So, this is one of several things I've been working on in the past months or so, really the main thing that's consuming my mind, but I kinda started writing it bassackwards, and so far most of it's done, but I haven't entirely figured out where I'm going to take it. Coincidentally I finished the chapter very early this morning, finally, so I figured I'd post it before, well, what will inevitably ensue this week. As a kind of pre-Darcy present.
As the title suggests, this isn't meant to be canon or anything... it's not what I think was actually happening but merely to present an alternative view of what things could've been happening between the videos and the tweets and all those things Lizzie doesn't say. It's kind of out-of-character, but... maybe a bit more in-character for this Lizzie. Hopefully I'll get to explaining that... But I suppose you could say Lizzie herself gave me the idea for it, at least partly because no one on the LBD seemed to be getting laid and there's a serious dearth of even semi-sexy times. Anyway, this story kind of morphed into being more than what I imagined, and I got to write a lot more characters than I intended. Anyway, some things may be off because I was too lazy to go back and correct them because we found them out after I'd started writing, and I apologize for that.
And, Isabelle, this one goes out to you for putting up with all of my talk and torture and random snippets. You'll have the answer to your question soon enough. ;)
Also, because it is obligatory that I must say this, even though it should be fairly obvious by this point, I don't own the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Or anything remotely resembling it aside from the book and the movie. Or any of the various books referenced herein. Aside from paper copies of some of them, but I don't own the words like I own this story... Anyway, hope you enjoy!
The two of them were lying somewhat uncomfortably on the couch. She was flat on her back; he was sandwiched between her and the back of the couch, his body half-reclined at an odd angle. He was a bit too tall to rest entirely comfortably or easily there, but for the moment he didn't care. Her side was pressed against his, and that was all he felt. Their chests were still heaving, and, for a while, the sounds of their breaths in tandem was all the sound in the room. He thought it one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. Their clothes were in a messy pile on the floor in front of the sofa, which barely contained their awkwardly-entwined limbs.
Lizzie brought her head up, lightly pushing herself up from the couch. Her slightly sweaty skin was sticking to the fabric unpleasantly. She let out a heavy breath, throwing an arm over her head, vainly shifting in an attempt to become more comfortable. She was trying, equally vainly, not to think about how amazing that had just been. "What... was that?" she muttered incredulously, still a little breathless. She was both surprised and embarrassed at how husky her voice came out.
He twisted a bit, turning his head so that he could look at her properly, giving her a knowing look. Feeling his stare and not wanting to face his scrutiny, not now, she brought her hand down to cover her eyes. They both knew what it was, but everything hadn't quite sunk in yet. Both of them were still unable to believe what had just happened had actually happened, let alone process it. He was perhaps a bit more satisfied than she was, and if she'd bothered to look, she would've seen the wide, I-just-got-laid smile he was wearing. She might've softened, having never actually seen him smile, but the smugness in his expression probably would've also made her want to punch him in the nose.
As it was, the shame and mortification slowly started to seep in on her end, and he watched, vaguely amused and admiringly, as the faint red tint of blush spread across her skin. His smile softened, and he bent down unthinkingly to kiss her, his hand sliding across her breast like it belonged there. Her breath caught in her throat for a second at the unexpected contact, and then his tongue was in her mouth, and it was all just too much. She grunted and pushed him away hard with her free hand, holding him up above her by the shoulder. "What are you doing?" she hissed, holding him away firmly, even despite his attempts to bend back down.
"What does it look like?" he muttered half-sarcastically, leaning down again with the intent of kissing her. He didn't want to have sex again, as she might've thought, but he'd kissed her with the intent of claiming her. He had the foolish notion that somehow, because of what they'd just done, she was his for the taking. Lizzie couldn't have understood it, even if she had wanted to, but he wanted her more now than he had before he'd gotten her naked. She pushed him back a bit more forcibly, not wanting his body to cover hers again, shaking her head, unable to say a word or think quite coherently. His face fell, smile turning to a frown, brow knitting up in confusion.
Lizzie sat up slowly, removing his hand from her breast and feeling herself flush horribly. His gaze was on her once again, taking in everything, and it made Lizzie feel hot. He sighed and bent over her, reaching down to grab his shirt, covering her with it. She stared at him with wide, disbelieving doe eyes, a look in them so familiar to him that it made him feel instantly sick to his stomach. Gigi had that look too, once. He averted his gaze from her respectfully, fully expecting her to wrap herself in the shirt.
She was, after all, no doubt uncomfortable with the situation, and, well, this was hardly how he'd imagined this happening either. Besides, she looked so cold, and he wanted her to be dressed just in case someone came in. It was fairly late at night and none of their friends seemed particularly fond of the library, so it was somewhat unlikely, but it was still a possibility. He felt a powerful, possessive surge of something, not wanting anyone else to see her like this. He liked that, just for now, this was all his. He also needed her to cover up so that he could have a real conversation with her without being any more distracted by her considerable charms.
There was no way Lizzie could know what she was thinking, so she assumed the worst, as she was prone to expect from him. He was repulsed by her, by what he'd done. That was why he couldn't look at her. She wasn't pretty enough for him anyway, and he probably thought she was crap in bed now, and, ugh, she didn't even want to think about it. She held the shirt to her chest, feeling suddenly very affronted. A few minutes ago he had been all over her, and now he refused to even look at her and was handing her clothes like he was ashamed, like he regretted it already. If she noticed how the feelings she was projecting onto him greatly resembled her own, including the repulsion she was imagining he felt, she didn't acknowledge them. But it made her feel cheap all the same. She shook her head, bringing her jaw forward, straightening further and reaching down for her clothes.
He too shifted into a sitting position. He sensed the growing distance between them but was powerless to stop it, too afraid to reach for her or do anything when he'd so clearly misread the situation earlier. As the seconds ticked by, Lizzie was becoming progressively more horrified and mortified at her own behavior. What he must think of her! He already doubtlessly thought her younger sister was a slut, and now he must be thinking the same of her, that she also had no self-control or standards or... ideals. Lizzie shut her eyes, trying not to cringe; she really was like Lydia, then, wasn't she?
Ordinarily she wouldn't care what Darcy thought of her, or, rather, she would pretend not to care... but she didn't want him thinking she was easy just because she'd slept with him in what was clearly a massive lapse in judgment that she didn't completely understand. She never did things like this. She ran a hand through her hair, turning her back to him as she began to sort through clothes. "I don't usually do things like this," she offered as a means of an explanation, cringing as she said it, wanting to wring her hands as she realized how hackneyed it sounded. A moment later, she'd found her dress and was pulling it down over her head already so she didn't have to face him.
He eyed her bare back, and when she turned, running her fingers through her hair to fix it, his expression was impassive once more. She almost sighed in relief, glad something was the way it had been before she'd been stupid enough to have sex with him. "I don't either," he said coolly with a bit of a shrug, more comfortable naked than he had any right to be. She looked away, biting her lip, momentarily distracted by his nakedness, and threw his shirt at him. Then she turned back to the pile of clothes, attempting to sort through it to find her underwear. She was all too aware of the stickiness between her thighs, of how her body was now sore in new and unexpected places, and, of course, of how colossally stupid this entire decision had been. The worst part, though, was that, try as she might, she couldn't account for any of it.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling the need to apologize somehow. "I... I don't know what came over me," he said simply, still unable to believe he'd done what he'd been dreaming of more or less since the moment he first laid eyes on her. The way he said it made it sound like a bit of an insult, even though Lizzie heartily agreed with the sentiment. Lizzie's jaw tightened faintly, and had she turned around, she probably would've glared at him. As it was, she merely found his boxers and threw them behind her, not saying a word. Darcy, on the other hand, was in no hurry to get dressed. "I guess I just... got caught up in the moment," he added haltingly, half-reaching for her already.
Lizzie was barely able to stop herself from snorting. It was impossible to imagine William Darcy getting caught up in anything, so he was clearly lying through his teeth. Darcy was only half-lying; he certainly hadn't intended to sleep with her... it was something that had just happened, in a way things never justhappened to him, but he'd known what he was doing. It wasn't as if he hadn't wanted to have sex with her for the majority of their acquaintance, with only circumstances and his own morals preventing him from doing so. He had been the one with the urge to kiss her in the middle of the argument, after all, and everything had gotten out of hand and gone farther than he'd intended. But now that it had happened, he was glad.
Lizzie fastened her bra, tucking it inside of her dress. All of the sudden, the whole situation was just too much for her, and she started shaking with silent laughter. Darcy touched her shoulder, concerned, worried she was crying, and Lizzie turned towards him. That was when he saw she was laughing, and he couldn't help but feel a bit insulted and... hurt. Was he laughable? He stiffened. Unable to believe the surrealness of the situation, Lizzie sputtered, "I can't believe I slept with you in the library. On a couch." There were tinges of hysteria and horror in her voice that didn't entirely escape Darcy's notice. She covered her still-burning face, embarrassed beyond belief.
In a way, Darcy thought that it had to happen here; where else in Netherfield were he and Lizzie's guards both lowered enough for this to happen? Few other places afforded such complete privacy, even including their bedrooms. The library, after all, up until now, had carried with it no romantic notions... despite old Harvard traditions and Atonement... which was precisely what made it so very dangerous. He'd certainly never be able to sit in here with the same tranquility, remembering as he did what it was like to have Lizzie Bennet.
The couch was made of an elaborate printed fabric, something floral, and done rather opulently, probably some sort of antique. It was stuffed enough to be suitably comfortable, but it was a couch meant for sitting rather than lounging. Grasping at straws, Darcy decided to follow her lead and try and make light of it. He did want to put her at ease, even though he didn't take this sort of thing lightly (and, given her attitude, he didn't think she did either). "It's a far cry from Anna Karenina," he remarked dryly. He was slow to dress, wearing just the boxers and only now starting to button up his shirt with a bit more care than was necessary.
She surprised the both of them by chuckling at the unexpected remark, shaking her head faintly. Her fingers found the couch somewhat distractedly, idly tracing the patterns of the vines. Anything was better than talking about what had just happened. "You know, I always did wonder why she gave up everything, her marriage, her respectability, her child... for that. Tolstoy didn't even describe it. So the sex was either really great or she was crazy in love with the guy," Lizzie mused with a laugh. Giving up everything for some good sex just seemed rather wasteful, especially since Vronsky hadn't seemed like much, but, then, maybe she'd never had sex that good. Although it had been pretty damn good, Lizzie conceded, stealing a glance at Darcy. She twisted some strands of thread that had come loose and pronounced quite decidedly, "Or, as I personally like to think, Anna was an idiot."
Darcy blinked, mildly astonished at this assertion. "I'm surprised that someone as passionate as you would say that," he said unthinkingly. Lizzie turned and gave him a questioning look, shifting so that she was wedged up against one of the arms of the sofa, cross-legged. Her underwear was probably somewhere under the couch, and she could retrieve it later. At her look, he reddened faintly, realizing how she could've taken that. He was too nervous to elaborate further, reaching over her for his pants instead. His shirt was only half-buttoned.
"And what would you know about that?" Lizzie asked archly. Just because she had passion didn't mean that she couldn't reign it in to suit her purposes. He didn't trust himself with words, so he merely tilted his head and gave her a knowing look. Lizzie looked away, feeling her own cheeks redden in response. He had the scratch marks on his back to prove it, not to mention the loud moans that he had undoubtedly memorized, like music to his ears. She ran a hand through her hair, playing with the strands and feeling where it was matted at the base of her head. "Well," she said after a moment's thought, "You're no Vronsky."
Darcy frowned, unable to decide whether that was a compliment or an insult. He still didn't know what she thought of this whole thing; all he knew was that she'd rejected his attempt to kiss her earlier. Lizzie had meant it as a statement of fact; Darcy was nothing like the character, not flaky, superficial, or overly physical, among other things. Nor, for that matter, did he seem particularly passionate, although Lizzie now had firsthand knowledge of the opposite. "What would you sacrifice for l-passion then?" he asked suddenly. He'd been about to say love instead, but he chickened out, wondering what she'd think of him if he accidentally dropped that little word.
"Security," Lizzie said almost instantaneously, as if she didn't even have to think about it. Darcy's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He frowned, uncomprehending, and opened her mouth to ask her why she condemned Anna for making the same decision she herself would, but Lizzie beat him to it. "It isn't a sacrifice if you never settle," she interjected, leaning back against the couch and looking suddenly very regal and uncompromising to Darcy. He wondered if she would ever realize, as he did, how very similar they were in some respects. Oh, yes, he knew all about patience and waiting.
And, despite his general cynicism, Darcy was, at heart, an idealist. He stood to put his pants on, clambering over her with the intent to cause her as little discomfort as possible, which meant not touching her, sadly. He was well aware of her eyes on him. Darcy met and held her stare as he pulled the fabric up his legs until, finding it too much, she tore her gaze away from his. Still, he didn't entirely agree with her point because holding out had its own perils and missed opportunities, little sacrifices she didn't consider. Unlike her, he was cautious by nature, which perhaps made the reality of him acting on his desires even more incredible.
He looked down and saw a scrap of fabric under the couch. Frowning, he bent down and picked it up, nearly dropping it once he realized it was (hopefully) Lizzie's underwear. She flushed at the sight of Darcy holding her underwear and nearly leaped up to snatch it out of his hands, mumbling a thanks and then flopping back down on the couch, hurriedly pulling her panties on before he could see anything more. For his part, Darcy zipped up his pants, redoing the button, and putting his belt back on. He did so with a practiced, unnerving calm he did not feel, all the while trying to straighten out his thoughts.
When this was done, Darcy straightened and cleared his throat. He towered over Lizzie and made quite the imposing figure, though he didn't realize it at the time. Half of Lizzie was in his looming shadow now, but she wasn't afraid, merely uncomfortable. She shifted, feeling antsy, unable to meet Darcy's eyes now that he'd seen her naked. "Well, what are you standing there for?" Lizzie said, eying his legs. Her gaze went no further north than his lower thighs, shortly above his knees. Something about the way he stood there made it seem like he was expecting something from her; she couldn't imagine what he'd possibly want from her now. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning into the corner of the sofa, trying to make herself smaller.
He'd gotten what he wanted, obviously, so what was he sticking around for? The awkward post-coital conversation? It wasn't like she and Darcy had particularly good, non-awkward conversations when they hadn't just had sex. He wasn't her boyfriend or even someone she was casually dating, so he wasn't remotely obligated to stick around. Darcy tensed at her words, opening his mouth, readying himself to say something, anything. Lizzie's voice cut through the brief silence. "You don't really need me to hold your hand and tell you what a good job you did, do you?" she asked patronizingly, a bit mockingly, as if speaking to a small child, dragging her eyes up to make contact with his unnerving stare. Sometimes Lizzie wondered if Darcy ever blinked; he was always staring at her with such intensity that it must make his eyes burn.
Uncharacteristically, Darcy smirked at the barb. "So I did a good job, then," he proclaimed a bit smugly, though her phrasing had been more ambiguous than that. It was, strangely, the sort of thing George might've said, complete with the boyish grin, and given the way Lizzie's eyes widened, she hadn't expected that. He wanted to know that he'd done more than a good job, that he'd been more than merely tolerable or adequate or good enough. Darcy had always been an overachiever, and he hated being merely average or failing at anything, so this incidental comment was worth more to him than he let on.
Lizzie made a face. If he hadn't been there, she might've mimed her disgusted, on-the-verge-of-throwing-up gesture. As it was, she merely grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. It hit his chest and bounced off, much to Darcy's amusement. Her face reddened, and she found herself wishing she could bury her face in that pillow which was now unfortunately at Darcy's feet. "I never said that," Lizzie muttered hotly. Darcy bent down a little so that he could give her a look that said exactly what he thought about that, and Lizzie closed her eyes, silently conceding. Darcy was going to hold this over her head forever, and she'd never be able to look at him again because she'd be remembering what he looked like naked and how glorious that had just been. Lizzie took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, clasping her hands together.
"Look, I don't know why that just happened," Lizzie said, breaking the silence but still not looking at him. She touched her lips, her fingers lingering a moment before she drew them away. This, of course, led to Darcy staring at her kiss-swollen lips a bit more than was strictly necessary or prudent, but he was particularly proud of this accomplishment. Problematically, however, he found that he wanted to kiss her and touch her again, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever again be allowed the chance. She'd seemed to enjoy it, hadn't she, and she'd sort of said he was good, right? He shifted uncomfortably, licking his lips and wondering how best to bring up the subject.
The woman in question was still trying to wrap her head around everything while Darcy just stood there. He had the fortune of knowing his own feelings; none of this was a surprise to him, so of course he stood there calmly. Her search within herself for an explanation other than some excuse Lydia would buy wasn't getting Lizzie anywhere, and eventually she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Darcy wasn't doing anything but staring. He wasn't leaving as he easily could have, and Lizzie didn't know what to make of this either. She lowered her head and really looked at him for the first time since it had happened. "How are you not freaking out about this?" Lizzie demanded incredulously, roughly combing a hand through her hair.
Indeed, Darcy's expression was pleasant, belying none of his underlying worries or concerns, and he appeared to her to merely stand there placidly as if waiting for something. She didn't have anything to give him. He realized a bit too late that she was talking to him and looked up suddenly, tearing his eyes away from her mouth. Darcy shrugged. How could he tell her why he wasn't particularly surprised by this turn of events, how he'd always known that there was something electric between them? How did he put that into words, he who was so bad at speaking generally? "We're both adults here, Lizzie. Obviously we're attracted to each other. Something like this was..." Realizing suddenly how badly that might've come off from Lizzie's stunned expression, he stopped himself short of saying "inevitable," as he'd meant to. Lizzie gaped at him; only Darcy could sound so patronizing and infuriatingly... something... after having sex with someone.
After a moment of his silence, Lizzie gave him an expectant look. She wanted him to finish the sentence. She wanted him to say it was a mistake, that it was nice or whatever but that it obviously couldn't happen again, that it was a lapse in judgment, in his stuffy perfection... anything! But Darcy was perhaps wiser or stupider than he realized, and he said nothing, not wanting to dig himself into a hole he hadn't seen coming. Which meant that Lizzie had to be the one to talk. She steeled herself, bending down to reach for the book she'd dropped in distraction when Darcy had come at her. She picked it up gingerly, holding it carefully between two petite fingers, gazing at the faded, yellowing cover with its dim, rust-edged pages.
Darcy's stare relented momentarily, his attention arrested by the book's rather risqué cover. He almost smiled at the title. Lizzie flushed a little, setting the book down on the settee next to her, cover facing down. It had seemed like a good summer book at the time, and Lizzie hadn't read it since she was sixteen and took herself so much more seriously. She'd been looking forward to rediscovering it, but she was anxious to get out of the library. He was probably judging her for it already, but then again she was certain Darcy's idea of "light" summer reading was something like the Gulag Archipelago and thus even more twisted. The mere thought of opening the book back up again now, after what had just happened, to read of men's concupiscent desires, made her feel almost queasy. Lizzie cleared her throat, adjusting her clothes for what seemed like the millionth time since she'd dressed herself earlier. "Why don't we both just go our separate ways," she suggested a bit tremulously, "and pretend this never happened?"
Darcy's thoughts were more agreeably engaged. In fact, he was currently rhapsodizing in a way that might've horrified and amused Lizzie in equal turns. He was barely listening to a word she was saying but staring at her as if he wanted to absorb every inch of her.
Elizabeth, light of my life, love of my loins. E-liz-a-beth: the easy E, the light lih, the sharp, razzledazzle Z, a schwa pause, and then the sweet, girl-next-door-end. She was Elle, just the first letter hovering on the tip of his tongue, in the morning when he imagined her coming downstairs, pajamas and tousled hair. Liz in work clothes, Liz in business. She was Lizzie at school, for everyday, Lizzie B. to distinguish herself. There was only just the one, alone and adrift in a sea of sameness. Legally Elizabeth, but in his arms somehow all of these things combined, all at once, for those few glorious moments. She was so many things, somebody's sister, somebody's daughter, somebody's friend, but she could've been so much more. E. Eliza. Beth. Betsy. Bitsy. Liza. Bette. Betty. Libby. Ellie. Bee. Elizabeth...
Speaking of the woman in question, she'd rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers to draw his attention. "I said..." His attention had snapped back to what she was saying, but Lizzie found she didn't want to repeat herself. She inhaled wearily, shaking her head, her hands falling to either side of her thighs. "Look, this was a mi-" Please don't say mistake, Darcy found himself thinking (hoping, rather), inadvertently crossing his fingers behind his back though he wasn't a superstitious person. Lizzie trailed off, and Darcy's shoulders relaxed a little. "I..." For once Lizzie faltered for words, even debating an apology. "It's best for everyone's sake if we just forget this ever happened and..." she managed after a while, attempting a smile, "Never speak of it again."
It came out in a bit of a hush. He found himself speaking before he could think better of it. "It doesn't have to end with this," he said with a strange urgency in his voice, moving towards her again, already trying to persuade.
Lizzie blinked. That didn't sound ominous or anything. She certainly didn't want to have unfinished business with William Darcy. "What are you trying to say, Darcy?" she asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "Just spit it out already," she urged more abruptly a moment later when no answer seemed forthcoming.
His hands slid into his pockets, and he shifted, distractedly rocking his hips forward in a way that made Lizzie mortifyingly conscious of them. Darcy took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. Someone who knew him well would've correctly been able to see the apprehension visible on his face, but Lizzie didn't yet know him that well. Years of socializing with sets that seized on every weakness, his aunt, and ruthless industry men had given him years of experience in hiding such feelings, but it was a reflex now, a habitual reserve he could no longer control. The tough, zinging skin was merely a rind to pull back to access the sweet, soft, yielding flesh underneath.
He shrugged, hoping everything he was feeling didn't show through on his face. His palms were suddenly very sweaty. "I'm single, and you're single. I don't know many people here, and we're not going to be here forever..." Darcy looked up as he trailed off, absently licking his lips. Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek, trying to pretend she didn't notice how very attractive he was in that moment. "I wouldn't mind if it happened more than once." He tried a bit too hard to be nonchalant about it. George had always told him that he had two settings: extreme subtlety, wherein he retreated into himself and expected others to know how he felt and no one had a clue what he meant, or blunt, artless obviousness.
This was a case of the latter. Lizzie's jaw dropped so far down she nearly disarticulated it. She was silent, gaping, for a good minute and a half. Darcy squirmed a little under her wide-eyed stare, letting his statement hang in the air. He'd put himself out there, and now the ball was in her court. Oh, God, he really hoped she'd say yes and put an end to this agony. Lizzie blinked. "You actually want to..." she began disbelievingly, soon finding herself unable to finish the sentence. "With me?!" she added a moment later, still a bit flabbergasted.
He nodded a bit too eagerly. Realizing this upon seeing the look on her face, he nodded one last time, slowly and hopefully significantly, before adopting an impassive mien. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but they were slowly creeping upwards. Darcy cleared his throat, pulling his hands out of his pockets and wiping them on the sides of his pants. "Yes, er, that is the idea..." He fixed his eyes on her, trying and failing to read her expression. He had never wanted to understand someone else so badly in his entire life. But, if she said yes, he just might finally get that opportunity.
Lizzie was soon lost in thought. She found herself considering his offer before she realized what she was doing. This was the last thing she'd been expecting. She certainly hadn't imagined ever having sex with Darcy after the man had opened his mouth, and now she had without any alcohol or a better excuse than it being late, and her being tired, stir-crazy, and sexually frustrated. Did she even want to have sex with him again, much less risk it becoming something more regular?
Lizzie bit her lip. She couldn't have known what this gesture was doing to Darcy, who was attempting to fight the sudden, fierce desire he had to kiss her. He quite obviously hadn't been able to fight it the last time...
Damn, it had been good... and it wasn't like she had any better offers. Why shouldn't she use William Darcy for something, even if it was sex? After all, she had no complaints about his skills on the couch; it was perhaps the one facet of his existence she could not find fault with. A good orgasm didn't come along every day, as Lydia would say with a pointed elbow and a wink. Ugh, was she really using Lydia's reasoning as an argument here?
Had Darcy not been there, directly in front of her, though she wasn't looking at him, Lizzie might've shook her head. No. The answer should be no. Period, with no consideration because she didn't need it. That's how simple it was. She didn't just dislike Darcy; she hated him. Sleeping with him was wrong. It wasn't the sort of thing she did or wanted to do, and just thinking about it made her feel profoundly ashamed; she would certainly never tell anyone unless she couldn't help it. Lizzie had never slept with someone she didn't care about before. But... it had easily been the best sex of her life, and it had been their first time and on a not-wholly-comfortable couch that was too short for him, so it was only bound to improve further, and just the thought made her whole body tingle.
And then there was the strange fact that she'd had sex with him, and he actually seemed to still want something to do with her, which was quite the novelty... even if it was only for more sex.
The voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Charlotte pointed out that it was undoubtedly a very baaaad idea, and nothing good could come of her sleeping with a man she actively disliked, didn't particularly trust, and barely respected. Particularly one she didn't understand; she would forever be questioning his motives and his taste. And just when exactly had she gone from "decent enough" to a potential booty-call? Had she sunken even lower in his dubious esteem? Would she be just demeaning herself by sleeping with him, making herself out to be cheap and disposable and not worth more than a call late at night?
Clearly he didn't like her. He was always staring at her with those laser pointer eyes of his as if he disapproved of everything about her, and this had probably only confirmed his worst beliefs about her. But, then, she supposed, it was easier for men to dissociate the face and the voice and the brain from the body of the person they were screwing. But then again, did she not have the right to do the same to him? Turnabout was fair play, after all. After all, she was a modern woman, and did her self-worth really have to be tied to who she chose to sleep with anymore? She had a choice, after all. Besides, bad ideas can be go-ood... as Lydia would say. She made a soft noise and mulled it over for a few more minutes while Darcy fidgeted.
In the end, it was strangely easy for Lizzie to agree to more after she'd slept with him, probably since she knew that she could divorce her dislike of the man from the pleasure she'd taken from him. The thought of having ridiculously hot, great strings-free sex with a man she'd probably never have to see again after this summer was too tempting to pass up. She was on vacation after all; might as well enjoy it. "Okay," she said calmly, resigned to her decision.
Darcy was looking down at the floor, his cheeks reddened in shame and embarrassment. His expression and manner were grave, his hands clasped tightly together in front of his waist. The longer they stood there in silence, the more his thoughts turned to the worst. Maybe she hadn't really enjoyed herself; maybe he'd read her wrong. Making love—ugh, he couldn't believe he'd even thought that prosaic and cliché term, which wasn't even appropriate or suitable for what had just transpired between him and Elizabeth—just because she'd been with him once didn't mean she ever wanted to do it again. He'd made her think he just wanted her for sex... no woman wanted to be thought of that way... oh, the things she must think of him! Not to mention that it could certainly make things very awkward, all things considered, not that it wasn't already. It hadn't been a good offer. She was right to think it over and say no, far wiser than he had been.
He opened his mouth, letting out a resigned sigh. He heard her say something, but he didn't care to listen, already sure it was the "no" he fully deserved and expected to hear. He began to apologize, forcing himself to glance up at her. "You don't have to if you don't-" He stopped his backpedaling upon seeing the amused look on her face, and what she'd said earlier suddenly registered. "Wait, you said okay?" He was visibly surprised, his eyes wide with wonder at his good fortune.
Lizzie laughed, and Darcy's entire body relaxed at the sound. Truthfully, though, she was embarrassed. She'd been just as surprised as him that she'd agreed, and she was already having second thoughts, which was a bad sign. She even felt her pale cheeks heating. "Yes, apparently my libido wins out over my common sense," she said dryly, already trying to make light of it. Like going against her principles was somehow less of a big deal if she chuckled and made a joke at her own expense. She tried not to cringe at just how much she sounded like Lydia. This must be what it feels like to be her, Lizzie thought, unsettled by it.
But, like her sister, she was already making excuses. Lizzie shrugged. What the hell. She was on summer vacation, this was just a fling, meaningless sex, and Erica Jong would have something great to say about it, and she wasn't gonna feel guilty about enjoying herself and actually having sex for a change. Nope. When else was she going to have this chance? She licked her lip absently.
Darcy frowned a bit but swallowed hard, suddenly buoyantly happy that he was faced with the prospect of getting to sleep with her more than once. What was there left to say but to settle things? "Um, okay then." He looked a bit daunted now since she'd said yes.
Lizzie almost rolled her eyes at how awkward he was. An equally awkward silence had fallen over them now that it was decided. Darcy still loomed over Lizzie, though both of them seemed more at ease now than they had previously. Lizzie crossed her legs, making a bit of a face at the effort it took to separate her sticky thighs, and then she paled so suddenly that Darcy reached out to her, about to ask if she was ill. Lizzie shook off his presently repulsive attentions, swallowing hard. "We... You... I..." she faltered, and Darcy reached out again to take one of her hands. Whatever she was saying sounded rather promising.
He was right about that, but not in the way he thought. He missed how drawn her face looked suddenly, how wide her eyes were with panic. Lizzie swallowed hard but then forced herself to say it, barely able to believe it herself. "We didn't use protection," she told him, her face grave. Lizzie was trying very hard not to think about what this might mean while simultaneously berating herself for being so stupid. Darcy's expression changed to one that resembled hers, though he was, of course, quite a bit less alarmed.
"So, you're not-" he asked uncomfortably, shuffling his feet. Lizzie stared up at him; had he assumed she was? She'd been on birth control at one point, back when she'd first gone to college and had a more functional sex life. It hadn't agreed with her, messing with her emotions and powers of discernment, and she'd seen no reason to continue, especially when money was tight. She shook her head glumly, and Darcy's expression turned apologetic.
It had all happened so fast, and Darcy wasn't exactly used to things like this happening to him. He hadn't thought of it in the moment, and he felt bad for it. His shoulders slumped a little. "I... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." Lizzie snorted, giving him a look that said that was obvious. It only served to make him feel worse. "If you need something, I'll pay," he all but stammered, hoping she knew what he meant. Lizzie's eyes widened, and she looked up at him with an expression of incredulity.
She was a bit lightheaded, really, from the alarm, but she nodded. "Yeah, I think I need a Plan B," she muttered. Darcy nodded uncertainly, all too ready to agree to anything she wanted. Lizzie sighed, running her hands down over the fabric of her skirt. She looked up at him, a bit relieved, deciding it was time to lay out the ground rules. "Okay, so rule one is always use protection," Lizzie announced, hands on her knees. Darcy nodded vigorously, and Lizzie briefly spared a thought to how Darcy would dislike fathering a child out of wedlock (she was, quite frankly, a bit surprised he hadn't called her a golddigger, given the expression he wore when her mother made comments about Netherfield).
Lizzie took his nod as encouragement to continue, though she wondered why legalistic Darcy wasn't taking a more active role in outlining the rules of engagement. "Secondly," she said seriously, "we keep it a secret. If the others find out..." She trailed off, not wanting to have to explain why that would be so awful.
Surprisingly, Darcy finished her sentence, "...It'll ruin everything." He said it grimly, his expression briefly darkening when he thought of how Caroline would take it. She could be very vindictive. He certainly didn't want to have to explain this to Bing or anyone else, and he definitely didn't want to get Lizzie's... colorful family involved. Lizzie nodded, glad he understood. He'd actually expressed her own thoughts on the matter, which was a bit unnerving. Darcy sat down next to her, not too close or too far away, gingerly easing his way back onto the sofa, giving her time to object if she wished to. He attempted to smile, glad she understood why he didn't want this getting out. It wouldn't look very good, let alone reflect well on either of them, as Aunt Catherine would say.
"The last thing we need is any of our friends getting the wrong idea about what this is," Lizzie said, leaning back into the couch and smoothing her hair. Darcy looked over at her, judging the distance and wondering if he would one day be able to do the same. "Thirdly," she continued, turning to him and pointing, "we act the same around each other in public. If one of us starts acting weird, that's going to raise undue questions... and neither of us are great liars." She fixed him with a rather severe look. Why was she looking at him that way, as if she thought he'd be the one to betray their little secret? He wasn't the one who was open; he very rarely confided his inner feelings in his friends and family as she did.
"I can do that," Darcy said stiffly, still a bit affronted. He rested in hands in his lap. He was itching to touch her, already counting down the minutes until he could take advantage of their little agreement. Lizzie was staring ahead at the bookshelves, thinking of the points she had to hit in this painful conversation. It was probably the most she'd ever talked about sex with a man, which was kind of alarming.
After a moment of reflection, she added, "And no talking about it in public. No need to tempt fate."
Darcy nodded again; he was beginning to get sick of the repetitive motion. He found himself already edging towards her, bit by bit, irrepressibly drawn in her direction. Lizzie thought of what Lydia had said of similar arrangements. Pretending she was Lydia helped her a lot in this situation and helped distract her from her lack of experience in such things. "Four, no strings or obligations. This is just sex, just two people fulfilling a mutual need because we are the only available options," she said bluntly. Darcy flinched, but Lizzie didn't see it. For her part, she was too busy trying not to wince at how ugly that had made this sound.
She didn't entirely know why she kept talking, much less why she continued on in a voice that hard. Still, she met Darcy's gaze. She knew he had feelings, sure, on some level, but she wasn't trying to be deliberately mean. He was the most impassive and unemotional man she'd ever met, to the point of appearing robotic, after all. He didn't seem particularly romantic or sentimental, and she thought she was saving him the trouble of having to frame it in such stark terms. "It is what it is. We don't have to talk or cuddle or do anything romantic," she assured him. She paused a moment, remembering his almost-hostile taciturnity. "Or talk."
His brows shot up; he'd taken Lizzie early on for an emotional and romantic person, someone not so very matter-of-fact, at least. He said nothing and let his expression be his answer. He didn't exactly intend on following that rule to the letter; after all, he wasn't that unfeeling. He didn't see two people as opinionated and stubborn as him and Lizzie not talking. This last statement had gotten Lizzie thinking. "And, last but not least..." she began, eying where one of Darcy's hands now rested a mere inch from her skirt, less than two inches from her thigh.
Lizzie wanted to snort at the mere idea, but Jane and Charlotte and even Lydia had said some things that occasionally made her doubt Darcy's apathy or antipathy towards her... She very much doubted that she needed to say it, or that Darcy could potentially become fond of her at all, considering what a bad match they were. But she had to say it nonetheless. "No getting attached or... emotionally involved." She glanced up at him, steel in her eyes. She smiled a little, surprised at how very little she felt for him at all; she was in no danger of feeling more for him. "I won't if you won't." She said it a bit too lightly for his tastes, a bit too cheekily and carefree.
Had she known how in danger Darcy was already of breaking that rule even as she was outlining it, or if she'd realized what sleeping with him had really meant, she probably would've left the room entirely, white as a ghost, and gone to stay with the rest of her family at Mary's. As it was, though, she thought it utterly impossible, so she made it a joke.
Darcy's spirits fell a little at this, but he swallowed his doubts and nodded grimly in agreement. He should have been relieved to know that the possibility of a further attachment was off the table, but he hated being denied the option. He wasn't looking for anything serious or messy. He had little use or desire for a girlfriend or significant other. But he'd admired Lizzie for quite some time, and the part of him still crushing had ridiculous pink-champagne-and-roses fantasies. Still, the last statement had given him a little burst of something like hope.
Her question snapped him out of his reverie. "You have any rules?" Darcy thought it over for a minute. It was on the tip of his tongue, his one request: Don't pretend I'm someone else. But he kept it inside because he couldn't say that, not out loud, not without her maybe getting the wrong idea.
He shook his head slowly, and Lizzie relaxed a little. She'd been almost sure Darcy was going to have some ridiculous request of her. However, a moment later, frowning, he had a question for her. "So, what are we? Friends with benefits?" He had to force the words out because he disliked how crude they made this sound.
Lizzie froze momentarily. She'd preferred it when there was no definition and it was uncategorized, unlabeled, so casual it didn't even merit clarification. Naturally, she hadn't expected Darcy, the man, to bring it up. That, however, wasn't what she latched on to. "You think we're friends?" Lizzie blurted, her face a picture of surprise. She and Darcy... friends? That was almost more ludicrous than the fact that she'd just agreed to sleep with him on a regular basis. Darcy frowned at her, and Lizzie blinked, realizing she needed to explain. "I thought we were casual acquaintances," she said uncomfortably, shifting away from him.
He gave her a look she otherwise might've found condescending, since he was looking at her like he thought she was slow. To be fair, in that moment, he kind of did; I mean, what else should he call them? True, they didn't know each other very well, and they had very rarely spent any time one-on-one; in fact, Darcy could almost swear this was the first time they'd ever been alone together, but that couldn't have been right! But the point remained that they had slept together, which automatically meant he knew her better than most people and vice-versa. He turned towards her, wondering why he needed to spell it out for her. "Our best friends are dating, and you're living in my house-" he began patiently or a bit impatiently depending on one's perception.
"-Bing's house," Lizzie interrupted, intent on being right, "We're both guests of his hospitality." She gave Darcy a look like she was daring him to contradict her. She was right, and it wasn't worth it to him to continue arguing the point, so he didn't dare.
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Insufferable woman, and yet he was helpless to her unintentional charms. Darcy did make a face at her, though, not acknowledging what she'd said. He sighed deeply, his brow still furrowed. "But, yes," he admitted finally, "I'd say we're friends." Lizzie wasn't entirely comforted by the thought of this new friendship, but she couldn't very well tell him they weren't friends. Besides, however unfortunate it was, she needed some term she could call this in her head that didn't make her feel sick or like she was the biggest whore in the world. And "friends with benefits" was the only term she could think of aside from even vaguer terms like "thing" or "arrangement" that would allow her to keep her dignity.
Darcy cleared his throat, snapping Lizzie out of her thoughts. "So, how's this going to work?" he asked weightily, leaning forward, rubbing his palms on his thighs. Lizzie bit her lip; that was quite a question.
Lizzie shook her head, thinking for a moment. "Well..." She leaned over, slowly bridging the divide between them. Darcy could only watch. Why was he barely breathing? She reached her hand into his pocket, abruptly pulling out his phone, extricating her hand. Darcy jolted, on edge and somewhat disappointed, but Lizzie was blissfully ignorant to it. She looked at his phone, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. A Blackberry, of course. It was locked, so she couldn't open it. Since Darcy was still gaping at her like some kind of hungry crustacean, Lizzie sighed and handed him back his phone.
He stared at it dumbly. Lizzie really didn't want to talk about it, but his obtuseness was frustrating him immensely. "First, I give you my phone number," she said slowly, trying to camouflage her impatience. Darcy stared at her blankly in response. His jaw was a little slack because he couldn't actually believe she was just going to give him her phone number unprompted. It was, he realized with a jolt, a way of contacting and seeing Lizzie that didn't completely rely on their mutual acquaintances or coincidence. Lizzie forced a smile. She thought many bad things about Darcy, but she would've never taken him to be slow. "And now's when you unlock your phone so I can do that," she continued coaxingly.
Darcy quickly looked down in embarrassment and unlocked his phone with a single sweep of his finger, quickly handing it to her. Their fingers brushed, and he felt some horribly cliché feeling welling up in his throat. Lizzie accepted the phone disinterestedly, handing him her already unlocked iPhone. He stared at the contacts screen, feeling flushed like a little boy with a crush. It felt unreal, him putting his number into her phone. His larger, distracted fingers were clumsier than hers, so she'd finished sooner. However, something occurred to her as her finger hovered over the name slot; she couldn't put her name in. In fact, if they wanted no one to catch on, the texts had to come from someone else entirely. Yes, it was just a precaution, but Lydia liked to mess with her phone, and sometimes Jane would pick up, and Lizzie didn't want anyone asking too many questions about who she was been texting.
She glanced over at Darcy. As if on cue, his eyes snapped up to meet hers. "It shouldn't be under our real names. It needs to be a codename that won't interest anyone." Darcy considered her reasoning and slowly nodded. What she said had made perfect sense, so why did he feel suddenly disappointed? He frowned a little as he was deleting letters one by one. He'd debated using Darcy, what she called him and knew him as, but that had seemed a bit obvious. He'd noticed she didn't have any Williams in her contacts, so, smiling a little, he'd entered his first name.
Lizzie, meanwhile, was wracking her brain to think of an appropriate name. It came to her after a minute. "Emma. Emma Woodhouse," she announced. Emma Woodhouse was a friend of Lizzie's. They'd met one summer when they were both undergraduates at some kind of creative writing retreat/workshop at a really nice cabin in the woods. Emma had been there on a lark because a friend had applied for her since he thought she needed something better to do in the summer than "merely matchmake your friends and distant acquaintances to everyone's detriment." Emma was the kind of girl who was effortlessly good at everything she attempted, but she lacked specific focus or interest in one field, so she just as easily discarded hobbies as picked them up. She'd been a poetess that summer. She was also the kind of girl who always got her way.
Lizzie and Emma still kept in touch and talked fairly often, mostly through Facebook and email, sometimes, rarely, Skype. She didn't actually have Emma's number, but her sisters and Charlotte didn't know that. Besides, Lizzie rather thought that Emma would find it terribly amusing that Lizzie was using her name to arrange booty-calls. Emma would, in fact, probably twist the whole thing into something far more romantic than it really was, and, Heavens, she'd probably try to match her up with Darcy! She made a face at the mere thought, remembering Emma's attempts to push her towards more than a few pretentious and talentless poets.
That summer was when Lizzie had first learned of the power of poetry in driving away love.
Darcy turned to stare at her, perplexed. She gave him a look, motioning to the phone. "That's the name you're going to use." Darcy made a face, but he sighed and acquiesced at Lizzie's stern look. At least he wouldn't have to delete the W. "What name do you want me to use?" she asked briskly.
He'd just finished typing the name she'd told him, wondering if there was a story behind it or if she'd merely made it up. He looked up, however, at the sound of her voice, her words a dim echo in his head. He ran through his mental Rolodex before coming up with a suitable option. "Knightley Cell," he told her, still holding her phone tightly.
Lizzie's brows rose. "How do you spell that?"
Darcy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Like Keira Knightley," he elaborated.
Lizzie snorted. She was surprised someone who disdained Hollywood movies as much as he did knew the name. "Well, why didn't you just type in her name, then?" She found it odd that they had both used names of people of the same sex as themselves. In her case it made sense since she'd get massive questions about any man even in her general vicinity thanks to her well-known perpetual singledom... But Darcy, well, shouldn't he have a girl in the wings or greater ease at making something up? After all, his social awkwardness wasn't enough to make all women run in the opposite direction; he worked a lot, wasn't funny, and was generally rude and unpleasant... but he was also handsome, rich, and had some sort of magnetism going on for him... and women loved jerks. Darcy gave her a look, and Lizzie held up her hands in a surrendering gesture and started to type it. He thought he heard her mutter something under her breath, but he couldn't hear it distinctly.
As she typed, he spared a thought on George Knightley, who would doubtlessly have some very choice words for him on this subject. George was actually in his phone already, under George Cell (because what other George would he have in his phone?). They'd gone to college together and had been fairly good friends, even though George was a few years older than him, due to their similar senses of humor and duty. Like himself, George had a habit of being called by his last name, though in George's case it was because he hated his first name and a female friend of his from childhood had decided quite long ago that his last name made him sound "far more dashing." It was amusing how someone as aware as Knightley could be so oblivious to his own heart; Darcy had never met the girl, some Emily Woodley or Wodehouse or something, but Knightley's obvious fondness and feelings for her were clear from the way he'd spoken about her.
The two men had met up again a few years later in business school, and the two presently did a fair amount of business, hence why he had George's cell and office numbers. Knightley particularly liked to give his friend advice on life because he was older and a sociable, affable sort, which even Darcy himself could acknowledge he was not. Sometimes his big-brotherly advice was helpful. He would certainly have some very interesting things to say about the wisdom of what Darcy was entering into, and whether or not it was fair to either party. He would say it wasn't like him, that he wasn't that sort of man even as Darcy protested that he didn't care. Knightley was a bit nicer than Darcy himself, so he wouldn't just write it off as a rebellious phase. He would also probably have something clever to say about the danger of thinking he was so certain about his own feelings, and Knightley was right more often than Darcy wished to acknowledge. Furthermore, Knightley hated secrets, so he was biased in his own way from the start as only someone truly open could be.
"We have to talk in code too," Lizzie informed him. This much, at least, was obvious. She reached over, fingers brushing his for a small moment that stretched on like an eternity as she grabbed her phone back, not without a little force. Her touch felt like a sliver of warm sunshine dancing across his skin. She tipped his phone into his lap distractedly. "If you want..." she trailed off, biting down hard on her bottom lip and trying not to cringe as she attempted to put it into words. "Ask me about reading."
Darcy nodded, smiling a little that she'd thought up such a brilliant code. However, it would seem weird for Knightley to constantly be commenting on his reading habits, so he figured he ought to give her a code of her own, even if it would mean that their conversations might seem to make very little sense. "When you're texting me... something about filing or work." Lizzie thought it over and then nodded. Darcy picked up his phone, instantly memorizing the number.
She tapped her phone distractedly. It was very important that she lay out all the details clearly so that there was no misunderstanding. After all, clearly they already misunderstood each other a lot. "We can call this off, either one of us, whenever," she offered, smiling shyly. Darcy's face fell a little, but he nodded and was able to school his expression into something suitably impassive before she noticed. It would hardly be the last time he questioned just what he'd gotten himself into here with her. "One of us texts the other one to... set something up," Lizzie began, shifting, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "Neither one of us has to do anything we don't want... if... one of us isn't in the mood or something," she explained hastily, uncertainty written all over her face.
Darcy nodded to this, agreeing and muttering something noncommittal but probably assenting. "Anything you want to add?" Lizzie asked after a moment, turning to face him more fully. He noticed the distance between their thighs on the couch narrow some. He thought for a long moment in silence but could come up with nothing but his sudden, paralyzing fear that this was how it started, falling... Lizzie watched him a bit anxiously, almost starting when he turned to face her. Their knees touched, and she almost flushed at the memories of the skin underneath and how comfortable she would be getting with Darcy's nakedness in the coming days.
As usual, his expression was sober, though not perhaps as devoid of warmth as Lizzie perceived it to be. They sat there, knees touching, in one of the most silent and awkward moments of Lizzie's life. In some ways it was even worse than that moment after she'd slept with him, sweat rapidly cooling on her body, her heart slowing down so that she no longer heard two heartbeats in tandem in her ears, all of her sense flooding back to her in one slowly horrifying moment.
He wanted desperately to say something, but nothing would come to mind. He had difficulties expressing himself on the best of days, and it was even worse when it really counted. Lizzie made some expression approximating an awkward, close-mouthed smile and gradually stood up. "Well, then... I should, uh, probably go to my room now," she mumbled, gesturing with her thumb towards the door. She shifted her weight, sliding towards the edge of the couch, feeling for her book blindly with her fingertips until she found purchase. Something flickered in Darcy's eyes, and he rose to his feet before she could, holding a hand out to her. Lizzie stared at it uncertainly for a moment before taking it, letting him pull her to her feet.
It wound up becoming a sort of handshake, which Lizzie took as a symbol of their agreement becoming, er... binding? Darcy held onto her hand just a bit too long, though, and Lizzie had to clear her throat, give him a pointed look, and then finally pull her hand free. Darcy looked down, a bit chagrined. He saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, a familiar burst of raspberry red wrapped around one of the couch's feet. He brushed past her, bending down to pick up the sweater. Lizzie frowned for a second but the expression fell off her face when Darcy bent over. She allowed herself a moment to admire his ass. With an ass like that, it really was a shame he was so unpleasant.
Incidentally, while grabbing her sweater, Darcy noticed a small red button standing out against the bright green carpet. He picked up the button, frowning when he noticed it had come from the sweater. It had flown off in his haste to undress her. He straightened, turning back to face Lizzie, who had a few seconds to raise her gaze so as to not be caught staring at his ass. He headed back over to her, carefully handing her the sweater she'd completely forgotten about. A second later, he was taking her hand. Lizzie's brow furrowed momentarily; why was he holding her hand? He pressed the button into her hand, smiling apologetically, and Lizzie had her answer. "Uh, sorry about that," Darcy said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Lizzie stared at the button, starting to shrug her sweater back on. "Thanks," she replied, momentarily meeting his gaze. He held her stare as she slid into the other arm. "It's not a big deal," she said, brushing it off. "I'll make up something and get Jane to fix it." They stared at each other for an interminable moment, and then Lizzie moved to leave. At that very moment, Darcy also moved to leave, and they wound up face to face once again. Both of them laughed nervously and headed in the opposite direction of the first time, causing them to run into each other yet another time. By that point, it was just awkward.
They stared at each other once more, neither of them moving, and then it was as if they were drawn together. They inadvertently moved closer, and next thing both of them knew, they were kissing again. It was impossible to say who made the first move. After a few moments, Darcy had somehow backed Lizzie up against one of the bookshelves and was once again pushing her sweater off, his mouth hot on her neck. The book and button fell to the floor, forgotten, as Lizzie pulled his shirt out from his pants, her hands gliding across his back.
Neither of them emerged from the library for several hours, and when they did, they left with distracted, satisfied smiles and no books. When the maid came to clean the next day, she wondered why there were two books on the floor, seemingly flung on opposite sides of the room, as if something about Vladimir Nabokov particularly offended someone, but she was wise enough not to ask or dwell on it.
- Loren ;*
I should also add that this story starts a little more than a week into the Netherfield arc, though admittedly time's not my strongest point... and it continues at least until Bing leaves (is that a spoiler?). I would've said that at the beginning, but I didn't want to spoil anything.