NOTES: I made this chapter purposefully very fun and lighthearted— y'all deserve it ❤️ also I'm just a little (little) bit of a bastard. this chapter is CHOCK FULL of subtext and hidden jokes—figured all y'all nitpick nerds will appreciate that (you guys are the best btw).

Will post again soon, don't worry. Enjoy, and.. let me know what you think ;)

~Vinny

The walls of Mrs. Long's parlor were painted red as a robin's wings, with white touches along the windows and appliances. It was bright and loud and eccentric. None of the other members of the Long family would have done this— it was all Eleanor Long. One of the most hospitable people you could ever have the misfortune of meeting.

The woman wasn't related to the Bennets by blood, but she was one of those uniquely social souls that everyone feels an unwelcome familial connection to. Like a grandmother, that spills every secret you ever tell her in confidence. Or an aunt that is a little too fond of wine and requires a helping hand (and shoulder) to return home. Or both at once, which took some talent.

Lizzy and her father both shared a common, mild distaste for the talented Mrs. Eleanor Long. They were the only ones in the family who felt that way; the others visited the Long house out of varying degrees of kindness and duty.

It definitely didn't hurt that there was always a party going on, with plenty of food to share.

"Marrryyy!" Mrs. Long called jubilantly, throwing her arms out so sharply she almost hit two different lawyers (one was her husband, the other she would have preferred to have been), "My dear girl, I was just wishing you would visit! Come in, come in, I've just got a few friends calling."

A 'few' indeed. There were at least twelve people in the entrance alone, speaking amongst themselves and holding empty cups out to maids that circled the room like lace-covered sharks. Some people were polite enough to notice the door swinging open and glance towards the newcomers. Those people nodded to Mary, smiled at Lizzy, then froze at the sight of the third in their party.

Mrs. Long stopped as well, her lips pressed together and her eyelids open to an unhealthy extreme. She spoke without moving any part of her except her mouth.

"L-Lizzy?" She asked in a quivering falsetto, "W-would you mind intr-tr-troducing your.. Might I b-beg an introduction?"

Lizzy shifted her eyes to William, who was stiff as a board behind her, looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. She looked away; his discomfort was so intense it was almost contagious.

"Ahem," Lizzy tried for a smile, "Mrs. Long, may I introduce an old acquaintance of mine, Mister William Darcy of Derbyshire."

"Pleasure to meet you, madam," William monotoned, dipping his head in the imitation of a bow.

Poor Mrs. Long wasn't attending at all. She was too busy darting her eyes about the room, clearly agitated. Her face smiled automatically. "L-likewise, sir."

All around the room, mumbles began surfacing, feet scuffing the polished floor as people moved to cover their mouths to continue conversing. At first, Lizzy was sure this uncanny welcome was her fault for bringing in a stranger— but then again Mrs. Long was never unfriendly, even to strangers. And no one was staring at her, only at…

Lizzy quickly stepped to the side, and greeted Mrs. Long's niece (the younger one, who had wispy blonde hair and wore purple as if the color wasn't outrageous and expensive). "Hello, Miss Emily!" she said brightly. "How are you today?"

Miss Emily Long smiled obliviously, and answered that she was fine.

"Wonderful. Now, ahm, I apologize if this is rude, but… would you mind telling me.. Why is everyone staring at Mr. Darcy so?"

The young girl made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat. "I would think, of all people, Miss Lizzy, you would know!"

Lizzy wrung her hands in worried frustration. "Well, I do not. Care to let me in on the joke?"

Miss Emily turned to her with eyes blown wide, whispering, "Oh, it's not a joke, Miss. I'm sorry, but.. Well.. everyone saw how he treated you at the ball the other day, and… It was like you were compromised, then jilted, then heartbroken all at once! Your father was very angry about it, and he's never angry…"

"I- I wasn't heartbroken," Lizzy tried to say, shaking her head.

"Ohh, but it really did look like that!" Her young friend said with a deeply moved expression on her silly face, "You looked so happy, then so distraught… And don't worry," Miss Emily patted her arm, "No one blames you for it! Caught up in the moment— feminine hysterics, isn't it?— but him? Honestly, there's no excuse I can think of."

Lizzy turned to look at William, who was still standing in the same place she had left him when they walked in. He was making no attempt at conversation; just standing there, imposing, uncomfortable. His arms were rigid at his sides and his jaw was locked with a tension that ran deeper than his bones. He was reading to run from or fight anything and everyone in that room, right now.

Lizzy wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for him or annoyed with him. What was he doing…

Miss Emily's voice echoed her thoughts. "I mean, lord.. Look at him. So rich, and so cold.. He was so very cold to everyone at the ball, and no one seems to know who he is apart from your family… I'd imagine everyone's a bit scared of him!" She giggled nervously. "Well. I know I am."

That did seem to be the consensus in the room. Now that she was looking for it, Lizzy could see how the conversation was hushed and timid, how the men had their teeth grating amidst their smiles, and the women kept taking unconscious steps backwards. Even the O'Connell baby, no more than 14 months old, squirmed and fussed, sucking at his fists in a concerned sort of way.

They needed a distraction— something to take attention away from William's horrible performance, and the rumors that were diluting the truth even more.

As Lizzy thanked Miss Emily for her help and made her way across the floor to Mrs. Lucas, she swore she heard someone say that Mr. Darcy made his money from piracy off the Italian coast. Ridiculous, but frightening that people might believe it.

"Mrs. Long?" Lizzy said, tapping the host on the shoulder, interrupting her from biting at her nails.

"Hm?" she turned with a vacant look on her face. Her eyes then focused, and she attempted a frail smile. "Ah, Lizzy. What can I do for you, my girl?"

Lizzy bit her lip. She hadn't really thought that far ahead. "Well… If.. ahm…," an idea came to her, and a true grin lit up her eyes. "Ah! What if we had an improvised little dance? I could play the piano— quite a nice specimen you have, may I add— and it would certainly be frosting for this delightful cake of a gathering!"

The woman blinked, and mounted some of the words Lizzy had just said, as if hoping to better absorb their meaning. Then the fog lifted from her eyes, and she positively shrieked in joy.

"OH, what a wonderful idea!" She cried, startling a passing maid who almost dropped her tea tray. "Start at once, my dear, I shall ready the guests."

Mrs. Long clapped her hands, holding her head high in an imperial stance that was spoiled by her large grin, speaking over everyone to say, "Alright, may I have your attention? Please clear the floor— especially you, Mr. Glomberg, old rascal— please stand a notch to the side! We will be privy to a very special treat! Our own Lizzy Bennet has agreed to play us a little something to celebrate this fine gathering of people! Now, the younguns partner off, and we can have ourselves a nice jig… yes, like that, make rows…"

Lizzy found the piano with no problem. It was small, but conspicuous, with its lid hanging agape like the mouth of some great wooden beast. Except the teeth were down here, on the back, she thought to herself as she ran a hand along the keys. It had been a while since she had played. Experimentally, she played a low chord.

Without even knowing how she got there, her hands were flying over the keys with her eyes closed, playing the familiar songs of Lady Mary Ramsey and the Black Mill, the notes resounding through her memory.

Her mother had been the one to teach her music. She had taken Lizzy's hands and laid them out on the keys, finger by finger, and taken her through the notes. Her mother had the most beautiful singing voice— low and sultry in her throat, the higher ones ringing out like mockingbird whistles in the quiet thrum of the piano.

Lizzy parted her lips to sing along to the music of her memory, when a voice killed off the words before they entered the air.

"Where did you learn to play like that?"

She played the wrong chord, her fingers stumbling to regain control over the speed. She glanced unwillingly at William, seated next to her on the piano bench, and then returned her eyes to the keys.

"My mother taught me," she said, hoping that was enough.

It wasn't. "Incredible," William breathed softly, though she could sense his eyes weren't on the piano. "I could've sworn you were schooled by Orpheus himself."

Lizzy hummed, and didn't look back at him. She knew better— it would only distract her more.

William seemed content not to speak any further than that, but still he remained on her bench. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and it was.. tempting. Lizzy shivered, barely, as she finished the song, and applause rang out from the people around her.

William clapped too, and smiled. "You know," he said, as she began the next tune in her medley, "I never learned to play."

Lizzy turned just enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "I highly doubt that, sir," she smirked, unable to stop herself.

"It's true!" William insisted. "I've only ever listened to the piano— appreciating it from a distance."

The other eyebrow raised, and the smirk grew. Lizzy discreetly nodded at the space between him and the instrument. "You call that a distance?"

He laughed quietly, "No. No, I suppose not."

There was a brief moment of silence, in which Lizzy's stomach simultaneously began to settle, and become restless. She felt compelled to speak again. "Well, Mr. Darcy," she said, delicately playing the chorus a second time, "I.. might be able to teach you the basics of piano. If you wish."

"You will?" She couldn't see his eyes, but his voice held a thread of anticipation. "And… when will you be able to.. teach me?"

Lizzy shrugged with just her shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Later. When we have a little more time.."

"How about now?"

She held the final chord of the short ditty she had been playing, and looked up at him in shock. "What?"

William's green eyes were dark, and his voice was breathless. "How about now?" He asked, softly, laying his hand across hers on the keyboard. "Why wait?"

Lizzy looked on as his hand— as soft and warm as she remembered— pressed down lightly on her fingers, and together, they harmonized. She wet her lips, and returned her gaze to William with wary determination.

"Mr. Darcy… I…"

"William," said William, urging her on in a whisper. "Please."

Lizzy ignored the fear bubbling inside her, and took a deep breath. She looked him straight on in the eyes— his beautiful green eyes— and spoke with a slow, practiced grace.

"William, I… I know what you're getting at. What you really mean. And.. I need you to know… that.. I've thought of you so often in the years we've.. I can't… I felt... You… To me, you will always.., always be—"

That was the last thing that Mrs. Long (who had been eavesdropping on their conversation for some time) heard, before she was swept up in the crowd of her own guests, who had for the moment forgotten all about the mysterious Mr. Darcy, and the drama of young love.

After all, what will be, will be.