When the tall, handsome and wealthy Mr. Darcy asked her if she was well, for a long moment our heroine could not reply through the tightness that clutched her throat.

They stared at each other. His face was deeply concerned, but slowly that worried expression turned into a frown as second after fateful second passed, without a solitary word between the two strangers to the neighborhood, caught on this high balcony together.

"I apologize, Miss Bennet, for intruding." He bowed his fine head and turned to go.

"No! Wait!"

Elizabeth did not know why she shouted out. She did not want to be alone. She did not want him, the shy man whose eyes she had met so many times during the whole course of the night, to leave now that he had brought himself to speak to her.

Were this a novel, rather than her real life, Mr. Darcy would be very much the sort of man to be the hero.

Mr. Darcy paused and he stepped next to her on the balcony, he leaned his elbows on the iron railing, and he said in a low pitched calming voice that vibrated, "Miss Bennet, I can see you are not well. Is there aught I might help you with — even if merely a little conversation to distract yourself from your troubles?"

"I feel as though I can scarce breathe, and the walls enclose me, and as though I may die any moment." The words came out in a rush, and a tight unpleasant feeling in her chest clenched. "This is worse than I have ever felt before."

Mr. Darcy looked almost relieved when she said that. "Does your heart race, and do you feel perhaps… distant from yourself, numb?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Breathe, just breathe deeply. One breath after another. Miss Bennet, I know exactly what you experience now, and I promise, it shall pass." He kept speaking in a low, comforting voice, the bass rumble seemed to vibrate in Elizabeth's chest. He spoke like he would to calm a spooked horse, and if Elizabeth had been that horse, she would have settled down quickly. "There is no threat here. No one is your enemy, no one—"

Elizabeth laughed wetly. "I thank you. Oh, god, my throat — I have enemies here. That is true."

He was silent for a moment. "I spoke thoughtlessly — you must recover so that you can comfortably despise them. Breathe deeply. This sensation will pass. It will pass. I promise you, it shall pass."

A deep shuddering breath. And then another. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Then when Mr. Darcy paused for a moment she spoke aloud, "You have felt this? What — oh I do not know what to call it. This strange terrified numbness."

"My sister — she is deeply shy, and she often had when younger such episodes when placed in the company of too many persons."

"Hahahaha." Elizabeth shook her head and shuddered. "Such episodes. Am I now to fear every ball I enter — since the moment I came in the door."

"Was that why you left the hall, when we all arrived?"

Elizabeth looked a little blankly at him.

Mr. Darcy smiled wryly. "When you overheard my rudeness."

"Oh!" Elizabeth laughed again, still nervously, but with more ease. She felt better. Whether it was because this fine gentleman had distracted her, or that he made her breathe deeply and calmly, or maybe simply because Mr. Darcy was a calm presence. A man who did not, yet, despise her.

The feeling was passing.

In truth, few people despised her, though Mr. Reed certainly did, in that case the feeling was entirely mutual, and not worth concerning herself with. Really.

That lump in her throat was going away, and the sense of being unmoored, like a shift adrift on dark and stormy seas, was no longer there.

More deep breaths.

Elizabeth almost smiled to Mr. Darcy. "That! No need to apologize. Your friend Mr. Bingley, he told me you made the decision to be entirely sensible about the matter of romance, and that you will only marry a woman who meets the most demanding requirements — I do not, so no reason for me to feel rejected or embarrassed by it. Nothing of the sort — I do not. I really do not. I am not out here for you. That is not it. They don't despise me anymore — I shouldn't feel like this. You though might despise me — we do not even know each other and, and, and, and — oh, God. It is returning."

She spoke faster and faster as she talked. Her words tumbling out one after the other.

Mr. Darcy put his hand on her shoulder. "Breathe deeply, Miss Bennet. Breathe deep. I promise you, you are well. There is nothing to fear."

"There is always them to fear. And I hate them too — all of them. No I don't! But I sometimes have hateful thoughts. They laughed at me. They pretended to be my friends — God. That was years ago. I did not think it affected me so still. So many years since. Oh… have you been told? I normally pretend no concern."

"Just breathe, Miss Bennet. Deep slow breaths."

She took several such breaths. "I did not tell your friend Bingley. Lord! I hate this feeling in my stomach."

She pressed her hand against the railing of the balcony, rubbing it over the twisted pattern again and again until her palm hurt.

"Miss Bennet, breathe. What is past is past, and you deserve a happy future no matter what sins your past may contain."

Elizabeth laughed hollowly. He'd heard, and decided to adopt the role of the friendly moralist, as opposed to the unfriendly moralist. "No?" she said in a sarcastic tone. "You claim I still deserve to be happy? How kind of you."

Mr. Darcy shrugged.

Elizabeth squeezed her fists again. "I do not mean to be rude — I hardly know what I say."

"I assure you, that dalliance of yours with Mr. Wickham in the distant past, that is not a matter upon which I judge you — is that memory why you feel such anxiety?"

"I am not anxious — oh Lord! I am. It was here — they all laughed. At me. Mr. Reed made them to laugh again, and again. I was thrown away, my dearest friends cut me. Why did I come here again?"

Mr. Darcy pressed his comforting hand on her arm. He left it there this time. "Miss Bennet, if I… should I…" He then muttered under his breath, "It does not matter now."

"What does not matter?"

"It would be the rankest hypocrisy for me to judge you, especially over a matter with Mr. Wickham. What he induced you to do those years before—"

"You assume those stories are true," Elizabeth said, a little hotly. Anger, or annoyance, that was better than the distant strange detachment she had felt. "You do not even know me."

"I do not," he agreed.

Elizabeth looked at the ground. She breathed slowly through her nose. She would say nothing further and let him believe what he wished — defending her honor had no point. Others thought what they would. They always did. She had sworn long ago to never defend herself, and she had been treated the better for pretending to accept the guilt, and hold her head high anyways.

Mr. Darcy's presence made her feel calmer. More at ease, and safe somehow, even though she knew it was ridiculous, and she did not know this man. Despite that she felt an insane instinct which shouted: You can depend upon him.

"Mr. Wickham — will you swear to never speak of what I shall tell you? Never to another soul."

"If this is such a secret matter, why dare share it with me? A fallen woman, whose morals clearly are such that she cannot be trusted." But while Elizabeth spoke in a self-mocking tone, she could tell that her panic was receding again — partially replaced by her decided curiosity about whatever crimes Wicky had gotten himself up to with Mr. Darcy — she now recalled the name and the connection. Wickham had despised Darcy, who had been his godfather's son.

Being despised by Wicky spoke very well of Mr. Darcy's character.

"I trust you." He spoke with a complete conviction. "I cannot say why. I cannot say wherefore. But no matter what your past may have been, I trust you completely. There is some instinct in me which says when I look at you, when I see you trembling here, on this balcony — when I know how you have suffered — Oh, I cannot explain it. But I trust you. I may be a fool, I may hurt those dearest to me, but Miss Bennet, I trust you."

"That, Mr. Darcy, is not a statement I have heard often." Elizabeth was touched… she did not know if it was against her better judgement or not.

His eyes were shadowed by the dim light of the candles and fires flickering from within the ballroom. He was lit principally by the soft light of a half moon. But Elizabeth knew how fine featured he was, how handsome.

"Will you promise to not speak upon this to anyone?"

"It shall never pass my lips."

"Mr. Wickham. He nearly brought my sister into the same sin as he… as it is claimed he brought you to… It was the merest chance, not her good character, that protected her — since then, I have made it a matter of principle to never judge a woman for that crime, for then I would need judge my sister, and I do love her dearly."

Elizabeth let out shuddering breaths.

"I do not judge you. I… you are proud. I see that. You do not wish pity. But Miss Bennet, I understand you have not been back to this dance hall for seven years, and you are brave. Brave to return here, and brave to refuse that pity."

She began crying, even though she did not want to.

It was ridiculous, and must quite prove that his clear instinctive belief in the stories about her — stories Elizabeth did not deny. She did not wish to hear this man who she liked a great deal disbelieve her, like everyone but Papa, Jane and Charlotte had disbelieved her.

After she ceased to cry she, embarrassed, stepped away from Mr. Darcy, borrowed his handkerchief to wipe her eyes off and blow her nose in, returned it, and then took a few more deep breaths.

This time that horrid anxious spell she'd experienced seemed to be completely gone.

"Do you wish to return to the dance?" Mr. Darcy asked solicitously. "To have me bring your mother to you — I am at your service, Miss Bennet."

"Not my mother!" Elizabeth laughed. "She has improved of late, but her nerves would hardly be like to calm mine."

"Ah. Then shall I remain with you? Guide you to the exit? Or—"

"That dance." Elizabeth shook her head. "I was merely surprised — A gentleman of my acquaintance said something which knocked me aback, but I am risen again. He was… well it is not important. But I am now entirely better. I thank you for that very much, Mr. Darcy."

"I only kept you company — and that was no burden."

"I rise to every attempt to intimidate me—" Elizabeth let out another deep breath. "At least I am determined I shall. It is not merely my imagination; if you heard Mr. Reed you would know he did wish to intimidate me."

"Mr. Reed? I spoke with him for some minutes. A hideous man. Grotesque. Far beneath you."

"Ah, but he is not happy to be beneath me. And so he must bother me."

"Not again tonight — Mr. Lucas carried him away, deep in his cups."

Elizabeth shook her head. "You spoke to him? He is hardly the best representative of our neighborhood — you must have found in him justification for your tendency to hold yourself aloof and above."

"Not at all — Miss Bennet, you, I suspect, are the finest ambassador the neighborhood could have."

"Flatterer."

"I am quite serious. Would you do me the honor of this dance next?"

"I would be delighted."

Elizabeth put her arm on Darcy's and allowed him to lead her quietly back into the ballroom.

He though watched her carefully as she entered the ballroom, apparently more worried that she would relapse than she was.

Though since, as he had said, his sister often suffered such episodes, perhaps his information about the likelihood of her feeling such a spell again was superior to her own.

"Well, my physician of the mind, am I about to rush once more from the room in panic and tears?" Elizabeth smiled as firmly as she could at him.

"Not likely." He smiled back at her. "You appear steady as a ship of the line. I trust you, Miss Bennet — but if you do need solitude again, you may abandon me in the middle of the dance, without the least compunction."

"No, no! My mother would never forgive me. As she said of your friend Bingley: Do not offend him, Lizzy, he's rich."

Mr. Darcy blinked. Then he laughed, showing he had a proper sense of humor. "Women usually do not remind me of that to my face."

"It is a quite horrid accusation," Elizabeth replied. "But truth is my defense."

Darcy laughed again. "Then I shall look forward to the pleasure of your company for the full half of an hour."

The dancing slippers both of them wore padded softly over the waxed wooden floor, as they went to the line for the next dance, which had already half formed when they reentered the hall.

Whatever caused that sudden feeling, Elizabeth decided the emotion was mostly gone. But there was a hint of it which lurked in Elizabeth's chest and her throat, and in the ache in her stomach. Stronger this time, and ready to leap out, now that she knew that it was a dangerous tiger.

She looked at Mr. Darcy, who was steadily examining her. Somehow he had become, for the next turn on the dancefloor at least, a rock for her, who she would look towards with trust, even if she had no right or reason to.

"Breathe, Miss Bennet. This is only a ballroom."

She nodded her head. "Yes. Only a ballroom — not so big as many I have been to in London."

"Not at all, I own one much bigger—"

Elizabeth laughed. "Braggart."

He grinned. "I overheard the whisper of ten thousand a year at least thrice this night. I merely act the part — did you live in London long?"

"Do not distract me with questions." Elizabeth laughed. "What was the biggest ballroom you have ever entered. St. James?"

Darcy laughed, and laughter was a handsome look on him. "It was."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Everything Sir William claims it to be? For he was there, you know, after he was given the knighthood for a speech he made before the king when he was the mayor. The old King, that is."

"I apologize," Darcy said suddenly, "but is Sir William's daughter perchance married to a clergyman in Kent, in the parsonage attached to Rosings Park, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Collins?"

"We share a connection!" Elizabeth smiled. "You know Charlotte? I promise you, I shall end this dance, and cut you forever, if you do not like her. She is my dearest friend."

"She is my cousin Anne's dear friend as well."

"Anne, Miss De Bourgh? — who inherited after the Late Lady Catherine died — Oh, I heard a great deal about Lady Catherine, and she seemed the sort of person who I would not wish to be dependent upon. But I apologize, she must have been your aunt. I am sorry for your loss."

"Such as it was," Darcy wryly replied. "I cannot claim to miss her over much. She was often a frustrating woman."

"So I heard, at great length, from Charlotte — but what do you think of my Mrs. Collins?"

"A clever woman, with a good heart, and a good sense of what is necessary in the parish."

Elizabeth twirled around within the dance. "I'll accept that as praise — though you ought be far warmer. She is dear to me."

"I then think the better of you for the connection — a fine, sensible woman. Though…"

"Yes?"

"Ah, I shall not speak on that."

"You are no enthusiast of Mr. Collins?" Elizabeth laughed. "He is my cousin — but I was never so surprised as when Charlotte married Mr. Collins. Never."

"A woman of her age… it was a sensible match."

"And she has been happy with it. But I still would never have chosen in such a way as she."

Mr. Darcy tilted his head and smiled at her a little. Elizabeth wondered what thoughts, no doubt inspired by her supposed dalliance with Mr. Wickham, ran in his head.

"But come," she said, "we have spent enough time in conversation upon mutual friends — we must now turn to my favorite topic, the one which I converse upon always in a ballroom, books! Do you read, Mr. Darcy?"

"I was taught," he replied dryly. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ah, so was I! Another matter we have in common, but do you use this facility with any frequency — your friend Mr. Bingley insisted you do, while he does not."

"Scurrilous lie." Darcy grinned at Elizabeth. "I assure you, that while he is no great reader, Mr. Bingley keeps up with his newspapers and he and Mrs. Bingley would read some of the most popular novels amongst their set."

"He keeps up with his newspapers?" Elizabeth laughed. "The essence of a gentleman reader — but you. Do you merely keep up with your newspapers? Or do you touch on…" She lowered her voice, "Is it possible you sink so low as to read a novel — only from time to time?"

"And a great deal more often than that."

"You do!"

"And poetry too."

"I care nothing for your poetry — I cannot produce any of worth, and I have made attempt, so thus a worthless art. Fie on Byron, fie on Shelley. Fie on Wordsworth."

"But you can produce a novel of worth."

Elizabeth smiled rather uncertainly, not having meant to discuss her literary endeavors here in Meryton with anyone but Papa. She had forgotten for a moment that she was not in London, where it was not uncommon that those who met her had been informed by their mutual acquaintance that she was the authoress of Marigold and Fashion Exposed — her most popular works.

"Perhaps I could," she said at last.

"A woman of literary ambitions — my sister was such before her marriage, though she never produced more than the sketch of a few melodramatic tales, where the woman died horribly in the end, and all was dark and sad."

Elizabeth laughed. "I hope that is not your notion of what every novel must be. Yet every person must begin somewhere. So I refuse the suggestion you make — your sister had every hope of greatest fame and glory, and her unfortunate marriage robbed the world of one of its greatest talents."

"A fortunate marriage, I assure you. She is very happy."

"I am glad—" Elizabeth frowned. "I truly have no desire for my own part to marry — but you, I have been informed, do hope to marry."

Darcy twisted his lips. "Have been informed? I assure you, I do seek a proper wife — to make a woman the lady of Pemberley, that shall be a great honor, and she must be worthy of such a position, and of my great lineage — I am proud, yes, very proud. I see your smile. We are a great family, and it is my duty to continue a line which extends deep into the mists of time."

"Poor woman! To face such expectation — it shall take a paragon not to crumple underneath the weight of Pemberley and all its heavy pile."

"I assure you, I seek a woman who is a paragon. Only such is worthy of a man such as me."

Elizabeth laughed, delighted by him. She liked Mr. Darcy very much, the more for his open and ridiculous vanity. For he was kind as well, and he lacked the sort of dissimulation that many of his set feigned of being driven by softer emotions when in truth they cared only for the honor and glory a marriage could bring upon them.

"I wish you well — for my part, I would never marry a man who expects so much. Even should you come to mistake me for such a paragon, you are safe. One must know their own limits."

Mr. Darcy frowned, as if disquieted.

She laughed. "Surely you do not expect every woman to fall before your feet."

"I do — it is a simple matter of reason. I am aware of my virtues, and those of my estate. Any rational woman who is not high born herself will know there is no better match they can make."

"Vain! I have found you out. A vain man."

"I am not vain — there is a real superiority in my breeding, my person, and my situation. I despise a false humbleness that makes one's assessment of the world inaccurate. To claim myself less than I am is just as much a deception as to claim I am more."

"I do not doubt that your estate is most superior. Your character though — I assure you a sensible woman would not be so quick to marry a man so certain of his own superiority."

Mr. Darcy replied with a slightly hurt voice, "Then it is fortunate for us both, that whatever your virtues — you are extremely clever, and I like your mind, and your conversation, and your… eyes…" Darcy trailed off.

Elizabeth could not help but blush at his evident admiration of her.

He continued in a firmer tone. "I require of myself a wife with the highest connections, the cleanest and most sterling reputation, and the… further I am determined that she ought be near twenty years of age, and I think you to be much past that."

"Zounds! Forget being refused — have you ever been slapped?" Elizabeth grinned at Mr. Darcy, most amused by his pique. "You do not take to rejection kindly. But you are unused to such, which must be your excuse."

Mr. Darcy flushed and then he winced. "Miss Bennet, allow me to apologize, I hardly know what I said. I certainly did not mean to say such, and—"

"No, no, no! I despise pretense. And I adore ridiculousness. But your pomposity — you are clever enough to perhaps improve. But, this shall go deep in my stores of memories. But I forgive you this for your kindness earlier this evening. You, sir, were very kind, and I would be the worst sort of woman if I in turn savaged you."

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "Even though you consider me vain and ridiculous."

"Merely vain! — I know my deficits. I am, as you perceived, seven and twenty, without a sterling reputation, and my connections are more to trade than nobility. So there is nothing to be done for it. No matter how much you like my eyes" — Mr. Darcy flushed, but also smiled — "And no matter how much I admire your superior estate and your person, we can never make a match of it. All that is left is to be friends."

"You still wish to be my friend?"

"Of a certainty!"

"Then I would like to be your friend, Miss Bennet — as I said, there is some instinct which tells me I ought trust you, and that I can trust you, and that we shall get along well together. As though we should have met many years before now."

"I feel that too. Besides, I need the conversation of a well-read man besides my father. I am bored! And you are the most interesting person I have met in this neighborhood — may I hope that your stay with Mr. Bingley shall be prolonged?"

"I intended to stay two months entire. Perhaps even till the little season. It is two days back to my estate in Pemberley, so when I return I prefer not to travel away again quickly."

"Two months. Enough time."

The music slowed into the final sounds of the dance, and they stepped through the final pattern.

"But books! We have not yet spoken on books." Elizabeth grinned. "The best place, of course, to speak upon books is in a ballroom, but when you call we shall take up Papa's book room, and you shall prove to me that you have read a novel."

"I shall await your examination with confidence."

"I apologize if I have been forward to ask that you call on occasion — I have lacked… intellectual company in Hertfordshire. My father is the sole man with whom I can carry a decent conversation about any matter of interest to me. Some few speak on matters of business and substance, but while I agree with all upon the horrors of a low price of wheat for the landlord, and also upon the benefits of that low price to those who work in town, and the horrifying incompetence, verging upon criminality of Liverpool's government, the soul would starve and whither upon such a diet alone, while books and science can entertain the soul for an eternity. That is what I believe heaven shall be: a grand library, with ample armchairs to sit in and discuss the books with dear friends whilst remaining warm by the fire."

"I support Liverpool's government." Mr. Darcy replied with a smile, "And from your mode of expression, I do not think you have deeply thought through your objections to his policies."

"I repeat, an interesting man!"

Darcy grinned back at her, taking her hand again to kiss it briefly. "I promise then, Miss Bennet. You have a vision of heaven quite like to mine own. While in this neighborhood, I shall do my best to prevent your soul's withering for lack of conversation."