Gentle Readers,

I'm still writing. Thank you all for reading and commenting. As I've said many times, I'm posting as I'm writing, so this is a rough draft. But many readers have been really helpful. Thank you,

Grace

It was Darcy's worst nightmare, standing on a short box in front of a looking glass in a dressmakers shop with a white-haired seamstress poking him with pins as Lydia, Kitty and Mary lounged nearby.

"Do hold still, Miss Bennet, and this will go far more quickly," the seamstress said, pins between her gritted teeth. "And do suck in here," she pressed her hand firmly into his abdomen.

Darcy could only harumph in what was an unladylike way. He was pulling in his stomach, for God's sake. Clearly this woman was some kind of harridan who enjoyed causing young women pain like an evil crone from a fairy tale. Unfortunately, today he was the young woman. Darcy's nerves caused him to fidget and shift his weight from one foot to another.

Darcy caught a sidelong glimpse of his form in the looking-glass reflection. He looked the part well enough. Slim and well-formed, Elizabeth Bennet had an admirable figure with a trim waist and lush bosom. He still had trouble with that; that he was in "her" body. It was so very strange. But now that he was here, it lost the great fascination that it held when he was his old self. Now, her bosoms, though still perfect, did not enrapture his attention the way they once had when he was male. Which, actually, was fortunate, he concluded, or he'd not be able to leave his bed chamber.

"Do stand still, Lizzy. What has made you so fidgety?" Kitty said, causing Mary to look up from the book she seemed to carry around with her everywhere, even on the trek to Meryton.

Lydia looked up from where she was picking at her fingernails. "It is Mr. Wickham who has undone her!"

Now Darcy rolled his eyes. "Do not be daft, Lydia. I have lost no thoughts on Wickham." He did not linger on the fact he was now referring to the Bennet girls by their Christian names.

"Perhaps she is nervous to see Mr. Darcy again," Kitty said she and Lydia dissolved into annoying giggles.

"No, Lizzy hates that Darcy fellow. Don't you, Lizzy? How did you first describe Mr. Darcy? 'A pinched-faced nobleman without a shred of humor'?"

Darcy frowned. That sounded suspiciously like something Elizabeth Bennet might say about him. Darcy's face burned at this new indignity. At just that moment, the seamstress again poked him with a needle. "Ow! Do be careful, madam. I would never say such a thing about a fine man like Mr. Darcy."

Lydia's eyes widened with surprise. "Lizzy fancies Mr. Darcy now? Lord, what next, Mama will start spouting philosophy?" She and Kitty dissolved into another convulsion of giggling, which caused Darcy to sigh, knowing he was no match against the force.

"Perhaps Mary may start telling jokes!" This caused them to nearly cry with such hearty laughter the seamstress glared at them. Ha. Take that, Lydia Bennet. Let the tyrants wrath fall on her now.

The seamstress turned to Darcy's other side, pulled a thread and miraculously the dress skimmed over his figure like a glove.

"There," she said, stopping to admire her handiwork in the mirror. She tugged on the gown, causing Darcy to sway momentarily. "Do hold still, Miss Bennet. You look well in this," she said, "despite yourself."

Elizabeth did look very nice in the gown. The pale cream damask brought out the roses in her cheeks and gave her a noble air. "You tidy up well," the seamstress said before turning to the other Bennets. "Is that the only dress that needs altering?"

Kitty nodded. "You do look beautiful, Lizzy. Like a princess."

Darcy's face grew warm again with all eyes on him. He felt a strange stirring. He felt pride at Elizabeth's reflection, and something else-a queer possessiveness. He did not wish for Meryton's menfolk to fawn over her like the common dolts he knew men to be in front of beautiful women. But Elizabeth was not his sister. It was not his business whom she married. And she almost certainly would marry one of the country buffoons here in Meryton. Even if she deserved finer things.

Then Darcy's stomach dropped. If he did not reverse whatever fantastical element had occurred it might be he marrying a country dolt. He swallowed though his throat was dry. Good lord. He must get back to his original body as soon as possible and hope what occurred could be undone. That meant attending Bingley's ball no matter how stupid he felt.

That night, Darcy lay in Elizabeth Bennet's bed that night and tried to make sense of what happened. He was in Elizabeth Bennet's body and she was in his. That much he knew. But he could not puzzle why the change had occurred. Despite his earlier fears, he surmised he was not insane (not yet anyway), unless of course his reason failed him completely and all of this was an imagination. But if that were the case, he doubted he would know the difference. Finally, Darcy considered what he could do. He could find a physician and go to him and try to gently explain the conundrum and seek his advice. A doctor-even here in Meryton-was a man of reason. He would know what to do, and Darcy could trust him. Every physician he had known had been careful, exacting men. Darcy turned from his back to press his face deep into Elizabeth Bennet's pillow and felt a sense of peace he had not had in some time. Finally, he had a plan. He could find an answer, he hoped so anyway.

As Darcy's eyelids became heavier and he drifted to the foggy world in between wake and sleep, he heard a door creak and woke up. His door had been opened. Darcy tensed, now wide awake. He heard not insignificant footsteps and a small bang as the walker reached the bed. "Lizzy, are you awake?" He heard Mrs. Bennnet's voice and felt her hands jostle him. Bloody hell, there was no peace here.

"I am now. What do you think you are doing in my bedroom at night?"

To his abject horror, he heard the bed creak as Mrs. Bennet lowered herself onto it. "Oh, your father is snoring again and I cannot hear myself think, let alone sleep. You know how I suffer when I do not sleep well. You do not mind if I sleep in your bed for a short while, do you? I shall be as quiet as a mouse."

Darcy sought words to object but could find none. Instead, he leaped up out of the bed as though it were on fire. "Madam, we cannot share a bed. This is not to be born."

In the dark, Mrs. Bennet sniffed. "No teasing me now, Lizzy. I am too fatigued. I have slept here many times already, you would not deny your mother a good night's sleep, would you? You know how it soothes my nerves."

Darcy only stared in horror at the dark shape of Mrs. Bennet in the room as she stretched out on the other side of his bed and pulled the blankets over herself. "Lizzy Bennet, I'll not have you putting on airs right now. A fine thing, refusing to share a bed with your own mother. Now let us both get some sleep."

Darcy could think of nothing clever to reply. So he rolled over, tugged a blanket over his head, crept as far away as possible from Mrs. Bennet's form, and doubted he would sleep a wink.

Darcy was correct. He had slept very poorly, clinging to the side of the bed and desperately hoping Mrs. Bennet would not brush against him in her sleep. For the most part, thankfully she had not, but she had snored frightfully loud for a stretch, and he'd had to bury his head in the pillow. Finally, before dawn, she returned to her own bed and Darcy had finally been able to drift back to sleep.

When he'd finally risen the next morning, he'd been surprised to see Elizabeth's family in a state of bustling around. Mrs. Bennet-who had slept much better than he-walking in and out of the kitchen as she talked with the cook, who held up various items of produce to view. The two youngest girls sat at a table and sewed ribbon to a bonnet while Mary sat in the corner reading. Mr. Bennet was nowhere to be found, and Darcy assumed he was locked his study.

"You are awake," Jane said, her kind eyes looking concerned. "You slept in a long time, Lizzy."

Darcy merely grunted and nodded. "I did not sleep alone," he gestured to Mrs. Bennet and Jane smiled in understanding. "Why is everyone so up and busy?"

"Do you not remember? Our cousin arrives today."

Cousin? Darcy tried to remember anything regarding a cousin, but could not.

"Sorry, Jane-dearest," he added awkwardly. "Which cousin?'

The sister gave him a very odd look. "Honestly, Lizzy. Are you feeling yourself? Mr. Collins. The one set to inherit Longbourn after Papa passes. The bane of Mama's existence," Jane smiled softly.

He had heard Mrs. Bennet mention Mr. Collins but he had dismissed it as one of several names he did not recognize. But one that will inherit Longbourn. He glanced around the bustling home. It was not grand, but it was a large, comfortable, rambling home. If their cousin was to inherit, it would put all of the five daughters out. Darcy swallowed uncomfortably as he glanced at each girl.

It was not grand, but it was a large, comfortable home. If their cousin inherited, he would put all of the five daughters out, and Mrs. Bennet too if Mr. Bennet went before her. Darcy swallowed uncomfortably as he glanced at each girl's face. Five unmarried daughters. Did Meryton have five able-bodied intelligent young men for each one? He stole a glance at Lydia. Perhaps four-and a silly one for Lydia.

He did not have more time to consider it. For at the next moment, he heard the squeaking wheels of a carriage on the drive. Jane's eyes locked to his, the same idea there. Was that their cousin now?

Mrs. Bennet appeared behind him, peeling off her apron. "Visitors! Girls, arrange yourselves in a natural manner!" Darcy's eyes widened as he watched them all scramble to take their rehearsed places. Jane grabbed a book, helped her mother into a soft chair and sat nearby, opening the tome. Mary took a seat at the piano and played a soft melody. Lydia and Kitty recovered from their giggles in time to smooth their hair and skirts and sit nearly appropriately on the loveseat.

"Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet hissed. "Don't just stand there stupidly. Grab some embroidery and sit down!"

The women quieted and gentle plinking notes came from Mary's piano. What a scene! He realized they all struck poses as though they were playacting how one might expect women to appear in the home. Kitty and Lydia turned the pages of newsprint and talked quietly. He nearly laughed until Mrs. Bennet pinched his arm. "Lizzy, do sit down!" Wordless, he sank into a chair, his mind agog. So this is how women acted behind closed doors? Perhaps it was only a boisterous family like the Bennets who acted this way. After all, his sister Georgiana did not have to pretend to behave appropriately. Still he wondered. How might she act when he was not present? Women were much more complicated than he'd imagined. He cast his mind back and wondered how many quiet gentlewomen he had thought he'd known who might have been acting. He shook his head and wondered if that might be possible. Was the real Elizabeth Bennet as practiced as her sisters? Mrs. Bennet pinched her cheeks and stood up when the butler announced their cousin.

"Mr. Collins, Madam."

Darcy paused and squinted at the black-clad figure who stood in the entrance door. For a moment, the sun shone brightly behind the man, blinding Darcy's view. But Darcy could see one thing. He was short. Shorter perhaps than even Elizabeth in her stocking feet. His cheeks were round and soft–like a child's–the sun went behind a cloud–his hair was clipped short and inelegantly, and he smiled a wide, false smile that did not waver. His eyes went from one daughter to another as Mrs. Bennet introduced them. He bowed solemnly at each.

"Hello, Miss Jane, Miss Lydia, Miss Catherine, Miss Mary, and Miss Elizabeth," Collins said. His eyes fell on him and Darcy had to stop his lip from curling in revulsion. He saw the man's gaze travel over his body (well, Elizabeth's body), stop for a moment on his bosom, and come back up to his face. Darcy's breath instantly deepened and he wanted to strike the man for taking such a lingering look at Elizabeth's figure. How dare he act as though he were here before a buffet, choosing his dish! But, alas! In a sense, he realized he was. Mr. Collins was the heir, the best match he could hope for was with one of the Bennet girls. Darcy swallowed thickly. Choose any of the others, small man, but stay far away from Elizabeth Bennet.