A short chapter but a fun one to write. Hope you like it.

I present to you: The Ball.

Disclaimer: I don't own the works of Jane Austen or Julian Barrat and Noel Fielding. I merely dream about them at night and wake up very confused.

Vince's mother had put her foot down at the idea of her only son turning up to the ball in a dress on the basis that none of his sisters would be offered a single dance if he were there to distract them so. She had offered him enough silk for a new dress coat but said she needed him to be on his best behaviour for the sake of all present. She'd also mentioned that he might want to be on his best behaviour on account of Miss Bingley who would be gracing the ball with her presence and, it was rumored, was very refined, attractive and single. Vince doubted he'd find the lady that attractive, not unless she was very remarkable in deed.

The day of the ball arrived far too quickly and, as Vince stared about the large room, he began to wish that he lived somewhere other than a small town. Somewhere he could just be Vince Bennet, rather than an honorary 'Bennet girl'. While he enjoyed dressing up and was fairly certain that his tastes ran in the same direction as his sisters' (except maybe Mary's) he did wish that sometimes he could simply be Vince, without all the family baggage and town gossip.

He knew he looked good tonight and certainly wasn't opposed to people gossiping about his attire. His new dress coat was possibly his best yet, the delicate pale blue silk catching the light and highlighting the matching blue of his eyes. The faint floral pattern was barely noticeable, Vince thought, but that didn't stop the other men shaking their heads at him in scorn and refusing to acknowledge him. They all thought him rather too eccentric but then, they thought the same about his father, for different reasons, and Vince had been brought up by his father to believe that the opinions of those who were not willing to engage with something new and different were not opinions worth noting.

He also knew that the other single young men would be vying for the attentions of Miss Bingley and saw Vince as a rival. Vince just hoped that when the dancing began the band would play some decent music for a change.

When the Bingley party entered they certainly left no one in any doubt that they were people of money and breeding. While Mr Bingley charmed the room with his unaffected manners, quiet manner and pleasant features, Miss Bingley left most of the women in awe at her elegance and most of the men hiding behind the curtains. She was certainly an intimidatingly beautiful creature, if a little haughty in Vince's opinion. It was however, Mr Bingley's friend, one Mr Howard Darcy, who drew the most attention with his tall frame, brooding features, well groomed moustache and noble mien; and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes of his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year and a large estate added to the attraction.

Vince tried not to be impressed. He'd never been that enamored of moustaches, he found it impossible to grow one himself, and to him Mr Howard Darcy looked rather too reserved. The general opinion of those present soon soured when he refused to speak to those around him and the large estate he owned was discovered to be in Yorkshire.

"Gracious me," Vince overheard one of the older women telling his mother.

"Yorkshire. Leeds, to boot! No wonder he appears so dour. You know what Northerners are like."

Mr Bingley was soon the life of the party, dancing every dance, speaking to everyone and even complimenting Vince on his coat.

"It is quite what they're wearing in London, you know," he told him to the surprise of those present. "Who is your tailor, good fellow?"

Vince had laughed and thanked him and changed the subject, complimenting the man's boots, before it was revealed that he sewed his clothing himself.

Mr Darcy had chosen not to participate in the conversation despite Vince trying several times to include him and he was starting to wonder whether the man could speak at all when Mr Bingley implored him to to join them for the next dance.

"Come, Howard," he said, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself like this. Loosen up. You would feel much better if you danced."

"I certainly shall not, sir. You know that I detest it. At such an assembly as this, it would be unsupportable. Besides," he said, glancing too long in Vince's direction. "I would not want to be associated with the other 'gentlemen?' at this gathering. It might give the impression that I wish to be acquainted with them."

Vince felt his jaw drop but recovered quickly. He was not about to let this Howard Darcy see that he had felt insulted by his callous words. Bingley seemed similarly surprised.

"Come, come, Howard. Don't do it for the men. Do it for the ladies. By my word I never saw so many pretty young ladies in all my life. Are not four of the number your sisters, Vince?"

Vince nodded as Bingley turned to him. He could feel a blush rising up his cheeks. He didn't want to dance anymore, not if the sight of him was so intolerable to Mr Darcy.

"Excuse me," he whispered before making a quick bow and heading for the exit. No one noticed him go, or so he thought. His mother was too busy watching the whole assembly admiring Jane and his father was busy with a bottle of brandy. His sisters were all enjoying themselves, as was everyone else. The only person who did notice his absence, it so transpired, was one Mr Howard Darcy. He stood in the corner, still refusing to dance, and watched as the one man who should have been dancing slipped quietly from the ball. Howard had been watching the younger man for most of the evening. He was a skilled and elegant dancer and when he laughed and smiled he seemed to radiate sunshine. Howard thought him quite the most enchanting creature he'd ever seen. Which was why he'd had to be rude to the boy, obviously. Such thoughts as he'd been having were not acceptable, were sinful even, and Mr Darcy had his pride.

Even so, as he watched the slender young man exit unnoticed, he could not help but feel for what he had done. But what could he do? It was unlikely that such a boy would have such leanings; Howard had long ago learnt that he was quite alone in his perversion, and even if he did, he would never requite someone such as him. It was useless. He should simply resign himself to the fate his aunt had set upon him as a child and the inevitable life of loneliness.

He shifted himself further back into the shadows, hoping to go unnoticed in the noisy hall. He hated parties.