I found another few hours to write this chapter. Something about this story has just caught me! I hope you enjoy – and especially love any and all feedback. It may be a day or two before I'm able to give another update but hopefully soon!

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The Meryton Christmas dance was always well attended, and in particular this year, favoured as it was with the presence of the militia. Many of the young men had volunteered to remain at their stations, hopeful of making their way into the hearts of the girls of Meryton, rather than return home; and so there were partners enough for all the ladies, and then some.

Elizabeth felt a warmth creep inside her as she stepped into the dancing room. The servants had done a creditable job of decking the hall, with holly, pine cones and poinsettias; and candles made the room cheerful, a warm and cosy space against the cold darkness outside. Elizabeth gave a little shiver. It was her favourite time of year.

All the way over in the carriage, Mrs. Bennet was chattering with Lydia and Kitty over the prospects at Netherfield. "And so he will be staying at least another month – and for Christmas too!" Mrs. Bennet said. Jane, embarrassed, said nothing; and when they arrived, Elizabeth took her by the arm and steered her into the dancing room.

"I wish she would not speak so loudly," Jane whispered as they moved to stand beside the large bay window. The wind outside blew against the glass panes, masking the details of their tete-a-tete. "She does not see how much it makes other people look at me. I do not wish to be looked at. I do not even know if he likes me."

"Oh, do not worry. Everyone knows it is not your own gossiping," Elizabeth said reassuringly. "And furthermore, it is no embarrassment to you on either end. If he does not like you, he is a great fool."

"I fear I am one as well," Jane said, smiling shyly; and Elizabeth had to be content with that.

A tall fair-haired figure approached, whom Elizabeth was very pleased to see. "Mr. Wickham!" she said, curtseying.

"Miss Bennet," he said, acknowledging both the girls with a winning smile. "I am not too late to take a place on your dance cards, I hope?"

"Indeed, we have only just arrived," Elizabeth said, smiling. "I must warn you, you must get in early to dance with Jane, or you will be disappointed." The young soldiers were already queueing up to dance with her pretty sister.

"It would be my great pleasure," Mr. Wickham said, looking genuinely honoured at his good fortune. "Miss Bennet – Miss Bennet."

He claimed her for a dance, his hand fluttering and elegant under her gloved fingers. Indeed Elizabeth fancied that the whole room was looking at them. Although she was not usually given to vanity, she did know that the muslin she had chosen that night was particularly becoming; and although always she rolled her eyes when Kitty and Lydia began burbling about the young soldiers in town, Elizabeth was not entirely unsusceptible to the appeal of a red coat when worn by a dashing – and attentive – young man.

For attentive Mr. Wickham certainly was. He danced with her twice in the first set, with enough space between them to avoid comment; but when he arrived at her shoulder after the musicians' break, with a courteously trim bow, Elizabeth blushed and looked around to see if anyone noticed. Kitty and Lydia had their own entertainment with the other militiamen, too many to count; Jane was deep in conversation with Mrs. Phillips; and no one else seemed to notice, not even their mother. Only Mary was watching with a small crease between her eyebrows. Well, it was Mary's own fault if she did not want to partake in dancing. Elizabeth accepted Mr. Wickham's third offer with a warm smile, and the small growing pleasure of knowing herself to be favoured.

Their third dance was slower than the earlier set, and Elizabeth found herself more than halfway to a heartfelt enchantment.

At the conclusion, Mr. Wickham bowed deeply again. "You dance with such grace that I find myself in need of refreshment to steady myself," he said. "May I fetch you a glass of punch?"

"It would be a pleasure," Elizabeth said, and watched him walk away in the direction of the punch bowl. She breathed out a happy sigh; while they were dancing, her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Mr. Wickham seems very taken with you," Mrs. Phillips said approvingly.

"I am sure not," Elizabeth laughed, brushing the attention away. "He is only pleased to have a girl who can match him in dancing, for he has tired out the rest."

In truth, she was flattered by Mr. Wickham's attentions, and pleased that Mrs. Phillips had noticed.

It had been a full six weeks since Charlotte Lucas poached Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth was beginning to appreciate why her friend had done what she did. The long winter was giving her cabin fever, cooped up inside with all her sisters and the servants, and no one new or fresh for company. Her mother paced the dining room, talking of Mr. Bingley at Netherfield; her father made perfunctory attempts to go outside and weed the garden, before retreating indoors with the newspaper and a glass of brandy. With such endless days stretching before her, and not even so much of a change when the seasons turned, Elizabeth could very well see the appeal of being mistress of her own household. And Mr. Wickham was a much finer man than Mr. Collins in every way Elizabeth could imagine. Well, nearly every way – his fortune left something to be desired.

But after all, Elizabeth thought as she accepted a glass of punch with a smile from Mr. Wickham, was it not better to be poor and in true love, than wealthy and trapped in a loveless match?

For some reason, immediately following this thought, Mr. Darcy leaped into her head. This was most unwelcome, as she was otherwise having a delightful time. At this very moment, Mr. Darcy must be at his great gloomy house in Derbyshire – at least Elizabeth assumed it must be great and gloomy, for his dour attitude could not have been cultivated somewhere bright and cheerful. What would he be doing now? Perhaps terrifying his poor sister, or the hapless servants. Perhaps stalking the halls, thinking of other people dancing, and frowning on the very thought. Perhaps –

"What are you thinking, that makes you smile so?" Mr. Wickham's voice broke into her thoughts.

Elizabeth tilted her head to look up at him. He was so handsome in the candlelight, and so very attentive. "I have only been thinking of our very disagreeable mutual acquaintance," she said, and laughed when Mr. Wickham pulled an exaggerated face of distaste.

"Pooh! No more of him," he said. "I cannot have you sitting with me thinking of another man. It does me a great discredit." He was joking, but he looking genuinely annoyed.

Elizabeth laughed again, and promised to turn all her thoughts and attentions to the gentleman before her, and no other.

"You flatter me greatly," Mr. Wickham said. He cleared his throat. "I mean to tell you, that I have just been speaking with my commanding officer. There is a prospect of fortune in one of the regiments." He cleared his throat again. "If such an officer were to take the position, he would be in a much better position to marry."

"To marry!" she said.

Heavens, this was soon. Yet Elizabeth, her heart and mind racing with equal speed, could not come up with a single reason against it, in that moment in the candlelight. Nor, tell the truth, did she want to. Everything was just right, as perfect as she could ever have wanted it - if she had been the kind of girl who thought about such things. The stars were out, bright in the cold clear sky. A thousand flickering tapers gleamed. She knew the green ribbon around her waist set off her complexion very well, and perched in her hair was a twist of silk flowers that Elizabeth desperately hoped was still in place. A picture-book illustrator could not have drafted a more perfect scene for a romantic venture.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Wickham began. "The room is warm and I suddenly find myself in need of a change of air. Would you care to accompany me into the next room?"

"I would be delighted," Elizabeth said, and stood to accompany him out.

Everything about tonight was perfect. Really – it was.

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I love writing parties! After the Christmas dance in Meryton, there will be a New Year's ball at Netherfield… and maybe even an engagement ball. Elizabeth is not quite thinking like herself at the moment, but I've always wondered why she falls for Wickham's story. One explanation is that he's just stupid hot and knows exactly what buttons to push... we've all been there! However it doesn't take long for someone to show their true colours! I'm loving writing this story and hope the next part will be up soon. Thank you for reading!