Chapter One
Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire
October 1808
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had never seen such grandeur in her entire life – not that her life had been exceedingly long at barely twenty years of age.
Mysterious orbs, strung high in the trees, caught the moonlight making it look as if the stars had come down to earth. Painfully romantic, she had a brief thought of dancing with Wickham in the moonlight beneath them to a song known only to them.
The exterior of the house was awash with light from a series of braziers working to warm the queue of guests patiently awaiting entrance. Hundreds had been invited to the festivities, the Netherfield ball quickly cementing itself as the event of the year, possibly even the decade.
It was a veritable crush.
Worrying at her lip, Elizabeth shifted her weight from one leg to the other and watched the carriages arrive as the queue slowly moved forward. Barouches carrying gentlemen in their finery, officers in their red coats, and ladies in their floaty, off-white muslin gowns.
Her mother nudged her and pointed out officers who looked particularly fine that evening. Lydia, her youngest sister, giggled uncontrollably and moved to the outside of the line. Blonde and buxom, she stood in a way to catch the most attention and fanned herself delicately.
"Lydia," Mary coughed condescendingly and looked down her nose at their ridiculous sister. "Remember how tender thing a woman's reputation is, how hard to preserve and when lost how impossible to recover."
"La! Mary, what a bore you are," Lydia replied carelessly. "You've been spending too much time with our dear cousin."
"Better to spend time with a gentleman of his integrity than throwing myself at every red coat that so much as glances my way." Mary adjusted her small, round spectacles and turned to examine the sconce above their heads.
"I don't "throw" myself at them. It is not my fault that they enjoy my company," Lydia huffed.
Elizabeth rather thought they were enjoying a bit more than her mere "company". Given her rapid growth spurt over the summer, Lydia's dresses were a great deal shorter and tighter than they ought to have been.
Jane, never one to get caught between squabbling siblings, caught Elizabeth's eye, and shrugged with a plaintive smile. Her mother didn't seem inclined to intervene. Not that she ever did. Nor would her father had he not decided to forgo the event after a rather conveniently timed attack of gout – not that he had ever received a diagnosis of such.
He would likely just look in the scene with that smirk of his and nod along to whatever Mrs Bennet had to say. Her topic of the moment was the upcoming nuptials between Jane and Mr Bingley. The fact that Mr Bingley had not proposed nor shown an inclination to didn't seem to matter.
The couples in front of them moved on quickly.
Stepping up, Elizabeth and her family dipped into polite curtseys and greeted the Bingley's with warm smiles which Mr Bingley returned eagerly. Though a gentleman of no more than twenty-five, he had come to Hertfordshire with an easy affability that had endeared him to the village of Meryton. With burnished gold hair styled in the latest fashion and the kind of face that made angels weep, it was easy to see why half the women in town fancied themselves in love with him.
It spoke to his character that he didn't seem to notice.
Miss Bingley, a tall woman who could command any room with her golden beauty and a spine like broomstick surveyed the Bennet's with a steely gaze. They were, unsurprisingly to Elizabeth, found wanting.
"Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia, welcome to Netherfield," Miss Bingley greeted with a cool smile.
"Yes! Welcome," Mr Bingley's gaze caught Jane's, the tips of his ears turning red. "You're here! I'm so very pleased." Jane ducked her head slightly, her cheeks flushing. "That isn't to say I'm not pleased that you're all here."
"And so am I," Jane replied sweetly.
Elizabeth smiled at Mr Bingley's nervous chuckle. She hoped someone would look at her the way Mr Bingley looked at Jane – all devotion and sweetness – and unless Mr Wickham was in attendance that evening she was certain she would have no hope at all. He had promised he was attending if only to claim the supper dance and a man was nothing without his word.
Craning her neck, Elizabeth peered over the Bingley's shoulders and into the house. Well as best she could given her disadvantage. Not only was she situated on the step below their hosts she was lacking in any significant height. However, that didn't stop her for seeking out that unmistakable chestnut hair.
"How are you Miss Elizabeth?" She barely registered Mr Bingley's words as she scanned the crush. "Are you looking for someone?" He asked when it became obvious no answer was forthcoming.
Blinking and with a small measure of guilt, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and gave the man her undivided attention.
"No, not at all. Just admiring the general splendour."
It wasn't a complete lie.
The interior, from what she could make out from her limited view, was a display in wealth that she had only read about in books. Swaths of coloured material was draped on the previously duck egg blue walls. Exotic plants were abundant as hundreds of beeswax candles glinted off large golden statues. Elizabeth felt as if she were about to step into a whole new world.
"It is breathtaking, Mr Bingley," Jane said.
Mrs Bennet thanked the Bingley's for their invitation then with another curtsey the Bennet family entered the entry hall. Lydia grasped Kitty by the hand and dragged her away, losing themselves in the sea of people.
That could not end well.
"I daresay, I have never met a more pleasant gentleman in all my years," Mrs Bennet said as Mary slipped away with Jane feigning the need for refreshment. Traitors. "Did you see you how he dotes on her?"
Elizabeth knew that tone well. It was the same one she had when Jane was being courted by Thomas Brannigan and his truly appalling poetry. She had wanted to reserve the parish church the very minute he had compared Jane to the flank of a horse. He'd thought it romantic; he was a horse breeder after all. Elizabeth had decided on the spot that she could quite well do without a man writing poetry just for her if that was to be the outcome.
"Will you stop that?" Elizabeth hissed as she accompanied her mother through the swelling crowds.
"Stop what?"
"Planning their wedding breakfast. I can practically hear you trying to decide whether to serve ham or beef before ultimately deciding to go with both."
"Oh, how you vex me Elizabeth," Mrs Bennet straightened her headpiece. "Any blind fool can see that an engagement is forthcoming. It can only help matters to be prudent in such planning."
"Mama…" Mrs Bennet quelled her with a sharp look.
"Look, there's Constance Marlborough," Mrs Bennet nodded in the direction of a gaggle of matchmaking mamas comparing the conquests of their children. "Her daughter just married a baronet. Did you know?" She did. "Not as wealthy as our dear Mr Bingley, though I suppose she must take consolation in the fact that the man is titled."
"Mama, that's awful!"
Mrs Bennet scoffed. "Not as awful as Prunella Pretence practically selling her daughter to a merchant. A merchant!" Elizabeth supressed the deep urge to roll her eyes. "Now off with you."
Soundly dismissed, Elizabeth walked into the ballroom. Numerous couples twirled around the floor in perfect unison. The walls were lined with observers watching the spectacle of the lively country dance. Scanning the crowds, she thought she caught sight of Mr Wickham leading Mary King.
Dressed impeccably in his regimental reds, his black boots polished to perfection, Elizabeth's heart lifted at the sight. There was no way he would be able to see her, swallowed as she was by the guests. Moving though the throng, she found herself on the edge of the dancefloor and waited patiently for Mr Wickham to come back to her end.
Her foot tapped along anxiously in time with the jaunty music and the couples turned.
Elizabeth had taken great pains to look well for him this evening. Her usual untameable red curls were twisted into an almost painful coiffure. Made up of a series of delicate leaves, her silver headbands, held errand strands of hair from falling in her face. Her white dress showed her body to its best advantage even though it could hardly be called fashionable. She only hoped that he would like it. Would appreciate that she did this for him.
Mr Wickham turned to face her.
Only it wasn't Mr Wickham. Besides similarly coloured hair it looked nothing like him at all.
Elizabeth's heart sank. Where could he be?
Doing one last survey of the room, hoping in vain that she hadn't somehow missed him, Elizabeth spied Charlotte Lucas approaching her with a small wave. Though nearly seven years older than herself, age was no barrier to their friendship.
"Have you seen Mr Wickham?" Elizabeth asked as Charlotte came to stand beside her.
Charlotte shook her head. "We have only just arrived, perhaps he is in the drawing room."
Elizabeth tucked Charlotte's arm into her own as they wove their way through the guests. Their conversation quickly turned to Jane.
"She should move fast," Charlotte said. "Snap Mr Bingley up before he knows what's happened."
Elizabeth frowned. "You know she is shy in her affections."
"There is plenty of time for them to get to know each other after they are married," Charlotte pointed out. "Happiness is marriage is entirely a matter of chance… It is far better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to spend the entirety of your life with."
"You would never do the same in your own life," Elizabeth laughed.
Charlotte quirked an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I?"
Elizabeth had to admit to herself that she wasn't entirely sure Charlotte wouldn't. Though twenty-seven, she had always supposed that Charlotte was comfortable without the constraints of marriage. Had she been wrong about that?
Happiness in marriage was a chance but Elizabeth knew in her heart of hearts that she would not consent to a marriage that wouldn't bring her joy. Mr Wickham bought her joy and marriage to him would only bring happiness, she was sure of it. Not that she was seriously contemplating marriage to the man, they'd barely knew each other after all, but that flicker, that promise of something more burned between them.
Perhaps that was why she felt his absence so keenly.
Jane found them the moment they entered the drawing room. A long refreshment table took up the expanse of the back wall of the room. It was obvious no expense had been spared. Women and Gentlemen huddled in clusters likely speaking of nothing more stimulating then the weather.
Touching Elizabeth's arm gently Jane looked at her sadly. "He's not here," Elizabeth's heart sank all over again. "Apparently he is otherwise detained."
"Detained?"
Jane looked as if she were about to say something more when a breathless and profusely sweating Mr Collins approached the trio. The rotund, beady eyed man smiled eagerly at Elizabeth.
"There you are," his chest wheezed as he breathed in, "I've been looking all over for you."
"Mr Collins," Elizabeth dipped into a curtsey and smiled politely. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you wished to stay behind with my father?"
"Your concern for your father does you credit dear cousin," he grasped her hand. Cold, damp, limp. It was all she could do not to rip it free. "I confess the lure of such diversions as these overcame me. Perhaps you will do me the honour?"
"I did not think you danced, Mr Collins."
"Ah, though I do not frequently engage in the pastime, several people, my esteemed patroness included, have complimented my lightness of foot."
He did not wait for her answer, instead he led Elizabeth back into the ballroom and into place next to Jane on the line. Almost as soon at the music had started up once more, her poor toes were crushed under the weight of Mr Collins boot. It appeared Mr Collins and indeed his esteemed patroness had embellished his "lightness of foot."
When the dance called for them to go right he went left and vice versa not that is seemed to bother him overly much.
"Dancing is of little consequence to me, but it does afford one a spectacular opportunity to lavish one's partner with attention which, of course, is my primary reason of being here." Mr Collins said when they came together, crushing her remaining toes.
Elizabeth smiled blandly turning in time with the other dancers to find herself beside Jane.
"Apparently your Mr Wickham had been called on some business to town, though my informer told me that he would have been inclined to postpone such business had it to been for the presence of a certain gentleman."
Jane nodded almost imperceptibly to where Darcy watched the dancing from the side of the room. Elizabeth caught his gaze, even from their distance, she could feel his cold, grey eyes assessing her. Like Miss Bingley, she knew that even with the effort she had put in for Mr Wickham's sake, that she had come up wanting in eyes.
"That gentleman barely warrants the name."
The dance led her back to Mr Collins sweaty grip. She knew that Darcy was watching her, judging her. He had from the very moment he deemed "not tolerable enough" to tempt him. If Mr Bingley made angels weep, Darcy's was at home with devil.
He stood a head taller than most of the men in the room, commanding in a way that lesser mortals could only dream of. With thick dark curls and noble mien, it was as if he was created by the gods themselves. He had often reminded her of the statues of the Grecian statues she had once seen in London.
Awful, prideful man.
"It is my intention, if I may be so bold, to remain close to you throughout the evening."
Elizabeth blanched.
Determined to make it through the remainder of the dance without being stepped on, she stayed one step ahead of her partner. The moment the dance ended was ecstasy. Mr Collins tried to claim her for a second dance, however, she was mercifully saved by an officer. The quadrille was filled with word of Mr Wickham and Elizabeth was pleased to learn he was universally liked.
Once the dance was over she returned to Charlotte who was waiting with a glass of lemonade. They drifted into comfortable conversation when she found herself suddenly addressed by Darcy, who took her so much by surprise by asking her dance, she accepted without knowing what she had done. With a nod he turned away immediate and stalked back to wherever he had come from.
"Did I just agree to dance with Mr Darcy?" Elizabeth asked wide eyed.
"I dare say you will find him very amiable, Lizzy," Charlotte tried to console.
She doubted it.
"Which would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity."
For his injustices alone again Mr Wickham she would never be able to forgive the man. There was little to be done about it. She would endure the dance and then forget the entire thing ever happened. When the dancing recommenced and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her to be kind and not allow her affections for Mr Wickham make her appear unpleasant in Darcy's eyes.
Darcy's hand was warm, firm in his grip yet gentle as he guided her to her place in the set. Her neighbours looked at her in amazement at the pairing. Darcy hadn't danced with another for the entirety of the evening thus far.
It was no small relief that he was much more adept at dancing than Mr Collins. She wasn't certain her feet could handle further abuse. They went through the first few steps without speaking a word and she began to imagine that their silence would carry through the entirety of the dance. At first, she was resolved not break, until suddenly, it occurred to her that it would be a greater punishment for the man to oblige him to talk. She made an observation on the dance, he replied, and again was silent.
"It is your turn to say something, Mr Darcy – I talked about the dance, now you ought to remark on the size of the room or the number of couples." Elizabeth tried.
Darcy smiled. "I am perfectly happy to oblige, please advise me of what you would most like to hear."
"I suppose that reply will do for the present. Perhaps I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. Now we may be silent."
They circled each other in step with the music. "Do you talk as a rule while dancing?" He asked as the dance bought them in close together.
Her heart sped up as his hand came to touch her.
"No," Elizabeth replied irritably. "I prefer to be unsociable and taciturn. It makes dancing all the more enjoyable don't you think?"
Darcy seemed to ponder this for moment, though offered no answer before steering the conversation to her sisters and their walks to Meryton. She did not have a chance to reply before the choreography of the dance parted them.
Whisked around by an elderly man, who smiled at her toothlessly as his hand drifted rather south of where it should have been. Elizabeth glanced back at Darcy who is being energetically led by Lydia. His brow furrowed, his stare not straying from her for a moment.
Elizabeth smiled at her partner; her cheeks reddened in embarrassment.
"Lovely weather we've been having," she commented politely.
The elderly man looked at her in confusion. "Feather? I'm not wearing any feathers."
Music swelled and she found herself spun back to Darcy.
"Yes," she replied to his earlier question, "we often walk to Meryton. It is a great opportunity to meet new people. In fact, when you met us we had just had the pleasure of forming a new acquaintance."
Darcy's face darkened. "Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners that he is certain to make friends wherever he goes. Whether is capable in retaining them is rather less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," Darcy nodded effortless twirling them in time to music. "Dare I say such an event is irreversible?"
"It is," those two words were suffused with a vicious bite. "What could the purpose of your question be?"
"To make out your character, Mr Darcy."
"And what have you discovered?"
"Very little," the dance drew to a close and they stood facing each other. "I hear such different accounts of you which puzzle me exceedingly."
Darcy stiffened. "I hope to afford you more clarity in the future."
Not if she had a say in it. There would be no "future" as she thoroughly intended to avoid him at all costs moving forward. They bowed to each other and Elizabeth took the opportunity to make her escape as Darcy was accosted by a fawning Mr Collins.
Everyone seemed to be enraptured by the scene Mr Colins was making and if she was quick about it she would be able to steal into the gardens without anyone noticing. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned by an acquaintance on the nature of her relationship with Darcy.
She had thought their conversation would lend her some clarity. In truth she was rather more confused.
Casually she made her way along the side of the ballroom, past spills of conversations about the opera, the park, and the latest fashions and slipped out the door and into the cool evening air. Breathing in the fresh air, she found her sense of equilibrium restored.
Various couple had also ventured outdoors and milled around the well-maintained paths lit up with torches. Elizabeth followed the gravelled path which wound around various statues of animals and manicured topiary.
She continued to the fountain, which was partially hidden by a hedge and an abundance of hyacinths. It was her favourite place on the estate and she had often found herself wandering there with a book while her sister was convalescing. The statue in the centre of the fountain was, if the gardener was to be believed, was meant to depict Eros and Psyche in a lovers embrace.
It had appeared tragically romantic in daylight. However, cast only in the silverly light of the moon the scene appeared positively sinful. Elizabeth checked the edge of the fountain was dry before she sat down with a sigh and tried to organise her thoughts.
Darcy was quite simply the most infuriating man of all her acquaintance. Arrogant, prideful, rude. But his smile. She had never seen him smile before and she concluded that he should do more often. It would soften the blow of his countenance.
What he had inflicted on poor Mr Wickham was abominable. To subject a man to poverty when he had the means of alleviating such a state was appalling. It was hardly Mr Wickham's fault that Darcy's father loved him best. Such jealous callousness was unbecoming of such a man.
Yet, in their conversation, Darcy had not slandered the man nor attempt to defend himself. What did it all mean?
If only Mr Wickham hadn't been run off by Darcy. He would be able to offer clarity.
Confused and frustrated, Elizabeth poured all her emotions into two words. "Vexing man!"
In the next moment, she turned cold with horror as she heard a man clearing his throat. Looking up, she heard the crunch of gravel as a man emerged from the shadows.
"Miss Elizabeth are you quite alright?" Darcy asked as he approached her. "I saw you flee the ballroom and found myself having to detangle myself from your cousin before I could make my own exit." The cool dark resonance of his voice, combined with the danger of their situation caused goose flesh to rise on her bare skin. Though, Elizabeth was certain that it was nothing more than a reaction to the cool breeze.
"I did not flee," he raised his eyebrow as if daring her to lie to him. "I didn't. I simply needed some air. It was rather hot in there."
"I confess after being cornered by your cousin I felt the need to take air also. Though I do hope that it was not our conversation that drove you to seek refuge in the trees."
Uncomfortable, Elizabeth stood and moved to leave. "I will be missed. I must return to my family."
"Miss Elizabeth…" Darcy's hand shot out and gently held her arm. She could easily shake it off and keep moving and she suspected that he knew that. The gesture wasn't a command to stay rather a request.
Elizabeth stopped mid step and turned to him.
"Sir?"
He released her arm, his hand flexing as he looked up to gaze the statue. Locking his hand behind his back he was silent.
"Eros and Psyche," he murmured before glancing over his shoulder at her. "A fitting tribute don't you think?"
"A tribute for who?" Elizabeth found herself saying despite herself. "Psyche was faithless and violated Eros's trust."
Elizabeth found herself stepping closer to Darcy. "Is that what you think?" he asked, sounding interested.
"Yes."
His quiet laugh made her stomach erupt in butterflies. "Tell me, do you consider yourself a good judge of character?"
"When it matters yes."
Darcy shifted on his feet. Out here in the fresh air she could smell his fragrance, the barest hint of spice and sandalwood and something purely Darcy.
"And you have judged Mr Wickham to be a good man," he scowled. "Pray tell, what do you think of me?"
"You?" He nodded. "As I told you in the ballroom, I find the differing accounts of your person puzzle me exceedingly."
Darcy didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "If I were to request that you give Mr Wickham a wide berth, would you?"
"No."
"Why not, you seem content to let his aspersion of my character colour your view of me, so why not allow me the same courtesy?"
Elizabeth bristled. She wanted to tell him that Mr Wickham was correct in his assessment of Darcy. That he was uncharitable and unkind. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't mind being caught in the dark garden with Mr Wickham but the idea of being caught with Darcy and potentially being comprised just by being alone with each other filled her with dread.
"I fear Mr Darcy that I have dallied too long," she dipped into a bow and began to walk away.
"Does Mr Wickham know that you have no dowry to speak of? Your family's lack of meaningful connections and the improper conduct of your sisters?"
Elizabeth whirled on her heel and turned to confront him. "I do not see what this has to do with you."
"Nothing in the slightest Miss Elizabeth, only that I mean to warn you. He only seeks your good favour because of your connection to me. Once he grows bored or has achieved his ends he will cast you aside. He is not a man that values reputation."
"How dare you?" She marched closer to him, her cheeks flushed with anger.
"How dare I?" Darcy stepped closer their noses practically touching. "You speak as though you are the injured party in all of this."
"Am I not? You are the one maligning another mans good character."
"Have you not done the same to me?"
She had but she wasn't going to admit it. "Good evening Mr Darcy."
Elizabeth went to turn but in her haste tripped over the hem of her dress casting her off balance and into Darcy's chest. Darcy stumbled back, his calves hitting the edge of the fountain and fell backwards. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Elizabeth to protect her as they the landed in the water.
Elizabeth was the first to get her bearings, standing up, her dress clung obscenely to her frame. "This is all your fault." Her voice was deadly calm.
"I don't see how," he replied dryly. "You're the one that fell."
She thought it rather unsporting that he pointed that out.
They both froze as a grizzled shout from just beyond the hedge. "What the devil is going on here?"
Darcy swore softly beneath his breath. Elizabeth had read enough of her father's books to know what it meant, and it wasn't good.
Hidden by the shadows, the enraged outsiders whose voice sounded suspiciously like Mr Cole after a few brandies continued. "Blackguard! I expected more of you sirrah." The man tutted. "Forcing yourself on an innocent. For shame!"
"Good sir," Darcy called out brusquely, standing up himself. "You misunderstand the situation."
"I'm sure I understand well enough," the stranger grumbled.
"Mr Darcy is right. It was a simple accident, nothing more," Elizabeth pleas fell on deaf ears.
"For shame," the man seemed to be addressing a third party as he remarked. "Caught in the very act. You can't deny it."
Bewildered, Elizabeth wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Darcy stepped over the lip of the pond and held his hand out for Elizabeth. Ignoring it, she stepped over and onto the gravel herself. "I'll tell them nothing happened. It's the truth of the matter."
"By all means, it won't make a lick of difference," came Darcy's curt reply.
They were immediately confronted my Mr Cole, a local gentleman. He was a notorious gossip and if she were ever to be found in a compromising position his being the discoverer was the very worse thing that could occur. He was accompanied by Mr Bingley.
Mr Bingley looked between them, and Darcy nodded.
"I can't marry you." Elizabeth said simply.
"I don't think you have much say in the matter."
A/N: I hope you enjoy this take on P&P!