ilex-ferox thank you for the research suggestion. I never dreamed the waltz was so different then. This will change the dance scene in the previous chapter considerably. I will update it later.

If anyone else notices any historical errors or has any other suggestions please feel free to mention them in the comments. Obviously the language used (especially Lizzy's) is sometimes intentionally modern for comedic effect but I am otherwise trying to keep true to the period as much as possible.

23rd December 1811

Jane says the most absurd things sometimes.

Like just a moment ago when He Who Must Not Be Named entered the room and ever-so-casually took a muffin from the sideboard and then ever-so-slowly buttered it even though I know he had already taken breakfast because I had my maid go speak to his valet and make sure he had eaten so I would not have to break my fast with him because the very sight of him makes me want to scream, but of course—oh, of course—he had to come strolling in as if he owned the room (which of course he does, but no matter) and start lavishly buttering things with indecent slowness as if everything were perfectly normal and he had not a care in the world and did not notice at all that I was silently seething, which of course he did notice because he looked right at me all impassively as though I am the unreasonable one—me!

Anyway . . . what was I saying? Oh yes, Jane—

Jane said, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

Patently absurd.

That person—whose name I had specifically asked her not to speak in my presence because the very mention of it causes me homicidal rage—is incapable of having a good morning even if anyone should sincerely wish him one (and why Jane who has the most to accuse him of should do so I do not know) and though she certainly sounded sincere she could not possibly have been because I had just finished sharing with her the extent of his perfidy and even she—all goodness and sweetness that she is—could not be anything but incensed by it.

Yet she did say it. And he replied, "Good morning, Miss Bennet . . . Elizabeth."

Outrageous.

And then he said, "I am going to be in the library this morning if you need me."

As if I would possibly need him. Fortunately after making this declaration he quit the room, taking his overly buttered muffin with him.

"You spoke to him!" I said accusingly to Jane.

"Of course I spoke to him. As should you."

I scoffed.

"At some point you are going to have to talk to him."

As I mentioned earlier, sometimes my dear older sister really does say the most absurd things.

"I have not spoken to him for three days and our marriage has never been better."

Jane shook her head. "I cannot believe you are shunning him over such minor injuries."

"Minor injuries! He implied our family is inferior—"

"Lizzy, our family is socially inferior to—" she began but I could not let her continue.

"He did not mean social standing, not only social standing at least."

"Can you know what he meant? Did you ask him?"

"I did not need to ask him, the implications were there in his scornful tone."

"I will agree it would have been better—kinder of him not to have said it, but you cannot deny the truth Lizzy."

It as if she has not known me all my life.

"I can deny whatever I like."

"You should allow him the chance to apologize."

"There can be no apology. If it was a matter of mere insults perhaps—perhaps—I might be persuaded to hear his apologies but it is what he did that makes it all unforgivable and I cannot believe you could greet him so serenely given his offenses against you."

"It was easy because I do not see that he has committed any offenses against me."

I sighed internally. That was such an absurdly Jane thing to say.

"How can you say that? Do you not understand what I just told you?" I asked perhaps more condescendingly than I meant to.

"You might be the clever one, Lizzy, but I am capable of comprehending most things," she said with surprising severity, then with more composure, "Yes, I understood perfectly what you said. I had been behaving indifferently toward Mr. Bingley with intention so you cannot fault Mr. Darcy for thinking me indifferent."

"Why were you behaving indifferently to Mr. Bingley?" I asked keenly. This question had been the entire purpose of this conversation, the deal we had struck. I would tell her about why I had been avoiding my husband if she would explain the secret reason she was being strange around Mr. Bingley.

"As I have told you before, I did not wish to press and unwanted acquaintance upon him."

"And as I have told you before, that is complete nonsense," I replied. She was not going to evade the question this time, I would have the truth. "Why would Mr. Bingley ask Dar—that person—if he thought you cared for him if he did not care for you?"

"Perhaps he was worried my affection was greater than his and was trying to spare my feelings."

I rolled my eyes. In just a few weeks I had acquired several bad habits from He Who Shall Not Be Named. But some statements just begged for an eye roll in reply.

"Jane, that is ridiculous and you know it. Now tell me what has caused you to believe such silly notions?"

"I do not think I should tell you. It does not matter now anyway."

"We had an agreement," I pressed. She had wheedled her way out of telling me the truth for the last time.

"I do not wish to place you in an awkward position."

I laughed hollowly. "I am an unwanted wife whose faults and mishaps are aired weekly in the scandal sheets, I do not think my position can get any more awkward."

When she did not immediately speak I asked, "It was not my husband who put these misconceptions into your head, was it?"

He told me he had not. If he lied to me it would completely shatter everything. This thought gave me great pain. I was surprised to feel thusly. I had not known there was anything left to shatter.

"No, it was not Mr. Darcy."

"Who then?"

Jane shook her head.

"I explained my predicament now you must reciprocate. You promised."

Again she shook her head.

"Jane," I urged, "If I am to believe D—You Know Who—is not the primary villain in this tale you must tell me who is."

"There is no villain, Lizzy. It is all just a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding on my part. I wanted to believe Mr. Bingley cared for me but I was wrong."

I sighed again very audibly this time. "You were not wrong. Now tell me who."

"Miss Bingley sent me a letter after they left Netherfield."

Miss Bingley, of course. I stared at Jane expectantly, silently urging her to continue.

"She told me—well, she just implied really—that Mr. Bingley would soon be engaged to Miss Georgiana Darcy."

I gasped. It was such an outrageous falsehood. "And you believed her?"

"I did not, that is to say I did not disbelieve her, but I thought perhaps, in her enthusiasm to have a closer connection to a friend she so greatly admired, she had imagined a deeper friendship between her brother and Miss Darcy than was truly present. I felt she must be mistaken because it had seemed as though Mr. Bingley had singled me out—"

"He had."

"—and he would not have done so if his affections were already engaged."

"Exactly."

"But her words put me on my guard. I was determined to observe objectively Mr. Bingley's behavior to myself as well as to Miss Darcy. And what I found was . . . what I found—oh Lizzy I am so embarrassed, I must have seemed so ridiculous, so conceited to everyone in Meryton. But I had thought—I had so believed he cared for me."

Unable to stop myself I exploded,"He does care for you!" It was with great self-control I kept from adding, "you ridiculous goose."

"I know that is what you want to believe because you want me to be happy."

I can now concur with what Belinda told me just yesterday; elder sisters are exhausting.

"It is not a matter of what I want to believe it is what is actually the truth. Bingley cares for you. From what I can see he has the exact amount of affection for Georgiana that any gentleman would have for the much younger sister of a friend—a detached, cautious regard. His manner toward her conveys the utmost respect but nothing more."

Jane was already shaking her head before I had finished. "What about last Tuesday?" she asked.

My social calendar is so full I can barely remember what I did yesterday much less last Tuesday.

"I recall nothing significant about Tuesday and if Mr. Bingley had declared his undying love for Georgiana you would think I would remember."

"We went to the museum," Jane said, ignoring my sarcasm.

"Yes, we went to the museum." I wanted to add, "Where Bingley attentively guided you around, for the most part ignoring the rest of us," but I am certain she would have some way to dismiss this fact in her determination to ruin her own happiness.

"Mr. Bingley was very insistent that Miss Darcy come with us if you will remember."

If this was her evidence of Bingley's secret tendre I really was going to have to throw something at her.

"Yes, he was," I agreed, casually reaching for my now empty breakfast plate. The plate was light enough not to cause any permanent injury but significant enough to jolt her out of this idiocy. Who am I kidding? It would probably bounce right off her head, everything else seemed to.

I waited for her to elaborate. People must be given every chance to come to their senses before one starts chucking plates at them. A precipitously tossed plate is the portent of the end of a civilized society.

Jane nodded emphatically as if her point had been made.

"Did he pass her a love letter? Steal a kiss? You better have something more than his insistence that she visit the museum with us."

With a defiant gleam in her eye she said, "He was very insistent."

What did I do to deserve so many impossible people in my life?

Do not answer that.

"He gave her all the encouragement one would give a shy child. He has known Dar—that man I happen to be married to—for a few years now. When he met Georgiana she was just a girl, I do not think he has ever stopped thinking of her as such.

"He insisted she go for her own good not from any special desire to be in her presence. He barely spoke to her! And of course it was obvious Mrs. Annesley wished to go and she could only do so if Georgiana went. Perhaps it is Mrs. Annesley he is in love with. She is quite a lot older than Mr. Bingley—that must be why they keep it quiet. Think of the scandal! Miss Bingley will be devastated should it get out."

"You are being ridiculous," said Jane.

"No, you are! Mr. Bingley is considerate toward everyone, but he is affectionate only to you. If he has been inattentive to you of late it is because you have rebuffed him, not because of any alteration of his feelings."

It was difficult for me to admit this but it was true. I had ignored Jane's purposeful indifference because it conflicted with my own schemes. And I had preferred to place the blame firmly on Darcy.

Jane still appeared doubtful, but before I could present additional evidence (or throw any plates) Georgiana entered the room.

"Georgiana! You are exactly the person to settle this little disagreement," I exclaimed before I had time to considered my words. Georgiana was immediately discomposed. She clearly did not wish to be put in the middle of a disagreement and certainly would be further discomposed by the question I intended to ask her. It was a question I needed to put very delicately. Hmmmm . . . how to word it?

"Are you currently engaged or likely to become engaged to Mr. Bingley?"

My sister-in-law's shock was profound. "Wha—no! No, I'm not. Why would you ask that?"

"I am sorry to put it so bluntly, but Miss Bingley wrote to Jane expressing her joy at the prospect of soon calling you sister."

Georgiana's visage did not display confusion or astonishment as I thought it might, rather her expression was of unsurprised exasperation. "Oh, Caroline," she said wearily.

I had thought Georgiana unaware of her friend's malicious nature. Apparently not.

"Please do not judge Caroline. She is not a bad person," Georgiana said.

"Of course not," said Jane.

I said nothing. I felt my brow raise skeptically. I was doing the Darcy haughty eyebrow thing. I could not help it. It was a particularly apt expression for this situation.

"She is really quite sweet and entertaining once you get to know her. She simply has a few unfortunate aspirations," Georgiana continued.

"Such as having a familial connection to the Darcys any way she possibly can?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So there is nothing to it then? No secret romance between you and Mr. Bingley?"

"No, indeed. You have heard him. He talks to me as though I were Henrietta's age. There are no special feelings on his part. As for my feelings for him, well, he is a perfectly amiable gentleman but he is so . . . just so . . . kind," she finished lamely.

I knew what she wanted to say. Mr. Bingley is kind. But also dull. And inoffensive—almost to the point of tediousness. And a little soppy.

Imagine being married to such a man! I would rather be married to Darcy—

I am married to Dar—that person. I certainly had not forgotten. And I did not mean that. I certainly would rather be married to Mr. Bingley. Not Jane's Mr. Bingley, obviously. But a Mr. Bingley.

Everything would be so much simpler with a man like Bingley. No wounded feelings. Fewer arguments. Less desire to stab people.

Unless it was myself. Out of pure boredom.

I did not mean that. I am not one of those silly girls who likes dangerous men—who needs constant excitement lest they do something stupid just for the thrill of it.

But my husband is not dangerous. He is challenging, to be sure, but perhaps I would not wish to have my way in everything anyway.

I do not like this line of thinking. It is beginning to sound as though Mr. Darcy is not completely horrible. Which of course he is. Obviously. Although—

No. Absolutely no althoughs. He is completely horrible. But he is not dull. And I must admit now that this Jane-Bingley fiasco was not entirely his fault. Miss Bingley and Mr. Bingley and even Jane herself must share blame.

But what he said about my family! I am not forgiving him for that! I. Am. Not. Never ever. And his insinuation that I made myself ridiculous trying to push Jane and Bingley together—well, that is just . . . entirely true.

But see if I ever admit it.

"So there you have it, Jane," I said triumphantly, "No impending engagement between Mr. Bingley and Georgiana. It was a misrepresentation by Miss Bingley that I am sure was just a mistake and not at all malicious in intention."

"I know it seems like pure vindictiveness—and I really cannot believe she would . . .oh, Caroline—but she isn't a monster . . . in most circumstances. I am sure she thought she was doing the right thing."

Seeing my furious expression Georgiana quickly added, "Not that I think it was the right thing! However I am sure she thought she was protecting her brother. Charles is just so . . . ."

"Kind?" I suggested with a wry grin. I knew what she wanted to say. Mr. Bingley is just such a malleable idiot.

"Yes, and because he is so kind sometimes people take advantage of him and I think it has caused Caroline to be a bit over protective. I know Charles had shown a marked interest in one particular lady in Hertfordshire. Louisa let slip that the lady was you, Miss Bennet. Having met you, I know Caroline's fears must have been unfounded but she thought . . . well, that is not for me to explain. Just do not think too ill of her, she did what she did out of love for Charles."

"Yes, I am sure it had nothing to do with a desire not to be connected with a lady who has one uncle in trade and another employed as a mere country solicitor."

"Well . . . ." said Georgiana, trialing off as she grasped for a way to defend her friend's snobbery.

"It is all right, everyone has faults," I said. I was feeling particularly magnanimous having finally proved to Jane that Mr. Bingley was indeed in love with her and no one else.

"Did you come here for something before I rudely put you on the spot?" I asked suddenly curious. I knew she had already taken her meal. She always took breakfast early then spent the rest of the morning at her instrument.

"Oh, yes. I've lost Belinda and Henrietta and I was hoping you might help me look for them."

Miss Hopkins had requested a day off to visit her sister. Georgiana, in an act of reckless bravery, had volunteered to play governess today in her stead.

"Of course, I am sure I can discover them quickly enough. Do not interrupt your meal, Jane," I added as she made a movement as if to stand, "I will not need help."

I have a special talent for finding the Vane sisters. This probably has something to do with the fact that when I do find them I do not make them converse in French (my own French is quite hopeless) or practice their sketching (I never learned to draw and I have got on just fine, thank you), or play the harp (neither girl has much in the way of musical inclination and I think to force a student to learn only leads to musicians like Mary whose technically sound performances somehow give no joy to the listener).

Instead I leave Henrietta to her novels and Belinda to her gruesome histories and thus they do not mind being found by me at all. I hope they will not feel betrayed when I hand them over to Georgiana this time. Perhaps I can talk them into submitting to an hour each at the pianoforte in exchange for being left to their own devices the rest of the day.

"Mrs. Annesley is searching below stairs and I have already looked everywhere on this level. I thought you might take the first floor while I search the second," said Georgiana.

He Who Must Not Be Named was on the first floor and I nearly insisted on searching the second instead, but I did not wish anyone to think I was avoiding him out of any cowardice on my part, so I agreed and we went off to search our respective floors.

I had just finished thoroughly investigating You Know Who's study (which was no longer eerie as his personal things had been returned to the now finished room—but of course I was no longer interested in divining anything about my husband from his private rooms, not at all) when I heard giggling in the corridor.

I exited the study just in time to see the library doors slam shut.

"Etta, Bel!" I called.

A chorus of muffled giggles ensued. Of course, they would have to be in the library.

"You really must have your music lessons now, but perhaps after you are done we might go to the kitchen and see if Cook has any more cake," I said as I cracked the library door.

It occurs to me that I might make for an overly indulgent parent resulting in horribly spoiled children. However that does not matter as apparently I will never have children. I am never speaking to my husband again much less doing that.

Cautiously I entered the library. No horrible husband in sight. No Henrietta or Belinda either. I took another step inside and sighed. I was going to have to search the room and I would probably find You Know Who at the desk in the far corner being all brooding and sinister. No matter, he could brood away. I would not talk to him.

Before I could take another step the door slammed behind me. Then, to my great horror, the key clicked in the lock.

No, no, no, no, no noooooooooo.

I grasped the door handles and pulled. No joy.

"Let me out, please," I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

My polite request was answered with giggles.

"This is not at all amusing."

More giggles.

"You can absolutely forget about cake. In fact, I have reevaluated my beliefs about children and sweets. I no longer think your delicate little stomachs can handle rich foods. It is going to be plain, boring food from here on out. And tripe, sooooo much tripe."

"I like tripe," chimed Belinda from the other side of the doors.

"That is utter tripe. No one likes tripe."

Again with the giggling.

"All right, you have had your laugh, now let me out."

"I am sorry, but I cannot let you out yet," replied a most unexpected voice. Georgiana.

Before I could process this new revelation a tall, handsome figure strode up to the door and knocked lightly. "What is this rumpus?" my husband asked but there was no severity in his tone. He was shamelessly soft when it came to his young cousins. He will make for an even more indulgent parent than I will.

Not that we will ever be parents.

Because I am never forgiving him.

Obviously.

"We are holding you both captive until you kiss and make friends," said Belinda.

I eyed Dar—the person standing next to me—suspiciously. He had told me he would be in the library if I needed him, perhaps he had become tired of waiting for me to break down and took matters into his own hands.

"Did you engineer this little trap?" I asked him.

"I did not," he said, clearly not appreciating my accusation.

Henrietta could not let her brilliance go unacknowledged. She said, "He wishes he was that clever. I came up with it all on my own."

"I helped!"

"Yes, Bel helped and Georgie got the key."

"I will not open this door until you both stop acting like stubborn children and have a sensible conversation. You have been shooting each other glares and muttering gibes under your breathes for three days now and it is quite beyond what I will tolerate.

"We will leave you to your privacy to work things out. I will come back to check on your progress in one hour," said Georgiana sounding very much like a governess indeed. Unfortunately she was trying to school the wrong pupils.

No! Where was the shy, sweet sister-in-law who I thought was beginning to like me? The Georgiana I knew was far too mild to make such a hardhearted declaration. And Belinda and Henrietta! They were little imps but they were supposed to be my little imps.

I had been betrayed.

"Do not bother trying to ring for Saunders; we disabled the bell," said Henrietta, delivering the final blow.

"Come back," I begged as I heard their retreating footsteps.