold a conversation that does not revolve around the latest trends and gossip, then I will run to the altar to exchange vows as soon as possible. Until that fateful day, I will continue to enjoy bachelorhood and all of the freedoms it affords.

The road becomes less winding and more bumpy. The last car I saw was probably five miles away and there are no road signs or streetlights. I have found myself on a path surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. A sea of vibrant greens, yellows, and purples stretch across the landscape and spill over the edge of the earth where the sky kisses the ground. I turn off the car and leave it on the side of the road. I am always so amazed by all of the beautiful scenery that I still have yet to see. To think that I have lived in this town my entire life and never come across this magnificent view. I pull my Canon camera out of the backseat and place the strap around my neck, I roll up my sleeves, and I begin walking through the tall overgrowth. I peer through the lens testing out a few angles. I prefer pictures with subjects in them, but this landscape is too beautiful to let that detail keep me from capturing it on film. As if by conjuring, I spot a young woman sitting in a small clearing a little further ahead with her face turned up towards the sun.

I say a silent prayer of thanks as I peer at her through the lens. The way the breeze whips through tendrils of her curly hair and slightly lifts the ruffles of her dress is accentuated by the brightly shining sun overhead and the cluster of wildflowers surrounding the one lone clearing in which she sits. Through the lens, the sky seems extremely blue and the grass appears extra green. I quickly snap a picture before ducking down when she slowly turns to the side and squints her eyes. I slowly raise my camera, angle the shot, and snap another picture the moment her head completes its rotation. She turns completely around, and I duck all the way below the tops of the grass. I quickly snap a final photo through the grass and although she is partially blocked by the weeds, her cutting expression is still very visible. I wait a few moments, watching her as she turns back to the horizon and closes her eyes once more. She looks so serene. I want to go up to her and ask for a more personal photo. The photos I just took, although beautiful will not capture all of the meaning behind her eyes. I am pretty shy about talking to strangers especially ones as intriguing as she. I have never asked a stranger to pose for a picture. Usually, acquaintances in my circle are more than happy to pose in some contrived way if I mention that photography is one of my hobbies. Often, the subjects of those pictures do their best to imitate the austere and coy poses made popular by Hollywood stars. My subjects have only ever been unwitting if they were part of a scene I wanted to capture that happened to have them in it. I also once took a picture of two people arguing, but they seemed to want an audience so that does not count.

The picture I just took feels… invasive. The young woman probably looks so serene because she feels safe. She believes that she is experiencing undisturbed peace as she attempts to be at one with nature. She is completely oblivious to the man with a camera taking unsolicited photographs while she enjoys the scenery. I feel like I should make the girl aware of her immortalization in my film roll, but I am too worried about negative repercussions to go up to her. What if she is so mad, she breaks my camera? What if she finds me creepy and reports me to the local sheriff? Even if she is not immediately repulsed, I am worried that I will blunder my words and be too tongue-tied to make any coherent sentences. I definitely will not be witty or charming no matter how much I practice beforehand; I have years of failed mingling experiences to know that with certainty. It is best to vow to never show these invasive pictures and leave before the young woman is made aware of my intrusive presence.

I make my way back to my car, crawling like an infant through the weeds and flowers. When I think I am far enough away from the girl, I stand up, dust myself off and jog back to my car. Once safely inside of my car, I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. Feelings of giddiness begin to set in as that familiar rush of joy from taking amazing photos begins to flow. I am not sure what I want to do with the photos yet. I cannot publish them without the girl's consent and getting that is out of the question. I do want to continue taking pictures in more unexplored territory and hopefully get more pictures with subjects. I mentally go through my schedule for the week. I have a full day tomorrow going over weekend openings and projections for new releases, and I have a meeting with my father on Tuesday. Come to think of it, my entire week is going to be jam packed with meetings. But this Saturday I should be free. Great, this Saturday, I'll go for another drive during the daytime and seek out subjects to capture. I turn to the spot where the young woman sits in the clearing, and I smile.