A/N-- EHMAHGAWD, GAIZ. It's, like, a new chapter. You thought this was dead, didn't you? It's okay if you did. I won't love you less for it. What had happened was, major writer's block.

Also, I hate parties. In real life, and I've discovered I hate writing about them. Too many characters to follow.

(Season Finale, guys! Longest chapter ever!)

Day 16

"You're going to permanently crease your forehead if you don't stop frowning like that."

William glared at his cousin. Richard smirked back.

Richard had decided to join William for the last week of his vacation. Charles hadn't minded—all three of them were thick as thieves, and had been since they were children. Charles had no trouble extending the famous Netherfield hospitality toward someone as close as he was. This had given him ample time to be brought up to speed on Will's situation.

Richard had expressed great amusement when first introduced to Will's floating friend, but nonetheless understood the seriousness of the problem. He knew his cousin was uncomfortable when presented with emotional problems or displays—and, unfortunately, this heart happened to fall into both categories.

"Put your tie on and quit worrying," Rich said with a roll of the eyes. He grinned roguishly. "I'm sure your date won't be able to keep her hands off you!"

William groaned.

The 'date' in question was none other than Miss Caroline Bingley herself. Somehow she'd managed to convince him to escort her to the party, whatever that meant. He thought the term 'escort' wasn't exactly appropriate; where, exactly would he 'escort' her, if the party would take place in the house they currently resided? She had also said something about hosts, hosting duties, and since the other host was her brother, she couldn't exactly align herself with him, now, could she?

But he'd been checking in and out at this point, so he couldn't be sure of what she said exactly.

He did remember that she called him a 'demihost.' He wasn't sure where or how she got the terminology, but she declared that since he was practically living with them, he was as good as a host, if unofficial, and therefore eligible—nay, preferred—to be presented on her am.

Or something.

"I'm not worried about her." William paused. "Well, in a sense, I am. But—"

"I know, I know. Just wear your hat, try not to look like an idiot, and you'll be fine."

"That really helps."

"You're welcome!"

As mentioned by Richard, William had come up with a solution to his little candied problem—a top hat. It was a formal gathering, and therefore top hats were acceptable—but he didn't know how many other fellows would be wearing them. Not wanting to be the only one, he convinced Richard and Charles to wear them, too.

Along a similar vein, Charles had thought it would be a grand idea to go all out, wearing white gloves, and carrying sleek, black, silver-tipped walking sticks. Richard liked the notion and Will didn't mind, so it was done.

William had just finished pulling on his glove when Charles stuck his head into the room.

"You guys ready?" he asked, looking from man to man. Will nodded and Charles stepped inside.

"Well!" Richard exclaimed with a grin, twirling his cane. "Aren't we a dashing lot! We're going to have to beat the ladies off with sticks, boys; no one can resist a classic gentleman!"

Charles laughed and Will rolled his eyes, adjusting his top hat. Well, they did look rather spiffy. Richard had at least gotten one thing right.

"Come on," Charles said. "I just saw the first guests coming up the driveway. Will," he turned to the one being addressed, "as official demihost, you have to come greet them with me."

"Alright, now, tell me," Will began, following Charles out of the room. Richard trailed close behind. "Who came up with that word? Was it you or Caroline?"

Instead of answering, Charles nodded down the hallway.

"Speaking of Caroline…"

They spotted her down the hall. She hurried to catch up with them, taking short, quick half-steps in her silver dress and matching heels.

"There you are, Wills!" she exclaimed, finally reaching them and latching onto William's arm. "You look positively dashing!"

Will shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "You look nice, too."

The shift in Carline's smile was nearly imperceptible, but nonetheless was detected by William. He nearly winced. That was a stupid thing to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Richard smiled winningly at the Bingley Miss.

"Indeed, Caroline, you look stunning."

She threw him a withering glance before remembering her manners. She smiled at him, but it came off more like a bearing of the teeth.

"Thank you, Richard," she said with a distinct chill in her voice. Wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible, she disengaged herself from Mr. Darcy's arm.

"Come, Charles. I need to speak with you."

She dragged her confused brother ahead a few good paces, putting them at a neat distance from Will and Richard.

Richard was beside himself with mirth. Caroline had never liked him, for some reason. He loved to provoke her.

He turned to his cousin.

"Remember when I said try not to look like an idiot?" He lifted his brows. "I think you should try a little harder."

Will gave him a shove that couldn't exactly be called playful, but couldn't be called hostile, either.

He didn't see them.

The party had been going on for half an hour, and most of the guests had arrived in time. But, because life liked to mess with him, William did not see the Bennet party.

Anywhere.

It would not be hard to find them as a whole at a social gathering—he had learned that much on their first meeting. Between the mother and the two youngest, so much commotion was caused that it would take effort not to notice them. Of course, if one put forth effort to not notice them, they would, in fact, be noticing them and reacting.

Therefore it was quite impossible not to notice them.

Will actively sought them out.

And he could not find them.

"So where is your sweetheart?"

Will jumped at the sound of Richard's voice. His cousin had appeared out of thin air behind him and nearly scared Will out of his skin.

"She's not my sweetheart," Will protested, resisting the urge to hit Richard over the head with his walking stick.

"Right," Rich agreed. "I'm sorry. How could I possibly have come to that conclusion?"

The two bachelors watched as the multitudes of small cliques amused themselves. Soft, nondescript music tinkled from the room's walls. The music proved to be irritating to Will, but he found that he could ignore it. It was like elevator music, or the music played in department stores—solely present for the purpose of filling empty silence.

"Will, darling, there you are!" a voice shouted, cutting through his thoughts. He turned and smiled slightly, governed by politeness. Caroline fast approached him, two people following at a more sedate pace. He raised a questioning brow at her.

She smiled widely. It was blatantly insincere.

"William, I'd like you to meet my fellow voice student and her fiancé."

Will pondered why she could have stressed that last word—why she was bothering to introduce them, really, since it was obvious she didn't like them. Caroline continued on, ignorant to Will's internal progression of thought.

"William, this is Christine and her fiancé, Raoul." No last names. Interesting. "Christine, Raoul, this is my good friend William Darcy, C.E.O. of Pemberley Enterprises."

The way she purred when she said his name disturbed him. He brushed this aside, however, and tried to be as polite as possible. Christine seemed nice enough, but gave off the impression she was nervous to be there. Will wanted to attribute it to a tenuous relationship with the hostess, but no, it didn't seem that way. At least not entirely. Raoul was a confident young man proving to be quite amiable, and soon they actually struck up a meaningful conversation. Will found out that he was actually a big name in the business world, too. Raoul's father was the head of Viscount Industries, and he was training to take on the role when his father retired.

They had just gotten into a spirited discussion about the alarming state of the nation's economy when Richard nudged William to get his attention.

"What?" Will asked, his irritation plain.

"I think your sweetheart just got here."

"What?"

Will turned, and yes, there she was. The heart beneath his hat quivered.

"How'd you know it was her?" he asked, trying to disguise his natural reactions to seeing her. Richard smiled and shrugged.

"Good guess. So you gonna introduce me, or what?" He started moving toward her. He stopped and whistled. "She's a looker! You've been holding out on me, Will!"

"Rich, wait!" William apologized to his new acquaintances and declared he must be going for the time being. Caroline saw this as an opportunity to break away from the engaged couple and added that she had to leave to greet more guests, as well. When William turned and started moving toward his cousin, Elizabeth's family decided to materialize around her. Her mother then decided to be vocal.

"Oh, look at all this!" she shouted. "Such finery! Such company! Oh, Mr. Bennet, look! I think that's the mayor!"

Richard looked back at Will, a grin splitting his face in two.

"The infamous mother?"

Will nodded and caught up.

"Well, come on, then," Rich said. "I still want to meet her, and I'd prefer to do it now."

Will decided he didn't like the way Richard was looking at Lizzy. He'd seen the same look on his face whenever Richard spotted a new bit of fun. Not that Richard was a rake—no, Will wouldn't do him that injustice.

He just liked to flirt.

'Harmless fun,' he called it.

William had never reacted to this character trait with anything more than exasperation in the past, but now—now was an altogether different matter.

He did not like it, not one bit.

"Elizabeth!" he called, finally coming within earshot of the woman. She turned at the sound of her name.

Will's throat went dry.

She was wearing a simple black dress. It had nothing on some of the other gowns worn by some of the other female guests, but it looked—it—looked—very—good—on—her—very—very—good, he—he thought—good—yes—

Richard clapped him on the back, as if to remind him that gawking would be considered 'making himself look like an idiot,' nearly sending Will's hat tumbling off his head.

"I'm sorry," Richard apologized with a smile, "my cousin has always had a hard time speaking to attractive women."

Lizzy raised her brows, as if she couldn't believe the audacity of this saucy new stranger.

"I thought you wanted an introduction," Will said, straightening out his hat and leveling a glare at Richard. The offender clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, doing his best good-boy impression.

"Yes, please."

William rolled his eyes.

"Elizabeth, this is my insufferable cousin, Richard. Richard—," he paused, not quite knowing how to describe her, "—Elizabeth Bennet."

Richard smiled widely.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service, Miss Bennet," he said with an obnoxiously low bow. When he rose, he saw she was smiling. She curtsied daintily.

"Please, call me Lizzy, Mr. Fitzwilliam," she beseeched.

"I would be delighted. You must call me Richard, then. Or," the gleam in his eyes turned impish, "if you prefer, any sort of endearment you can come up with will suffice."

"Hm…" She tapped her chin and tilted her head, making show of her intent thought process. "How about 'cheeky?'"

"Perfectly fitting! I like it immensely." He turned to Will. "I believe I like your Lizzy." He nodded. "Yes, it's decided." He turned back to Elizabeth. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

"I think I can manage."

"Are you sure? I'm told I'm insufferable." Richard winked at Darcy.

"Well, you're in good company, then! I've been told the same." Lizzy smiled, Richard smiled, William did not smile.

William had always envied Richard one thing—his ability to converse easily with strangers. Seeing him interact so well with Elizabeth, only knowing her for all of five minutes, stirred resentment within him. He was jealous.

Of Richard's conversational skills, that is.

Not—not the other kind of jealous.

Because that would be ridiculous.

Completely and utterly absurd.

Right?

Right.

They were talking about something. He heard his name. He supposed he should probably be listening.

"—'ve heard a lot about you. Will hasn't shut up since I got here."

Now that was a blatant falsehood. William had actually been stubbornly tight-lipped about 'his Lizzy.' Why was Richard trying to embarrass him?

"Don't believe any of it." Lizzy's frank, wry comment caught Will off guard. Not Richard, though. Nothing caught Richard off guard.

"Why not? He's done nothing but sing your praises."

She gave an unladylike snort.

"Right! I find it hard to imagine Mr. Darcy would sing my praises."

"Oh, but he does! In particular, he seems to enjoy describing, in great detail, a certain pair of fine eyes…"

William was appalled. How could his cousin humiliate him like that?

He felt a certain pair of fine eyes on him. Against his will, his face flooded with color. He tried his best not to look as embarrassed as he felt.

"Rich, I just remembered—I have to tell you something," Will said.

Richard waited patiently.

"In private."

"Oh. Alright." He turned to Lizzy. "I'm sorry. Can you excuse us for a moment? This appears urgent."

She graciously allowed the men to step away to have their tête-à-tête. Darcy made sure they were out of earshot before he began.

"What are you doing?" William's terse whisper cut through the air like a throwing star. Richard appeared affronted.

"I'm not doing anything!" he defended. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't be difficult, Richard. You know exactly what you're doing. How do you expect me to not look like an idiot when you're making me look like an idiot?"

"I'm not making you look like an idiot. I'm helping you out!"

"How do you figure?"

"I have my ways, Will. You and I, we operate differently. You can't expect to always understand me and my methods. Just trust me, okay?"

Will's jaw clenched. After a moment, he sighed.

"Fine. But could you maybe go about it differently? Just a bit?"

Rich rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll try not to flaunt your deepest darkest secrets in front of the girl. If things get too uncomfortable, you just signal me or something, alright?"

Will nodded. With that, they moved to rejoin her. Upon arrival, though, Will declared he needed to attend to something very important; would they be so kind as to excuse him?

"Does it have something to do with what you guys were just talking about?" Lizzy asked.

Will hesitated.

"Yes," he declared firmly. He decided to let Richard do whatever he was trying to do alone. He didn't need to witness all of it, and something told him he probably wouldn't want to. He could get filled in on the important things later, whatever that would be.

With that in mind, he turned and walked away.

William Darcy did not like parties for two reasons. At parties, one is expected to socialize. He could really do without that; he was content with his circle of friends, thank you very much, and really, who needed to constantly expand the number of his or her associates? He figured it would be exceptionally disastrous for him, he would never remember their names or what to say to them, etc., etc., and so forth.

Secondly—typically at parties, it is mandatory that one dances. Well, perhaps not mandatory, per se, but it is a general rule. If one does not dance, one usually gets called out on it. William like to draw as little attention to himself as possible, but he detested dancing in public.

Then, he saw Elizabeth Bennet in her very (very) becoming dress and he promptly forgot all of this. He got it in his head that it would be a wonderful experience to socialize and dance with said woman. Unfortunately, before his highly appealing thought became fruit-bearing action, he was accosted by his date.

Oh, right.

"Will, darling, where have you been?" she asked, wrapping a hand around his arm in a way he rather did not care for. "I take my eyes off you for one second and you disappear." She shook her head tragically, and he suddenly felt like a child being disciplined by his mother. "Well, at least I found you before dinner. It would have been unbearable if I had to walk into the dining room alone."

He made what he intended to be a noncommittal noise, but it came out tinged with regret. He watched as Richard approached Elizabeth, two drinks in hand, and readily struck up a conversation. Caroline took his reaction as one of genuine displeasure at such a prospect she would have faced.

A dainty bell sounded, catching Will unawares. It was a thin, tinkling sound, one that should not have been audible above the incessant, insect-like chatter coming from those invited. At once, everyone quieted in confusion.

"Oh!" Caroline exclaimed lightly. "Looks like it's time for dinner!" She looked up at William. "I hope you didn't fill up on hors d'oeuvres!"

William looked in envy upon Richard as he bowed to Elizabeth and then held out his arm to her. She accepted it gracefully. They began to make their way to the dining room adjacent to the ballroom, but not before Richard tossed a quick wink over to his cousin.

William refrained from going to the nearest wall and banging his head against it. At an assembly such as this, it would be unseemly.

Alright.

He had danced once with Caroline. That should suffice for the evening.

He sat down at one of the many tables stationed at the fringes of the ballroom and sighed. He really felt like running a hand through his hair, but to do that, he would have to take his hat off. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

Richard rolled up in front of him. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat. Completely disregarding all decorum and politeness, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"You okay, Will?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. Will shrugged in mild annoyance.

"Fine," he answered. "Where've you been all this time?"

"Oh, you know, here and there."

William stared steadily at him.

"I've been making new friends, Will," Richard continued. "Me and Lizzy are already BFFs, so she introduced me to some people she knows."

"Did you just say you're BFFs?"

"Plus I've been making some rounds, chatting, charming, and all that jazz." He waved his hand dismissively. "You know."

"You always were the party boy."

"Please," Richard snorted. "This isn't a party. It's a social gathering."

Will cracked a smile. It was true—this was not the sort of party Richard regularly went to.

Rich looked around.

"Where's Caroline?" he asked, his eyes roving about the sea of faces within the ballroom. Will shook his head.

"I don't know. She keeps disappearing. I guess to talk to everyone and perform 'hostly duties.' Turns out she's a really bad date."

"Well, that was unexpected." Richard opened his mouth as if to say something else, only to glance above Will's shoulder. He smiled and waved. Will looked back.

"Well, well!" Richard said. "Haven't seen you in ages."

"I know, right?" Elizabeth Bennet responded. "How've you been since we last met?"

"Eh." Richard shrugged.

Lizzy smiled and then greeted Darcy.

It was at this moment that the background music decided to change. They all looked up at the ceiling as if to see the difference in music. Lizzy's smile widened as she recognized the tune.

"I love this song!" she professed. It seemed to be an instrumental version of a song they were all familiar with—a stark contrast to the 'culture' they had just been subjected to.

William did the most radical thing.

He spoke without thinking.

"Would you like to dance?" When the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Only, he didn't want to take them back at all. He was suddenly very nervous. He'd probably kick himself for this a thousand times before the night was out.

"Ah!" Richard exclaimed. "Beat me to the punch."

"Oh," Lizzy said, masking her surprise with a smile, "it's alright."

Richard taunted her with a smile of his own.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "This is a singular occasion. Darcy doesn't dance."

"Oh, well, if you don't want to, it's fine, I guess," William assured her, feeling a blush creeping up his collar into his cheeks.

"Ah, come on!" Rich goaded. "You guys are no fun."

As if rehearsed, they both looked at him and quirked corresponding eyebrows. This made him laugh aloud, which only made their brows slide higher.

"Really, now?" Lizzy returned flatly. William glanced at her and swallowed apprehensively. In a surprisingly calm voice, he risked saying, "Well, it can't hurt, right?"

Lizzy glanced between the two men and resisted rolling her eyes. Instead, she shrugged.

"Alright."

"Yessssss!" Richard pumped an exultant fist.

"Why are you so happy about this?" Lizzy asked as Darcy stood. Rich's eyes sparkled, but his answer did not explain any of the mischievousness present in them.

"This golden opportunity has presented itself now, and I would be greatly disappointed if it were wasted. Will doesn't dance half as much as he should."

William rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because dancing is essential to my wellbeing," he said facetiously.

"It is!" Richard exclaimed. "Ah, but enough talking! We're wasting time. Go, go, shoo! Off with you." He made shooing motions with his hands. The two left the table both amused and faintly exasperated.

Once safely on the dance floor, the two easily slid into a waltz, as the beat of the music dictated. William was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of his decision; he was feeling decidedly awkward, and the fact that he was hyperaware of his partner did nothing to make things easier for him. He did not maintain eye contact for long, for fear the admiration he felt for her would be evident in his eyes.

Apparently, Elizabeth did not care for his distant manner.

"So, usually, when two people dance, they tend to look at each other. You know, acknowledge the other's existence."

"Oh! Um. I'm sorry," Will apologized. "I… was thinking."

He would have allowed his mind to whisper to itself, 'about you,' but that would be incredibly sappy and cliché, and he detested sappiness and clichés. Just the thought of that thought made him want to twist his face up in disgust.

But he didn't, because Lizzy was there, and that would look odd to her. She didn't know what he was thinking, after all (thank goodness), and he couldn't rightly tell her what he was thinking. That would make things even more awkward.

So, despite his fears, he looked down and a series of events occurred in rapid succession.

First, he once again noticed how remarkably fine Elizabeth's eyes were. Although not being of an artistic disposition, he wondered at how such eyes as hers would be taken in paint. He surmised that, although the shape and the color might be replicated, he could not think the artist could capture the intelligence that rendered them uncommonly beautiful. He found himself arrested by those eyes, and he could not bring himself to look away.

Then, he took in the graceful curve of her cheek, imagining the feel of her soft skin within his cupped hand, and fancied it would fit perfectly in his palm.

With great might, he resisted kissing her. He knew he was probably giving himself away, but at that moment, he couldn't find himself to care. It was then that he knew—that was it.

He was a goner.

And finally, he stopped denying the existence of the heart above his head.

"So," Elizabeth said, tearing him from his reverie, "how is your sister?"

Ah. Small talk. How romantic. At least it was a subject he was comfortable with. He smiled.

"She's doing well, he answered, twirling her skillfully. "In fact, I just got an email from her last night."

That email had been a 'normal life update,' as she called it—there was a particular test she thought she failed (but probably didn't—she underestimated herself far too often), local news (a codeword for gossip), and a paragraph about how Po-po (Napoleon), their (her) dog (monster) had nearly caught a rabbit while taking a walk yesterday morning. And then, there was the second half—about her soon-to-be sister-in-law (her words, not his), Elizabeth. She had been extracting information about the mysterious maiden little by little over the past few weeks, and thought it her duty to tease Will and inquire about her as much as possible. In this installment, she had expressed a desire to meet the famous Dizzy Miss Lizzy.

"She wants to meet me?"

What? Did he actually say that out loud?

Oh, Lord.

Deciding that he would just play it off (because although he was somewhat sure he only mentioned Georgie's wish to meet Lizzy, he did not know if his wording was… appropriate), he let himself show a small smile.

"Yeah." He would have shrugged if the dance allowed it. "She basically demanded that I make some friends before I left, and so she wanted to know about who I met and all. She thinks you're interesting."

"Oh, does she?" Elizabeth asked with a cryptic smile. "I'm sorry for that."

"For what?" Darcy asked in surprise.

"I can't begin to imagine what you've told that poor girl."

"Well, whatever it was, it must have been interesting enough for her to want to meet you."

"Interesting is a very debatable word, Mr. Darcy."

"She says she thinks you two could be good friends, so apparently it was interesting in a good way."

"Ah! That bit of information changes everything. You must've lied terribly in my behalf, in which case, if she met me, she'd be greatly disappointed."

"What? Now why would you say that?" he asked with a smile.

"Because I am a wild, stubborn person who would be a terrible influence on her."

"You flatter yourself."

They twirled on the floor, the conversation ceased, and Darcy noticing hardly anything but the woman in his arms, so transfixed was he. It truly was like gliding on air—it seemed like those torturous years of dance lessons finally paid off. He was swept up in all things Elizabeth—the way she expertly placed her feet in all the right spots at all the right times, the way her eyes reflected the lights around them, the way her mouth curved into a gentle smile in enjoyment of the waltz.

And then, as if he had blacked out for a few seconds, he found himself standing at the table where Richard sat. Richard was saying something, laughing, but Darcy didn't hear. His mind was still in a daze, half there, half still out on the dance floor, holding Elizabeth and moving in time with the music.

He did not consciously make the decision to tell her his feelings, no. He was not aware of this new, subconscious resolve. He only felt a strange compelling force within him, making him want to say something, but leaving him at a loss for words.

William had consumed several glasses of champagne.

Mr. Darcy was not a heavy drinker. In fact, Richard, on many occasions, had called him a lightweight, and maybe that was true.

But certainly a few glasses of champagne would not get him drunk. No, of course not. He merely felt… looser. More casual. Less inhibited.

It was just as well.

He no longer had trouble speaking to people. He figured it was because he thought less when alcohol was in his system, and so he didn't—couldn't—remember every hang-up he had about speaking to strangers.

It was as Charles was waving him over to meet someone that he saw her through the window. He didn't know why she was outside—it was rather cold out, the weather having finally caught up to them, and from what he could see, no one else was out there.

Then again, that might be the reason she was outside.

He looked from Charles to Elizabeth and back again. Will shook his head at his friend and pointed out the window to where Lizzy was standing. Charles looked over. He grinned, giving Will a thumbs-up, and resumed conversation with whomever was standing next to him.

William made his way to a door at the far end of the room, his tread firm and confident. He was out the door for no less than a second when the full force of the cold hit him—it had to be at least freezing, if not below that. Perhaps he should have brought his overcoat.

He spotted Lizzy a ways off and began to walk to her, little white puffs of breath forming a trail behind him. She leaned against the railing separating the area near the house from the rest of the grounds, looking up at the moon.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" he called out. She turned, startled. Once she recognized him, she turned back.

"I just needed some fresh air," she answered indifferently. He caught up to her and leaned on the rail beside her.

"It is a bit stuffy in there, isn't it?"

She snorted.

"You have no idea."

"Of course I do. I was just in there," he stated matter-of-factly. She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, giving a small half-smile.

"So how are you enjoying the party so far?" he asked. "You know, besides the stuffiness."

She shrugged.

"It's very… elegant. Elegance isn't really my thing."

Elegance seemed very much her thing at the moment, Darcy thought. He had enough sense not to say this, however. Instead, he smiled at her.

"You might not think it," he said, "but elegance isn't really my thing, either."

She regarded him curiously.

"You know," she admitted, "if you would have told me that when we first met, I wouldn't have believed you. But now I guess I can see it."

"Really? What changed your mind?"

"Maybe the fact that you play video games like a teenager."

William laughed. He didn't realize it, but it was the first time he'd done so in her presence.

"I live with a teenager! What do you expect?"

"A teenage girl!"

"You have no idea what a gamer Georgie is."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You know, I think you two would get along really well."

She gazed at him with some surprise.

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm not surprised she wants to meet you. You seem a bit surprised, though. Why is that?"

"Oh…" Lizzy shrugged stiffly. Darcy wasn't sure if this was due to a change in mood or to the cold. "I just feel as though we operate on different levels. Everyone's always singing her praises, talking about how accomplished she is and everything. Why would she want the company of someone so inferior?"

Darcy couldn't read the tone of her voice. It was weighty, but maybe his interpretation skills were hindered by the alcohol.

"Elizabeth, you are no one's inferior."

The resulting shock and slight confusion on her face made Will realize how that might've sounded to her. And, too late, he remembered that she was one who frequently expressed opinions that were not her own. He was kicking himself for saying it, and was about to move on to being embarrassed when he decided, no. He said it, and it was true, so why should he be embarrassed?

"In fact," he pressed boldly onward, hardly knowing what he was doing, "you're one of the least inferior women I know."

Well, that didn't come out like he'd hoped.

"What I mean to say is—I—uh…" Here he grew flustered. This always seemed to happen around her. He could never find the right things to say, and when he did speak, it usually came out terribly wrong. It seemed that alcohol had done nothing for him in this case.

"Haven't you ever wondered why I've always been wearing a hat? Since your last visit when Jane was sick, I mean?" he asked abruptly, putting his hands in his pockets so she wouldn't see them shake. Her countenance grew more mystified.

"I have noticed it, but haven't given it much thought," she answered. "Why?"

"Because…" He swallowed and would not look at her. "Because I've been hiding. From everyone. Most of all you."

"I don't understand."

In one swift motion (take it like a Band-Aid), he closed his eyes and lifted the top hat off his head. Lizzy was silent. He took a breath and opened his eyes.

She was staring at him in astonishment.

Her eyes asked the question her lips could not form. He answered unhappily.

No, unhappily was the wrong word. He was nervous, to be sure, but there was also a rush of excitement that mingled with dread and relief at finally being able to reveal his secret.

"I… have this—" he motioned to the heart above his head, "—because of you. I didn't want anyone to know about it because it's kind of ridiculous that this is my first time being in—having feelings for someone, and, well, I… I figured it would never work, so I wanted to keep it as under control as possible so I wouldn't get hurt. Which is kind of selfish if you think about it—actually, it's kind of selfish to assume it's selfish… uhm…"

He was floundering, and it felt terrible. She'd yet to say anything, which he hoped was a good sign, but feared it wasn't. Well, it was too late to turn back. He might as well continue on.

Then again, that might make the situation worse.

Or (aha!), it might make it better.

Optimism, so long denied acceptance by Mr. Darcy, won out.

"Alright, let me start from the beginning. Rewind." He took a steadying breath. "I… like you."

He liked her? What, was he in fifth grade? Then he remembered the whole regression issue was pretty much a moot point by then.

"I've liked you for a while now," he continued. "I didn't want to like you, because I thought that a relationship between us wouldn't work, because…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because of what people would think and say."

"What would people think and say?" Her tone was undecipherable, but at least she was talking, right? That had to be a good thing… right?

"Well…" His brow furrowed as he said, almost guiltily, "I sort of am the C.E.O. of a very large, highly successful business. It's not like people would ignore it if I got into a relationship. They would be surprised if they found out I was with someone like you, and they would say… things."

He thought he handled that pretty well. Unfortunately, the suppressed anger in Lizzy's eyes told him otherwise.

"Someone like me?" she repeated testily. "I understand completely. We wouldn't want to have someone like me tarnishing your brilliant reputation, now, would we?"

Will was taken aback by her reaction. She had completely misunderstood him. He'd meant he didn't want her getting hurt by what the tabloids—and certain members of his circle, for that matter—could and would say. That was a vicious lot, to be sure, and he knew how nasty they could get when presented with any sort of juicy gossip.

"What? No, that's not—"

"Oh, it's alright," she continued heatedly. "Because you were right on one account. It could never work. How could I possibly bring myself to return the feelings of a man who has—has—so wronged someone who was practically a brother to him?"

Instantly, all the color drained from Will's face. In a quiet, controlled way, he inferred, "You're talking about George Wickham, aren't you?"

Elizabeth sneered. It looked completely, terribly wrong on her face.

"My, aren't you the bright one!"

"Are you mocking me?" he asked with incredulity.

He was not prepared for this. He had hoped for a pleasant reaction, steeled himself for a let-down, but this—nothing like this had ever crossed his mind. This was completely unexpected. Usually he could deal with unexpected.

But this was Elizabeth.

He'd seen her amused, annoyed, happy, concerned, piqued—but this was something he never thought he'd see. It was utterly surreal.

"Perhaps I should retract my statement," she said humorlessly.

"My God! What kind of lies has he told you?" What could Wickham have possibly said to make her react so violently towards him?

"Lies! He told me no lies, only the misfortunes he's had to endure by your hand!"

"Misfortunes!" Darcy's anger was beginning to stir. "Oh, yes, his misfortunes have been great, indeed."

"And you treat his plight with sarcasm!" she cried. "Have you no heart?"

William smiled bitterly.

"I think that's pretty apparent," he retorted with palpable self-depreciation, "seeing as how it's in plain sight."

Her countenance changed for a split second with something that almost looked like conscience. It was only for a moment, though.

"Well, at least now I know how you really feel about me. I'm sorry to have taken up your time," he concluded.

He turned around and stalked off. Once inside the ballroom, hundreds of eyes turned to face him. He then realized his conversation with Elizabeth had been in plain sight and not one single person present in that ballroom had missed it. His face flooded with anger. He was far past being embarrassed.

He made his way steadily to the exit. As soon as the doors closed behind him, a cacophony of murmurs filled the ballroom and he broke out into a run.

He ran to his room, where he winced and cringed a thousand times over at his own inability to communicate. After that, the proceeded to curse Wickham's existence and influence and ability to smooth-talk everyone.

But maybe this altercation was for the best.

He was leaving in the morning, anyway.