NOTES: LOTS of dialogue. Starts off with a lil angst, then goes full fun fluff and silly :)

Long chapter this time— it was gonna be posted sooner and shorter, then I realized some of y'all's comments actually were valid, and I had headcannoned more than explaining lol. So this chapter starts off with Darcy's POV, and then swaps to Lizzy's.

As always, thanks for reading, and stay safe out there💕 ~Vincent

(BONUS RANT HERE, SKIP IF U JUST WANT STORY)

Also, something ive noticed after my nearly a year(more?) in the P&P fandom is that.. you guys are a scootch weird when it comes to forgiving characters. I've literally had Darcy call her ugly and stupid and poor, and y'all will be like "but he's baby he was just frightened!1!" And then Lizzy will be justifiably upset however he insulted her THIS TIME, and people will call her irrational and unreal. Elizabeth Bennet was stubborn— don't you remember? The whole story stems from prejudice, as well as pride.

I'm fine if you're criticizing characters, that's your right, but please be consistent. Cuz the more I think about it, the more it feels weirdly misogynistic (or maybe just simp-y) to forgive Darcy for everything, and hold Lizzy to every mistake. :/
Anyway, on with the story! ❤️

Mr. William Darcy stepped in mud on the way back to Netherfield. Because of course he did. Normally, he would have shaken off the grime with a look of disgust and had his mood ruined for quite some time, but that day…

He was numb.

Darcy walked back to Netherfield with mud nearly up to his shins on one leg, the roots of his hair still soggy, and a drunken, hazy look in his eyes. He nearly scared Mrs. Hurst to death on the way in.

"Oh Christ!" Yelped the soft spoken woman, scandalized, "Mr. Darcy!"

"Afternoon, madam," Darcy said grimly, barely tipping his head at her.

He stalked first to his guest room, then thought better of it, and went down to Chales' office. By the time he realized he was leaving one muddy footprint after him wherever he went, too much dirt had been dragged in to do much about it. He found Charles with his brother-in-law, (supposedly) playing a chess match. Neither of them were moving, nor looking at the board, but both glanced up when he entered.

"Darcy!" Charles exclaimed, and jumped happily to his feet to greet him.

"Darcy," Mr. Hurst acknowledged, and went back to staring blankly at the chessboard.

"How are you, old boy?" The jumpy young man asked with a grin, "How did it go? Did the hypothetical lady appreciate your gesture?"

Darcy took off his coat, and flung it bad-temperedly onto a chair. "No." He cracked his knuckles as moved to pace by the window. "In fact, she rejected me completely."

Mr. Hurst spluttered a cough. "What? Have you been off proposing, Darcy?"

"Not… quite," he said, hesitating. His eyes flicked to both men, lingering on Charles. "I.. suppose I should tell the whole story, shouldn't I?"

Charles nodded, and the brother in law waved his hand and grunted, which Darcy took as an invitation to sit down. He sat, and talked. He told the pair first about growing up at Pemberley, soothing his nerves with the familiar topic of his estate. Then he moved on to more difficult topics, namely, how they met. Lizzy and him, together under the oak tree. Fighting and laughing, and playing handshake games by candlelight. As he talked, all three men settled into dreamy looks of faraway memories, each seeming to remember his own childhood. Darcy was the only one with a slight grip on the present moment, having to sidestep some of the details of his and Lizzy's parting in order to protect her reputation.

When it was all over with, and he had recounted every detail of the dance and the morning call, and how he had been shot down like a penguin that tried to fly, he sat back in the chair, warily eyeing his companions with his hands knitted together in front of him.

"So..," Darcy concluded, breaking the silence, "What I'm really asking is.. What does it mean.. When a woman I have known as intimately as Lizzy Bennet says she 'views me as a friend'?"

Hurst chuckled like St. Nick, his belly jostling the buttons on his waistcoat. "Oh ho," he winked. "You've really stepped in it now, Darce."

"You said that? About Miss Jane?! Dear lord, man, how could you?!"

Darcy rolled his eyes at his friend, who was often hooked on small details. "Charles, you've barely spoken to the woman for ten minutes. You can't claim to be in love with her, surely."

Bingley went red, and made some incomprehensible sound in his throat. "Well, I-," he started, then began again, jabbing a finger at Darcy. "Well how can YOU claim to be in love with Miss Lizzy? You've barely known her for a day!"

"Have you not been listening at all?" He sighed in irritation, "I've known her since I was practically in the nursery."

"That may be so," Bingley said, drawing himself up to his full (not far below average) height, "You knew her for four weeks, years ago. Have you not changed in the last decade? Face it, Darcy. You may have known Miss Lizzy back then, but now?" He scoffed. "You have no idea."

Mr. Hurst whistled, unhelpfully.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the man of the house said haughtily, grabbing his hat off the desk, "I have to call on Miss Jane. Apologize for ever inviting you to Hertfordshire."

The door to the office slammed behind Mr. Bingley, and an antique vase wobbled precariously on its stool. Darcy watched it waver over the edge, then settle back to its previous position.

When he turned back to face forward again, Mr. Hurst was staring at him, a grin picking apart his wine-red cheeks. "My, my, Darcy.. I never thought I'd see the day…"

Darcy glared through his eyelashes at the older man. "What?"

Hurst kept grinning at him. "You," he said, "Are in looOOooOove."

"Oh for CHRIST'S sake.."

"Waitwait! Don't get up!" Mr. Hurst leaned forward, groping for Darcy's arms. He didn't catch either of them, but Darcy stopped anyway, looking at the man's pleading eyes. "I can help you with.. this."

The chair squeaked as he sat back down in it, inch by inch. "I'm listening," Darcy said, only a little unwillingly.

Hurst mopped his brow, his pores opening as if to get a glimpse of the excitement. "Well, you see," he smiled, "A lady doesn't look at you the way that wench Lizzy did— and I'm using 'wench' in a respectful way, mind you— unless they're interested in more than your income."

Darcy peaked one of his eyebrows. "You think so?"

"Oh, definitely. She was tickled pink all over when she saw you! Especially in the face, my, you would think those freckles would obscure a blush, but noo…" Hurst drifted off for a moment, brow furrowed, then seemed to regain his thoughts. "Ah! But you see, I would bet money (not that I do that much anymore, you know) that she is a jolly lot more invested in your story than she lets on."

"But..," Darcy bit the inside of his cheek. "Why would she say what she did at the piano? Why would she become overheated and uncomfortable when I ask to take her arm?"

"For the first question," Hurst said, "It is a commonality among women, when they appreciate your composure and company, but aren't sure about courtship quite yet. But take heart— Miss Lizzy putting you in the zone dedicated to friends is a good sign! She likes you, for you."

Darcy nodded at this, his frown slowly melting away as he considered. Yes.. yes! That… that made sense! Lizzy had known what he was getting at, and.. She didn't say no! She said… friends. And weren't the best kind of marriages based on friendship, after all?

Then he looked at Hurst, grinned wider, and raised his chin at his young(ish) mentor. "And… Mr. Darcy, as for your second question… Miss Lizzy experiencing heat and mild discomfort at the thought of touching you… Well. Let's just say that's a better indicator for regard than I'VE EVER heard!"

The innuendo clicked, and Darcy became very interested in the pattern of the rug below them.

Not unlike how, less than three miles away, a certain young woman was becoming very invested in a lump of dust that was skittering along the floorboards.

"Lizzy? Lizzy!" Her sister was calling her. "LIZZY!"

She jumped, and the bedframe creaked under the sudden motion. "Ah, ahm, my apologies, Lydia. I wasn't attending."

Lydia, her youngest sister by far (barely ten and five), pouted for a moment. "Oh, you're just saying that because you don't find my sewing patterns interesting! You think, because you have a beau to think about now, you can just— just not attend to our needs!"

Jane, who was laying on her back, wondering why she hadn't closed the door when she had a chance, choked on air.

Lizzy, who was thinking about William, wondering why she had said 'only friends,' to him instead of something more, choked (less elegantly) on her own saliva.

"Wh- WHAT?!" They each cried, snapping their respective heads upright.

The little sister pooched her lips, and examined her nails. "Oh, yes. I know all about Mr. Darcy. Emily told me."

"What did she tell you?" Lizzy demanded, cutting off Jane's gasp at the drama. "What?"

Lydia giggled impishly. "You were asking after him. Desperately, she said. And you two talked and laughed, and sat together on the piano bench… Whispering. Huddling." She glanced at her second oldest sister (not the fuming one), who had a look on her face as if she had seen a ghost. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Janey, I don't know how you miss these things! It's practically front page news: Lizzy has the infallible Mr. Darcy wrapped around her little finger! How could you not know— the talk must be halfway to the ton by now!"

"Ohhh, no no no," Lizzy murmured, burying her face in her hands.

Jane, who had been about to scold her older sister for not letting her in the loop, rubbed her shoulders soothingly. "There, there, Lizzy..," she cooed. Jane was practically born to be a mother; her skills at consoling were astronomical. "There there.. It shall all end well, just you see…"

"How can you say that?" Lizzy muttered miserably, not lifting her head. "Our family will be ruined— everyone will think me promiscuous, an- and I'll never see William again."

"Oh, William, is it now?" Lydia exclaimed gleefully before she was shushed by Jane, who said, "Do not despair, Lizzy. It's just talk."

She was met with a groan. She bit her lip.

"And.. after all… Mr. Darcy will do the honorable thing, if it really gets bad. And.. that will make you happy. Maybe… Maybe even happier than you are now."

Lizzy looked up at that. Her eyelashes were wet, but no tears dropped down— her eyes were too busy widening like saucers to cry. "Excuse me?" she said. "What.. What do you mean?"

"Well.. Lizzy. I've never seen you like this. And… I know how you used to talk about Wil— about Mr. Darcy. He made you so happy. And I swear.. I haven't seen you smile the way you did at the ball, when you first saw him, in.. well… years, Lizzy. If you don't already love him, I think.. I can't imagine you never doing so."

Lizzy gawked at her sister, detaching herself from her grasp. "But— But JANE! If you only knew the things he said—"

"About me?" Jane asked, mildly amused, "So you've hinted. You're not as mysterious as you think, you know."

She spluttered, defenseless, while Lydia laughed through her nose behind her. "Ahaha! Lizzy's in love, Lizzy's in looooOoooOoOoOOove!"

"I am NOT!" Lizzy cried, her face aflame. "I- I do— I love.. I think… I don't love him like that."

Lydia heaped herself onto the bed with her other sisters, and grinned from ear to ear. "SO," she said, "How DO you love him then?"

"I- I love his.. personality."

"Mhm, sure, of course," the teenager nodded sagely, clearly trying not to laugh. "And.. What about his humor?"

Lizzy swallowed, and braced herself. "I.. love that as well. I think. I.. like it a lot..."

"And his intelligence?"

"Oh, I really like that about him.. It makes.. Does… that mean…?"

"Mm. And how do you feel about his body?"

"LYDIA!"

She collapsed into laughter, and even Jane hid a smile at Lizzy's deeply distraught expression. "Don't be such a priss, Lizzy," she stuck her tongue out impishly, "We all think about it."

"But that's not what she's getting at," Jane cut in kindly, before a murder occured. "Lizzy. Do you care for Mr. Darcy?"

There was no question about that. "Yes, I do." Lizzy paused, and grimaced. "But.. I wish we had more time! To just.. Be together. With no pressure, no expectations.. I want… I want to be sure how I feel before… before.. Oh, I don't know. Before one of us.. messes it up."

Lizzy's hand was suddenly covered by her sister's delicate fingers. She looked over into Jane Bennet's clear, smiling blue eyes.

"My darling sister," said she, "You have time. After all. You haven't discussed it between yourselves! I'm sure he believes you to be courting already— and that will give you all the time you need."

Jane's face moved into a frown. "Lizzy? Lizzy, dear what's wrong? Why have you gone so pale?"

Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door, and the sound of a gentleman's voice wafting up from downstairs. All three girls sprung to their feet, abandoning the conversation (for the moment) and scurrying like frantic mice to the staircase. When they saw the visitor, one sighed rudely in disappointment, one sucked in a delighted breath, and the last…

From the urgent pounding in her veins, her galloping at the mere thought of a gentleman that wasn't even here… the last was starting to think her sisters may be right.