One million thanks to Linda B (oregonclematis) and Jim (cfsdad) for beta reading this chapter! You do not understand how much better they have made the story!

For all of you out there who are thinking that Mr. Bennet would never randomly let Elizabeth go to University; that wearing a wig instead of simply cutting Elizabeth's hair is weird; that she insists on walking about in her feminine clothes despite the risks of being found out is ridiculous; that she cannot do anything with her degree after her graduation... well, you are all correct. Except that there is a clear explanation to all of these actions, which I hope you will find believable once it is revealed. It's nothing extraordinary (aliens did not take possession of Mr. Bennet's brain), but it will be brought to light in time. In fact, hints are dropped here and there in every new chapter. Hopefully, you'll be able to catch a few of them!

As for now, please simply enjoy the ride and trust me with the rest! (Updates every week, for those who are wondering!)


Chapter 2: A New Acquaintance (That Elliot Dearly Wished She Could Avoid)

Elizabeth, or rather, Elliot Bennet did not understand, until this very moment, just what a capital mistake it was to have missed Chapel services the previous day.

The morning started pleasantly enough, with Elizabeth rising early and preparing for the beginning of class. After securing every strand of natural hair inside her wig and making sure to favour breeches over trousers—they were becoming increasingly unpopular in the Hall and in the classrooms—she finally felt ready to begin the day. She made her way to the Chapel a quarter of an hour ahead of time and arrived early for the morning service. To her surprise, the tall man, Mr. Darcy, was already there, seated far away from the rest of his peers. Elliot cringed when the wooden floor of the Chapel creaked with her every step. Needless to say, the noise made a few heads turn. She lowered her eyes, hoping to avoid the disagreeable tall man as much as possible.

Fortunately for her, he had no interest in newcomers and did not even bother to lift his head from perusing his prayer book. Elliot sat as far away from him as she could and waited for the ceremony to commence. She was greatly anticipating the beginning of class by the time the service came to a close. As the students left the premises, and as she was preparing to follow their lead, the vicar presiding at the Chapel came to meet her.

"Mr. Bennet, I presume?"

Smiling, Elliot answered in the affirmative.

"I have heard that you moved in during the afternoon of Monday last?" he asked.

"You are again correct, sir," she replied.

"But you did not attend Chapel yesterday morning."

"I..." she stumbled, blushing at being thus reprimanded in front of her peers. Most of them had already left, but those remaining made very little noise and sent half-pitying, half-amused smirks her way. "Circumstances..." Elliot tried again but could not finish. She had no intention of lying inside a sacred institution (or ever) but she certainly could not explain the previous day's mishap to the man. She finally settled for a heartfelt apology and hoped for the best.

"You must understand, Mr. Bennet, that I was employed herein by a highly-generous and benevolent benefactress. She graciously instructed me during my first day presiding over the Chapel in Clare College that I must take my employment very seriously." He paused for breath and moved one step closer to her.

Elliot bit her lip and forced herself to remain in place.

"Her Ladyship has connections with the one that, six generations before us, founded Clare College. But she is such a liberal benefactress, you see, and so displeased with the relatively-smaller size of the Chapel in Clare that she assured me she would make every possible effort to bestow upon me a more generous living."

To this Elliot gave no response, for she could not see how any of the previous information concerned her.

After a short pause to wipe the beads of sweat upon his forehead, the vicar continued. "My noble patroness has insisted, upon my coming to Trinity College, that a living at Hunsford shall be reserved for me once it falls vacant. However, I am to assume a severe approach to disciplining young, lost freshmen in this College. 'Mr. Collins,' said she, 'you must not tolerate any unseemly behaviour in the youngsters. You must discipline them with alacrity when they err. Should they dare dismiss service at the Chapel even once, you must correct them by ensuring that they learn by heart some work or another of Homer or Virgil."

Elliot dared not be insolent in front of the vicar on the first day of class, no matter how ridiculous his character appeared. She was therefore resigned to receiving her punishment with grace and dignity. She lowered her eyes in deference to his authority and waited, but the other did not continue his discourse until she chanced a glance at him. Once he caught her eye, he took another step closer and this time Elliot could not refrain from backing away by the same margin.

"Have you heard of The Aeneid, Mr. Bennet?"

Elliot answered in the affirmative.

"You are to memorize the first fifteen pages; it is your punishment. I hope you will not repeat the grave mistake of neglecting matins again in the future. If there is but one thing my noble patroness hates above a lack of discipline, it is a character that fails to change in accordance to her wishes. Now, if I do say so myself, that is a failing indeed."

Although Elliot had earlier vowed not to be impertinent in her address to the vicar, her youth prevented her from completely reining back her impatience in the face of his tedious nature. "How long do I have?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she continued: "Fifteen pages... I believe I can do it in less than five minutes. Certainly, you would not wish me to take up any further precious moments that you might better employ in contemplation of your most deserving benefactress."

Shocked at her forwardness but pleased by her apparent deference to his favourite person, the clergyman was maladroit in his reply. "Five... five minutes?"

"May I begin immediately?" Elliot asked.

"B-begin?" the other stammered.

Elliot, rather impatient to leave, decided to interpret his reply as an agreement. She then wasted no time in reciting Virgil.

"Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,

And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,

Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore."

In truth, Elliot did not remember exactly what part of the poem concluded page fifteen. She hoped at first she would be able to recite approximately to that point in the time she allowed herself. However, now she rather hoped, indeed suspected, that the vicar himself did not know what lay at the start of page sixteen. Her suspicions were confirmed when, by the time she finished reciting, the vicar's jaw had nearly dropped to the floor.

"B-but... but how?" he asked fervently as he paced in front of her. "You have yet to have opened the book! How could you know the content inside, let alone recite it?"

"Sir, I memorized this particular work of Virgil when I was younger." She did not tell him, however, that she knew from her father—who had also attended Cambridge in his youth—that students were often punished by the forced learning of verses from Homer or Virgil. In anticipation of attending University, Elliot had memorized some of them by heart with another sibling.

"But of course! How could I not have surmised that! Certainly, you must have known the verses beforehand. That is, without doubt, the only plausible explanation, for not even my noble benefactress has accomplished such a feat. I assure you, however, that her instincts are sometimes so accurate, I find myself wondering how she could possibly be so constantly correct in all matters. No, perhaps I was wrong after all. She, of all people, could possess such a gift for knowing verses without requiring prior study, after all!"

Fortunately for Elliot, the vicar was so pleased with his newfound conviction in the mental acuity of his patroness that he dismissed her quite immediately so as to reflect upon his favourite person in the confines of his study.

Despite all her tact, Elliot did not dare release a sigh of frustration before turning the corner and looking back to make sure the vicar was not following. Just then, a firm slap landed upon her shoulders, causing her to stagger forward.

"Elliot you naughty chap! The first day of school barely begins and you have already been scolded by the Chapel's vicar!"

Despite her heightened colour at being caught in a delicate situation, Elliot nonetheless sent a welcoming smile to Mr. Wickham. "I am sure if I continue in this manner, you would not want to smack me half so often by the end of the term, Mr. Wickham," she said provocatively.

"Au contraire, mon cher[1]," replied he. "I am not one to pass up such a rich chance of causing trouble to those deserving it."

To this, Elliot heartily laughed, for she was convinced by Mr. Wickham's pleasant manners that he was simply teasing.

"Shall we make haste to the Hall? My first class begins at nine o'clock sharp and I wish to employ the rest of my time to fill my stomach," he declared.

"Only if you promise to leave enough empty space in there to fit the hefty portion of joint I will not finish tonight," she challenged.

"With pleasure."


Despite their best efforts, Wickham and Elliot barely arrived in class before the bell. In his haste over breakfast, Mr. Wickham had besmirched his breeches with a dollop of jam and insisted on returning to his quarters to change. Elliot, in turn, insisted on accompanying him to repay his kindness. She learned they were going to the same philosophy lecture and convinced him it would be no trouble at all for her to wait for him.

Unfortunately for them, once they arrived to the lecture, the only two vacant seats were at opposite ends of the room. With a final pat on Elliot's shoulder, Wickham gallantly walked to the one furthest from the door. Elliot would have been extremely pleased with this display of gentlemanlike manners had not her neighbour been the tall and disagreeable Mr. Darcy. He barely condescended to glance her way as she sat, and even then, it was with a sharp look of disapproval for her tardiness. She chose to ignore him which, she silently reminded herself, was what she always intended to do.

The professor, a certain Mr. Wiseman, was a pleasantly singular character. Upon explaining the readings to be covered by the end of the year, he promptly dismissed the class with the mandate to finish their first essay before Friday. No particular topic was imposed upon the students; the only restriction Elliot and her peers faced was a three-page quota.

Mr. Wickham quickly joined Elliot once Mr. Darcy left the lecture hall when the students were released.

"Would you be so inclined as to edit my assignment? I intend to work on it tonight. Of course, I would be pleased to return the gesture. My godfather intended me for the church, you see, and I dearly wish to... earn his respect."

Elliot was about to respond when Mr. Darcy suddenly returned. They watched in silence as he walked to Elliot and leaned forward to retrieve the book he had forgotten on the seat next to hers. He straightened and frowned in disapproval at Mr. Wickham before addressing Elliot. "If you do not object, I would prefer to be the one to read Mr. Wickham's assignment. He may still correct yours if you would consent to editing mine."

Elliot could see from the corner of her eye that Mr. Wickham was displeased. Indeed she could not fathom Mr. Darcy's insolence! It was not long, however, before Wickham regained his good humour and performed the introduction.

"Elliot, may I present you my... friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mr. Darcy, this is Elliot Bennet. He is a neighbour."

She bowed civilly, but Mr. Darcy was only so generous as to incline his head minimally in her direction.

"Well, I must take my leave now," Wickham finally declared after an awkward pause. "I will see you at the Hall tonight, Elliot."

Elliot was about to make her excuses as well, but Mr. Darcy's rather imposing voice preceded her.

"I will finish the assignment tomorrow during the day. I expect you to finish correcting it before tomorrow evening. You are welcome to visit my room anytime between five and six." Mr. Darcy was about to leave but stopped just before disappearing across the threshold. "You would not wish to judge Mr. Wickham's character too hastily," he offered without further explanation and promptly left the room.

The only one I am eager to judge, sir, is yourself, Elliot thought, but did not express aloud. In any case, she was sure her annoyance was clear enough upon her visage that no further spoken reproof was required. The only consolation was that the man was clearly not discerning enough to associate Elliot with Elizabeth, which, if she were honest, was quite a relief.

In a fit of resentment, Elliot was envisioning the consternation Mr. Darcy would feel should she fail to appear at his doorstep as he had dictated. It was a possible evasion, she insisted, for the man had neglected to tell her where his room was, and if he supposed she could read minds, he would soon be bitterly disappointed. With this happy thought, Elliot managed to smile as she walked to her next lecture. Although she was half an hour early, she was quite content to employ the time reflecting on her Philosophy assignment.

Sadly, whatever semblance of gaiety Elliot felt was promptly erased when, well before ten, Mr. Darcy walked into the room. Their eyes met and held. Feeling increasingly frustrated, Elliot wondered if she could ever pass one day, or even an hour, without encountering the man. She greeted him with the barest civility and he in turn made some semblance of effort to acknowledge her. To her surprise, Mr. Darcy did not select the furthest possible seat from her. He settled, in fact, in the vacant place directly next to her and stared in her general direction for the next few moments. He appeared to be deep in thought.

Elliot quickly opened her manual and pretended to be deeply engrossed in it, barely daring to lift her head. She nearly jumped out of her chair when, unexpectedly, Mr. Darcy's voice resonated through the empty classroom.

"You remind me of someone," he began awkwardly, his gaze never straying from her face.

"Who?" Elliot asked. Her throat was constricted, her voice barely above a whisper. When he failed to answer her immediately, she began to feel excessively nervous. Surely he had not recognised her! To her relief, Mr. Darcy turned away in frustration a few seconds later.

"... Forget it. I am afraid it is not a particularly flattering comparison."

Elliot clenched her teeth at his insolence.

"No, forgive me. That was not what I meant..." but indeed Mr. Darcy did not think a young man would find it flattering to be told they looked like a tree-climbing girl. Vexed that he should have such difficulty expressing himself to strangers, Mr. Darcy instead elected to be silent.

Elliot, however, could not have known Mr. Darcy's innermost thoughts and thus chose to interpret his remark in the only way she could: Mr. Darcy did not find her character attractive and had no qualms about berating her to her face Biting her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stay calm and quiet, she decided to seriously apply herself to her book. Mr. Darcy, however, soon returned to staring at her and she found herself once more forced to think of him. The nerve of the man! If the only times he chose to speak were to disapprove of one thing or another, she would dearly wish he might remain mute for the next three years!

Unfortunately, such a highly improbable wish could hardly be granted. Elliot would have to be content with the knowledge that Mr. Darcy had no further intention to address her for the duration of the class.


The rest of the day passed quickly. At eleven, Mr. Darcy left Maths class without a glance in her direction. She waited until she was sure he would be far away from her immediate vicinity before taking her leave. She was then briefly introduced to her private tutor for the year. Since the term was newly begun, she had little to ask and likewise, he offered little help. Elliot then chose to pass by the library, collecting a few recent publications by Rousseau for her Philosophy essay and returned to her room.

Once inside, she promptly wrote a letter to her father, although she knew he was a poor correspondent. She had, however, promised to write every other day and was set on sending four letters on Sunday, every week hence.

To my dearest father,

I am exceedingly pleased to relate that school has started today, Wednesday, 10 October, 1804. Thus far, we have learnt very little. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to find Mr. Wiseman as my private tutor. He is the professor presiding in my philosophy class. I hope I am not wrong in assuming that he was the singular teacher you spoke of so often when I was but a young boy. At the earliest convenient occasion I will do as you recommended and ask him whether he still remembers you. I am sure your character cannot be so easily forgotten, even though I must insist on lamenting your infrequent correspondence. I know you enough, father, and I would be tempted to say that you would reply to my previous accusation with good-natured humour. After all, do you not always repeat that precious things are mostly in small compass?

The letter continued thusly for another half page before it concluded with a final parting word: "Hoping against hope to receive a reply before my graduation, your loving son, Elliot Bennet."

TBC

[1] Mon Cher: French for the masculine version of "my dear". Not to be confounded with its feminine version, Ma Chère.


Next up: Elliot is coerced into rooming with the disagreable Mr. Darcy! In the meanwhile, please do send me your comments below!