AN: Sorry for the wait…again! Thank you so much for the reviews. They keep me inspired

A troublesome cloud had stolen over the Darcy household in the form of an annoyed William and disappointed Gemma.

"Please repeat exactly whom you invited," she demanded, the polite word beginning her command only there due to habit.

"I told you, Gemma. Colonel Kerrigan, Mr. Kingston and Henry, as well as you, Isabella, Cate, Dorothy, Jane, Grace and those two Timothy girls. I believe Kerrigan is bringing a guest as well."

"I cannot believe you invited Maryann and Clara Timothy and not…" Gemma caught herself at the last moment.

"And not who, Gemma?"asked William in exasperation. "Besides, I thought you were amicable acquaintances with Miss Timothy and Miss Clara. I certainly would not have invited them if you were not."

Gemma took a deep breath, and restrained herself from blurting out Mr. Logan's name. How on earth was she to woe him if her own brother did not invite him to the theatre outing William was organizing? Yes, Mr. Logan and William had not had much time to acquaint themselves well unlike everyone else invited but it would have made Gemma the happiest sister in the world if he could stop dawdling with it.

"Do not be a fool, William. No one likes the Timothy sisters, least of all me," retorted Gemma wearily and sensed broaching another topic would benefit them both. "You said Henry's going to be there? Henry Bingley?"

"Yes, he's in Town for a few days, not long enough for the next ball but he can come to the theatre," said William, much relieved with the change in subject. Gemma barely concealed a wry smile; handsome Colonel Bingley, second son of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, would not escape the attentions of the Timothy sisters the whole of the evening. He personified the liveliest and brightest of the younger army officers.

"Whom is Colonel Kerrigan bringing?" she asked, her last remnant of hope caught on this mystery guest being Mr. Logan, though she did not believe the acquaintance between Colonel Kerrigan and Mr. Logan was so particularly close as to warrant invitation to a private theatre outing.

"No idea. Some fellow newly arrived to Town, I believe," replied William easily and Gemma rolled her eyes. Much help a brother was. She would have to wait for the upcoming Matlock ball, orchestrated by Lord Matlock—Mr. Fitzwilliam's elder brother and Gemma's second cousin—to win over the elusive Mr. Logan. How inconvenient.

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The following evening found Isabella very occupied in trying to find a seat in the box William had reserved. Several chaperones sat in the back, while those of William's party, including Isabella's sisters and cousins, sat towards the front.

Gemma and Grace sat on either side of Mr. Kingston, who seemed eager to receive their exclamations and flirtations, reciprocating with his own. Isabella sighed, for however bright and invigorating Mr. Kingston's company, she knew neither of them was meant for the other. He needed a lighter and more spirited woman to be his wife if he ever settled down, a possibility that she harbored no slight suspicion of ever being fulfilled.

Of her newly arrived cousin, Colonel Henry Bingley, Isabella had to strain to cover a particularly strong urge to laugh at his obvious discomfort. Both Miss Timothy and Miss Clara fawned over him, fluttering their fans as delicately as their abrasive, uncultured manner would allow. She did not envy his position in the slightest.

Isabella continued to search for a group into which she could insert herself; why did she spend so long talking to Aunt Bingley in the back? The groups had formed for the night, it seemed.

True to her malcontent thoughts, she now spied Dorothy and Jane, the former uncertainly conversational, and the latter quietly civil, being enticed by an exuberant, cheerful Colonel Kerrigan to speak more than their timidity would ordinarily allow. Together sat William and Catherine, and with them two empty seats.

Isabella groaned as she realized the need to join them, for she recognized the spirited sibling banter between the two and knew she would be allowed no welcomed respite of peace while she sat near her brother and sister.

But did William not mention Colonel Kerrigan bringing a guest? She wondered this and as she drew up to Catherine and William, tried to insert the question into the tumbling retorts flashing back and forth between the two. Only the two of them could find so much to profess forceful opinion on, especially when the topic seemed to be, at present, the style of carriage they had arrived in.

As Catherine responded briskly and animatedly to a particular statement of William's, Isabella thought admiringly of her sister's uncanny ability to remark flippantly on topics both serious and light with equal spirit.

At last, there was a small pause and Isabella tackled it with uncharacteristic force. "If you would still your tongues a moment, no matter how incredible the wording and carrying out of your doubtlessly enthralling opinions, I should like to ask a question," she said sharply and such was Isabella's dominating stance that the two acquiesced, though with no slight chagrin.

"Certainly, my dear sister," said William gallantly and, satisfied with his answer, Isabella was rendered the opposite when Catherine saw fit to insert, "Whatever her queenly goddess being desires, I, the servile slave, bow down to her majesty."

With a scowl that ill-became her beautiful face, miffed Isabella continued. "I am of happy mind to hear it, Cate. Now to return to any semblance of normality and civil conversation, I don't suppose you would care to tell me the location or identity of Colonel Kerrigan's guest?"

"Kerrigan didn't mention the name but he said the guest had gotten held longer that predicted at an earlier appointment and would arrive slightly later, around this time in fact."

Satisfied that one sister was content with his answer, William returned to persuading Catherine to his point of view. Though, Isabella thought ironically and a trifle amusedly, Catherine could never be persuaded into thinking differently of anything on which she had formed a previous opinion.

Few minutes passed as Isabella sat in the seat beside Catherine's, one open beside her—the only one left empty in the box—and did her very best not to pout at being ignored.

At last, there was a movement at the entrance and as Colonel Kerrigan rose to greet his guest, Isabella felt herself grow cold inside, her mind suddenly shadowed with an acute discomfort.

"Wellington! At last you've deigned to grace us with your presence!" the Colonel cried good-naturedly. In a moment, Catherine had turned a stricken face to Isabella, William had rose uncertainly to greet the arrival, and Isabella felt the gazes of many on her person.

The necessary introductions and greetings made throughout the box, Gemma decided to display a semblance of tact, which was rare indeed. "Bella, would you very much mind trading seats with me? I am sure Mr. Kingston would enjoy your presence more than mine." She said good-naturedly, eyeing the empty seat beside Isabella that now seemed as if assigned to Mr. Wellington.

Isabella reflected momentarily as Mr. Kingston obliviously distracted them all with professions of no one being more delightful than Miss Gemma, though certainly Miss Darcy's company was lovely to experience and so forth. Isabella knew Colonel Kerrigan had not meant any discomfort by inviting his friend Mr. Wellington for once again his lack of knowledge towards the events of several years ago had been primary in orchestrating this unfortunate clash of persons.

Really, she thought crossly, some one must inform the poor, misguided Colonel of the Darcy family's past acquaintances and relationships and had best do it rapidly too, before more trouble was inadvertently sown.

However, as Isabella glanced first from Catherine's bright, shrewd eyes and then her Aunt Bingley's soft, knowing ones in the back of the box, she realized she could not forever avoid his company. And she would seem weak if she took Gemma's offer; it would be glaringly obvious to all (and most importantly to him) that she did so to escape Mr. Wellington.

Steeling herself for the evening to follow, Isabella replied, "I would rather mind switching, Gemma, as I am quite content where I sit. In any event, I am quite sure, my sister, that Mr. Kingston finds your company as enjoyable, or perhaps, more so, than mine. Is that not correct, Mr. Kingston?"

Amid exclamations to the positive and negative—so as not to offend either sister—on the part of Mr. Kingston and a single understanding nod from Gemma, the empty seat beside Isabella was uncertainly filled by a man she would be much obliged to never set eyes on again.

"Good evening, Mr. Wellington."

"Good evening, Miss Darcy."

And so the evening began.

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In all honesty, the play was a horrifying wreck. By the time the basis of the plot had been painfully established, everyone in the box was laughing and talking brightly to one another. Everyone that is, except Mr. Wellington and Miss Darcy, who together formed an unfortunate silent island of their own in the midst of the social chatter crashing about them.

It took a horribly awkward silence between them, neither knowing how to broach it, before Isabella could muster, "Has your stay in Town been enjoyable, Mr. Wellington?"

"Quite, Miss Darcy. I had quite forgotten how entertaining it all is," he replied immediately, seizing the hesitant laurel branch she offered.

"Certainly," she agreed mildly and awaited his next words. It was, after all, his turn to take the reigns of this ridiculous conversation. Recognizing she would wait for him to speak, he played along with the torturous game.

"The play…it lacks a certain attraction, does it not?"

"I daresay it lacks every kind of attraction! Dull characters, empty words, unoriginal plot! I declare it a recipe for disaster."

"Those are harsh words, Miss Darcy. Perhaps not even this piece of—dare I say—art merits such critique."

With a flash of surprise, Isabella recognized the teasing tone of his voice, not at all different from how it was six years before. His eyes sparkled and she could feel her cheeks flushing under his gaze. But no, this was ridiculous! She was no longer a girl of nineteen, naïve to the flirtations of men like Mr. Wellington, capitulating to his every word.

"Ah, but Mr. Wellington you are too lax with your title of this play. It is not a work of art, as you say, but rather the work of ruining an evening."

He laughed then, at the defensive tone of her voice and the feeling in her words. Isabella flinched at hearing the familiar sound, for so long absent from her life, but then managed a smile. She supposed he could be no more at ease with the situation than she so perhaps it would be best to retain an amicable character, a simplicity of mind, for the evening spent in his company.

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It was very plausible, Isabella thought as she entered her bedchamber late that night, that Mr. Wellington was so changed a man, she might forget her earlier infatuation and the circumstances surrounding their relationship in order to become renewed acquaintances.

For the evening had been far easier than she could have imagined, even in the company of Mr. Wellington for most of the night. She had remained the sole object of Mr. Wellington's words until Catherine alerted herself to Isabella's predicament and ventured to lighten the conversation between the two. Indeed, towards the end of the night Isabella had even begun to enjoy the odd nature of their renewed relationship, based on solely amicable terms.

Yes, she thought happily as she blew out the candle, Mr. Wellington would very much be a rewarding friend to boast.

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