Author's Note: Wow! Time really flies. I've been so busy lately and my goal of posting once a week completely flew out the window. I'm just glad I finally got this chapter done. It's been so hard finding time to write, but like I said in the beginning, I'm going to see this story through to the end. So happy that we've finally gotten to this chapter. I feel like the story is finally picking up. I still have some exposition I want to write but we can finally get to the DarcyandNia parts. I wanted Darcy to have a project that he could work on with Nia, but I don't know how I feel about the documentary being that project. I'm going to see where it goes, but I don't know. Also I don't know how I feel about Nia raising money to take classes for a writing certificate, but I'll leave it for now. Let me know if you have any suggestions for why Darcy would need Nia's help and why Nia would need Darcy's money.

This chapter is shorter than intended, so I'll get the second part out as soon as possible. I just really needed to wrap up this chapter, it's been open in a document on my computer for the past month :/

Also major change to chapter 2. I want James to be younger than Janet and Nia so I changed it to their father having an affair instead of a previous marriage. I wanted to keep Mr. Bennet's reputation clean but I don't think that an affair is too out of his nature.

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Chapter 7: Lizzy

Momma had to run some errands this morning and I volunteered to watch the store, so I'm in here by myself today. But that's okay because days at the store are routine. I find comfort in routine. We get the same customers buying the same things at the same times on the same days. The only real change with our customers is the stories and problems they unload on me as they browse the aisles of our tiny market.

There's Ms. Marbury who always has my sister cut her a few slices of ham for her beloved dog Annie (She insists that Annie loves it even though it gives her gas) and then debates whether the calories she burned on the walk over here will offset the calories she'll gain if she eats a Hershey bar. Then there's Mr. Montgomery who proclaims some variation of the same exaggerated exclamation. "Oh ho, I almost went blind lookin' at ya, girl. You're gonna kill someone with that beautiful face." He always buys a newspaper and a coke and tells me to keep the change when he hands me a dollar. Then there are the Dumarrys with their six boys and one girl. Mrs. Dumarry always looks frazzled and almost always leaves at least one of her kids in the store before running back in to claim the youngster, apologizing profusely as I smile sympathetically at her. Every now and then we get a new customer who happens to be passing through town. These customers usually go about their business without the razzle-dazzle of the usuals. If they speak to me, the extent of our conversation is some combination of these three phrases "Thank you," "Repeat that," and "Good afternoon."

We get white customers every now and then, it's not that unusual. But in all my nineteen years of being around the store, I have never seen somebody so… uppity walk into our store. My eyes are immediately drawn to the Rolex watch and then the LV logo on his shiny brown shoes. His white shirt is crisp and his pants are perfectly creased. His hair is the only thing disheveled about him. He screams money and the only time people with money come to this part of town is if they want to buy up a business. I narrow my eyes as I look up at his face. No way….

I can't believe this!

Mr. Moneybags is the same jerk from the club that called me and my sisters a bunch of whores. Figures. This is exactly how I pictured that jerk would be in real life. Oozing money and privilege and entitlement. To top it off he's Hollywood handsome with a defined jawbone and moody, dark brown eyes. His attractiveness almost masks his ugly expression - as if the whole store smells of rotten eggs. I roll my eyes inward at the unfairness of it all. I want to turn away and pretend that I don't notice him, when my father's voice rings out in my head, "Every customer should leave with at least goodbye and a hello."

"Hello." I grit out. Our eyes meet, and I try my best not to seethe under his judgmental gaze. I can see in his eyes that he wants to ask a question, but I don't encourage him with a smile or open airs. I can't ignore him, but I don't have to be nice to him either.

He stares back at me with a deer in headlights expression. I bet he's just realizing that I'm the girl from the club he insulted. He's probably trying to figure out if he should mock me or throw another insult. I don't care. He's not about to make me lose my cool.

"What? Did you think this was a brothel?"

Mr. Moneybags looks confused as he shakes his head. "What no! Why would you think that I would think that?" He looks around nervously eyeing the shelves as if there are dancers hiding behind them.

Does he not remember what he said at the club? He probably thought that we were so beneath him, he didn't even bother to see who he was hurling insults at.

Realizing that I will not be giving him a response, he continues on. "No, I actually was pointed in this direction by uh… Mrs. Potts, from across the street. She said that you could help me with a project I'm working on. Lizzy, right?" Reluctantly, he extends a hand over the counter and looks at me expectantly, "I'm William Darcy."

I regard him warily as I extend my hand to clasp his. When our hands make contact, he quickly moves his away as if burned, and I watch him attempt to discreetly wipe his hands on the side of his pants. What the hell is wrong with Mrs. Potts? Why in the world would she send this rude man my way?

"I don't know what she told you to make you think that I could help you, but I promise I have nothing that would be of any help to you." I turn away to grab one of the maps sitting on the table behind me, and mutter under my breath, "Except some manners." I turn back to Mr. Asshole Darcy and open the map for him. "Here, let me grab a pen and I'll show you how to get from here to downtown. It's not —"

"No!" he angrily exclaims. He seems annoyed now. "I am not lost and I do not need your help finding my way back to downtown. I need someone to help me interview some people and give me some history on the area for a documentary I am producing. I'm willing to pay eight dollars an hour."

Oh. Now I understand Mrs. Potts. Most people in town know that I've been saving up to get a writing certificate from the local university. A few times a year the university offers a creative writing intensive program where aspiring writers can work on their craft and really find their voice. A lot of classes are taught by published authors, publishers, and illustrators, so I'm hoping to make some connections that will help get my book published or at least get me a job writing for someone other than Jim Barnes. The program is costly but worth every penny.

My parents give me money here and there for working in the store, and the Dear Nancy column helps some, but at the rate I'm going, it'll take me another two years to save up enough money for tuition, books, and transportation costs to attend the program and get my creative writing certificate.

My mother used up most of the savings to send Janet to college right after high school in the hopes that she would meet a rich medical or law student and then throw her sisters in the way of other rich men. Unfortunately, Janet did not end up with a man, but she did graduate summa cum laude with a degree in Psychology, a fact my mother tries to keep hidden as to not scare away any potential suitors. There was no money left for me to go to school after I graduated, and after Janet's failed run with college, my mother was not so keen on sending any of her other daughters to university anyway. "There are much cheaper and more foolproof ways to set you girls up with respectable gentlemen," she always tells us. James, of course, will get to go to college even if my parents have to sell the store to pay his fees. No son of my father's is going to go through life an uneducated heathen. Such is life.

This job from Jerkface Darcy seems too good to be true. No way am I buying that I'm the only person who could possibly do this job for him. Maybe he does remember me from the club and is setting me up. Still… the possibility of working a job that pays ten times what I get for my Dear Nancy columns is way too good an offer to pass up. Once I complete this program and get published, I won't have to pander to Jim Sleazeball Barnes ever again. Ugh, never having to see him again will be like 15 Christmas wrapped in one.

"A guide for what? How much of a commitment will this be? What exactly are my responsibilities, leading you places, explaining things, introducing you to people?" Even though I'm pretty sure I'll be taking the job, I want to know what I'm getting myself into.

Darcy takes a moment to formulate individual answers for my tirade of questions. "Well, as you know I'm a filmmaker. I work at Pemberley Productions." He looks at me with an air of expectancy waiting for some affirmative response. Well, he's out of luck cause I don't know what Pemberley Productions is, and I tell him as much.

"Where is that?"

"On the corner of Pemberley and Linden street."

I think for a moment. That's where Charlie asked Janet to meet him today. Well, that makes sense, Jerkface has the looks of an actor. Probably one of those dark, mysterious types in those films Amanda is always watching. "Are you an actor or something?"

He stares back at me shocked, affronted even. He's probably so used to having people fawn over him, he isn't prepared to handle someone who has no idea who he is. I'm glad to have the opportunity to knock him down a few pegs.

"No," he starts slowly, "I own the company." He stares at me again, eyebrows knitted together over squinting eyes staring me down. When no realization dawns on my face, and I continue to stare back at him with the same "Is-that-supposed-to-be-a-big-deal" expression, Darcy semi-rhetorically asks, "How have you never heard of the Darcy family?"

I look at him as I break out into an amused grin. "You're the first Darcy I've ever heard about or seen. Guess you're not as big a deal as you thought." I meant to say the last part in my head, but maybe it was better said out loud. It seems like he gets to be the center of attention way more than he ought, and all that attention has been going to his head.

Darcy looks at me again through squinted eyes. He's trying to determine if he still wants to give me a job. Though it kills me to do so, I need to swallow some of my pride and be slightly agreeable.

"That was a joke." I laugh uneasily trying to convince him that my last statement was said in jest. Then I quickly continue, "Is the documentary going to be about anything in particular or the town history in general?"

This seems to bring Darcy back from the edge of reconsideration. His eyes light up and his frown lines smooth out as he answers. "Yes, I want to focus on the businesses and areas that were here at the start of the town. I feel like everything is changing and a lot of the older areas are becoming forgotten. A lot of the oldest businesses happen to be in this part of town. It's funny how this area is so different from where I live across the river. Almost like there are two completely different towns."

It's pretty obvious that the town is divided into different sections based on race. The whites live up the hill and the blacks live on the bottom. We keep to ourselves and they keep to themselves. There's not too much mixing going on in this town.

"…so does that sound good?"

I snap back to reality. I completely missed the rest of what Darcy was saying. "I'm sorry. Does what sound good?"

Darcy lets out an exasperated sigh and gives me a pointed look. "The job description. We meet two or three times a week and you help me interview local business owners and show me some of the other interesting landmarks to help me with my documentary. I'd also need you to help explain the history and get other people to talk about their experiences. People aren't too keen on opening up to me." Darcy pauses to clear his throat before continuing, "They don't actually have to be on camera if they do not want to be. I can place the audio on top of film of different landscapes if somebody does not want to be shown. You don't have to but it would be nice if you also helped edit the final project together as well. We'd work for maybe four, five hours at a time, and I'll pay you hourly so no need to worry if we take a long time one day. Eight dollars an hour. Does that sound good?"

I take it all in. Something inside screams for me to ask more questions and to be more skeptical, but the dreamer who can see herself learning from the best authors of the times and signing copies of her bestseller silences those screams and enthusiastically exclaims, "Yep, that sounds perfect."

Darcy nods his head solemnly and replies, "Now we just need to discuss which days we'll meet…"

I remember all of my obligations. I'm working a lot of hours at the store right now. Now that I don't need the money, I can cut back on the hours, but I'm gonna have to find somebody else to take my shifts. Amanda might be able to or maybe dad will cover me especially when he finds out how much this new job pays. I also have to stay on top of my weekly Dear Nancy columns - meeting with Jim twice a week and getting all of my questions answered. While I can't stand Jim or the job, I made a commitment and I'm going to at least finish out the Dear Nancy columns for this year.

On top of all of that, I'll have to hurry and get my application in, so I can be a part of the creative writing program when it starts up again in the spring. Now that I'll be able to afford it, I might as well get started as soon as possible. Two days might be a lot right now, but one day a week I can manage. I work in the store all day on Tuesday and Thursday and also on Monday and Friday mornings. My Wednesdays are free but I like to reserve those to work on my writing. I can see if Momma or Pa will cover my Friday morning shift, so I can reserve those for this third job. Between them and Amanda, I should have somebody to cover me then.

"I can do all day Friday starting, let's say, next week?"

Darcy nods. "I can pick you up from the store - "

"Or I could meet you somewhere. Let's say the flower shop up the street?" The last thing I need is my father or worse James, seeing me get picked up from the store by some white man. My father would have a cow and James would try and fight Darcy and get sent to jail. Much safer to meet Darcy in a neutral location away from my family.

Darcy looks at me before shaking his head. "No, I prefer not to meet at the flower shop. I'd rather just meet you since we might have to drive somewhere."

"I can just meet you wherever we need to go. The bus goes most places and this town isn't that big, I can walk most places just fine. And my sisters and I share a car so I can use it for any far places."

Darcy shakes his head again. "No, it makes more sense to meet you here and pick you up. I will see you next Friday at 8am." And with that Darcy turns on his heels effectively ending the conversation. I furrow my brows as I realize that he is planning on meeting me at the store next Friday. My mother will be working at the store next Friday.

"Oh no, no, no," I exclaim as I rush around the counter and hurry to catch up with Darcy. I reach out and grab his arm as he reaches out to push open the front door. "You cannot meet me at the store."

"Why not?" He asks incredulous at my vehemence.

Just my luck, my mother chooses that moment to walk in.

She stops in her tracks when she sees my hand grasping William's arm. It takes her less than a second to take in the scene and draw her own very inaccurate conclusions. "Heavens, almighty. Why you look like quite a rich fellow." My mother takes in Darcy's expensive clothing and handsome face then she turns to me and loudly whispers with a very overt wink, "Great job snagging such a well-off man, Lizzy. You make a mother proud. How long has this been going on?" My mother beams at us as she takes in our proximity and assumes there is some clandestine relationship going on. Darcy looks down at my mother with disgust as she continues on. "Why haven't you invited your beau to Sunday dinner — oh no… when's the baby due?"

Leave it to my mother to turn an arm pull into a secret relationship and pregnancy. I don't even bother trying to explain the situation to her. My main priority is getting Darcy out of the store and away from her wild accusations before he starts to reconsider offering me the job.

I push past my ridiculous mother and pull Darcy outside of the store down the street to a corner away from the store. My mother would never leave the store unattended and locking up would take at least ten minutes, so we should be safe for a little while.

"I'm so sorry about that." I hurriedly begin, "My mother can be… dramatic sometimes. I promise I'll clear things up with her right away.

"I see why you don't want me to pick you up from the store. With family like that, I'd want to keep people away too."

I pause. Darcy's statement about my mother comes across as very harsh and critical. He said his statement with malice and not in the typical joking oh-haha-everybody-has-an-embarrassing-family way.

Before I can really ponder his words, he continues, "Still, it is more convenient for me to pick you up from the store so I will see you here Friday at 7am. I will be waiting in my car, and I do not like waiting for long." With his final piece said, he is soon bidding me goodbye and walking towards the aforementioned flower shop. I am left standing in the road contemplating if I made the right decision by agreeing to be tangled up with this enigma of a man.

I glance down at my watch. Janet and Amanda don't meet with Charlie for another hour. Maybe I can just tag along with them for the rest of the day. No way am I going back into the store with Momma waiting to put me through the wringer and question me on my new rich, white boyfriend. I roll my eyes at the absurdity that is my mother. Do I really want to take a bus all the way up the hill though? Janet and Amanda already took the car to Amanda's rehearsal and will probably drive up to Pemberley after the rehearsal is over. Or I could go home and work on my writing. My shift is technically over, so nobody can get mad at me for heading home now. Decisions, decisions.

"Did that highfaluting, Mr. Darcy find you?" Startled, I turn in the direction of the voice. Mrs. Potts is looking at me expectantly, her needlework sitting in her lap. Her stand is overflowing with shiny baubles and beautifully printed cloths. I didn't even realize that I had crossed the street during my pacing. She continues on, "I pointed him your way. He told me he had a paying business opportunity."

"Sorry, Mrs. Potts. I didn't see you there. Ma is being dramatic again."

Mrs. Potts laughs heartily, "Oh Diana ain't never gonna change. I used to babysit that child and she'd always be in grown folks business. Couldn't sit still that one." Mrs. Potts shakes her head clearing away the memory. "Anyway, I shouldn't be bad-mouthing your mother. I want to know if that Mr. Darcy told you about his job offer."

I break out into a full-on smile. "He did! Thank you so much for pointing him my way. I almost pointed him right back out of the door when he first showed up, but his offer is too good to pass up. I'll have the money for my classes in no time. I might even be able to enroll for the summer."

"Oh, bless Jesus. I'm so happy for you." A serious look crosses Mrs. Potts's face and her voice develops a stern quality. "Now, be careful dealing with him. You can never trust people like him. Get your money, but keep both eyes on him at all times. I wouldn't trust him or any of his friends further than I can throw them. You hear me?"

I vigorously nod. This is the most serious I've ever seen the free-spirited Mrs. Potts. She's never given me a warning before, so I make sure to take this one seriously. But she needn't worry, I have no plans of being friends with the rude and arrogant jerk-face Mr. Darcy.

When I get home, I head straight to my room and ask Janet to make my excuses. I skip out on dinner sighting a stomachache and a lack of hunger. I know that I can't avoid my family forever, but too much has already happened today. I don't think I can go through the Spanish Inquisition without falling apart. Best case scenario, something even more dramatic happens between now and breakfast time to make my Momma forget all about what she thinks she saw in the store. Worst case scenario, somebody ignores my wishes and barges into my room demanding answers anyway. I turn out the lights and hide out under the covers just in case.

Under the veil of darkness, I turn over everything that just happened. It's crazy to think that a prissy guy like William Darcy wants my help on his big documentary project. Am I crazy to agree to help? Either way, what's done is done. I close my eyes and let the waves of darkness wash me onto the shores of sleep.