NOTES: Lizzy's POV. Just a shirt chapter to set up the time jump, and establish relationships. NEXT ONE is the one y'all have been waiting for (hopefully. I haven't written it quite yet)

Anyway, enjoy! 🌷
~Vinny

Days passed quickly. Then months, a little quicker, and years huffed and puffed on the heels of those agonizingly slow minutes. At first, William Darcy was all Lizzy could think about. Every book she read, every piece of music she played— William was there, hidden in the notes. Peeking out between paragraphs. She tried, many times over the years, to contact him.. Nothing worked.

Her father had dropped all pretenses of apathy when they had returned to Longbourn, and become a vigilant protector of his growing family. Mrs. Bennet doted endlessly on her oldest daughter (partially from a subconscious guilt at letting her almost be sent to an orphanage), and then, when more little girls started cluttering up their house, she gave them all her attention.

Jane (who was just turning nine when all this occurred) was in constant awe of her older sister, and provided Lizzy with a very acceptable distraction.

Over time, she began to think of William less and less.

She would bring him up sometimes, to her sisters, when they were old enough to be curious about boys. Lizzy explained that there was really not much difference between sexes in the social sense, but then her mother (thoroughly pink in the face) took her aside and explained some.. things... to her.

Lizzy thought about William a little more after that, much to her own chagrin.

Her father did not pick up on THAT (thank the lord) but he did never forget what the Darcys did to her. Every time Lizzy would mention the time she spent at Pemberley, a dark angry look would descend over Mr. Bennet's face, and his caterpillar eyebrows would curl together menacingly. Needless to say, he would not let her write. He wanted no connection whatsoever to that family.

He didn't even tell the neighbors about the incident, nor would he let his wife say a word on the subject.

After over a decade of waiting though, his vigilance waned, and so when a new party of four came to town to stay, he didn't think much of it. "Mr. Bingley?" He asked, flicking apart his newspaper. "Well, why is he any of my concern?"

"BeCAUSE, Mr. Bennet," the missus pleaded, passive-aggressively stabbing her eggs with the fork. "He might be THE ONE! For one of our girls! Lizzy is already nearing the end of marrying age, and our youngest is nearing the threshold!"

Mr. Bennet set down his newspaper and stared at his wife as though she were crazy. "Lydia is barely fourteen. How is THAT of marrying age?!"

"We were married when I was only ten and SIX, you know."

"Feh." He snapped open his paper once more. "That's not nearly the same."

"But Lizzy, surely you must agree, it is the right time—"

"Are you talking about me?" Said the person the two parents were talking about, smiling as she strolled into the room and nabbed an apple.

"No!" Mr. Bennet said, at the same time his wife cried, "Yes!" The two looked at each other. Then Mrs. Bennet knitted her fingers together and turned to her oldest daughter with second-hand desperation in her eyes. "Lizzy… Please…"

Lizzy took a bite of her apple, and chewed delicately before answering. "Mama, we've been over this. I am not the sort to enter into a marriage of convenience! Nothing you say can sway me!"

Mrs. Bennet threw herself into an armchair, and flung a hand over her eyes. "Oh LIZZY," she sighed, putting Shakespeare's acting company to shame, "You don't know WHAT I go through!"

"You're right, I don't." Lizzy kissed her mother's hair (only half-condescending) and was on her way out of the room when her father stopped her.

"Lizzy," he said, and his eyes had fluttered shut as if suppressing a headache, "Be forewarned. There is…," Mr. Bennet seemed to be steeling himself, "a ball, the Sunday after next."

Lizzy's mouth formed first an 'O,' then stretched across her face in a smile. "Wow.. that… that sounds wonderful!" She said, after a moment.

You see, Lizzy was always a bit nervous before balls— the primping and preening made her feel a bit like a show pony (or perhaps a block of meat)— but it almost always turned out alright. It all followed the same pattern, time and time again: arrive with sisters, feel a little listless in the crowd, dance with a few family friends, inevitably have to drag Lydia or Kitty or both off of some unsuspecting new boy, and go home to a terrible night's sleep. But she did like the dresses, so, there was that.

The next few days were spent at boutiques, in town, and sitting outside soaking up sunlight.

"You really shouldn't do that, Lizzy."

Lizzy opened one eye to look at her sister. Then she closed it, and settled further down in a slump against the willow tree. "And why is that, dear Jane?"

Dear Jane— a sweet girl, now almost twenty— wrung her delicate hands and looked out towards the house. "You know Mama's opinions on freckles, and you already have enough naturally…"

"Exactly," Lizzy said, making an effort to move her sleepy muscles into a smile, "So there's no point in my trying to be a porcelain doll."

Jane laughed, despite herself. She sat down on the soft grass beside her sister. "You know," she hummed, picking at the bright green blades, "Just because you don't look like me, doesn't mean you aren't beautiful."

Lizzy sat up at that, and stared at her sibling like she had grown antlers. "What do you say that for?"

She lifted her shoulders minutely. "I know you, Lizzy. I know what you were insinuating."

"I was not insinuating anything of the sort."

"Lizzy…," Jane turned her head, her gossamer hair catching the light.

Her sister sighed, and sat back against the tree once more. "Fine, yes, you caught me. I am aware that.. I am.. not… thought of the same as you."

That was an understatement. Despite being the eldest Bennet sister, Lizzy was often overlooked in favor of Jane. Lizzy was pretty— she had sparkling brown eyes and a petite charm to what would have otherwise been an entirely too short body— but Jane was gorgeous. She didn't fault her for it (how could she? Jane was the sweetest being to grace the earth!), but still.. it had taken a bite out of her confidence, in regards to her physique, at least.

Especially at a ball, where they were expected to look their best, and looks were ALL that counted.

Jane, sweet Jane, seemed to read her mind. She scooted over to her sister, paying no mind to the grass-stains, and looped an arm around her shoulders. Her head came to rest on the crook of Lizzy's neck.

"Cheer up," the younger murmured pleadingly. "I am sure you will be asked to dance many times at this ball! Who knows..," Jane smiled, and her blue eyes twinkled. "You might find your future husband."

Lizzy, who had been contentedly playing with Jane's vanilla curls, burst out laughing. "You've been spending too much time with Mama!" She cried, poking her sister, who squirmed away, giggling.

"Really though," Jane said after their brief bout of laughter subsided, "Do not worry. I am sure 'twill be a perfect night. I feel it."

Lizzy did not share her sister's intuition, but she hummed in agreement anyway. The two sisters spent the rest of the afternoon watching the clouds, and dreaming of faceless figures who would sweep them off their feet, make them laugh and sparkle and love them forever.

In Lizzy's imagination, the laugh sounded oddly like the whinny of a horse.

The daydreams continued, until the night of the ball was upon them, and reality came crashing down in a wave of punch and violists, and a sense of bubbly anticipation for the mystery guests who arrived fashionably late.