I keep leaving my copy of Pride & Prej in strange places. I've also been very busy – but I have managed to write some decent coursework about Elizabeth's conventionality (A*!!!), so I'm quite relieved.

Thank you again to all those kind reviewers who make me smile. I can only hope that I can continue to write the same kind of stuff that you seem to enjoy. I almost feel a little pressurised now :)

Apologies for this chapter. It was written mainly whilst suffering from what might have been swine flu. It's not a very good state of mind to write in.

The evening came to an end, an occurrence that Elizabeth Bennet was most thankful for due to the seemingly insufferable presence of Mr Darcy. Although, she had to admit, she did rather enjoy watching the expression on his arrogant, rather smug, little face when she declined his invitation to dance.

She was just about to lay her head down for the night when she felt something strange under her pillow. Something that seemed remarkably like paper.

Another letter.

Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet

You actually almost made me laugh. Congratulations for the way you dealt with Mr Darcy there- 'Mr Darcy is all politeness'- would have had me cracking up if I had that kind of sense of humour. Which I do. But I didn't laugh because that would just have been sad to laugh at two-hundred year old jokes. Well, I didn't laugh in front of other people because I'm a self-respecting woman. Or rather, teenager.

I may have earlier stated that I disliked you. Whilst that is still true, I do now respect you ever so slightly more than when I began my journey through this period in your life.

So well done for that Mr Darcy bashing, as I see it. He deserved it.

Whilst many will argue that you displayed signs of prejudice here, I would state that Mr Darcy was incredibly rude and stuck so far up his own arse he's coming back out of his mouth again. (A figure of speech, let me assure you). Seriously though, just because he's richer than you and owns half of Derbyshire doesn't mean he has to be a miserable git who thinks he's better than everyone else.

Playing the devil's advocate for a moment, technically, he is better than you. He does own half of Derbyshire and he does have quite a lot of money, so you might have been a little politer and shown some deference to his status.

By the way, there is no such place Meryton, although Hertfordshire is real... I just thought you might like to know that you live in a fictional town. I wonder how that feels? You probably don't even believe me.

Yours &c

P.S. I took modern dancing lessons when I was six. I failed miserably. And I had one tap dancing lesson. That was also a bit of a failure. And that's my total experience with dancing. Unless you count that time in year seven when our P.E. teacher thought it would be fun to make us wrap ourselves up in tin foil and do a robot dance. My pride has never been restored since.

What, Elizabeth Bennet wondered, was modern dancing? More importantly, who were the people the writer referred to that might argue that she displayed signs of prejudice? Why would anyone wish to argue over her character?

What had she done to deserve being the recipient of these strange letters? The writer obviously came from a world different to the one that Elizabeth knew – what kind of a respectable person from her world would dare to cast such thoughts about Mr Darcy to paper? And the peculiar terms used in the postscript were enough to confuse anyone to the brink of insanity. P.E? Robots? Tin foil? Year seven?

She firmly decided that she would waste no more time when she ought to be sleeping. It would probably make sense in the morning.

Reviews will make me happy and may help me recover from this flu-ish state. Maybe.