Thankfully I was smart enough to bring my own car, so I didn't have to listen to Mom's ridiculous monologues about how Bingley spent ten too many songs dancing with other women who weren't half as becoming as Jane. Poor Jane. Not only did she have debilitating college debt like I did, she also had to suffer our mother's nosy interference in her love life more than me or Lydia. In our mother's eyes, Bingley had danced twice with Jane, which was once more than the other females, which meant that he was probably already driving to Tiffany's for an engagement ring. My face was red from face-palming by the time Lydia had finished ranting because Jane was too sweet to go on a long tirade about our mother's antics.

"Lydia, you're not being very nice," Jane frowned when Lydia concluded her rant. "I'm sure Mom was only saying that to be funny."

"To be funny?" Lydia repeated incredulously. "Jane, Mom doesn't do funny. She's insane, I swear. If Lizzie doesn't scare Bingley away with her awkward, nerdy tendencies, Mom will do the trick."

Everything I did, Lydia thought was awkward and nerdy so I wasn't about to start an argument on that. "First of all, if we're going to be rational, Bingley hasn't done anything but dance with Jane. It's too rash for us to start thinking of all these scenarios which probably might not happen."

"Lizzie, don't be such a buzz kill. No wonder no boy wants to be near you." Lydia retorted.

"Lydia, let us remember to keep our mouths closed tight and our legs closed tighter." I chastised in a voice that sounded eerily like Mom's.

Lydia rolled her eyes and I knew that my words of wisdom were wasted on her. She never listened. "I'm going to bed. Night, bitches – it's been real."

Jane smiled slightly and stood up as well. "Well, there's Lydia for you. I think I'm going to go to bed too. It's been a…unique night."

"Night, Jane." I returned her smile as she kissed me gently on the cheek before leaving.

As much as I wanted to stay up and reminisce over what an honor it was to be meeting the William Darcy, my brain had other plans for me. I fell asleep soon after I stretched out on my bed, the reprieve from reality an appealing break to my mind.

I woke up at about noon to the sound of my mother's shrill voice. When I finally made it downstairs, padding groggily to the kitchen, I realized I was witness to an argument between Jane and my mother, regarding our plans for that night.

"Now I told you twice before," My mother said. "Your father and I are having dinner tonight with his work friends – hardly the environment for a trio of young girls. Why don't you and Lizzie take Lydia out to Carter's and have a nice time yourselves?"

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Mom. Lydia's still underage and you know how she gets when she's around alcohol and single men." Jane frowned and shot me a glance.

I stepped in as well. "Mom, if the issue is us being here while you and Dad have guests, we can always stay upstairs, you know. I honestly don't think Carter's is the best thing to do since Lydia spent half of last night sipping 'punch' from a little cup."

Mom raised her eyebrow at me. "Elizabeth, I thank heaven every day that your sister is more sociable than the two of you, since the Lord knows how you two will ever get married with all that working and reading and holing away in your rooms. Lydia is perfectly controllable when drunk if you have a bit of sugar with you. And she isn't that underage – only six months. Don't be such a stickler for the rules, dear – men really find it quite unattractive."

And so that was that. Jane and I were stuck with the task of taking Lydia to Carter's, a bar where desperate single people went to meet more desperate single people. In my mother's eyes, Jane and I were burdened with debilitating debt and no boyfriend, which meant that we were single and desperate. We frequented Carter's mostly because of Mom's urging; clearly she still thought that any future husband we'd snag would be from there. I didn't have the heart or the energy to explain to her that no future husband of mine would be from a bar that smelled distinctly of feet and old candles.

I spent the day working on my thesis paper while Jane helped Mom in the kitchen for their guests that night. When it came time to get ready, Lydia's excitement was almost tangible in the air. Knowing her, she would probably convey that excitement into wearing her sluttiest top ever and Jane and I would be responsible for pulling her shirt above her bra over and over again during the night.

Lydia said I dressed like a forty-year old woman with cats and no love life. I disagreed, knowing that Lydia's tastes were far varied than Jane and I's. She liked to wear items of the far skimpier variety – the tighter the better, right? Half of Jane's clothes had been pulled by the fashion company she worked at, which meant that she looked like she was walking out of a magazine most days. And me: sensible old Lizzie, with her sensible old clothes. Hey, I had some cute pieces in there! When Anthropologie had a sale, as Lydia would put it, I'd go "ape-shit" over that stuff. But, with our debilitating debt issue, shopping wasn't really a priority for me. If I really wanted to wear something new, I'd steal something out of Jane's closet, but otherwise I had what I needed.

Admittedly, a teensey-weensey part of me hoped that tonight, magically, a ridiculously attractive man would sweep inside the war and leave me floundering. In retrospect, perhaps I should have reworded that wish, because when William Darcy walked into Carter's that night, he wasn't the night in shining armor that I was looking for.

Although he did look good.

A little bit.

Okay, a lot.