General AN: This is just a little PSA/note to anyone who follows my writing in general on ff dot net. My frustrations with some aspects of the site are causing me to switch permanently to ao3 as a means of publishing fics. I won't be publishing any new works on this site, so if you're interested in continuing to read my stuff, you'll have to switch over to my tumblr (jhoomwrites) or ao3 (jhoom) accounts. HOWEVER, because I have a number of unfinished WIPs and series on this site, I will continue to update those until they're complete. That means that the following stories/series WILL continue to be updated on ff dot net: The Mark; Academy Blues; love to hate; What's in a Name?; any fics related to Welcome to SKU. Anything new that I post that is NOT related to those stories will NOT be published here.
AN: So again, apologies for the very very delayed update. I'm in general struggling with this fic, wondering where exactly I want to go, and despite brainstorming with some people it's eluded me for a bit. I hope to be back on track with (somewhat) regular updates now, but no promises. Thank you again for your kind words and patience as I try to figure things out.
Elizabeth is not one to sulk, but she would be hard pressed to deny that's what's she's doing now. She's done the best to put the whole notion of soulmates (and particularly, the two men at her disposal to fill said role) out of her mind. Easier said than done, given that all their mother can talk about is Mr. Bennet and that their father gives her a knowing look whenever they cross paths in the house.
Jane of course does her best to be sympathetic and offer what support she can, but Elizabeth has taken to avoiding her sister as well. She knows Jane means well - bless her heart, of course she does - but Lizzie is simply not ready to listen to the things she has to say. The notion that Wickham might be manipulating her (to what end she can't even begin to speculate) is about as distasteful as the idea that her soulmate is as stuck up of a man as Darcy appears to be.
Lying a grassy hill on the Longbourn grounds, Lizzie watches a pair of birds dart through the air before disappearing towards the treeline. "Maybe I'll just choose neither of them and live my life as a spinster," she muses to no one. "It'd surely be less complicated."
But thoughts of staying unmarried are now paired with the possibilities offered by the opposite. She first pictures herself in a nondescript hall, over elegant and needlessly lavous. There's a dress to go with the hall, exquisite and made for the newest fashions but not at all to her own taste. With a mental flick, she dismisses the image only to find it replaced with the simple life of a soldier's wife. It's not unappealing, except that something about it somehow feels lonely.
Rolling onto her stomach, she sighs into the grass. "I don't want a husband."
Then don't have one.
It's an easy enough answer, and one that she may very well choose.
No matter how much Lizzie would like more time to ponder her situation (or at the very least, to avoid pondering it), life does not cooperate with such requests. They receive their invitation to a ball at Netherfield and it quickly becomes the only topic of conversation among the Bennet family. Even when Lizzie makes efforts to talk about something, nay anything else, it's easily redirected back to the ball.
What shall we have for dinner tonight?
Surely nothing as splendid as what Mr. Bingley will serve!
Anyone care to walk to town?
Oh, do pick up some new ribbons for your sister! We want her to look her best for Mr. Bingley.
I think I'll go read a book.
You were at Netherfield for a spell, what types of books does Mr. Bingley have?
It's easier to simply keep her mouth shut and let her mother and sisters dominate the discussion. Dull as it may be, it's less frustrating than having her words twisted to suit their current interests.
They line up outside to wait for the carriage, Lydia and Kitty giggling together about which officers they wish to dance with first and Mary stoically enduring it. Jane and Elizabeth silently offer each other support, knowing that the other's soulmate (mysterious identity or not) will be there. When the carriage comes into view, their mother turns around and points a finger at each of them in turn.
"Now, Mr. Collins will want to dance with each of you and I daresay you'll all be agreeable dance partners, will you not?"
Lydia in particular looks aghast. "Mama! Why on Earth should we want to dance with that old toad?"
"He's not that old," Mary points out but is promptly ignored.
"Lydia, my girl! Do I need to spell it out? He means to marry one of you! And unless one of you girls is hiding a name on your wrists as illustrious as Mr. Bingley's, one of you will have to try and catch his fancy and save the rest of us from poverty!"
Kitty self-consciously holds her wrists tight and her lips even tighter. Mary looks indifferent while Lydia scowls more broadly, knowing full well her wrists will remain empty for another year yet. Which is both unfortunate and fortunate. Unfortunate that she has no shield from her mother's current threat, and fortunate because Lizzie suspects the whole town will know the names of her soulmates before noon on her sixteenth birthday.
Before anyone can comment further, the carriage arrives at their doorstep and none other than Mr. Collins himself appears on the threshold of their home. "May I just say, fair cousins, that you all look particularly fine this evening! I would love to have the chance to dance with each of you-"
"Oh, never mind that right now, Mr. Collins." Mrs. Bennet starts shuffling into the carriage. "If we're late, there'll be no dancing with anyone. Come on now, come along!"
The Bennet sisters, by some unspoken agreement, all immediately scatter as soon as they arrive. Apparently if Mr. Collins wishes to dance with them, he'll have to put in the effort of finding them first.
Elizabeth and Jane veer off to the side. She has the suspicion that her older sister has it in her head to stay by her side all evening. The prospect of Jane's company is by no means an unpleasant one… excepting the fact that it feels like she's attempting to play chaperone. While Jane has taken no stance on whether it is Darcy or Wickham who is her soulmate, she has made it clear that she does not want Elizabeth taking a stance either.
A wise position to take, especially when she spies Mr. Darcy across the room. Her blood runs cold at the sight of him, and she pointedly looks away.
Then she scolds herself roundly for having not taking her promise to Jane more seriously.
I promised to give them both a chance to show their true worth. And she's right, naturally. But I don't have the temperament my dear, sweet Jane does. If Mr. Darcy says something I find intolerable, I won't be able to hold my tongue.
After a moment's thought, she adds, Though I suppose of Mr. Wickham were to do the same, I wouldn't either.
They find Charlotte moments before Bingley finds them.
"Miss Bennet! How lovely you look this evening! I'm quite relieved you so well recovered. Would you do me the pleasure of the next dance?"
Jane smiles shyly and hesitantly looks to her sister. She must read the gentle encouragement Elizabeth's doing her best to radiate, because instead of making excuses she gladly accepts his offer. Bingley looks giddy as he disappears back into the crowd, making the rounds as host, and Jane turns a concerned look her way.
"Enjoy your dance. I'll be sure not to throw myself at too many men while you're gone." She hooks her arm through Charlotte's and pats her arm. "Charlotte will do perfectly fine at keeping me out of trouble."
"Unlikely," Charlotte chirps. "But I'll be sure to scold her the whole time."
It's not until they're alone - or at least relatively alone, within the anonymity one can only find at a ball such as this - as Jane goes off to dance that Charlotte eyes Lizzie warily.
"What men might you be in danger of throwing yourself at? I fear I'm terribly behind on the gossip if I've missed out on a beau of yours."
"Indeed." She looks about the room, dragging Charlotte in her wake as she scours the crowd for the men in question. "There are numerous men vying for my affection, I don't know what they'll do when I confess that I have no intention of marrying any of them and would rather wile away my days as an old maid with none but you to comfort me."
"Lizzie," her friend scolds. "You shouldn't joke. I know you don't much care for the necessity of marriage, but don't become so cynical you pass up on an opportunity to see your future secured for you."
This is a conversation they've had before, well worn territory that illustrates each time how very different in temperament the two friends are. Lizzie knows she could only ever hate a man she was forced to marry and would always choose a life of simple pleasures and freedom over the prospect of vast estates tied to a wealthy fool. Charlotte, of course, has always been more pragmatic and adaptable.
But instead of teasing each other (or worse, falling into a debate about the matter with no hopes of changing the other's opinion), they're interrupted.
"Miss Bennet."
Lizzie credits herself with doing a fair job of keeping her expression neutral as she inclines her head. "Mr. Darcy."
"Could I perhaps trouble you to dance with me during the next set?"
Her initial reaction is to decline, but sadly her promise to Jane rings loudly in her ears.
Be impartial. Give the man a chance to step over his own feet before casting him aside. For heaven's sake, he's likely to do no more than further annoy me and put me in Wickham's camp. Honestly there's no reason to put this off - dance with him, find out if he's as disagreeable as you presume him to be, then move on without doubt or regret.
"Of course," she says with fake cheer, "I'd be delighted."
He startles slightly at her response, but bows and takes his leave without another word.
"Well, feel free to throw yourself at him. You could do far worse than Mr. Darcy."
"Charlotte!"
"You'd be a fool to cast aside a man of such worth because of such a frivolous notion as-"
"Love? Mutual admiration and respect? A desire to be mistress of my own life and affairs?"
Charlotte sighs but doesn't counter. "I hope there never comes a day that proves I'm right about this."
"At least you're not the type to gloat should it happen anyway."
All too soon, Darcy comes to claim her hand to dance. Even more troubling is the fact that she has yet to find Mr. Wickham anywhere, despite other officers being present. The first few measures are slow and tedious. Darcy is obviously a practiced dancer, yet he's so rigid in his movements it appears as if he's not having any fun at all.
That makes two of us, Elizabeth thinks while suppressing a yawn.
"We must talk, Mr. Darcy. While I do enjoy a dance as much as the next person, I don't know if I can survive the ordeal without a little bit of conversation."
"Oh." He falters slightly on his current step but regains his balance without too much difficulty. "How have you been since your stay at Netherfield? I do hope your sister has adequately recovered from her illness?"
"She has indeed." She nods towards where Bingley and her sister are currently engaged in the dance. "I should of course thank Mr. Bingley again for being such a gracious host. His sisters as well. Quite accommodating."
Darcy, who turned to look over at the other dancing couple, looks back at her with a dark expression. The fact that he would so poorly react to Bingley and Jane together makes her blood boil. A desire to annoy the man rises up, to see more of his discomfort and revel in the fact that there's nothing he can do about it.
"I understand you and Mr. Wickham were childhood friends. Pity he appears not to be in attendance tonight. It seems a missed opportunity for you two to reconnect."
There's nearly a collision as Darcy stops altogether and another man just barely avoids running into him. He's unable to move as seamlessly back into the dance as he was moments ago. "It's hardly an opportunity I'd relish. Wickham and I did not part on good terms."
"Hmmm he did say something to that effect, but I could hardly believe it. The things he had to say… Surely a man such as yourself wouldn't- Oh!"
To her surprise, Darcy has walked right out of the dance and stalks towards the door. She has the impression she's meant to follow, but it takes a few moments for her mind to catch up with her body. By then she's already ducking through the crowd, sparing a silent prayer of gratitude that they were near the end of the line of dancers and unlikely to be noticed or missed.
Not three steps outside the doorway does she find Darcy standing and glaring at a footman. The poor man wilts under his gaze before retreating and leaving them alone in the small room adjoining the ballroom.
"Mr. Darcy?" she asks nervously. For all of his talk of propriety, she finds this whole situation truly bizarre. Enough so that she has half a mind to retreat and let him stew in his foul mood. Curiosity, however, keeps her firmly rooted to her spot.
"I apologize, this is very irregular, but…" He clearly is at a loss for words, working around the boundaries society has cast around them. In that moment, for whatever reason, she decides to be merciful and give him an opening.
"Wickham showed me his wrist. I saw your name there."
Darcy, to his credit, betrays little at the admission. His eyes go wide and his hands clench but otherwise he remains impassive. "Of course he did, the damn scoundrel."
"Language, Mr. Darcy."
The man barely looks chastised, waving dismissively at her. "Wickham is a scoundrel, and it's a pity more people don't know it. Though I do apologize for the colorful wording."
"Is his name on your wrist?"
He reflexively reaches to his right wrist, which only serves to make Elizabeth deeply curious about the contents of his left. "This isn't… This is hardly an appropriate matter for discussion." It's a weak deflection at best, but Elizabeth allows it.
"I can't imagine what that might be like," she says slowly, keeping her voice level and calm as though talking to a spooked horse. "To grow up with a friend, knowing some day you were to be the other's enemy. It must have been quite a shock on your sixteenth birthday to find his name there."
She can tell he briefly considers denying the whole thing, but he turns his eyes to the ground in defeat. "There are many disadvantages to these names. Sometimes it's our youthful hubris, our own prejudices that surely this man can't be as bad as all that. Then it's worse, knowing you could've stopped it all if you'd but given it more heed."
Pity is not something Elizabeth ever thought she'd have for Mr. Darcy, but she allows herself to feel it now. The idea of waking up one day and finding Charlotte's name on her wrist makes her insides twist uncomfortably. She's not sure she can forgive all of Darcy's actions when it comes to Wickham, but surely she should be more understanding of the delicate position he was in.
Though perhaps, and this is going out on a limb, Darcy has not considered the delicate position others were in.
"It must however have been easy for you to distinguish between your soulmate and your enemy." Darcy looks at her, frowning in confusion. She doesn't want to go too far, but she also doesn't want to not go far enough. As delicately as she can, she hazards a little farther. "For example, if a young woman were to have two men's names on their wrists, it would be impossible for her to tell who was who upon first acquaintance. It might in fact take several, and even then it could prove difficult."
The very second he catches her drift, his expression goes slack. He curses under his breath and turns away. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
Suddenly he whirls around and for the first time, she truly sees passion behind his countenance. "I would beg of anyone in that position not to be too hasty. Some are able to perform well to strangers, while others flounder and don't always leave the best first impression."
It seems that for once they're on the same page. Or as close as they've been since they first met. And though they've left the dance floor, they continue to dance around each other now. Always careful, precise steps as they try to make their thoughts known without trespassing upon propriety.
It's exhausting.
Luckily (or unluckily, as the case may be), they are interrupted by Kitty and Lydia. They give Darcy a cursory bow before pulling at Elizabeth's sleeves and leading her away.
"Mr. Collins is insistent upon dancing with us, and I am insistent that you go first." Once in the room, Lydia beckons their cousin over. "Elder sisters should dutifully suffer for the sake of the younger ones."
"Hopefully it's a fast dance and he trips or stubs his toe," Kitty adds as he makes his way over.
Elizabeth barely listens, instead looking back to Darcy. Somehow things seem to have just gotten infinitely more complicated.
