Thanks so much for all the reads, follows, and reviews this week—you guys seriously blew me away :) I don't know how long the chapters will be in general, but I figured I'd give you a long chapter this week so we can hurry up and get to where Elizabeth & Darcy meet!

And, as always, thank you so much to my betas, Dawn & Sara, who have done RIDICULOUS amounts of work on this story over the past many months!

Please let me know if you find any errors. I am not a Regency expert, so I often make language and culture errors without even realizing I've done so. Or y'know, errors that come from having multiple edits that I'm squishing together ;)

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs

Over the next weeks, Elizabeth grew to hate the name "Bingley." Her mother never missed an opportunity to pester her father about the man, and her two youngest sisters added their own entreaties to Mrs. Bennet's. If it was up to her, she'd be tempted to do the opposite of what they wanted out of spite. But, fortunately for them, her father was likely to do whatever he wished to do regardless of anyone else's suggestions, and she was fairly certain he had already decided to call on Mr. Bingley. If there was one thing that would draw him out of his library, it was an opportunity for amusement, and the situation with Mr. Bingley was sure to provide plenty of it.

She also pored over the letter during her solitary walks. Had the author met Mr. Bingley? It seemed unlikely, but she couldn't help worrying that the young man would prove as flighty as the letter portrayed him. He would undoubtedly be attracted to Jane as she was the loveliest young woman in the area. Whether Jane would reciprocate his interest was an entirely different matter—her sister desired to marry for the advantage of the family, but she would not marry someone she could not esteem.

Elizabeth had no thought of marrying Mr. Bingley; she would marry for love or not at all. And, as of yet, she had never met anyone she could respect enough to love. She wanted someone with the debate skills of her father, but the conscientiousness of her uncle. Nor did she desire a man who would either refuse to listen to her opinions—or rather refuse to engage with her opinions; her father listened to her mother's thoughts, all while making it clear that they were barely worth speaking aloud—or who would take her opinions as gospel, the way that Mrs. Lucas did with Sir William's. She had a mind of her own and, if she were to marry, she would have someone who appreciated that.

Fortunately, she had much with which to keep herself busy. Winter was approaching, and a few of their tenants would need assistance in order to get through it without much hardship. In addition, there were several wild herbs she needed to collect and dry before winter set in.

Michaelmas came and went. Mr. Bingley had taken possession of Netherfield, and the whole neighbourhood was aflutter. Elizabeth's mother steadfastly entreated her father to go and see Mr. Bingley so that their daughters might be introduced as early as possible while her father just as steadfastly assured her mother that he would not go—not for only one gentleman.

At least, he assured his wife of such up until the very day that she proclaimed she was sick of Mr. Bingley, when he announced he had already visited Mr. Bingley and "they could not escape the acquaintance now."

Mama's mouth had opened and closed like a gasping fish. Papa, on the other hand, practically radiated glee; he seemed to derive endless amusement from needling his wife, and the fact that she had actually declared she wanted nothing to do with Mr. Bingley was all that he could have wished. Once more, Elizabeth was struck by the deficiencies in their marriage.

Despite his first-hand information about Mr. Bingley, her father had refused to enlighten the rest of them, and, as Mr. Bingley had returned to London in order to collect a party before the upcoming Assembly Ball, the Bennet ladies had to content themselves with the knowledge that they would meet him in a mere fortnight and then be able to form their own opinions.

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in front of his mirror. He was not procrastinating, he told himself. Ensuring that he looked adequate before accompanying Bingley to the local assembly was not procrastination. Certainly not.

Once more he cursed himself for landing himself in this fix.

His Aunt Margaret had strongly recommended some time away from his sister Georgiana as his presence was exacerbating her guilt. Her son, Colonel Fitzwilliam, with whom he shared guardianship of Georgiana, had seconded the suggestion, believing it would do both Georgiana and Darcy good. Darcy could not deny that his own guilt smote him over and over every time he saw Georgiana's distress. She had never been a vibrant girl—rather like himself, she preferred to stay in the background—but now she barely spoke above a whisper and shut herself away for hours on end. So, with both the Colonel and Aunt Margaret's assistance, he had hired a new companion for Georgiana and had taken Bingley up on his invitation to stay at his newly leased estate in Hertfordshire.

Unfortunately, he had failed to grasp the full implications of helping Bingley evaluate his latest acquisition. Necessary tasks like attending a local assembly had slipped his mind.

Darcy had met Bingley at their club during his friend's first year in society. After overhearing a plot to fleece Bingley, Darcy, unwilling to let anyone suffer so when he could prevent it, sought the young gentleman out. Despite the fact that Bingley's father had been in trade, both of them had lost their fathers at an early age and were now trying to manage the family's resources, parent their siblings, and navigate society, and their shared circumstances had forged a bond between them.

Darcy did his best to guide Bingley through the intricacies of London society, including the process of becoming a landowner. Hence, he found himself here: staying in a house with a young woman determined to attract his attention and engaged to attend a country assembly. He sincerely doubted there would be anyone in attendance worth speaking to—particularly considering how out of sorts he remained.

A mere two months ago, Darcy had discovered Georgiana with George Wickham, and he was far from recovered in equilibrium. He had known his childhood friend was wasteful, and entitled, and liable to make free with other men's women and money, but it had struck an entirely new blow to find him about to elope with his fifteen-year-old sister. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated George Wickham, and he was reminded of that fact every time he saw Georgiana's altered mien.

Nor was he one to find solace in such a thing as an assembly. His first season "out" had left him with a strong distaste for society as a whole; society cared nothing for trifles like one's grief. No, young women determined to make their fortune by marrying him swarmed him, and their matchmaking mamas followed him around at every social event flinging their daughters in his path. Men curried his favour for what his influence and money could do for them. Everyone considered him fortunate to have control of his inheritance without considering that he preferred a living father to possession of said inheritance.

It was not that he begrudged Bingley the help; it was that going among a group of uncouth bumpkins who would weigh him like a side of beef while he pretended indifference was the absolute last thing he wanted to do tonight or any other night.

He sighed, wiping the frown off his face, and then, squaring his shoulders, he proceeded out of his room to whatever wretchedness awaited him.

Elizabeth glanced around the assembly room once more. The assembly had been in full swing for more than an hour, and her mother's agitation grew the longer they waited for Mr. Bingley to arrive.

Mrs. Bennet had herded her daughters out the door so early that they had been among the first to arrive. She was determined to throw them at Mr. Bingley the moment he appeared. Elizabeth sighed, watching her mother flutter from person to person, telling each of her acquaintances that she was sure Mr. Bingley would be unable to resist Jane for even a moment. Her acquaintances, despite having heard such statements every time they'd seen Mrs. Bennet in the past fortnight, politely listened as though it were the first time and, if they disagreed, kept their opinions to themselves.

Mr. Bennet had refused every one of his wife's attempts to elicit information on the subject of Mr. Bingley's person, and, though Mr. Bingley had returned Mr. Bennet's visit, they had not yet been introduced; Mrs. Bennet had declared that it would be far better manners to invite him over for dinner and then introduce the girls.

From an upper window, they had caught sight of him wearing a blue coat and riding a black horse; far from useful information, whatever Lydia and Kitty maintained. Elizabeth had been quite entertained by the conjectures they had drawn about the man's appearance based on those two facts—or at least she had been until the conjectures had gone on and on. Now, she was sick of the entire thing. Unfortunately, Mr. Bingley had returned to London to collect a party and had therefore been unable to attend the dinner to which her mother had invited him; thus, the conjectures had not lessened. She was hopeful that, if nothing else, tonight might dampen everyone's enthusiasm for the man simply by removing the element of mystery.

She herself was far more interested in his character than his appearance, especially if he decided to pursue Jane—particularly in light of the mysterious letter.

Not that the letter was talking about the same people.

Or that every Mr. Bingley was destined to jilt every Miss Bennet.

Cautious observation to ensure this Mr. Bingley did not share his counterpart's flaws was only wise, however. She was also interested to meet his sisters—despite the fact that it would make the already uneven numbers all the more uneven. At least he had not brought the original twelve ladies and seven gentlemen as gossip had anticipated. Supposedly, he had only brought five sisters and a cousin. As excited as her sisters were to spend the evening dancing away, with five eligible London females attending, they would all be sitting out at least some of the dances. Mentally, Elizabeth shrugged. She loved to dance, but her neighbors provided an endless source of enjoyment with all their eccentricities; watching them would provide a sufficient diversion.

Just then three gentlemen and two ladies, all arrayed in town fashions, entered. The whole room seemed to pause as each group surveyed the other. Sir William bustled over, bringing Lady Lucas and Charlotte with him, and Elizabeth drifted closer to the group—not close enough for her mother to notice her, nor for her to intrude upon them, but near enough to get a good look at Mr. Bingley. One of the gentlemen was young, good-looking, with sandy blond hair and wearing a blue coat. Her sisters had likely pegged the man as Mr. Bingley merely on the strength of his coat color. He appeared to be amiable, smiling up at Sir William and bowing over Charlotte's hand.

The second gentleman was rather larger and older. He had a woman on his arm, which she deduced to be his wife as they both seemed to be ignoring the other, and darted glances at the refreshment table, while his wife conversed with Lady Lucas.

It was the third gentleman who caught her eye. Rather taller than the other two, he held himself quite stiffly. He stayed near the outskirts of the group, merely bowing to Lady Lucas and Charlotte unsmilingly. She studied him, deciding he looked rather bored. She suppressed a smirk; the young ladies of the area would be on him like bees on honey—he was tall, dark, and exceedingly handsome. His lack of interaction with the group would only add to his mystery.

Just then the older gentleman with whom she had engaged to dance the next set attracted her attention. Even as she carried on a conversation with him, Elizabeth kept an eye on the newcomers. The young man in blue appeared to be enjoying his dance with Charlotte, who appeared to be enjoying it as well. The older man had planted himself next to the refreshment table, and the two women hovered nearby, speaking to each other behind their fans. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome had sequestered himself in a corner.

At the end of the dance, Charlotte brought her dance partner over to Jane, then made her way to Elizabeth. "Eliza, you appear to be enjoying your evening," she said with a sly smile.

Elizabeth gave her an arch look. She was tempted to ignore the bait, but she wanted to hear about their neighbors. "Yes, Mr. Dortly said that both his daughters are well. You appear to be enjoying your evening as well," she said with a pointed look.

Charlotte smiled. "Mr. Bingley is quite amiable. He asked to be introduced to Jane."

Elizabeth glanced over at them. So that was Mr. Bingley. Were she less concerned for Jane, she would have made a quip about his preference for blue coats. "They do seem to be getting on so far."

"Indeed."

"I noticed that he did not bring his five sisters tonight," Elizabeth remarked.

"That is because he does not have five sisters," Charlotte said with a smile. "Apparently, he only has two. Miss Bingley is in orange, and Mrs. Hurst, her older sister, is wearing mulberry and standing near her husband. Nor did he bring his cousin—his friend, Mr. Darcy, is the gentleman in the corner."

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth exclaimed, shock careening through her body.

"Yes. Have you heard of him?"

Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer. She hadn't exactly, except in a vicious practical joke. "No, it is just such an unusual name," she said with forced calmness.

Charlotte gave her a piercing look "Really?"

Elizabeth gulped but maintained her composure. "You disagree?"

"Not necessarily. However, it is unusual that you are taking an interest. But then, you have seemed interested in our illustrious neighbors for quite some time."

"You know that I am too well-acquainted with our other neighbors," Elizabeth said, fighting back a blush. "New people always bring new entertainment."

Charlotte nodded disbelievingly but dropped it. "Mr. Darcy owns a large estate in Derbyshire and, according to gossip, makes ten thousand a year—rather more than Mr. Bingley's supposed five."

Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose Mama has already contrived an introduction?"

"Actually, Mr. Darcy has yet to speak to anyone outside his party yet. Indeed, I only received a nod when we were introduced."

The musicians sounded the call for dancers to take their places, and both Charlotte and Elizabeth were claimed for the next set. Throughout the dance, Elizabeth's attention bounced between her sister and Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, who were also dancing, and her partner. Why had the letter-writer paired her up with this handsome man?

If indeed the letter was meant for her and referred to her family.

Jane and Mr. Bingley appeared to be having a good time—both chatting amiably, Jane's cheeks tinged with a blush. Their manner contrasted greatly with Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley. Miss Bingley's nostrils flared as though she were dancing through midden and her fingertips barely touched her partner's when the dance took her from Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, despite knowing his partner, remained silent, merely going through the patterns of the dance looking quite bored.

Several dances later, Elizabeth was left without a partner. She was actually rather pleased not to be dancing. Mr. Thorne had been about to ask her, but she had managed to turn his attentions to Miss Long, who was hinting towards dancing with him, despite having experienced the man's dreadful dancing. Mr. Thorne was a nice enough conversationalist; however, the last time Elizabeth had danced with him, her poor aching toes had barely made it through the rest of the ball. Jane once more whirled through the dance with Mr. Bingley as her partner, and Elizabeth studied them pensively. Her mother would be ecstatic. But Elizabeth was still concerned for Jane's heart. Normally, she wouldn't even consider whether Jane would develop a tendre for Mr. Bingley or if he would pursue her seriously, but the letter had put the idea into her head and now she could not get it out.

Darcy found himself loosely orbiting the dance floor—anything really to keep from being cornered by one of the local tabbies. He had noticed one matron in particular practically throwing a young woman—probably her daughter—at Bingley and had no plans to be likewise ensnared. Bingley was talking to the young woman in question, and Darcy made a mental note to suggest he not raise hopes in that direction. The look on her mother's face was enough to disgust any self-respecting person.

Realizing there was a greater press ahead, he detoured around the group of people. He detested crowds—particularly crowds of strangers. On a good day, he could have tolerated the gossip, but today was not a good day. He was still worn from the summer, and less than five minutes after their arrival the whispers about his ten thousand a year and his estate in Derbyshire went 'round the room. Really, how people arrived at their figures remained a mystery. He had heard everything from 5,000 to 50,000 per year since entering society. His financial matters were private information, and he had no desire to change that. Not that it mattered, he thought sourly. Even 5,000 pounds per year was enough to make mothers scramble to marry him off to their daughters. Recently, he had become aware that Miss Caroline Bingley was also aiming to attain the Darcy name and fortune. Hopefully, this visit would not become too uncomfortable once the lady realized he had absolutely no intention of marrying her.

At least if he refrained from dancing with anyone other than his party, no expectations would be raised and maybe he would be left in peace and quiet from now on.

He snorted lightly. As if that would be enough to keep a determined mother away. Another middle-aged woman bore down on him, and Darcy glowered, shifting closer to the wall so that the crowd obscured him from her vision.

Darcy settled in one of the corners, donning an impassive mask. It wasn't much protection, but it had worked well for him in the past. Before long, Bingley approached, everything in his mien trumpeting his enjoyment of the assembly. Darcy had begged Bingley to be more circumspect for years, but nothing had dampened the man's childlike lack of circumspection.

Upon reaching him, Bingley immediately began: "Come, Darcy," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

Darcy grimaced. Bingley had been hunted just as much as he had, but it had not dampened his enjoyment of society. Ladies and their mothers chased Bingley, and he merely enjoyed the chase, having fun with the woman in question for a dance or two and then moving on. In fact, many a young woman had mistaken his amiability for attraction and then found themselves quite disappointed when Bingley failed to follow through.

Darcy, on the other hand, had done his best to avoid such situations, but even with his aloofness, he still could not escape the hordes; he had garnered a reputation for being uncatchable, and it attracted the most scheming social climbers to him, looking for little more than the glory of landing him like a rare and valuable fish. This had driven him only further from enjoying the company of strangers.

"I certainly shall not," Darcy said firmly. "You know how I detest it unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to stand up with."

"I would not be as fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them who are uncommonly pretty."

With an effort, Darcy refrained from rolling his eyes. He had heard this speech too many times to count. Bingley was always pleased. He supposed that was the result of having no taste—there was nothing to offend. "You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Darcy, glancing over at the woman Bingley had just left. Objectively, he could admit that she was quite beautiful, though obviously a country miss.

Bingley's grin widened. "Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

Darcy suppressed a sigh. He was in no mood for dancing. Not when everything reminded him of the Darcy family money and position—the very reason why Georgiana was even now a shadow of her former self. "Which do you mean?" he asked with ill grace.

Shifting, he glanced where his friend was indicating. A young woman sat in one of the chairs against the wall, a tapping slipper peeping out from under her skirts. She arched an eyebrow at him, obviously having noticed his perusal. He flushed and returned his attention to Bingley. He had only looked to satisfy Bingley, but now he needed to nip that idea in the bud, lest she think he had singled her out with his attention.

His expression returned to his customary mask of indifference. "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me," he said coldly.

Bingley's face fell slightly, but he soon recovered. "I would not be so fastidious for a kingdom!" he repeated, shaking his head as he walked away.

Elizabeth had been studying Mr. Darcy, and she had seen no reason to hide it. His comments did sting, particularly as they mirrored her mother's constant criticisms. However, the fact that someone had cast him as a love interest for her amused her greatly, especially in light of his most recent comments. He could not possibly fall for her—although it was certain that she would have rejected him. She had no desire to spend her life with someone that proud; the man had yet to speak to anyone outside of his party, despite the fact that Mrs. Long had stood next to him for a solid half hour. (Although, to be fair, he had not seemed aware of her presence at the time. In fact, he seemed to be resolutely unaware of anyone around him, except to avoid walking into them.)

Noting that the dance had ended, she made her way over to Charlotte, a teasing sparkle in her eye.

"What happened, Eliza?" Charlotte asked as Elizabeth reached her.

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"I know that look."

"Nothing much—although I do believe my horizons have been expanded. I thought I had been acquainted with rudeness, but I had not—at least not until today."

"Oh?"

"Charlotte, would you say that I am 'tolerable'?"

Charlotte's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Bingley suggested that Mr. Darcy ask me to dance and offered an introduction, but Mr. Darcy told him that I am 'tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him.'"

"Oh, Eliza," Charlotte said, aghast, "you know that you are no such thing."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Compared to Jane, I am, but do not be concerned: my feelings remain intact. It was excessively diverting." Particularly in light of "his" letter, she mentally added. What a ridiculous joke! Her eyes continued to sparkle. "I dare say I am not a diamond of the first water, but I do hope I am more than tolerable. I wonder who Mr. Darcy would consider more than tolerable. Perhaps most women are only decent enough—or perhaps he suffers from a severe ocular ailment." She mock gasped. "Oh dear, perhaps Mr. Darcy has selective eyesight. Hill is always going on and on about Betsey's selective hearing, and—"

Charlotte shook her head, though a smile peeped out. "Eliza, you should not make sport of our new neighbors."

"Whyever not? I think I may laugh, especially after that comment."

At that moment, Jane reached them. "What comment?"

Elizabeth glanced behind Jane. Mr. Bingley was safely by his sisters, and Mr. Darcy had moved to the opposite corner. "Mr. Darcy said that I am 'tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him,'" she said, laughter brimming over into her voice.

"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane exclaimed, her eyes round.

Elizabeth chuckled. The look on Jane's face was everything she could hope for. "Jane, it says more about our new neighbor's friend than it does about me. Can you imagine saying such a thing about a woman you had never even met?"

Charlotte gave her a severe look.

"Perhaps he is merely shy?" Jane suggested dubiously.

"Rude, you mean," Elizabeth corrected promptly. "Or proud," she added after a moment. "Or perhaps both rude and proud. What do you suppose he would do if I were to say something similar about him in his hearing?" A mischievous smile began playing about her lips.

"Elizabeth Bennet, just because someone is rude—" Charlotte began.

"And proud," Elizabeth interjected.

"And proud," Charlotte agreed over Jane's noises of protest, "it does not mean that you should repay them in kind."

Elizabeth gave a loud mock sigh. "I suppose. You cannot deny that it would be entertaining though."