Mrs. Frances Bennet had arrived back home only fifteen minutes before Liz. As she exited the car with Jane in tow, she was in much better spirits than when she had left that morning. A few hours of shopping did exactly what she had hoped it would do: it made her forget about that impertinent, ungrateful Lizzy. She had secured the company of her eldest daughter – the sweet, obedient, reasonable Jane. In some strange way, taking Jane out shopping while leaving Liz home alone had felt comforting: as if she was punishing her disobedient second daughter. And so she doted on Jane, and by the end of the shopping spree, they could hardly carry all the bags full of purchases. Frances Bennet smiled. After all, it was Jane who was her greatest hope of a wealthy marriage. Liz had somehow attracted the unattainable Fitzwilliam Darcy, but the stupid girl clearly had no idea how to keep his attentions on her, or how to secure him for good. Instead, the unbearable child did everything possible to scare him away, and Frances Bennet had no doubt that Fitzwilliam Darcy's attentions to her second daughter would cease very soon. Jane, on the other hand… And lost in pleasant thoughts, a broad smile spread across Mrs. Bennet's face as she picked up the bags and headed towards the house followed by her eldest daughter.

Upon coming home, Mrs. Bennet was immediately surprised by the pleasant cleanliness of her living room. She was not messy herself, but she was certainly not meticulous. No one in the Bennet household really was. Mr. Bennet cared little for anything outside his work and his books. Kitty and Lydia were too caught up in boys and clothes, and far too energetic to take the time to clean up after themselves. Mary strove to some absurd ideal of "sophistication" that only made sense to herself; but that ideal certainly did not include cleaning – that was far beneath her. Jane always made attempts to help her mother keep the house in order when she was home for the holidays, while Lizzy was simply disorganized. For her part, Mrs. Bennet did her best to make her home look presentable, but preferred to spend her time dressing her daughters or gossiping with her friends.

And so it was, that her reaction to seeing a clean, uncluttered, elegant living room filled with a subtle scent of wildflowers and decorated with a beautiful bouquet of colorful chrysanthemums, was pure surprise. Jane had been with her during the entire morning, and absolutely no one else in the family could give her such a cheerful surprise. In fact, she was sure that the only person left in the house that morning was Lizzy. But no, Lizzy couldn't… Mrs. Bennet blinked several times without saying anything, then called out quietly: "Lizzy? Lizzy, are you home?"

She heard the back door open, and someone enter the house from the backyard. "Lizzy, is that you?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bennet," she heard a cheerful deep voice with a slight British accent greet her, and was stunned by the vision of Fitzwilliam Darcy, with the sleeves of his expensive white shirt rolled up casually, and with a pair of gardening scissors in his hands. She had not recomposed herself enough to speak before he continued pleasantly, "You have a lovely backyard. I took the liberty of cleaning it up a bit. I hope you don't mind." At this he gave her a dazzling smile.

"Wh-Where's L-Lizzy?" She stuttered at last, still unable to overcome her consternation at seeing him at her house and in such a state.

"She went out for lunch with Charlotte. I'm sure she will be back soon. Here, let me help you with those," he said, taking the shopping bags from her and Jane.

"Thank you," Jane said quietly, at last finding her voice. She had been as stunned as her mother. Her first thoughts were that Fitzwilliam had managed to secure her sister's affection after all, and that they were working together in the garden. That picture was so pleasant, that she did not give it a second thought, nor did she bother to recall the profound dislike her sister had professed for the man. Now, however, at finding that her sister was not at home – that Mr. Darcy was at their house alone doing gardening for God's sake! – She knew not what to think. There was no plausible explanation. Jane's face now mirrored the blank surprise written across the face of her mother.

Fitzwilliam realized the strange image he must have presented to the two women, and sought to relieve their confusion. He motioned for them to sit on the living room couch, walked to the kitchen, and took the liberty of pouring each of them a glass of orange juice from the fridge. He could not help but inwardly laugh at the irony of the situation: he was playing host to them in their own house!

Once he sat at a fauteuil across the couch, he explained slowly and calmly: "I came to see Elizabeth this morning, and found her cleaning her room. We talked, and at last decided that it would be best if I tidied the house instead." He smiled. "Since I did not desire her help, she decided to go out to lunch with her friend."

Mrs. Bennet just stared at him for a few seconds, taking in his words. Then she shrieked, "You cleaned our house, Mr. Darcy?!"

He nodded and smiled. "I just did a cursory cleaning in the kitchen and the living room. Since none of the family was back yet, I figured I could do some gardening. It has been quite refreshing." His eyes shone warmly, and his complexion was luminous from the fresh air and exercise.

While Mrs. Bennet was shocked and terrified by the thought of such a wealthy and powerful man doing housework in her household, the more astute Jane was amazed at Mr. Darcy's altered manners. He had always been proud, reserved, and selfish. Now he appeared the complete opposite: gentle, cheerful, unassuming. She could not help but marvel at the sudden change. Could it really be her dearest sister who had affected such an astounding transformation?

"Mr. Darcy, this is… so… I don't know what to say," Jane heard her mother mumbling. "I am so embarrassed. So sorry. I know the upkeep of our house was not up to your standards. You expect the best from your employees… I'm so sorry. You should have just told us."

Mr. Darcy chuckled at her words. How thoroughly she managed to misunderstand him! Yet he felt that her misunderstanding was almost willful; she seemed to find her ridiculous supposition easier to believe than the idea of him helping her out of goodwill and friendship. He frowned at the unpleasant thought.

"You misunderstand me, Mrs. Bennet," he stated patiently. "I only helped because I wanted to. Please take it as a small token of my friendship."

"It was Lizzy, wasn't it?" Mrs. Bennet blurted out, at last unable to escape the truth. "She made you do it! Oh that impertinent girl!" Mrs. Bennet had recovered her ability to speak (or to shriek, rather), and it would no longer be contained. "Oh Mr. Darcy! Please accept my apologies on my stupid daughter's behalf. She has behaved abominably towards you. You have been so kind and generous to her, and she has been such a brat! Please, sir, don't hold it against us. I will chastise her properly. And in the meantime, Jane here is much prettier and much, much nicer than Lizzy…" She trailed off, edging an embarrassed Jane towards him.

His countenance darkened. "Mrs. Bennet, I assure you, that this was all my idea," he countered calmly.

There was a moment of silence, while Mrs. Bennet was collecting her thoughts enough to make another vocal display, and Mr. Darcy was trying to think of a way to convince and appease this woman.

It was at this unfortunate moment, that Elizabeth Bennet herself made her entrance into the house.

The sight of her was enough to send her mother into another fit. "Elizabeth Claire Bennet!" She yelled with indignation. "How dare you?! How dare you force this man," she pointed at an astonished Fitzwilliam, "to clean this house? Don't you know who he is, child? He is Fitzwilliam Darcy, the owner and CEO of Pemberley!" she finished with emphasis.

Elizabeth had prepared herself for her mother's anger, but for some reason she had not quite expected so loud an outburst so soon. Perhaps the exceptionally quiet way her mother had expressed her disapprobation that morning (instead of waking Lizzy up with shrieks and reproaches, she had simply gone shopping with Jane) had led her to the erroneous hope that her mother's vocalism had been tempered and her reason enhanced. So much for that hope. Lizzy sneaked a timid look in Fitzwilliam's direction, wondering what he must think of her family now, and of her. She immediately chastised herself for even remotely caring about his good opinion, sighed, and prepared herself to answer her mother.

Yet it was not her voice that responded to Mrs. Bennet's shouts. Calmly, Fitzwilliam Darcy walked over to Frances Bennet, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and said in a voice that broached no opposition. "Please cease, madam, this unmerited reproach of your daughter. I have just told you, that the entire ordeal was my doing and my doing only. It was I who had behaved abominably towards Elizabeth, and towards too many others," at this one corner of his perfect lips lifted into a rueful, thoughtful half-smile. "I have determined to mend my ways, to become better and kinder. I ask you not to be distressed by the fact that I chose your family as the place where I would begin to display that kindness." He noticed that the woman in front of him seemed to be calming gradually, and added softly, "Although in one thing you are right: I care deeply for your daughter, and hold the highest opinion of her. Among other things, I find her integrity and her concern for her friends to be admirable. I would be very happy never to hear her called anything unfavorable ever again," he finished firmly. He then moved his eyes to Lizzy, and regarded her with simultaneously such piercing intensity and such tenderness, that she shifted uncomfortably, and looked away.

A prolonged silence followed Fitzwilliam's eloquent speech, as Mrs. Bennet took in everything he had said. At last she concluded that: Fitzwilliam Darcy was in love with her daughter, did not find her actions offensive (though Mrs. Bennet was not quite so forgiving herself), and he was clearly the kindest, gentlest, and most generous of men (not to mention the handsomest, and obscenely wealthy). And so, Frances Bennet at last let out a sigh of relief, and smiled warmly at the man who was still holding her shoulders and regarding her with an expectant stare. If he liked her Lizzy – though what he saw in her was quite incomprehensible, – then it would not do to scare him away. Mrs. Bennet's smile broadened, and she readily switched from ruthless reproach of her daughter to equally loud praise of that daughter's unexpected suitor:

"Oh Mr. Darcy, how kind you are! How generous, noble, and good! I have never met a young man so worthy of admiration. Please, if there is anything at all we can do to repay you for your generous attention and kindness, do not hesitate to ask. Though there is little, of course, we could give you. We are so far beneath you in every respect." She suddenly realized that this might turn him away, and added, "Though my daughters are quite pretty. Jane is a real beauty, everyone says. And Lizzy is not bad either."

Liz cringed and reddened at her mother's display. A quick glance at Fitzwilliam assured her that he was equally embarrassed. Yet he comported himself with admirable calm and self-control. He listened patiently to Mrs. Bennet's ranting, subtly changing the conversation to more bearable topics: chief among them, the success of Pemberley Corp, since Mrs. Bennet was as effusive in praising the corporation as she was in flattering the owner.

After an hour of relatively calm conversation, they heard a key turn in the lock of the front door, followed by Lydia's merry voice: "We're home, schmucks! Such a glorious day – I have finally been asked out by Ben! And then on the way back, we ran into the cutest guy ever!"

Lydia blabbered excitedly, oblivious to everything around her; she hardly cared whether she had an audience at all. She suddenly stopped, when Kitty elbowed her in the side, and Mrs. Bennet hissed, "Lydia, we have a guest."

Only then did she notice Fitzwilliam Darcy standing in the corner of the living room (and an unusually beautiful living room at that!). She gasped and took in his gorgeous figure: his well-fitting trousers, his elegant shirt, with the top button undone and sleeves rolled up (God, he was sexy!), his arms folded across his chest and his prominent muscles so well-defined, and the beautiful smile spread across his incredibly handsome face.

"M-Mr. Darcy, hello," she whispered, and nearly swooned. Behind her, Kitty giggled nervously, equally affected by the handsome man before them.

Flustered and embarrassed by their uncouth entrance, both girls rushed upstairs to their bedrooms.

As they left, an awkward tension appeared among the company gathered in the living room, until it was burst by Lizzy's radiant laughter, which was immediately joined by Fitzwilliam's, and subsequently Jane's. Mrs. Bennet was far too overtaken by her poor nerves to partake in the others' gaiety.

Just as they were returning to comfortable chatter, the two teenage girls came rushing back down the stairs.

"Mama, there is a giant bouquet of gardenias in my room!" Kitty shrieked.

"And daffodils in mine," Lydia added. "When were they delivered? And whom are they from? Oh, I hope it's one of the cute boys!"

Mrs. Bennet looked from one girl to the other with a blank expression.

Jane Bennet knitted her eyebrows in thought.

Elizabeth Bennet regarded Fitzwilliam sternly.

And Fitzwilliam Darcy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I took the liberty of placing flowers in each room. I didn't know what everyone liked, so I brought daffodils for Lydia, gardenias for Kitty, carnations for Mary, tulips for Jane, irises for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet," Lizzy could not help but smile at how aptly he allocated the flowers. "And roses for Elizabeth," he finished softly and looked down. "I hope I did not offend anyone with my forwardness. I thought it would be a nice finish to the house."

Everyone was too shocked to speak. At last, Elizabeth said flatly, "I didn't expect to hear of any more flowers for myself. I think the lilies from this morning are quite enough. Not to mention yesterday's three bouquets."

"Those were from you?" Lydia regarded Fitzwilliam suspiciously. Somehow, the youngest two girls had been too cut up with their own boy drama to hear their mother's effusions at discovering the sender of the first bouquet.

Fitzwilliam only nodded. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I am a selfish creature; I enjoy giving you flowers."

Lydia looked at her older sister, and gave her a mocking half-smile. 'I'll have to have a talk with that sly thing later,' she thought amusedly. 'And to think that she was warning me off of Fitzwilliam!' And with a giggle, she bounced back upstairs, followed by the faithful Kitty.

As the girls left, Fitzwilliam thought that it was time for him to depart as well. The last thing he wished to do was to overstay his welcome. Noticing the uncomfortable silence that settled into the room, he excused himself. "I think I better be going. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Bennet. And thank you for your company, Jane, Elizabeth." But no, he couldn't just go! He couldn't leave just like that. When so much progress was made, he wanted more: he wanted to secure a chance to see her again, and this time to have her all to himself. "Elizabeth," he added tenderly, "would you allow me to take you out to dinner?"

Elizabeth smiled at him. Charlotte's words came back to her, and she couldn't help but think that perhaps she had been too hard at him. Perhaps she really had overreacted and allowed her childish impressions from a decade ago to unduly influence her opinions and actions. Besides, for some incomprehensible reason, she did not feel at all averse to going out with him. "Of course, William," she answered gently, and was rewarded with his brilliant smile upon hearing her pronounce this name.

"Would… would tonight be agreeable?" He blurted out before he had a chance to temper his excitement.

She smiled and bit her lower hip to prevent herself from laughing. He was truly amusing when he was so boyishly excited. It was almost endearing. No! She cannot think that way. This was Fitzwilliam Darcy, for God's sake, the man whom she had only just now stopped hating. "Sure," she said simply.

"Thank you. I will pick you up at seven. Would that be okay?"

She nodded.

Elizabeth was walking Fitzwilliam to the door, when her phone rang. She saw the name "Gregory Samberg" flash across the screen, and Lizzy frowned at the bad timing.

"Greg?" She said into the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fitzwilliam's body stiffen and his face flinch at the name of his rival.

"Elizabeth, sweetheart, would you like to go out tonight?" she heard Greg's warm voice sing.

"Um, no, I have plans for tonight. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure, sweetheart. I will pick you up at half past six?"

"Alright. Got to go. Bye, Greg." She hastily closed her phone, and shot Fitzwilliam an apologetic glance. He left the house without another word, his brows visibly furrowed.

Elizabeth watched him walk away, and wondered why she felt so little pleasure at hearing Greg's voice and scheduling their next date. She had liked him, undeniably liked him, and had been looking forward to knowing him better. Yet over the course of only one day, her feelings managed to have changed so dramatically. Why was she no longer excited to see him? Why did she feel guilty when he called in Fitzwilliam's presence? With alarm, she realized that Fitzwilliam influenced her behavior far more than she would have liked. She resolved firmly to think no more of him after tonight, and not to allow him to spoil her pleasant relationship with Greg.