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The girl with fine eyes–-the one that he'd handed his handkerchief to–-led the other girls out of the conservatory without so much as a backward glance.

It was not unexpected, though it still stung a bit. But what young well-bred lady, even here in Hertfordshire–would speak to a man she had not been introduced to? Darcy had been foolish to think he could remain unspotted while the young ladies attended to their crying friend, but he hadn't been aware they were having such a personal conversation when he first got boxed in between the cigar-smoking gentleman and the potted palm.

She was pretty. In a rustic sort of way.

Pink cheeks and shining eyes and all that. He had always liked women who did not swoon and who spoke freely. But she was here, which meant she was part of this whole wretched village that he'd vowed to leave as soon as physically possible.

Just then, through the conservatory door, she saw Bingley circle past with another dancing young lady. He sighed and forced himself to leave the small room and join the rest of the party or his friend might end up affianced to more than one woman.

"There you are, Darcy!" Bingley said later when he finally managed to separate himself from his pretty dancing partner. "Why are you not dancing?"

Darcy gritted his teeth. "I loathe dancing, You know that." He knew he was speaking loud enough to be heard by those around him, but he did not care.

"Come now, how can you be so stupid and stand alone when there are so many pretty young ladies to be danced with?"

Darcy wished that perhaps Bingley was not so enthusiastic about everything.

"You were dancing with the only attractive girl here."

"She is very lovely, isn't she? But that is not true! There are dozens of beauties here! Why there is her sister standing just over there. She is very nearly as pretty."

Darcy's eyes fell on the dark-haired girl he had handed the handkerchief to. Of course, she was Bingley's partner's sister. Darcy swallowed and heat flushed his face. Now he would be forced to speak with her. Truly, she was lovely, despite her plain country dress. Now that they were in the better-lit hall, he could see her fine features. She would have made an alluring beauty in the salons of the ton–not showy or obvious–but very pretty. Quiet, but knowing, she was just the sort of rare girl who caught his attention and muddied his mind.

His heart was pounding. It irritated him more.

"I'll not take up partners with those being overlooked by other men. She is tolerable; but not enough to tempt me," he snarled without thinking, sounding more spiteful than he meant.

"Come now, Darcy!" Bingley said with disapproval.

"Not everyone has your cheerful disposition," Darcy said and then regretted the statement.

"Thankfully, not everyone has yours either."

Touche, Darcy thought.

When he covertly glanced toward her again, she was gone. There, that had taken care of her. His heart sputtered with relief. A few moments later, she caught his eye again skirting the dance floor to stop to speak to a tall young-looking boy.

She was across the room now. No need to feel like he needed to ask her to dance. But still, something like disappointment swirled in his chest.

Elizabeth did not think she was supposed to hear the tall man's remarks, but she had. As soon as he spoke, her face burned and she joined Charlotte in another part of the hall. As far away from that man as physically possible. It was not far enough.

Lucy now stood on the side with the other married ladies and stared listlessly at the couples on dance floor. Elizabeth's own Mama was nearby, as her voice rose above the din in another long-winded complaint. And now she had been deemed not tolerable enough by a strange man from town. What a cruel joke this evening had become. Suddenly, she wished she had chosen to stay home and used the silent house to sit and read.

She decided she had had enough seriousness and lamentations for the evening. The assembly was supposed to be frivolous and light-hearted. On an impulse, Elizabeth approached Thomas Wiley and asked him to dance. The boy turned a deep shade of crimson and nodded while staring at the floor, his thin arms and shoulder jerking in the way they often did. She laughed playfully. "You will have to look at me if we are going to dance. Remember how I taught you, take my hand and lead me."

Thomas gently took her hand, trying hard to hold it lightly as he walked to the floor. He trembled and his eyes blinked. Elizabeth had practiced with him several times and knew that he was capable of being a good partner.

"Yes, good, now we join the other dancers in the quadrille." Elizabeth nodded her head in the direction Thomas should follow. He clasped her hand (as gently as she taught him) and held it as they walked down the line of clapping couples. She was always amazed that when in motion, his tics–the jerking which he sometimes fell victim to–faded away.

"Very nicely done!"

They then joined the other dancers on the line. Thomas beamed at her, clearly thrilled to be included with the other dancers and clapping enthusiastically. At least now there was some good at her attending the assembly. She may have been insulted by a stranger, but at least the young man who so often stood alone enjoyed the dance. As she spun, she caught the dark silhouette of the tall man who slighted her looking her way.

At least she was dancing. Take that, sir!

The music changed tempo and the part of the dance began where the couples joined hands and spun around together quickly. She took Thomas's hand and they spun around the room, smiling as they sped up, turning faster. That would show the fine London gentleman who found her only tolerable. At least she found a partner who enjoyed her company. Not all attendees here could make that claim.

Thomas grasped her hands harder and laughed in delight as they spun. But, alas, he did not always know his strength. The room spun around Elizabeth even faster and she worried the force might fling her or her partner into other dancers.

"Thomas, do slow down," she called, but he did not seem to hear. Their velocity increased and they very nearly collided with another couple nearby.

And then it happened.

Thomas's foot caught on someone else's shoe and he tripped, their hands pulling apart, sending Elizabeth flying out across the floor.

Elizabeth saw the grins around her fade as she skittered. Her arms flailed out to catch herself and her fingertips brushed fabric on other dancers as she passed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the large lemonade bowl on the table as she fell backward. She tried to will her legs to stop but the momentum was too much. She was going to careen either into the lemonade table or the unfortunate people who stood around it. Either way, it would likely hurt and certainly be embarrassing. She spun around her in what felt like slow motion, but her body moved as though it had been guided to hit the large crystal bowl.

Pain shot up her side as her body bashed the hard square end of wood table, making the lemonade pour and spill out over the side. In another moment, she would collapse into the heavy bowl. Elizabeth's eyes closed and she reflexively put her hands up around her head as she steeled herself for the impact.

But what she hit was not hard and crystal. It was soft and warm. Another body–-a strong one–-stepped into her whirling path and caught her. She fell against the warm figure, her face into finely woven fabric as he positioned himself below her to soften her blow.

She landed face-first into a fine jacket that smelled like leather and a hint of pipe tobacco. It was a man, she knew from the faint scent and the knotty muscles she pretended she didn't notice—a tall man.

Once she had fallen off her feet, she scrambled quickly to push away from the man as quickly as she might. As she did, she raised her head and met the man's dark, inky gaze. She nearly sputtered when she saw his face. It was the proud Mr. Darcy lying just a few inches from her. He had jumped in and stopped her from hitting the lemonade bowl? Her face burned another shade of crimson.

"Pardon me, Sir."

His eyes blinked in surprise.

The humiliation! That they fell like this, on top of each other! In front of everyone! Her eyes snapped shut in horror.

"Elizabeth Bennet!" She heard her mother shriek from halfway across the room. "Someone help! My daughter has fallen."

Someone roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her up to her feet. It was Thomas Wiley, she saw now that she stood. He looked upset, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I let go of your hand, but didn't mean to," he whispered.

"Of course you didn't, Thomas." Elizabeth touched his arm gently to reassure him. "I am not harmed." She said shakily, smiling to show him and everyone looking she was fine.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her mother hissed as she came to her side. "Who mistreats my daughter so?"

"Mama, I am well."

Mrs. Bennet ignored her. "Who is responsible for this?" She looked from the still tumbled Darcy to Thomas.

A tear rolled down Thomas Wiley's face. "Ma'am, I am."

Elizabeth stepped to her mother's side. "Mama, it was an accident."

"Not now Lizzy!" Her mother snapped and pointed at Thomas. "You are responsible! My daughter might have been injured and been subjected to derision and gossip. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Mama! Do leave him be!"

"No, I'll not hold my tongue. To have my daughter exposed to talk due to this boy's irresponsible behavior is unacceptable! Lizzy, I forbid you from carrying on like this. Mrs. Wiley, I must ask that you leave your impetuous son at home! My daughter might have been killed or hurt. He is a danger to good society!"

"But I was not, Mama."

Mrs. Wiley, a widow, came from a spot in the back of the matrons and stood near her son.

"Thomas, is that true?" She looked very pale and small next to her son.

"Mama," he said, another tear falling quietly. Elizabeth's heart fell at the number of faces who were stood watching.

"It is all right. Thomas meant no harm," she said as loudly as she could.

"Lizzy, you must not act so selfishly. There are elderly people here who might have been hurt. I could have been hit!"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Mama, you were nowhere near us. We all are unhurt. Let us return to dancing."

"Is that what she calls what she's been doing?" A smirking Miss Caroline Bingley faux-whispered loudly to Mrs. Hurst and they both giggled. Elizabeth heard her and blanched.

Mr. Bennet appeared and offered a hand to help Mr. Darcy stand. "No one is injured, let us not blame those for what was clearly an accident." He turned and patted Thomas's shoulder. "You are alright, son. Do not be upset."

Mrs. Bennet huffed. "Mr. Bennet, how can you say so? Someone–I–might have been gravely hurt."

"And yet by some miracle, you stand alive and well," Mr. Bennet said and the people gathered around smiled with relief.

Elizabeth did not like how her father used her mother for his joke, but she was relieved to see people move on, and begin lining up to dance again as the orchestra played. People milled around her, and she noticed Thomas Wiley and his mother no longer stood in the group. She wondered where he was and wished to console him.

"Lizzy, I do think it's time to properly introduce you to Mr. Darcy, as he seemed to have sacrificed himself for you," her father said and Elizabeth reluctantly stopped searching for Thomas.

Mr. Darcy.

His dark eyes peered at hers. She regarded him, standing unsmiling, and curtsied politely. She tried to put the fact that she had been lying on top of him moments ago out of her head. "Mr. Darcy, I do appreciate your help. I am sorry for running into you"

"Think nothing of it," he replied coolly. "I only wanted no one hurt."

She supposed she should be more grateful, but his dour, indifferent expression did nothing to warm him to her, particularly in light of his previous tolerable enough comment.

"I do thank you."

He nodded once and turned away.

Elizabeth silently cringed. A word crossed her mind that she did not utter but had heard her father use. Ass.

She was introduced to the rest of his party, including Miss Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth found it difficult to like any of them except Mr. Bingley, who broke the tension by asking Jane to dance a second time.

Within a few minutes, the hall again shook with dancing and music, and Elizabeth went to find Thomas Wiley.