Here we go! Thanks for all your comments and feedback; you are all amazing. I'm determined to finish this story by the end of April (so you can chastise me if I don't keep my promise). Happy Spring! It's mostly winter here in Chicago-Boo! I'm ready for warmer weather.

GS

Charlotte sighed as though she was familiar with Elizabeth Bennet's stubbornness, and tightened her hold on Darcy's arm. "It seems we are both in want of dancing partners, as usual," she said with a wry smile.

Darcy stiffened at how close the other woman was to him. Now he was in female form, women seemed to be touching or caressing him constantly. It was all very dizzying, as he had been taught to touch women as little as possible. Like any good gentlemen, he had been trained to offer a hand to a lady when needed but stopped at anything else that might put a lady's reputation at risk. Now here he was arm-in-arm with the Lucas girl.

Darcy gazed at the dancing couples–one which included his previous persona, Mr. Darcy–gliding gracefully around the room with a short, dowdy sort of girl. Darcy shook his head. He would be the gossip of Meryton, dancing with all the wallflowers. But the girl's face gazed up at his in such naked admiration, perhaps he should revise his previous ban on dancing. But now he would have a whole new set of treacherous mamas and daughters to attend to when he was back in his correct person. If he was ever back in his correct person…

Darcy had thus far been successful in denying the realities his new identity might afford him in the future, simply because he was certain he would not carry on in Elizabeth Bennet's body for long. But what if they were unable to reconcile the spell (or whatever it was), and they were both fixed this way for the remainder of their lives?

His stomach churned at the idea. What if it were years?

How long could he, as Elizabeth Bennet, successfully avoid the marriage market? It seemed unlikely that such a vibrant, intelligent woman would not find herself being pursued by a suitor or two. Handsome couples swirled across the dance floor in time to the music. It was awful if he were Miss Bennet, but it was almost as abominable to consider her marrying as her own person. A surprisingly strong wave rose in his chest, something he did not quite recognize, but which made his heart hurt.

Sorrow, he realized.

He would feel legitimate sorrow if Elizabeth Bennet were to marry someone else.

But that was ridiculous. He did not love her. It should not matter to him who she might marry. His mind must have been damaged by the switch. There was only one thing he could attribute. Being a female had softened his mind. It was as he had been told in an anatomy lecture at Oxford; women's brains were different than males. Somehow the female physicality made him more emotional, volatile, and feel things intensely. It was a terribly pathetic situation for any man to find himself in, but most notably as Darcy always prided himself on his cool disposition.

Dash it, now tears were forming in his eyes. He withdrew his arm and quickly dabbed at his eyes with his gloved fingers, hoping his companion would not notice

"Are you unwell, Lizzy?" Charlotte asked.

"I am fine." He gazed skyward and dabbed at one eye. "I simply find myself being overwhelmed at the moment."

Lord, he was cracking up.

"It's such a beautiful ball," Darcy said finally, which was the first thing he could think of to blame. Now he sounded like a ninny.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "You do not even like balls."

Darcy cast about the room to find something that might credibility move a young woman to tears. Then it danced past him in the form of Bingley and Jane.

"Jane looks so happy," he said. "Mr. Bingley seems a most amiable man."

Charlotte watched the dancing couples pass, nodding. "She does seem to have snagged an admirer." Darcy exhaled a sigh of relief. Who could doubt sisterly affection?

Charlotte leaned toward him. "See how Mr. Darcy now dances with the wallflowers? Trying to curry favor from people after spurning you, Lizzy. Rather transparent of him."

Darcy started to protest. "I do not think–" he began. But he could hear petulance in his voice.

"You defend him now, Lizzy, after what he said to you?"

Darcy chewed the inside of his lip. He would never live down one foolishly uttered sentiment. "One comment–spoken rashly–should not implicate a person for life, should it? What if we do not know all the considerations?"

Charlotte's brows drew together. "But an impolite outburst does speak of his character, does it not? Although I will agree that he seems to be redressing that tonight."

Darcy stopped himself from a quick harumph, as a coldness crept through him that he was so profoundly misunderstood. As his old self, he would have simply quit the sleepy town in Hertfordshire and vowed never to return. He might have been validated by joining Caroline Bingley in labeling Meryton's inhabitants as small-minded country folk and laughing at their rustic behavior.

His previous self swept past him again, dancing with another awkward, fawning wallflower. His face was open and earnest in a way he almost could not recognize. Other dancers smiled back at him, for pity's sake! He grew quite still. He had been called arrogant in other times of his life, of course, but it had been due to his own rigidity, and something he never bothered to redress. But here was Elizabeth Bennet already defrosting his famous reserve after being him for only days. She had a kind of magic, he realized. Or as close to it as one might come in this day and age. She immediately set people at ease with her warm nature, while his demeanor only intimidated others. She was a better Fitzwilliam Darcy than he'd ever been.

Face hot and humiliated, Darcy wheeled back from his companion, mumbling a halfhearted apology as he stalked away. Truly, he could not stand to watch himself act like such a boob.

He was a disastrous Elizabeth Bennet.

A footman passed by carrying a silver tray with what he guessed was glasses of claret. He stepped before the footman, grasped two sparkling drinks, and slunk away before he could protest. Darcy then slipped behind a curtained alcove off the ballroom, sank into a discretely hidden chair, and downed each glass in short order.

The claret warmed his throat and provided a welcome distraction from the loud music of the Meryton orchestra. His stomach growled, and he realized he had not eaten anything due to tight stays and worry about fitting into Elizabeth's ball gown. He might never forgive himself if his usual male appetite caused Miss Bennet to not fit into her dress. As it was, his stays held him uncomfortably when he stood, but were downright painful when he sat down, as he did now. The cruelty of women's fashion! He had never considered it before, other than to admire a woman's fine figure. In fact, he always thought men's attire was more fastidious and had more pieces, accessories and layers. But now he knew the truth: women were pinched into tight stays that crushed their bosom and pressed it up and out and squeezed one's internal organs. It was positively torturous. And then women were expected to dance–to clap and kick up their heels! To smile and be merry-in this ridiculous state.

But now, mercifully, no one could see him and he sagged into the chair in a decidedly unladylike way. He slid the chair back further into the darkness of his private sphere so that no one would see him even if they happened to poke their head in. He needed a moment to simply catch his breath before he was again Elizabeth Bennet in public. He sighed audibly. It was harder than it appeared.

Then Darcy heard a male voice, followed by high-pitched familiar female laughter. He froze. He heard rustling just outside his hiding spot. He pushed back the chair further into the dark, praying people were simply passing by.

Dash it, no. The curtain opened and a figure appeared–-a flash of red coat–-one of the militia coats backed perilously close to him. He held his breath, praying they might leave as quickly as they appeared.

Another figure joined the soldier, pulled inside the thick velvet curtain. More giggling. It was Lydia Bennet, pressed far too close to the soldier, a mere stringy-haired boy.

"What have we here?" the soldier drawled languidly, Darcy immediately recognized the drunken tone. "Miss…Benn...et, I did not know you to be the kind of girl to find yourself alone with a soldier."

Lydia giggled again, conspiratorily. "La! Unhand me so that I may return to my party before they notice me gone." But the tone of her voice was playful and yielding.

"Not until you first provide me with a soldier's tax...in the form of a kiss."

Darcy rolled his eyes. This was one of the most intolerable conversations Darcy had heard in his life. The soldier raised Lydia's pale hand to his lips and held it there an indecent amount of time. Gads, he was shameless. The soldier swayed a bit–-no doubt due to drink–-closed his eyes and leaned toward Lydia to kiss her. She, of course, giggled. Darcy had heard enough.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, putting all his effort into being as loud as Elizabeth's voice could be. "A-HEM."

Lydia heard him and finally spied him in the dim light. "Oh! Lizzy! What are you doing hiding back here?" The soldier saw him and flinched.

"What are you and your friend doing back here, Lydia?" Darcy made himself use her Christian name.

The soldier straightened and quickly dropped her hand. "Miss Bennet, we were merely catching our breath after a dance."

Darcy rose from his seat. "I see. Time to join the ballroom again, do you not agree?"

Lydia's brows knit. "We were just leaving. No need to use your disapproving tone with me."

Darcy's gaze switched from the younger Bennet to the soldier. "Now seems is the perfect time for my disapproving tone, young lady."

Lydia rolled her eyes and scoffed. "La, it's suddenly become very cramped here. Let's get some lemonade."

"An excellent idea," Darcy said. In a bumbling flash of the curtain, they were gone.

Darcy sat back down. His insides cramped as though he'd eaten something off and he wished to only return to his bed and rest. He should have eaten something earlier as Elizabeth's mother advised. But really, that woman's insistence only fortified his decision to do the opposite, regardless of what it was. He would have been tempted to stand outside in the rain if she suggested that he come inside. How Miss Bennet bore it was remarkable, truly.

Oww, his stomach. He crossed his arms over himself and sighed plaintively. Could this evening become any worse? He doubted it heartily.

The curtain flashed up again, now held by a grinning visage of Mr. Collins. "There you are, Elizabeth. I have found out your." He let the curtain fall behind him and held his finger to his lips. "Fear not, fair cousin, I shall not reveal it."

Hell and damnation, it had gotten worse.