Author's note: if you see any errors, PLEASE tell me! I do NOT mind helpful feedback, like if I mixed up names or misspelled something or if it doesn't flow well. I welcome that kind of advice! When I had this story posted last time, some people pointed out some inconsistencies that I tried to correct for this time around.

Chapter 2

London, May 1806

Fitzwilliam Darcy was hot.

Leaning against a wall in an overcrowded ballroom, he glared at the dancers. Once again, Lady M_ had thrown a ball that included more guests than candles. Thankfully this would be the last ball of the season. The room was poorly lit, stuffy, and smelled as though the attendees had not bathed in weeks. Knowing some of them, they probably have not, he thought irritably.

A hand grasped his arm, and he jerked away, preparing to defend himself from yet another cloying mother with a simpering daughter. Instead, he looked into the laughing eyes of his cousin, Major Richard Fitzwilliam.

"Ho, there, Darcy!" Richard cried. "At ease!"

Darcy offered Richard his most disgruntled look. "I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into this," he grumbled.

"Perhaps because you need to enjoy yourself?" Richard suggested with a smile. "Come, man! There are beautiful women who would give up every dress they owned to dance with you!"

"Not with me," Darcy muttered. "With the master of Pemberley." Since his father's death two years prior, Darcy had become one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. Being his own master instead of the heir-apparent made him extremely desirable to the young ladies who were eager for pin money, even if it meant dealing with a stoic husband.

When Darcy re-entered society after his year of mourning his father had passed, he was disgusted with the way young ladies were thrown at him by their fathers, mothers, and even their brothers. He narrowly escaped several compromises, and many whom he counted as friends could no longer be considered such.

In the last year, Darcy had come to realize that he only had two true friends – his cousin Richard and an acquaintance from school, Charles Bingley.

Darcy and Bingley met in 1801, which was Bingley's first year at Eton at age thirteen. Darcy, a quiet and studious boy by nature, and he tended to keep to himself, even at age seventeen. His social status and early growth spurt meant that he was left alone for the most part by older students whose main purpose was to torment younger students, especially those from trade.

One day, Darcy was crossing the campus when he came upon a group of students. In the middle of the group was bloodied boy lying on the ground. Above him stood a scrawny lad with fists raised at the rest of the crowd. "Leave him alone!" the lad demanded, his voice cracking with the changes of puberty.

The older boys laughed, with the largest shoving the lad to the ground next to the other boy. The lad shot to his feet and again shouted, "I said, leave him alone! Or you'll answer to me."

The largest boy sneered and said, "Bingley, what do you think you're doing? You're half my size, and you aren't even a gentleman. You think you can stand up to your betters?"

The lad, Bingley, raised his fists and said, "Betters? What rubbish! Sure, my father is in trade, but he's ten times better than you lot. He has integrity and kindness. If the likes of you are examples of gentlemen, well, then I'm glad to be from trade."

The large boy, currently a marquess and heir to the Duke of _, grew angry. He stepped forward menacingly, and Darcy knew what would happen next. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his way to the center of the crowd. "Hey, what's all this?" he demanded.

The young marquess turned to face the newcomer. "Darcy! You're just in time. Help me teach this good-for-nothing tradesman's son a lesson in proper etiquette."

Darcy coolly looked the marquess. "Hampton," he said, "I am not entirely certain which of you needs the lesson. As my uncle the earl has frequently reminded me, only those of inferior breeding and manners mistreat those beneath him. There is no honor in abuse."

Hampton froze. Darcy could see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the options of his pride versus taking on the heir to one of the most prosperous and well-connected estates in Britain. Darcy knew he had succeeded when Hampton's glared and said, "Good riddance to the lot of you" and stormed away.

The spectators began to disperse, a few of them hanging their heads in shame. One or two patted Darcy on the shoulder, while others complained about missing out on the fun. Darcy waited until the naysayers were gone, then he turned towards Bingley and the other boy who was still on the ground.

Bingley looked at Darcy. "Well done, mate!" he grinned. Squatting down next to the boy, Bingley asked, "You okay, Roberts?" Looking up at Darcy, Bingley explained, "Roberts and my dad are business partners. Their factories earned so much over the last few years that they decided to send us to school to become gentlemen."

Darcy's eyes raised in surprise. He knew the cost for bribing the school magistrates into accepting a boy from trade was exorbitant. For Bingley's father and his partner to have succeeded well enough to send two boys to school was impressive indeed.

Crouching down next to Bingley, Darcy gently rolled over the still-silent boy Roberts. "Are you all right?" he asked. Then he hissed as he took in the damage to Roberts's face. Both eyes were swollen closed, his nose was crooked, and blood dripped from his mouth. His arm hung at an awkward angle, and he groaned in pain as Darcy turned him.

"Bingley, go and get Headmaster Clarkson. Quickly! Tell him Darcy said it's an emergency." With that order, Bingley dashed off to the building that housed the dean's office.

Ten minutes later, Bingley came running back. Doubling over, he gasped for breath. "He's… coming… had…. to…. find… doctor."

Some few minutes later, the headmaster came walking up quickly with Dr. Stephens. Both men increased their speed when they saw Roberts on the ground. Dr. Stephens knelt at the boy's side while Headmaster Clarkson looked at Darcy for an explanation.

Darcy quickly summarized the situation, with Bingley's occasional input for context. Headmaster Clarkson's face became increasingly stern as he heard about how Roberts was set upon by five older boys at once. He allowed one small smile as Darcy described Bingley's courage in standing up to the bullies, even though he knew he had no chance of success. Both Darcy and Headmaster Rockwell chuckled at Bingley's indignant reaction to that.

This experience was the beginning of a firm friendship between Bingley and Darcy. Roberts, due to his injuries, returned home to recover and was eventually sent to Harrow, which his father felt would be more accepting of a boy coming from trade. By that time, Bingley and Darcy were such close friends that Bingley chose to remain at Eton instead of going with Roberts.

Bingley provided a healing balm to Darcy's cynical heart. Even at such a young age, Darcy was leery of boys who seemed affable and obliging. He had once had such a friend, George Wickham, his father George Darcy's godson and son of old Mr. Wickham, the Pemberley steward.

Old Mr. Wickham was a good man who had served Pemberley since Darcy's grandfather's time. Old Mr. Wickham and George Darcy had been taking care of Pemberley together since they were in their mid-twenties, when George Darcy's father died shortly after replacing the former steward with Mr. Wickham.

Old Mr. Wickham married late in life to a young woman who coveted his relationship with George and Anne Darcy. Her grasping nature wasn't revealed until after the wedding, and there was nothing Mr. Wickham could do about it other than try to keep her as far away from Pemberley as he could. The only bright spot in his marriage was the birth of his son, who was named in honor of his good friend George Darcy.

George Wickham was born just a few months after Fitzwilliam. Mrs. Wickham quickly lost interest in her family after his birth. This disinterest meant there would be no more children, so Mr. Wickham was devoted to his son. He often brough the babe up to the nursery while he worked since he could not rely on Mrs. Wickham to care for him.

Consequently, George Wickham and Fitzwilliam Darcy became as close as brothers. Sadly, when the boys were around five years old, Mrs. Wickham began to take an interest in her child as a way to further her connection with Pemberley. From that point on, George became more and more discontent with the simple life of his father's house compared with the grandeur of Pemberley.

In front of their fathers, George was everything they could have dreamed of as a playmate for young Master Darcy. His jealous streak only appeared when the boys were alone. When it came time for Master Darcy to go to Eton, he begged his father not to allow George to join him. George Darcy was confused but acquiesced and paid for Wickham to attend Harrow.

Bingley was everything that George Wickham was not. Where George was false flattery, Bingley was genuine geniality. Darcy recognized this lack of pretense when he saw Bingley defending Roberts, and that display of sincere friendship lowered the walls Darcy had built around himself.

Even when Darcy left Eton and went to Cambridge, the two corresponded by letter and visited together every holiday. Eventually, Bingley joined Darcy at Cambridge, while Wickham and Roberts went on to Oxford.

Away from the watchful eyes of his father and godfather, George Wickham became a gambler and a rake. He was careful, however, to keep his escapades from his godfather in the hopes that he would claim an inheritance the old man finally died.

Much to Wickham's horror (and that of Fitzwilliam), George Darcy's will provided him with a living that he would receive upon taking orders to be a clergyman. He ungratefully accepted three thousand pounds in lieu of the living, and Darcy had not seen his childhood playmate in the year since the reading and execution of the will.

Darcy's thoughts were pulled back to the present as Richard tugged his arm again. "Come on, old man! There are some new debutantes over there, and I've heard that a few of them have dowries large enough to make up for their looks!"

Darcy glared again at Richard. "I am not in any mood to stand up with women who have nothing but flirtation and marriage in their head. Have them save their smiles for you; I am in no need of a large dowry." With that statement, Darcy turned on his heel and called for his carriage to take him home and away from the hot and overcrowded ballroom.

Early the next morning, Darcy arose to read his correspondence while he breakfasted. His heart warmed when he found a letter from his sister, Georgiana. He and Richard were designated her guardians in his father's will, and it was a duty they took seriously.

With Darcy being a bachelor and her tender age of ten, Richard's parents – the Earl and Countess of Matlock – recommended she remain at Pemberley with her governess during the times he spent the Season in London.

About to open her letter, he paused when he heard a knock at his door. Only two people would disturb him this early in the morning, and one of them was most likely still sleeping off the dance and drink from the night before.

As predicted, Bingley entered the room wearing his ever-present smile. "Mr. Bingley," pronounced Fortescue, the butler, in a dry voice as he followed a few steps behind Bingley.

"Honestly, Bingley," said Darcy in an amused tone. "You really must give poor Fortescue a chance to announce you before you enter the room!"

Bingley's smile widened. "I know, Darcy, but I simply could not wait to tell you my news!"

Darcy grimaced. He said, "You've met an angel" just as Bingley announced, "I've met an angel."

Bingley stared at Darcy. "How did you know?" he asked in amazement.

Darcy rolled his eyes. "Bingley, every time you interrupt my breakfast with a smile, it's because you've met another angel. Let me guess, blonde hair and blue eyes?"

Bingley sighed and collapsed in his chair. "But this one is different, Darcy! She's unlike any other woman I have ever met." He stared into space for several minutes, then slightly shook his head. "What about a frown?"

"What?" asked Darcy, who had returned to reading his correspondence.

"You said you know I've met an angel if I interrupt your breakfast with a smile. What if I had a frown instead?"

"Then Miss Bingley or Miss Caroline have overspent their allowance again and wrote from school to request more money."

Bingley stared at his friend in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter. "That is exactly right, old man!"

He laughed for a few more minutes. Darcy finished reading his correspondence and had continued on to his newspaper when Bingley soberly began to speak again. "Seriously, Darcy. I have never met a more perfect woman in all my life. Her smile causes me to feel things I've never felt before."

"Now Bingley, that is more information than I want to know," Darcy said without lifting his eyes from his newspaper.

"What? No! Egads, Darcy, that is not what I meant at all! I meant…. Oh, I see. Mocking me again, are you?"

Darcy smirked. "It's difficult to abstain from mockery when there is such an easy target to hit."

Bingley laughed again. "This time is different, Darcy. I don't know how to explain it. I know! You'll have to meet her! Come with me to a card party tonight."

Darcy looked up in alarm. "A card party? Bingley, you know that I am no card player. It would be much more rational to have conversation as opposed to gambling."

Bingley rolled his eyes. "You know there's a reason why we call you old man? There's nothing more awful than Darcy at an event with nothing to do. But no matter – you simply must come with me and judge for yourself."

Darcy hesitated before asking, "Where is this card party? Who is hosting?"

"Well, I daresay you have never met them before. They're friends of my late father's before he sold his business and passed on."

"Tradesmen?" Darcy asked flatly.

Bingley flushed slightly. "Darcy, please remember that I come from trade."

"My apologies, Bingley." Darcy instantly responded. "I'm afraid I had a difficult evening at Lady M_'s ball last night, and I have not quite recovered my temper. If that ball is the definition of high society, then I shudder to think what I would encounter at a card party in Cheapside."

Bingley's face reddened even more. "I see," he said stiffly. "I apologize for inserting my lower-class self into your home. I will leave at once so you may purge your home of my stench."

Startled, Darcy looked at Bingley closely. He could see that he had truly wounded his friend with his words. Putting down his newspaper, Darcy met Bingley's eyes directly. "Again, Bingley, please accept my apologies for my temper. You are the closest friend that I have, and I do not mean to belittle your father or your heritage. I am simply in a foul mood, and you have born the brunt of it."

Mollified, Bingley took a seat at the table and helped himself to a cherry tart. "I appreciate your apology, old man, and I will heartily forgive you…"

"Thank you, Bingley."

"…if," Bingley continued, "you attend the card party tonight. You will see for yourself that Cheapside has no more savages than Grosvenor Square."

Although he spoke in a light tone of voice, the tension around Bingley's eyes told Darcy that to refuse would be an insult to their friendship. "Then I will gladly attend," he said.

Bingley let out a bark of laughter. "Well, gladly might be more than you can handle. I'll settle for politely."

"Agreed," Darcy said. "Now let me finish my breakfast in peace before you coerce me into doing anything else."

Later that evening, Darcy's carriage turned onto Gracechurch Street. He was aware that he was late for the event, something he typically despised in others. He was not intending to be fashionably late (or rudely late, as the brightness of the stars demonstrated the lateness of the hour), but instead had become involved with matters of estate.

As he felt his carriage slow down, he looked out the window to see a modest but well-kept home with candles blazing all throughout the bottom windows. His coachman opened his door, and he descended from the carriage, placing his hat on his head.

Darcy approached the front door, where he was greeted by a maid who took his hat, cane, and clock. She then directed him to a large sitting room that was tastefully decorated, where large tables had been set up to play whist.

Darcy looked around the room for Bingley. Where is he? he thought desperately as the members of the party paused their games and conversation to look at the newcomer in silence. Finally, he recognized a voice from behind him say, "Darcy, there you are, old man! I had quite given up on you!"

Darcy turned in relief to see Bingley and a young woman sitting together on a settee, partially separated from the room by the open door. He approached Bingley and said, "My apologies. I was preoccupied with some business and lost track of the hour."

"Not to worry, old man. I am simply happy to see you come!"

There was a few awkward moments of silence where the three looked at one another. Finally, Bingley cleared his throat and glanced pointedly from Darcy to the young woman who had been sitting with Bingley. Startled, Darcy said, "Will you please do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?"

Sighing slightly with relief, Bingley said, "With pleasure! Darcy, may I present Miss Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. Miss Bennett, this is my friend Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

Miss Bennet performed a delicate bow and said in a gently voice, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darcy."

"The pleasure is mine," he replied.

After the introduction, the awkward silence renewed. Then finally Bingley cleared his throat again and said, "Come, Darcy, let me introduce you to our hosts this evening."

He led Darcy to a table on the far side of the room, where two couples fashionably dressed sat playing whist. Bingley performed the introductions, and Darcy became acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, along with Mrs. and Mrs. Gardiner.

"The Gardiners are Miss Bennet's aunt and uncle," Bingley explained. "They live a few houses down from the Sparrows, and they are often in each other's company. Mr. Sparrow bought out my father's share of the warehouses."

"Ah, I see," responded Darcy. What do I say now? he wondered. What could I possibly have in common with these people?

Bingley glanced apprehensively at Darcy, then continued speaking, sharing anecdotes with the Sparrows and Gardiners about his and Darcy's shared school days.

At the next pause in conversation, Mrs. Gardiner spoke. "Are you from Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy?" she inquired.

"I am."

"Perchance you are related to the Darcy's of Pemberley, then?" she continued.

"Yes, I am."

An uncomfortable silence followed Darcy's statement. Mrs. Gardiner tried again, "Derbyshire is a beautiful county, is it not?"

"It is."

Another uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, Bingley broke in and said, "Well, so glad that you all could meet one another. Darcy, shall we return to Miss Bennet?"

Darcy nodded, still too uncomfortable to say much else. He bowed to the table, then followed Bingley back across the room to where Miss Bennet sat, awaiting their return.

The next several hours were just as difficult for Darcy as had been the previous night at the ball. At least this room is uncrowded and not unbearably hot, he thought to himself. To pass the time, he tried to attend to Bingley's and Miss Bennet's conversation, but the topics were superficial comments about the weather and the delights in town. Frequently, Miss Bennet would ask him questions about Derbyshire and Pemberley, which he interpreted as interest in his income and connections.

Finally the party drew to a close. Darcy bowed correctly to his hosts and took his leave. Outside, he waited for Bingley, who lingered to say goodnight to Miss Bennet and the Gardiners. After what seemed an eternity but was likely only ten minutes, Bingley bounded out of the house and down to Darcy's carriage.

"Well," he eagerly asked Darcy. "What do you think of Miss Bennet?"

"She smiles too much," Darcy said.

Bingley's grin faded from his face. "I find her perfectly lovely and all that is good and kind."

Darcy snorted. "Bingley, did you not see how she continued to ask me questions about Pemberley? She is clearly a fortune hunter, trying to raise her prospects."

Bingley frowned. "I thought she was being polite and attempting to include you in the conversation."

"You thought incorrectly, then," Darcy stated firmly. "Bingley, I have had much more experience over the years than you have in dealing with women. When they pay attention to a friend in front of you, it is because they are hoping to make as successful as a match as possible." Looking at Bingley's dismayed face, he continued, "Bingley, it was clear to me by her smiles. She smiles too much – she smiled at you, but she smiled at me."

Bingley's eyes filled with hurt. "Then you don't believe her affections are engaged?"

"Most definitely not. Even if they were engaged, however, you are much too young to be making such a choice. Does she know that you are only seventeen years of age and have only just begun at Oxford?"

Bingley shook his head. Darcy looked at him in for a few minutes, then put his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Come, Bingley," he coaxed. "Let us go to Darcy House, drink some port, and head to Pemberley tomorrow for the remainder of the school break. It will do you good to get away and clear your head."

Bingley nodded soberly, and the two climbed into his carriage.