Elizabeth woke up as the dawn hit her eyelids. She sprang out of bed and into a morning dress. Victoria, annoyed at being woken so early, yapped at her owner even as said owner dressed for a walk. "Come, Vicky, we are to meet William today," Elizabeth said cheerfully; not even the fury of her dog could dampen her spirits, for it was early morning, and she was going to see her dearest friend. She drew the shed key out of her drawer and skipped merrily down.

Once out of the house, with Victoria close on her heels, she went out to the shed, where she had locked her kite. She dusted down the pink diamond and cleaned the butterfly on the back, and rolled up the reel, which was still surprisingly good. Then she set out for the border.

Elizabeth sat down on a tree root as she watched the Netherfield direction of the hedge, until she saw a tall, dark figure approach, with a kite under his arm and a dog yapping at his heels. Victoria barked loudly at the newcomers, and the other dog – a gentleman's hound – walked up to her and barked.

"Heel, Trevor!" shouted the gentleman. "Here, boy!" The hound trotted back to his owner, his nose in the air.

"Hello there, Victoria," the gentleman said, his dark blue coat visible against the sunlight as he stooped and held out his hand. Victoria evidently liked him, as she showed. "Oi!" he shouted, wiping his face. "Elizabeth, your dog is mauling me!" He tumbled backwards on the grass as Victoria knocked him down.

"Here, Vicky!" Elizabeth called, and Victoria came. "William, you did not tell me you would bring your dog as well!"

"I did not bring him," William answered soberly, a twinkle in his eyes. "The little monster decided to bring himself! Now, I feel a wind, shall we?" They ran, flying their kites, across the field, shouting laughing threats and insults at each other and their dogs, just as they had when they were children.

Elizabeth seized his kite-string while William was looking the other way, gave her reel to Victoria, and ran as fast as she could while he chased her. "You little snake!" he shouted at her, before pulling his old cartwheel trick and yanking his reel out of her hands. "Gotcha!" he cried, and scampered away as she scrambled after him.

William flung himself on the ground, gasping for breath, grinning like a mad hatter. He shoved his sweaty dark hair out of his eyes, which glittered with enjoyment like when he and Elizabeth teased and baited each other. "No! Trevor!" he complained good-naturedly when his hound bounded onto his chest, followed by Elizabeth's dog. "Not you as well, Victoria!" he groaned.

Elizabeth, who was safe in a tree, called, "Vicky!" Victoria yipped at the tree as William pushed Trevor off of him.

"Trevor, go home!" he ordered, and the hound obediently trotted towards Netherfield. Elizabeth did the same to Victoria, who obeyed. William got up and climbed the tree, sitting down beside Elizabeth. She snuggled into him as she had as a girl, and they looked out at the field.

"I admit that it feels very nice to do as I like," William confessed. "I can traipse out to the fields at seven in the morning, and no one would mind. There is a good side to being an adult orphan," he laughed, half in jest.

"Well, I am more fortunate than you, for I can do as I like as long as I am not hurt, and I have both of my parents," Elizabeth teased. "Papa lets me do as I desire, be it walk out at six in the morning or come in to breakfast with muddy shoes."

"Muddy shoes, hah," William said. "I can imagine what your mother says to that." He widened his eyes and shrilled his voice in an imitation of Elizabeth's mother. "Lizzy, whatever are you thinking, running about the countryside like some common hoyden? Mr. Bennet, you must punish her immediately! Oh, Lizzy, you take delight in vexing me! How will you ever get a husband? Oh, my poor nerves!" He ended with a sparkle in his eye, if with a bitter twitch to his lips.

Elizabeth laughed. "Actually, you are quite accurate. Mama despairs of my ever becoming 'a proper lady'." She rolled her eyes. "She insists that no one will want anything to do with such a wild girl."

"I would, if nobody else," William asserted faithfully. "Wild girl or not, Elizabeth Bennet, you are my dearest friend and I would not cut off my ties with you for the world."

"Thank you for that, William," she said, bumping his temple with her head. "You really are the most loyal friend ever." Was it simply her imagination, or did he grow warmer with that comment?

"Perhaps not ever," he said, referring to their argument and his silence afterwards.

"That was partly my fault, Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

He looked up in surprise. "That is the first time you have ever called me Fitzwilliam. You kept insisting it was too hard to pronounce, and here you go out with it!" Pausing, he added, "Although it does sound very nice."

"I am twenty, William! It would be unthinkable for me not to pronounce your real name, especially since you have the head start," she observed, tilting her chin up and grinning.

"Yes it is, is it not?" William looked out at Longbourn, his eyes half-closed in his characteristic brooding manner, sitting like that for over an hour, and Elizabeth was content to sit by him in companionable silence. Suddenly he drew back and kissed her forehead. "You must return now, or you shall be missed." He checked his pocket watch. "For it is past eleven, and already someone might be at Longbourn a-calling."


The Lucases were very good friends of the Bennet family – except perhaps Mr. Bennet – so that the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate. It was just as Elizabeth came from her walk with William, Victoria, and Trevor, with her kite under her arm that she heard the Lucases were come to call. Immediately, she sought out Charlotte.

The large company broke off into small groups and pairs, although there were no fixed conversation partners. Such it was with the Lucas and Bennet clans; all could talk at once, and to different people, provided it was about whatever topic they had agreed to discuss: this time, the assembly.

"You began the evening well, Charlotte," said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to the eldest Miss Lucas. "You were Mr. Bingley's first choice."

"Yes; but he seemed to like his second better." Charlotte smiled at Jane, who smiled serenely back.

"Oh! You mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her—indeed I rather believe he did—I heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson." Mrs. Bennet tried to sound modest, but only achieving a moderate success.

"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you?" Charlotte said amiably to both her friend Elizabeth and Elizabeth's mother. "Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? – And his answering immediately to the last question: 'Oh! The eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.'"

Thankfully, after that Charlotte steered the conversation away from Mr. Bingley – but, unfortunately, towards Mr. Darcy. "And what of his friend, Mrs. Bennet? There are so many opinions of him that I am confused about what to think of him." Charlotte winked at Elizabeth. "I hear that some people like him, and that he likes a few of the Meryton townspeople."

"Oh!" Mrs. Bennet replied airily, fanning herself harder than ever. "He is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips."

"Are you quite sure, ma'am? - is not there a little mistake?" said Jane, ending her conversation with Maria Lucas. "I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her."

"Aye, that he did – but only after he came back from talking with Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet conceded grudgingly. "But there was such a look of disdain on his face – as though he were above our company, and so much better than the rest of the human race!"

"Miss Bingley told me," Jane replied, "that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With them he is remarkably agreeable." She flashed a glance at her next youngest sister, and nodded knowingly.

"I do not believe a word of it, my dear, not a word. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long first. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise."

"That was not the case," Elizabeth protested, unable to endure such censure of her friend. "When he spoke to me, he assured me that he only thought Mrs. Long was very formidable; besides, I do not think he is so very disagreeable. I am inclined to believe his silence was more due to shyness than haughtiness." She did not mention that she had had to talk very quickly in order to persuade him to talk. William had been literally scared stiff at the very thought.

"At any rate, he danced with all the Bennet and Lucas girls, and I call that agreeable," Charlotte declared, "for some of us have less sense than others." She glanced at Kitty, Lydia, and her own sister Maria, who were engaged in a conversation about the officers.

"Another time, Lizzy," her mother said, "I would not dance with him one set. Let him stew in his own pride, I say."

"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, "I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day."

"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought," said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly." The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.


Over the next few days, the Longbourn and Netherfield parties called on each other, and attended the same gatherings. While Mr. Bingley was open to all of the Bennets, and Mr. Darcy, though more withdrawn, expressed the same sentiments, the Bingley sisters dismissed Mrs. Bennet and the three younger Bennet girls.

An intention of getting to know them better was, however, extended to the older two, who received it with different reactions. Jane was pleased, Elizabeth was sceptical. Mr. Bingley also expressed, though non-verbally, a desire to know Jane better, and Elizabeth was satisfied to see that Jane's feelings were returned, and told Charlotte so, at one of Sir William's parties.

"It may be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."

"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton not to discover it too."

"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."

"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out."

"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."

"That is a good plan," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get any husband at all, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not enough to make her understand his character."

"Not as you tell it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have seen whether he had a good appetite; but four evenings have also been spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal."

"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but about any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."

"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. The people involved always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself." She turned to William, who was standing directly behind her, unobtrusively eavesdropping. "And you, William, what is your opinion on happiness in marriage?"

"That I shall never live to see it if I go on as I do," he replied, half in jest and half in earnest.

"Oh, William, I meant for Bingley and Jane, you selfish man!" Elizabeth teased.

"Then, drawing on my own observations and your discussion just now – your sister really does care for my friend?"

"As I said, anyone who cannot perceive her partiality to Mr. Bingley must be a simpleton."

"Based on that, all the world who is not intimately acquainted with Miss Bennet must be a simpleton, Elizabeth. I am of a like disposition as your sister, and yet I cannot perceive any signs of regard. At any rate, if she cares for him as you say she does, then I would be glad to wish them joy soon."

Charlotte looked triumphantly at her friend. "There now, Eliza, you see, even Mr. Darcy agrees with me."

Elizabeth smiled good-naturedly. "Then I am outnumbered, and I must advise Mr. Bingley concerning Jane's regard as soon as possible."

"That would be my duty, as his friend," William said, "as well as fending off his sisters. They think Jane Bennet a sweet girl, but they would not look upon a match with their brother as a good one. I daresay my vote in Miss Bennet's favour would convince Charles to continue his suit."

However, William did not leave to advise Mr. Bingley; rather, he stayed close to Elizabeth throughout the evening, whether a few feet away or merely a few inches. She noticed this, and brought it to his attention: "Why on earth are you following me, William?"

"I would like to hear your wit when it is directed at others," he answered bluntly, embarrassed.

She shrugged. "Very well, did you not think, William, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"

"With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic." William's eyes had that sparkle that, though Elizabeth did not know it, only kindled for her.

"You are severe on us, William!"

"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas, joining them. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."

"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! - always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers," she replied, flicking a glance at the Bingley sisters. On Charlotte's persevering, however, she added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must." And she looked at William with a teasing spark in her eye, and said, "Though, William, I would prefer it if you did not follow me to the pianoforte!"

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display. No one saw that Mr. Darcy stiffened when Mary all but pushed her sister out of the seat.

Mary was better than her sister in terms of technical skill, but her performance lacked her sister's emotion and liveliness, and she possessed a finicky air that did not sit well with her audience. At Lydia's request, she played a few Scottish and Irish airs, while the two youngest Bennets – with some of the Lucases and several officers – began to dance in a corner of the room.

After one dance, during which he collected his thoughts, William stood up with Elizabeth, then Charlotte, Kitty and Lydia, and the younger Lucas girls, all the while trying hard to talk about interesting things. With Elizabeth and Charlotte he was successful, but with the others, the conversations more or less petered out.

While the dances were ongoing, William walked a bit around the room, his eyes roving, and he was accosted by Miss Bingley, who was piqued at not having caught his attention for the whole night. "I can guess the subject of your reverie."

"I should imagine not," he managed to reply with perfect diffidence.

"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in such society; and indeed, like you, I was never more annoyed! The dullness, and yet the noise - the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What I would give to hear your opinions of them!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was much more agreeably engaged. I have been thinking on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. William replied, seemingly without forethought, but with great intrepidity:

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?—and pray, when am I to wish you joy?"

"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy." William's face barely controlled his disgust. An intimate friend such as Elizabeth herself would have seen the displeasure in the half-closed lids of his eyes, the slight pucker in his eyebrows, and the stiff rigidity of his broad shoulders. However, only his father would have noticed the slightly bitter twist to his lips; everyone else would have mistaken it for disgust.

"Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you," Miss Bingley struck out at Elizabeth with barely masked venom, and continued to insert these barbs throughout the evening.

He pointedly ignored her, and although his composure convinced her that all was safe, she failed to look at his eyes. They sparked with barely concealed animosity.