Plopping into an overstuffed chair back at Netherstar Manor, the grand mansion that he and Bingley were renting for the duration of their stay on Longbourn, Darcy reflected rather sourly on how poorly the evening had gone.

He loved his job, loved the weighty responsibility of being a Historian and even loved the randomness of his days, never quite knowing what sort of culture he might be entering when going to a new planet. He had once even loved the prestige that his career naturally brought.

It was that last part that had gone wrong for him in recent years.

Sighing heavily, he stood up and crossed the room to pour out a glass of rich red wine, obtained at great cost from the planet Italia, named in honor of Italy back on Earth and far more famous than its namesake for its grapes. Taking a mouthful, he savored it slowly. This is wine, he thought. Unlike that swill they were serving back at that wretched party.

Shaking his head as though to clear the thought, Darcy headed back to his chair and stared into the simulated fireplace. Unable to quiet his mind, he couldn't help but reflect on the past several hours. He should have better prepared himself, he knew that now. He had known it before Bingley had ever booked passage here to be honest; he just hadn't acknowledged it to himself. Small planets like this Longbourn were the same the universe over. Situated close enough to a major destination – in this case, Londinium, a thriving planet where many Rank One citizens kept homes and did their shopping for material things as well as marital alliances – but far enough away that it was not easy for the populace of the lesser planet to get to the greater, these backwater simpletons nevertheless would entertain the notion that some great man or woman might come and marry one of their own, raising them in the ranks of society and thereby elevating their home by mere association.

In other words, men like himself and Bingley, along with their rank and prestige and money, were considered fair game by every mother or father who wished to see their child advantageously wed. This, despite the fact that Historians rarely ever married. To do so was to give up their career, at least if they wanted to spend their lives with the person they married.

Darcy had known two Historians who had married and each case had ended badly. One had tried to balance the demands of career against the demands of marriage and, in the end, had turned bitter as her marriage imploded - thus ruining her career. It wasn't that divorce was grounds for her termination as a Historian; it was that bitterness that had set in and had clouded all her views, particularly when making observations about interaction between the sexes. The other example Darcy had seen involved a man marrying and then leaving his wife to rot on the planet on which he had found her. He continued to travel and to take anti-aging treatments while she grew old and despaired and eventually ended her life.

Anti-aging treatments, of course, were one of the key pieces in the framework as to why Historians should not marry if they wished to continue their careers. Historians were, in essence, immortal. Of all professions across the universe only they were permitted access to the process that kept them from growing old. Only their function to the Confederate was considered important enough to justify not only the expense but the morality of the practice.

Briefly massaging his right temple with his index and middle fingers, Darcy allowed himself to groan aloud at the prospect of completing his tour of this planet. Without any more knowledge of the place than its history of settlement and its location he knew for a fact that neither he nor Bingley would learn anything of importance. Of course, sociologists might discover some value in any of the findings that the two Historians published, but there would be nothing of real weight or merit, nothing that could impact the Confederate on a large scale.

Still. He must retrain himself to make such observations to no one other than Bingley and in settings where there was no chance of being overheard. It was ill luck that it had been one of the Bennett girls who had overheard his less than professional remarks, but even so, Darcy was certain he could smooth things over.

All he needed was an opportunity to speak to her in a more relaxed setting. Turn on the Darcy charm, make a gracious apology, hint at the rigors of the travel his profession required and voila! – it was just that easy to get back on the good side of any lady the universe over. Particularly when they were young, unattached, and empty-headed of all but the notion of getting away from the less prestigious Rank Two or Three lifestyle and swanning into the uppermost echelon of society.

"Mercenary creatures," Darcy muttered, his spirits sinking once more. The whole planet was crawling with them and he, as a Historian, would have to spend his time amongst them for several weeks at least, trading small talk and deflecting every last attempt they would make to tie him down.

Slouching even further into his chair, Darcy felt only dread for what the foreseeable future would bring.

"Surely you must have misheard him, Elsa," Jaina protested mildly as they sat together in Elsa's bedroom after the gathering, discussing the events of the evening.

Elsa raised her fine black brows at Jaina. "I hardly think I could have misheard or misunderstood four or five sentences to the effect that we're not worth his time." She kept her voice even, knowing that her gentle sister would respond better to that than to strident tones. However, she couldn't resist adding sarcastically, "As if time were really all that valuable a commodity to him."

"He seemed to be in poor humor. You said he left right after that. Perhaps he didn't mean it and was only very tired."

"Perhaps," Elsa agreed, privately thinking that the chances of that being true were about as good as Lyra's chances were of taking a vow of silence for several years.

"Well. Tell me everything about your Mr. Bingley."

Jaina blushed becomingly, turning her dark eyes down to study her hands for a moment. When she brought her gaze back up to meet her sister's, her look was serious. "He is very nice. Very friendly and open and polite."

"But?" Elsa prompted, somewhat taken aback at Jaina's solemnity and reticence.

"But he is a Historian, Elsa. I must not allow myself to forget that, no matter how wonderful I think he is."

Elsa blinked in response, searching for something to say in reply. She had expected to have a little fun teasing Jaina about the man's obvious attraction to her before reminding her not to let her heart get involved with someone who was bound to leave and never return. That Jaina had already arrived at the same conclusion was startling and, to Elsa's mind, could mean only one thing.

"Jaina, you sound as though you mean to imply that you have already fallen for him."

Her sister only looked back, her expression helpless. "I – I wouldn't say I have fallen for him," she demurred.

"Then what?"

Jaina's eyes slid away and she stared at the wall as though hoping to find a cue written there. At last she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "It is only that I have never liked anyone so much so quickly after meeting them. I have only known him a few hours but I can already say that I felt so immediately comfortable around him that I was unafraid to simply be myself."

Elsa summoned a smile and reached out to touch Jaina's arm. "It sounds as though you're being level-headed about this. But I would hate to see you get hurt so please, Jaina, be careful."

She was rewarded with a serene smile for that and a promise was promptly given. But after her sister had retired to her own room for the night, Elsa couldn't help but sit up several minutes longer, chewing her lower lip and pondering over the night's events once more.

Well, she concluded at last. They have only been here several hours and already I could wish them both away again, although for different reasons. The one is too conceited and the other is too friendly. I dearly hope we shall all be safe from them.

The next morning over breakfast found Darcy in still dampened spirits and Bingley soaring ever higher with his raptures over the society he had partaken in the night previously.

"You have no idea what you missed going home early last night, Darcy," he greeted his colleague, ignoring the fact that Darcy was bent over the satellite UpLink display, catching up on the news from Londinium, most of which really interested him very little as it mainly had to do with that planet's entertainment season which drew the wealthy Rank One citizens there in droves to see, be seen and pursue their various pleasures.

"I somehow think I will manage to survive, Bingley," Darcy replied dryly, though not unkindly.

"I made several appointments as you instructed I should do," Bingley continued. "We will be visiting with two or three families over the next week."

"Good," Darcy replied blandly. "I suppose the Bennett's are rather high on the list?"

Bingley beamed in response, white teeth gleaming. "Yes, of course. We will have to see the Lucases first since Mr. Lucas is the Governor and descended from the second family to settle here. The Bennett's are descended from the first, so we shall see them second although Mr. Bennett holds no political office."

"Good, good," Darcy said absently. Then his mind focused and he brought a sharp gaze up to meet Bingley's eye. "Take care," he warned his friend. "She might be a pretty girl but you have your career to think about now."

Bingley looked back solemnly. "I know."

Darcy measured the other man with one more long, cool look. Satisfied with what he saw in his colleague's face, he nodded. The rest of the breakfast was silent as Darcy returned his attention to the UpLink and Bingley picked halfheartedly at his food.

Author's Note: As promised, not very frequent updates - although I didn't intend for this chapter to be so short! Thanks to all who reviewed last time and thanks to anyone who sticks with this story despite my infrequent updates.