A/N: Ah, the beauty of writing, as the summary gets edited the more and more I discover what it really is that I'm going for. Someday— someday! Whole novels will be born.

Caroline would admit to herself, later on, that she had probably overdone it. Charles was a dear, when he wasn't trying to control her. She did not have to flay him with her wit. But she was vexed, he had been so insensitive, and any inclination to apologize she brushed aside, since he had wronged her first.

Besides, she had gone this long without apologizing for her actions, and was decidedly fine for it.

With the dictates of her conscience thus resolved, Caroline proceeded to treat her brother as she did after every major quarrel. It was partly a conscious decision, and mostly out of habit; it bore no small similarity to how their mother had treated their oft-absent father when she was displeased with him, and had ever been effective: One got her way and the other pretended that nothing happened.

That the reason for her bad humour was largely due to Darcy's reactions to Eliza was something she did not admit, even to Louisa. At every moment he was on her mind, and at every moment it was driving her mad to wonder what he was thinking. Was he contemplating the excellence of Miss Bingley's table, or Eliza's eyes as he ate his cakes and drank his tea? Was he remarking on the quality of Miss Bingley's hosting of the ball when he wrote to Georgiana, or was he reviewing their dance, his smile as they turned, his laugh when she spoke, his hum as they retired, singing that same song she had danced with him?

Unconsciously she was desperate to call his attention back to herself, and that made her act in ways that, had she seen on someone else, would have mortified her for their sake. She could not, however, be separated from herself, nor see with an impartial eye how she was acting, so it was left to others to be mortified.

Now that the rain, so present over the last week, had ceased, Miss Bingley felt the desire to go out and stretch her legs even in a country town. Not the best source of goods though it was, that made it an even better source of amusement. She would be able to make many a quip to her sister about their imitations of London refinement. Thus, taking the carriage with Louisa, they set out upon the open road. The air was cool on the warmth of the sun, and the sweetness of receiving stares for their beautiful chaise-and-four was only bested by the loveliness of hearing praise for their ball once they alighted on the cobblestones of Meryton.

They walked elegantly through the quaint street, receiving bows and curtsies from all directions. Miss Bingley floated on a cloud as shopkeepers competed to endear their wares to the mistress of Netherfield, and though only humoring them at first, she was surprised to note that the quality wasn't always as poor as some other country towns further from London. Out of the goodness of her heart she bought some samples; these people, while not class, were pleasantly deferential as befitted her station, and for once she felt the full enjoyment of her charitable duty as the principal lady for miles around.

She was handing the wrapped goods off to the footman when she by noticing a familiar stride farther along the street. It was Eliza Bennet and the majority of her innumerable sisters, exiting what appeared to be a circulating library. Jane was not among them, which was a pity, and the pair that was joined at the hip was already running off. That left Eliza and the plain one; without conscious thought, Miss Bingley made her way over.

She drawled a nice greeting, referring to them by the collective appellation of the Miss Bennets, since she was not certain or the other's name. The pleasantries done with and veiled barbs exchanged, Miss Bingley glanced upon the book Eliza had borrowed from the library, and with a quiet gasp, noted that it was a volume of the same tome of poetry Mr. Darcy had been reading. Their eyes met, and Elizabeth blushed.

"I read it, some years ago, though half its meaning escaped me," she explained. "After seeing you peruse it, I thought to refresh my memory."

"And you feel that you are achieving… the improvement of your mind."

"It is a welcome outcome. But I read for the pleasure."

"You do many things, it seems, for the pleasure."

Elizabeth inclined her head.

"Pleasure receives a poor reputation, for it more often than not stems from a dangerous source," spoke the plain sister. "Fordyce cautions against being driven by 'the love of pleasure and amusement, ill directed.' But among Lizzy's activities I have never found particular harm"—this with a glance at Lizzy and a pointed scowl at her youngest sisters, who were even now flirting with officers—"You could, however, be more circumspect in your reading material. While Shakespeare's works are universally admired, for example, and he often uses his characters as cautionary tales, there is a want of principle often betrayed by even the heroes, which can cause us to believe and act as if these behaviors are acceptable. Indeed, we skirt over these misbehaviors, turning a blind eye to that which we ought to condemn. Lizzy—" and shaking her head, began to quote: "'It is not difficult to conceive what snares may entrap beauty, and what habits may corrupt innocence. When first entered on, it is very possible that no evil is intended. For that very reason none is suspected.'"

Stunned silence reigned for a moment, until Elizabeth said, "Thank you, Mary. I shall bear that in mind."

Miss Bingley, who had at first listened with derisive pleasure, and then deep confusion, and finally an unsettled feeling that she did not like at all, commented that she would leave them to their improvements before excusing herself.

She gathered Louisa, who had been window-browsing the haberdashery, and were carriaged back to Netherfield. Charles was shut up with Darcy in the study, and for once, she was not in the mood to attend. It was a strike of the clock later that her brother sought her out explained their invitation to dinner, smiling in that way of his that indicated his anxiety for the reception.

"Fine," she said, voice clipped.

"Fine?"

"Fine," she stressed. "We are to be ready in an hour."

"Ah… Caroline… they must be expecting us sooner, and your hour is rarely an hour…"

"An hour, and no less!"

Charles gingerly closed the door behind him.

She did, in fact, finish in forty-five, but dallied the extra quarter after. When she descended to the stairs she was incensed to find that the gentlemen had ridden ahead without them. Louisa patiently bore her rants as the coachman whipped their grand horses, and by the time that the chaise drew up to Longbourn, there was already much noise going on.

They were led into the parlour. Darcy, whom her eyes had first sought out, she was relieved to find was not in conversation with Miss Eliza. He was instead playing chess with Mr. Bennet, and quite intensely at that. Hurst was speaking to Mrs. Bennet as the youngest girls shrieked around their game of quadrille. The eldest were in conversation with Charles, a group to which Louisa immediately gravitated. Mrs. Hurst's arm slipped from her younger sister's faster than she had anyone else to lean on.

That suited her purposes just fine.

She hovered around the chessboard, complimenting Mr. Darcy's playing, pondering aloud whether his father had taught him or he had mastered himself, and asking him to explain to her his technique.

When the bell came for dinner, Mr. Darcy stood, and with an impassive expression went presumably to take the arm of Mrs. Bennet, as the highest ranking man present. Caroline, however, took his arm first and held him back, which gave him the excuse. In his stead, Hurst escorted Longbourn's hostess on one arm and Kitty on the other. Mr. Bennet did Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth, and Mr. Bingley, Jane and Lydia. It was with some vexation that Miss Bingley observed Darcy offer his free arm to Mary, and once more chided the Bennets for having so many female children.

They promenaded into the dining room and arranged themselves at the table. Eliza had the poor sense to take a seat one away from Mrs. Bennet, whom Darcy was bound to avoid. Caroline's expectations were exceeded when he chose to sit at the corner beside Mr. Bennet, which was cheerfully as distant from Eliza as can be. As for herself, with Mary Bennet on the side not taken by Darcy and the wide-eyed Kitty girl across her, apart from a couple timid ventures from that girl hesitant enough to be ignored, she was unburdened by unwanted conversation.

The usual ceremonies observed, they were into the first course when Mr. Bennet said, "I hope, Mr. Darcy, that you find the company tolerable."

Caroline might have replied for him, as she did sometimes, but the sentiment was unusual enough that her common responses would not fit.

"I would be a poor guest to reply either in the negative or the affirmative, and a stupid one not to reply at all," said Darcy.

"Or you could give me many reassurances of the excellence of the company."

Miss Bingley scoffed, and carefully, Mr. Darcy replied, "That would not, I think, raise your opinion."

Mr. Bennet's dark eyes glinted. "So he can play chess."

"It is not so difficult, if he knows his partner's motivations."

It was obvious that neither man had a mind at the moment for anything but their tête-à-tête. The elder leaned back in a deliberate movement. "And you think you know mine?"

Darcy sipped his wine, taking his sweet time before he gave a response. "Your daughter," he said, and Miss Bingley stilled, "professes an enjoyment of follies and foibles. She is, however, content to observe the joke, and has no great desire of making one."

Mr. Bennet set down his fork and faced the young man with full attention. "I taught her to do that," he said sharply.

"She manages your teaching well."

The staring was so potent that Miss Bingley, in her half-understanding, both itched and feared to interrupt them.

Mr. Bennet took up his fork again, at which Darcy returned to his glass. "You have given me much to think on, Mr. Darcy."

He smiled, and continued partaking in silence.

"Gracious enough not to revel in your victory, eh?"

"You were kind enough not to comment on my chess."

Mr. Bennet laughed.

"Come over," he said, "and we'll whip it into shape."

Deciding that the private conversation had gone on long enough, Caroline said, "There is a fine chess set at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy, in perfect condition."

"Likely it has never been touched."

"I shall have the maid set it up for you."

He inclined his head. "My thanks."

She endeavoured to draw him into conversation, but nothing she said wooed him to the level of engagement he spoke with to Mr. Bennet. Even Louisa, who sat across, had more of his attention. At length, in desperation, and wary of how Darcy's eyes were straying more and more to a different woman at the other end of the table, she began to employ some of the tactics which young ladies whispered about but feared to use: touching his arm and wrist, leaning in close, and, for some reason she did not quite understand, eating slowly and with some exaggeration.

It did garner some attention— Darcy would do a double-take, when normally it took much badgering to get him to look at her— but that was not all.

There was a giggle from the center of the table.

"Oh, pardon me," said Lydia, pressing a hand to her cheek and giggling unrepentantly in her seat diagonal to Caroline's. Kitty, who had been whispering with her, had her eyes wide and both hands clapped over her mouth. They made a ridiculous picture.

Miss Bingley sniffed and returned her hand to Darcy's arm.

Lydia snorted, loudly, and the whole room's attention was fixed. "What is so amusing, Lydia dear?" said Mrs. Bennet.

"Oh, nothing, Mama, only—" a muscle jumped at her cheek, and she snickered coyly.

"Out with it, child, do not keep us in this suspense!"

"Well, if you insist, Mama. Miss Bingley!"

Her brow crinkled. "Yes?" she said, warily turning.

"You are not very good at flirting," Lydia said bluntly, and everyone who had been drinking from their glass at this moment choked.

"La! Isn't that funny! You all choked in chorus. How droll! I ought to try that again at the next dinner. I shall laugh all day! But yes, Miss Bingley, your flirting wants practice. Kitty and I can teach you, me especially—everyone knows I am very good—all the officers like to fall at my feet and kiss my hand. Captain Carter said that I am a very beautiful flower, and Denny called me a bird. Oh, Mama, did you know that Denny has a good friend who was to enlist as a lieutenant? But he did not come. What a pity! But perhaps he was not handsome. It is just as well that he stayed away if he is not. For, Miss Bingley, you must know, whom you are flirting with matters just as much as how you flirt. Mr. Darcy is very handsome to be sure, though he is so very severe. He is rich, which everyone likes, but often rich men are boring and do not like merry flirting. Lord!" She snapped her fingers. "That is the pickle! Mr. Darcy does not like flirting! That will not do. You should better give him up as lost, Miss Bingley, and flirt with another instead."

Hurst was, by now, wholly red in the face, and unsuccessfully muffling his laughter with his napkin.

"I—" declared Jane, colour just as high, and who had, for the last minute been trying to shush Lydia, but could not make herself heard to her sister across the table, "should like to take a turn about the garden! Louisa, Caroline, dears, come with me please!"

They stepped quickly out of the dining room, Miss Bingley breathing shallowly and colouring alarmingly, and Charles was so concerned that he made a half-move to follow.

"Mr. Bingley— I gave her good advice, you know! You can ask your friend— I am sure he does not like her flirting. Why, Mr. Darcy looked as if he should rather die!"

"Lydia!" shrieked Mrs. Bennet, rocking the table, "Oh, Mr. Bingley, you know she did not say anything that was not true… but, oh, Lydia! Thoughtless girl!"

"Mama?" Lydia said, aghast.

"Lydia," sighed her father, standing with a great scrape of his chair. "Come. You as well, Catherine."— and led them out into the hall.

"Ohhh!" wailed Mrs. Bennet. "My nerves, oh, these palpitations. Hill, my salts! Get me my salts! Mr. Bingley, I beg of you, do not take offense. Lydia is our dearest girl, but so very young! She is usually very good, but she is ever so lively that does not know what she is saying—"

"Yes, I, uh, I quite understand, Mrs. Bennet—"

Mary contributed a comment about the regulation of young females' pastimes.

Through the whole of this dinner, Elizabeth had been trying to temper her mother where the woman sat with Bingley and Hurst at her left and right. Now that Mrs. Bennet's nerves were completely oversetting her, Mary and Mrs. Hill took on the chore of settling her in her room. Elizabeth remained in the dining room to fill the awkward air amongst the gentlemen. Of Mr. Darcy, whose mouth was covered behind his hand, it did not seem possible that her family bore less than the full weight of his judgement. Mr. Bingley could not hide his discomposure, and Hurst was as horrid a brother-in-law as there ever was, chuckling with satisfaction and claiming that Caroline had got her just deserts. She apologized on her family's behalf, but they only shook their heads. Amidst that consolation, a loud shriek which she knew to be from the gardens pierced the air. Mr. Bingley looked up—"Caro," he mouthed—and with direction from Elizabeth set off to rescue Jane from his sister's wrath. "I'll not miss this," said Hurst, and followed in Bingley's wake. That left Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth alone in the dining room, for the servants were either eavesdropping or gossiping among themselves.

It was suddenly very empty, with the final course's dishes still on the table, the chairs scattered about, and the clock ticking mechanically on the far wall.

"Well," said Elizabeth, faking a bravado she didn't feel, "if there is any benefit at all to come from this, you will perhaps need not… bear with… excessive attentions."

Again, Darcy shook his head, hardly knowing what to say.

"And my father is talking to Lydia. And Kitty."

"For their sake, this debacle might have been worth it. Only, let us hope that the servants take it in sympathy."

His tone was so kindly measured that Elizabeth hardly knew how to respond. She made some remark on the servants, which prompted Darcy to speak amiably about his own staff for a few minutes. That plunged her deeper into confusion. It was only her father's re-entering the room and speaking to Mr. Darcy that she was saved from the dangerous precipice of a sudden turnabout of opinion.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," said Mr. Bennet, "I do feel for Miss Bingley, but I daresay her sacrifice will leave some so much the better. I hear your friend Bingley is to London on the morrow on business, and it is difficult to predict what your hostess will be doing. But here is something stable: whatever your living situation at Netherfield in the coming days, you are welcome to refuge at Longbourn as often as you like."

A/N:

*cackles.

Some unnecessary fun fact:

In my research for this chapter I read some of Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women. And I have to say— pompous Reverend Fordyce might be, but stupid he is not! He's very intelligent and often wise. Just… severe. And frank. And superior. Sound like someone we know? Darcy, at some point in his impressionable youth, must have devoured these sermons and, consciously and unconsciously, integrate a good many of these ideas into his own.

Take this excerpt from Sermon VII. On Female Virtue, with Intellectual Accomplishments:

"Is it not somewhat strange, that the common style of conversation should be so little instructive or entertaining? How seldom do we fall into a company, in which we learn any thing useful, or hear any thing whatever above the rate of the multitude such as low jests, vulgar conceits, incoherent disputation, or impertinent tattle! How very seldom does a thinking man come away from, the visit of an evening, delighted with his manner of spending it! One who has conversed only with a small circle of ingenious friends, will hardly conceive what a frivolous, what a piteous thing, the ordinary strain of company appears to an intelligent by-stander… In short, if we want to find a conversation enlivened with variety and spirit, enlightened by intelligence, and tempered by politeness, we must seek for it amongst a few men who join sentiment to knowledge, and a few women who join knowledge to vivacity."

Like. DARCY IS THAT YOU?!

Ahem. Anyway,

Do tell me what you think of the chapter!