I am absolutely floored by the wonderful, kind responses I have received in response to this story from all around the world! I thank you all! It has given me such confidence in working on this project, especially since I am such an inexperienced writer. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you all have the past two!


Wednesday, 25 September 1811

Darcy took a sip of his brandy. "Good God, Gardiner. Where did you get this?"

"An old friend of mine imports brandy. He gives me the first pick of his stock, and I ask no questions about its origins."

Darcy laughed. "Then, I shall ask no more. This brandy is too good to be confiscated." He looked over at Gardiner and felt a certain wistfulness about his upcoming trip to Hertfordshire.

In the weeks since discovering Wickham in Canterbury, Darcy had developed an unlikely friendship with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street. Mr. Gardiner had given him his direction before he had left the inn, and Darcy had called on them three days after he and Georgiana had returned to London to thank them as much as to beg for advice.

He had arrived, hat in hand, and filled with trepidation only to be warmly welcomed, and his quick courtesy call surpassed the appropriate quarter of an hour and lasted several hours with an invitation to return with Georgiana the following week. Thus, his strangely fulfilling friendship with the tradesman and his wife was cemented.

In Mr. Gardiner, he found a confidante with whom he could discuss what happened to Georgiana freely and sensibly. Even his cousin and dearest friend Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be trusted in the same way. As Georgiana's co-guardian, Fitzwilliam had to be informed of the incident with Wickham. He, however, felt just as guilty as Darcy without having to manage the day to day ramifications of Georgiana's attack.

Mrs. Gardiner had proved herself to be invaluable on that front. On his first call to the Gardiner's residence, he had admitted that he was entirely uncertain about choosing a new companion for Georgiana. Mrs. Gardiner had ably stepped in, sharing her opinion on various candidates and offering to call upon Georgiana and her companion to observe them. Georgiana appreciated Mrs. Gardiner's warm and sensible company, and, much to Darcy's relief, she answered many of the delicate questions that Georgiana had after her experience without batting an eye at his sister's many tears.

"Are you alright there, Darcy? You have been glaring at my candlestick for a while."

Darcy blinked rapidly, returning his focus to the present moment. "I do apologize. I was woolgathering."

"'Tis nothing new, my friend. You have had much on your mind of late," he said, beginning to pour another glass of brandy for him.

"No," he said brusquely, before modulating his tone. "Thank you, Gardiner. I must have my wits about me tonight. I am preparing for my trip to Hertfordshire."

"Ah, yes. Hence, the woolgathering," Gardiner sat back in his chair with a sense of relaxation Darcy envied. "Do not worry. It is only four weeks until Miss Darcy joins you, and I am certain my wife will call on her every other day—as will your cousin! You must take this as an opportunity for a moment of tranquility away from the pressures of the past several weeks. You look positively ill, man, and I have it on good authority that Hertfordshire is abundant with the beauties of the natural world."

"You've been?" Darcy inquired.

"Most certainly! I must have told you. That is where my sister and her husband live. You've met their second eldest—my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Darcy nearly smiled at the mention of Miss Bennet. Georgiana did not often speak of her—she hardly spoke of anything to do with that night. Yet, he knew from Mrs. Gardiner that Georgiana asked after her often and that Mrs. Gardiner would often read Georgiana her letters from her niece to his sister's great joy.

Darcy himself was curious about Miss Bennet. He found himself thinking of her occasionally with differing feeling. Generally, he regarded her with gratitude for her care and kindness toward his sister, and he attempted to employ her techniques for comforting Georgiana with little success. Then, he might think about her with envy for being able to provide comfort for Georgiana where he could not. This, however, would inevitably lead him to thinking about how she had comforted him in her own strange, irreverent way and how bright her complexion and fine her eyes were when she laughed—or that he had seen her in her night clothes. That was not something he would allow himself to think about, though.

Gardiner interrupted his shameful musings. "That reminds me. I shall write down the direction of my brother Bennet's estate and send him a letter informing him of your presence in Hertfordshire. Then, if you need a change of scenery or some sensible conversation, you might pay him a call."

Darcy took the paper when Gardiner had finished writing it and glanced at it. "His estate? He is a gentleman?"

"Yes, he is my brother-in-law, and Longbourn has been in his family at least seven generations." Darcy's brow wrinkled in noncommittal approval.

"I must warn you, though," he laughed jovially before continuing, "though my brother is a very erudite, generally sensible sort of fellow, his wife—my sister—is quite…shakable, so to speak."

"Ah," Darcy said with the hint of a smile. "Well, I doubt it is in the neighborhood where I am staying, but I appreciate your family's hospitality nonetheless." He stuffed the paper in his pocket and stood to shake Gardiner's hand. "Shall we rejoin the ladies?"


"Kitty! Come here! We are going home!" Lizzy cried.

Kitty scurried over to Lizzy and Jane,

Jane placed a calming hand on her arm. "'Tis alright, Lizzy. She is only speaking with young Mr. Wilkins. Surely, that is proper. He is the son of Uncle Phillip's partner. They have been introduced."

Lizzy sighed, "Mayhap, but I do not like the idea of her leaving Aunt Phillip's house early to go outside and flirt with a man alone. What do we truly know about this man?"

"I believe you are being perhaps more cautious than you need be. We have been in company with Mr. Wilkins before, and he was a perfectly amiable man. I do not think there is any harm in it, and he and Kitty were not truly alone. Anyone could have walked past them."

"Amiability can say surprisingly little about a man's character, Jane, and I am not inclined to like a man who is so careless with propriety as to stand outside Aunt Phillip's house and speak with our sister without a chaperone!" Her voice sounded more vehement to her ears than she had intended, and she winced to see Jane's questioning look.

"I have never known you to be a stickler for propriety. Is all well, Lizzy? You have been rather stern since you returned from your trip to the seaside, and I daresay that Kitty and Lydia have noticed."

She knew Jane to be correct. Her trip with the Gardiners had left her without physical wounds. Witnessing the extremes of Mr. Wickham's gentility and viciousness, however, had left her uncertain in her ability to judge character. Coupled with the Mrs. Gardiner's explanation of what precisely happened to Georgiana and the threat that men can pose to young ladies, Lizzy felt a deep sense of mistrust that had pervaded her bones whenever she was in mixed company.

"I am well, Jane," she said, pulling Jane's arm through her own. "I simply heard several affecting stories during my travels about dangerous men with happy manners, and I suppose I find myself a bit wary. I am not truly angry at Kitty—or Lydia for that matter—I assure you."

"Oh, my brave Lizzy, I would never guess that you would be so affected by such tales, but I am nevertheless sorry for it." She squeezed her arm in reassurance, "I hope it relieves you to know that I think Mr. Wilkins to be very sincere. I cannot imagine what ulterior motive he could possess."

Lizzy, however, was not reassured. She longed to tell Jane everything, but she could not betray Georgiana or her aunt's confidence. The Gardiners had reluctantly agreed to keep their terrible experience in Canterbury to themselves, and so Lizzy discovered the frustrating sensation of having her perspective of the world shift without the ability to discuss it with anyone. It was frustrating to be a woman in such circumstances, she had decided. Society expected her to be in ignorance of the ways of men and the marriage bed, yet now that she knew the truth of such things, she was forced to pretend that she was still in ignorance lest it reflect poorly on herself. Men, such as Wickham, were allowed to wield this knowledge with impunity and often used it to their advantage. The injustice of it made her burn with anger.

She had, however, become adept at hiding her discontent in recent weeks, so she smiled at Jane and nodded. "I suppose you are right, dear Jane. As always, you are twice as good as I."

Jane merely patted her arm, but Lizzy looked back at where Kitty was trailing behind was left with a sinking feeling that Jane's unassuming goodness and Kitty's flirtatious naïveté could do them harm.

Lizzy was not formed for ill-humor, however, and she and Jane quickly fell into an excited chat about the Michaelmas assembly in two days' time. Upon hearing the topic of conversation, Kitty joined in the conversation, and the sisters arrived at Longbourn in high spirits, laughing about neighborhood gossip and the ridiculous songs Sir William would undoubtedly request at the assembly.

Darcy stood at the door to the music room, watching as Georgiana played Beethoven's Thirteenth Sonata. He watched in complete silence as her fingers moved in waves across the keys. The melody was beautiful and haunting, quickly building into an almost angry sound at points. There was no music on the stand, and her head was bowed toward the keys so he could not see her face. Her interpretation was undeniably powerful, and he briefly wondered if he was glimpsing the girl behind the cold, distant façade Georgiana had erected in the past several weeks.

When she finished, she paused for a moment. Her hands stood in suspension above the keys before relaxing her posture and letting her hands drop to her lap with a loud sigh that pained him. He knocked gently on the doorframe to alert her to his presence, and he tried to wince when she startled slightly at seeing him.

"Your interpretation was beautiful," he said gently, moving to sit on the settee adjacent to the piano bench. "I have not heard you play this piece before. I believe I purchased the sheet music for your last birthday."

She shrugged. "It may be that you did. I cannot remember when I received it, but I thank you for it."

"You need not thank me. Hearing you play is its own reward," he said and internally scoffed at his own mawkishness. Perhaps Georgiana was not the only one who had been distant. He felt as though he were treading on unsteady ground in her presence.

Deciding that directness may be the best course of action, he cleared his throat and spoke. "I wanted to speak with you before I leave for Hertfordshire."

"About what?" How she managed to sound simultaneously apprehensive and indifferent, he knew not.

"Nothing in particular. I merely wanted to see you and ensure you had all that you needed before I departed."

"I think I shall be well enough until I join you. Mrs. Gardiner is to call tomorrow, and I am to dine with Richard and Lord and Lady Matlock."

It was not the answer he desired, but one he should have anticipated. "Yes, I am aware," he paused, feeling as if she was trying to halt his inquiries. "I shall miss you…you will write, yes?"

He had never asked her that question before, and she looked offended for a moment before her expression became sad. "Of course, I will. Do you truly think I would not?"

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "No, not truly. 'Tis only that we have been rather distant of late. I miss our old discussions."

She looked ashamed of herself, which was the opposite of what he had intended. "I am sorry, Brother. I do not mean to be distant. I just need…"

"What do you need?" he asked, tamping down his impatience as much as he could. He had broached the subject gently several times in the past only to receive indifferent answers. Previously, he relied on her new companion, Mrs. Annesley, and Mrs. Gardiner for information about his sister's well-being.

"I do not know," she said quietly.

How much time did she need to determine what she did need? It had been weeks since Wickham's attack, and he had no idea to what extent she had healed from the experience. Would she ever be the same again? Would she ever confide in him again? How could he help her if he knew nothing?

"I do have one request for you, though," she said shyly. "I do not know that you will approve, but Mrs. Gardiner told me that Elizabeth lives in Hertfordshire and that you might call on her father. If you meet her, could you ask her to write to me? I greatly enjoy her letters to Mrs. Gardiner for they are so interesting and witty. I know that I need your approval, but if you see fit, I would dearly appreciate her correspondence."

Darcy had not expected this request, but it pleased him greatly. "Of course, Georgiana. I will ask her if I see her. I very much approve of your friendship with Miss Bennet. She seemed to me to be a good person to have as a friend. Might I suggest that once I make the request to her, you write her first? I believe that it will help set the tone of your correspondence to make Miss Bennet feel more comfortable."

"Oh, of course! Thank you, Brother!" she cried and went to him.

He embraced her for a moment, savoring the feeling that he could do at least one thing right for her. He pulled away and kissed her forehead. "And, who knows? Perhaps we may call on her together when you join me at Netherfield Park."

Georgiana's eyes lit up at his suggestion.

"I will write you as soon as I arrive to tell you of my impressions, and I hope you will look forward to your visit."

"Oh, yes, I will," she nodded once and stepped back.

He felt her reserve slipping back, and he stood for a moment, wondering what to do next. His manner was awkward when he bowed to her and said, "Goodbye, my dear."

To his surprise, however, she smiled gently and said, "Goodbye, Brother. I shall miss you."

He returned her smile and departed the room, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.


Lizzy finished her first dance, feeling giddier than she had in weeks. Her partner was John Lucas, who had been a childhood playmate and was the younger brother of her dear friend Charlotte. They had an easy manner with each other, and she felt as if he was the closest figure she had to a brother in her life.

After she had finished her dance with John, she saw Charlotte excuse herself from her partner, Mr. Goulding. She approached, holding out her hands. "Dear Eliza, how well you look this evening! Green becomes you."

Lizzy squeezed her friend's hands. "You also look very fine. Is that a new dress?"

"It is indeed," Charlotte affirmed. "My mother purchased it, thinking it would help me win Mr. Bingley. What mother did not account for is that I am at least three years older than Mr. Bingley and that I would be standing in the same room as your sister," she said, glancing at Jane. "'Tis no matter, though. I shall not complain at having a new dress!"

Lizzy laughed heartily. "Speaking of the gentleman, where is this illustrious Mr. Bingley? He called on Papa two days ago and told him he was returning to London—not even a week after he arrived in the neighborhood!"

Slipping Lizzy's arm through her own, Charlotte guided the two of them on a turn around the room. "Have you not heard? Mr. Bingley is evidently bringing a party into town. Eight people according to my mother. Ten by your mother's—including six eligible gentlemen—and not an hour ago, I heard Mrs. Long say that he would be accompanied by twelve ladies and seven gentlemen."

Lizzy raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I dearly hope Mama has not heard for she will be positively apoplectic if a surplus of refined young ladies of the ton do indeed arrive."

Charlotte laughed and glanced over at Mrs. Bennet chatting boisterously with the other matrons of Meryton. "She seems in rare form tonight. She has positively declared that Jane will capture Mr. Bingley, and I daresay she may be right."

"She may be. For if the reports of Mr. Bingley's affability and handsome mien are to be trusted, he could do no better than my sweet and stunning sister! Regardless, we must not encourage my mother. I can easily imagine her calling him her son-in-law before the poor gentleman even has the opportunity to ask Jane to dance!"

They laughed again just as a hush fell over the crowd. Disarmed by the sudden conspicuousness of their laughter, the pair looked up to see a group of three gentlemen and two ladies enter the room. Charlotte turned to Lizzy and whispered, "The young, blonde gentleman is Mr. Bingley, and the two ladies must be his sisters. I cannot account for the other two gentlemen."

Lizzy's eyes widened when she noticed the tall, dark-haired gentleman, standing next to Mr. Bingley. "Mr. Darcy," she whispered under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"The tall, handsome gentleman next to Mr. Bingley. I know him. That is Mr. Darcy," she said, not taking her eyes off the man.

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she remembered how they met. Would her presence be a reminder of that terrible night? She had thought of the horrid strangeness of her time in Canterbury every day since, but she thought of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana themselves with naught but fondness. In spite of the circumstances surrounding their meeting, she had pleasant memories of conversation with both of them and greatly admired their affection for one another. She also knew that Mr. Darcy called upon her aunt and uncle after the incident to ensure them of Georgiana's good health. Surely, Mr. Darcy would not be appalled to see her, seeing as he had taken the pains of thanking her family.

"Eliza, did you hear me? Where on earth did you meet him?" Charlotte asked in surprise.

Lizzy scrambled for an answer for but a moment before replying. "I met him and his sister when I was in Kent with my aunt and uncle."

"Will he remember you?"

"I know not, but I suppose I shall see soon enough."

Charlotte left her then for the beckoning wave of her father, Sir Lucas, as Lizzy was beckoned by her mother. She made her way over to her mother, who began introducing the entire Bennet family to Mr. Bingley. She found Mr. Bingley quite charming and quite charmingly taken with Jane, but the conversation at hand did not hold her attention for long. She frequently glanced at Mr. Darcy who was standing alone in a corner as people gawked at him. She smiled to herself, remembering him decry the sentiment that money could buy anything.

Poor, Mr. Darcy! For all his wealth, the man could not buy privacy from the unscrupulous stares of others. Not that she could blame the good people of Meryton for their curiosity. He was perhaps the finest man—in form and fashion—who had ever graced the neighborhood with his presence.

Though she desperately wanted to walk over to him, renew their acquaintance, and ask for news of Georgiana's well-being, she did not want to appear like the overbearing onlookers who seemed to make Mr. Darcy retreat back toward the wall. Not having a partner for the next dance, she decided to take a seat at the opposite side of the room.


Darcy was in hell. Could it have been only yesterday that he had found such hopeful reassurances in his talk with Georgiana? He frowned thinking of all the nuisances which had plagued him since he left the comfort of his sister's music room. Bingley's sisters' fawning and catty behavior coupled with the boorish stares from the rough, local Hertfordshire gentry had turned his sanguine mood from the previous day into acrimony.

He took a turn about the room, hoping to shake off his observers when he ran into Bingley.

"Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. There is not a woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to stand up with."

He knew his words would set Bingley off, and as usual, Darcy took solace in Bingley's predictability. "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life; and there are several of them who are uncommonly pretty."

He granted Bingley this concession. "You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room."

"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."

"Which do you mean?" He took a quick glance at a woman of average height with dark brown curls sitting in front of him to the left. Though he could not see more than a sliver of her face, he spoke harshly, "She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor 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."

Bingley looked slightly aghast at Darcy's vehemence but followed his direction. Darcy then noticed with horror that the young woman Bingley had indicated had sat up straight and was glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. He cursed himself for his lack of tact, but before he could think of making amends, his regret turned to horror as he realized that the young woman looked surprisingly familiar.

"Miss Bennet!" he exclaimed—his voice slightly louder than he had intended it to be.

With his exclamation, she stood up and faced him. Dropping into an exaggerated curtsey, she bowed her head deferentially. "Mr. Darcy, it is a pleasure to see you again." Her tone was pert, and her words clipped. "I trust you are in good health and spirits?"

God in heaven, can I do anything right? "I am well, Miss Bennet. And you? Are you in good health?" he asked awkwardly, not knowing how to atone for his poor manners.

"My health is tolerable, I suppose," she paused obligatorily before excusing herself. "Well, Mr. Darcy, it was lovely to speak with you again, but I must be returning—"

"I am sorry!" he blurted out, not wanting her to leave.

"Sorry? For what, Mr. Darcy?"

He took heart in the hint of coyness on her face. "Allow us to speak candidly for a moment, Miss Bennet. I know your character to be a frank one, and I would like to take this opportunity to be forthright and apologize."

At the slight incline of her head, he continued, "I am aware you overheard my exchange a moment ago with Mr. Bingley."

"Yes, Sir, I did," she said—her seemingly all-knowing eyes staring intently at him. It was disconcerting.

"I—I must apologize for my vulgarity. I did not recognize you, and…even had you not been sitting there, I should have never made such a comment about any young lady. It was crude and unforgivable, but if I may say so, you look very well this evening."

He was sincere in his complement. She, however, seemed wholly unimpressed with his attempt at flattery, so he explained himself further. "I did not intend for anyone to hear me. I was merely frustrated with the treatment I have received from certain quarters, and I wanted to say something blunt so Bingley would not continue to pester me. It was wrong of me, and I feel my shame at having unintentionally insulted a respectable lady of my acquaintance."

She paused for a moment as if to study him, and the first words out of her mouth surprised him. "Do not let your grief convert to anger, Sir. You must blunt your heart, not enrage it. Such misdirected anger is the root of most society's ills."

He furrowed a brow before realizing that she was referencing Macbeth and smiled, remembering their previous interaction. "Ah, Miss Bennet, for a moment you fooled me, and I believed you were chiding me when, in fact, you were testing my knowledge of Shakespeare. I, however, believe the quote is 'Let grief convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.'"

"I have fooled no one," she said with mock innocence. "Can one not do both? Perhaps I meant to chide you and see if your knowledge of Shakespeare equaled your knowledge of Chaucer."

He smiled broadly, nearly completely forgetting that he had grievously insulted her not a moment ago. "And," she added, "I am perfectly aware that I misquoted, but look at the context of the line! It leads to a war in Scotland. I rest my case."

He felt a certain giddiness at her playful response. "Was it not Malcolm who speaks the line though? Was he not encouraging Macduff to avenge the death of his wife and children by channeling his grief into the fight against the ruthless tyrant Macbeth? Is that not honorable?"

"Are you attempting to justify your behavior toward me, Mr. Darcy, by arguing against my point? Are you telling me it was honorable to express your frustrations by insulting me in such a manner?"

He was completely bewildered by her response before he noticed the impish grin in her eye. Sly woman! "You play a dirty game, Miss Bennet. I concede your point—and apologize once more."

"Your apology is accepted," she said, nodding with a gracious smile. "I did notice the rather impertinence gazes fixed on you this evening, so I suppose I can appreciate your feelings of discomfort."

There was no conversation for a moment, and he noticed how quickly his heart was beating. Far from being tolerable, he mentally acknowledged that Bingley was correct. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was indeed uncommonly pretty and—perhaps more significant—uncommonly witty as well.


"Now, tell me, how is your sis—"

"Might I have the honor of this—"

The both broke off, bewildered at having spoken at the same time. "After you, Sir," she said with a laugh.

"I thought I might ask you to dance, Miss Bennet—if you are not otherwise engaged, of course."

Her eyes widened for a moment before she composed herself. He stretched his hand out for her to take, and she attempted to place her hand in his own as gracefully as possible. "I would be honored."

The first dance of the new set had only just begun, yet as she and Mr. Darcy attempted to join the end of the line without any interruptions, she noticed that seemingly all the eyes of Meryton were on them.

"It appears that I have unwittingly accompanied you onto the stage in front of my curious onlookers, Miss Bennet."

"'Tis no matter. My courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me," she said coolly.

Her words were truthful. She did muster up more courage in that moment, but it was less because of the stares they were attracting and more because of a renewed sense of insecurity. She had been intimidated by Mr. Darcy's handsomeness and stature before, but in the relative privacy of the common room of that inferior inn in Canterbury, she could imagine herself as his equal, receiving his sincere gratitude.

His insult, however, cut to the core of what made her so uncomfortable about him. They were not equal in wealth, rank, or beauty, and that he saw it and spoke of it was painful for some deep yet indescribable reason. She had accepted his apology—for he had the same forlorn expression of contrition he had as when he found Georgiana—yet she found she liked him less for the sole reason that he appeared to find her less than appealing. Regardless, she could not deny that their ensuing conversation was the most intelligent discourse she had had in weeks.

"Yes, I have never seen a lack of courage in you, Miss Bennet—at least not in our brief acquaintance."

"Then, I shall feel no compunction in telling you that I believe you have garnered quite a bit of surprise with your decision to dance with one of the local ladies."

His brow wrinkled in confusion, and she nearly laughed. His ignorance was really rather endearing and served to buoy her confidence.

"Yes, Sir. You see, after spending the last hour being introduced to nobody, sitting out every dance, and standing in a corner glowering, I believe I heard the matrons of Meryton—who are the ultimate authority on human character—brand you 'intolerably haughty.'"

He looked a little aghast as she spoke, but as she had hoped, her sardonic tone brought out his teasing side.

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," he said, giving her a sidelong glance, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before."

He was nearly smiling as he spoke—something she was beginning to realize was his way of expressing great mirth—yet she suspected there was some truth in his statement.

"Then, I might suggest you practice," she said with a jovial expression. "But, enough of this! We must talk about something else!"

Mr. Darcy peered at her amusedly from his position at her side. "Do you talk as a rule while you are dancing?"

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together."

The dance separated them for a moment. When they came together again, he opened his mouth to speak, but Lizzy anticipated him. "Mr. Darcy, we are continually blown off course. I must ask you the question I have been desiring to ask since I first recognized you this evening."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "And, what, pray tell, would that be?"

Her voice was sincere when she asked her question. "How is Georgiana—I mean, Miss Darcy? My aunt wrote to me to tell me she is well, but I should dearly like to hear your reassurance, Sir."

His face fell, and she fully felt the depth of her mistake. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy. I did not intend to remind you of such unhappy circumstances. My curiosity has made me forget myself."

"No, I am glad you mentioned Georgiana. She requested my permission to correspond with you before I left London, and, naturally, I consented. If you are agreeable to it, I shall write her to inform her."

"Oh! Yes, why of course." Lizzy was slightly taken aback. While she dearly wanted to hear from Georgiana, she was confused why he was tasked with communicating this to her.

"Shall I inform you of my direction?" was the only relevant question she could think of.

"That is not necessary. My sister has your direction courtesy of Mrs. Gardiner."

"Oh, why—" she began to ask when the dance ended, and from across the room, she heard Lydia and Kitty shrieking as they chased Mrs. Goulding's young nephew from Leicestershire around the ballroom. Her father was, as usual nowhere to be seen, and her mother looked on her two youngest's antics fondly.

When she turned back to Mr. Darcy, he was also looking over at her younger sisters with barely concealed distaste, and it pained her. "I beg you excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I believe I am needed elsewhere. It has been a pleasure, and I hope to hear from your sister soon."

She hoped her gracious tone masked the humiliation and weariness she felt and curtsied without meeting his eyes.

She hastened over to where Lydia and Kitty were giggling wildly. "Kitty, Lydia, come with me." Her voice barely masked her frustration.

Slipping her arms through those of her sisters, she pulled them toward the balcony of the meeting house.

"Lizzy, your twisting my sleeve! I don't want wrinkles," cried Lydia.

Lizzy ignored her sister, and once out on the balcony, she spoke to them both harshly. "Do you know why I brought you out here?"

"Because you are no fun at all?" Lydia whined.

"Because you two were behaving in a manner completely unbecoming for young ladies," Lizzy admonished.

"Egad, Lizzy, you are so strict these days! We were just having a laugh!" Kitty exclaimed.

"I do not mind you having a laugh, but I do not think you understand the consequences of having a complete and utter disregard for propriety!"

"Now, you sound like Mary!" Kitty said, leaning over the balcony to watch the lane below.

"I am not speaking of moral consequence so much as social ones," she sighed in annoyance, and her voice became angrier. "Do you want to be labeled the most determined flirts that ever made themselves ridiculous? Do you want to be wholly unable to ward off the contempt which your rage for admiration will excite?

"I do not think you both realize how little power you truly have. That boy whom you both were chasing will suffer nothing for such impropriety, but you two shall. Do not for one moment think that you can act as these young men do with the same impunity. They are allowed such amusements for they have money or at least a way to earn it. You—we, I should say—have no dowries, no inheritance, and no way to earn an income. The only thing we have is our self-respect, our dignity, and our reputation, and our reputation is set by the dictates of society. Do not tarnish it—for the consequences of such a blemish are more severe than you understand."

Lizzy rarely lost her temper, but the dam suppressing her fear and anger from the past several weeks collapsed under the pressure of her present humiliation and insecurity. Focusing her eyes on her sisters in the darkness of the balcony, she saw Kitty crying and Lydia starring at her blankly.

Feeling contrition at her harshness, she moved to take Kitty's hand. "Kitty, I am sorry. I truly do not to be so harsh. My fear makes—"

"No!" Lydia interrupted, pulling Kitty's hand away from Lizzy's. "Do not make excuses for your cruelty. You are just being mean, and because everyone thinks you are the smartest, you can just explain everything away! But you just want to make us feel bad because you are jealous," she said savagely.

"I heard Mr. Darcy say that he thought you were ugly, and you just feel bad because men actually wanted to dance with us. You're a bad sister, Lizzy."

Lizzy was in utter and complete shock. How did Lydia not understand? Kitty's reaction was wholly understandable for she could admit that she was too harsh. How great was Lydia's vanity that she thought that all criticism, all admonishment was proof of others' resentment of her own superiority?

"Lydia, I apologize for being too severe, but I truly only seek to—"

"Come, Kitty, let us get some punch," Lydia said, sticking her nose up the air and pulling a sniveling Kitty back toward the ballroom.

Lizzy's eyes smarted as they left, and feeling acutely powerless over her life, slumped against the stone balustrade of the balcony with her head in her hands.


Miss Bennet had left him abruptly, and the change in his disposition jarred him. Was she seeking an excuse to get away from him? Then, he saw her move purposefully toward the two obnoxious girls in the adjacent corner of the hall and walk off with them. He found her behavior most perplexing yet even as he attempted summon even a modicum of annoyance, he felt more dejected than anything else.

Truthfully, he had never enjoyed dancing more than he just had. For in spite of the poor facilities, the intrusive participants, and his own ill-humor, Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself was a wonderful dancer and had a way of putting him at ease. The reprieve of their dance was to be short-lived for the moment Miss Bennet had left his view, he saw Miss Bingley walking directly toward him out of the corner of her eye. He knew he would have to dance with her eventually, especially now that he had invited a lady outside of his own party to dance; however, the prospect of spending half an hour with her felt impossible at that moment. Buying himself some time, he headed for the nearest door which brought him onto a balcony. The fresh air provided a brief respite, and he took a deep breath.

"…admiration will excite? I do not think you both realize how little power you truly have."

His attention was immediately drawn to the muffled voice of Miss Bennet. He looked to his right and saw the faint silhouettes of three figures. He knew he should not listen to what they likely thought was a private conversation, but he burned with curiosity after Miss Bennet's abrupt departure. He listened for a moment in surprise as Miss Bennet told presumably her sisters of the dire reality of their situation, and he wondered briefly how old she was to be chiding sisters who were out in society despite their childishness. She sounded jaded and embittered, and he felt that he could very much understand.

She apologized for being harsh, but he did not personally think she had overstepped. She was absolutely correct, and it was unfortunate that those were the ways of the world and that they had to hear about them from their sister at a ball. It did not, however, make it any less necessary.

"I heard Mr. Darcy say that he thought you were ugly…"

God in heaven, when will I finish paying penance for that boorish remark? He did not have a moment to mediate on it because the girl accused Miss Bennet of being jealous and unkind. The notion was entirely absurd. How on earth could Miss Bennet have such an ungrateful wretch of a sister?

The girls left, and he watched in silence as Miss Bennet sunk into herself with a defeated sigh. He felt the uncharacteristic urge to comfort her, but he could think of no way to do so without embarrassing her or admitting that he was eavesdropping. He reminded himself that she was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

She was not, though. She perhaps knew more of his hidden self than anyone for miles, and she treated him with a sweet familiarity that inspired trust. He reasoned that it was ridiculous to trust a woman he had spoken to no more than thrice, but as he saw her figure leaning against the edge of the balcony, he could almost feel her pain.

The sensation was overwhelming and—he could hardly admit to himself—frightening. The cool air outside which had been such a relief felt overwhelming now, and he hastily slipped back into the stifling assembly hall.

He stood to the left of the doors to the balcony. No one appeared to notice him, and he sighed in relief. It was but a moment, however, before Caroline Bingley spotted him and marched straight over with all the intensity of a general in dancing slippers and stationed herself beside him.

"Are you enjoying watching the country manners and dances? I do find it all very savage, but it is amusing in a way," she asked him with a coquettish smile about her lips.

He thought her remark to be crude but acknowledged that he had no right to criticize on that account this evening. "No," he said tersely.

"I did notice that you seemed willing enough to participate during the last set. I pray you tell me who was that quaint little miss you were dancing with before. She was actually somewhat pretty—by country standards, naturally."

Her words made his blood boil. Was this what he sounded like to Miss Bennet? Refusing to inform her of what she clearly wanted to know, he reluctantly held out his hand.

"Miss Bingley, would you be willing to dance the next set with me?"


Pardon, any grammatical/spelling errors! I will hopefully have a beta reader soon :)