CHAPTER III: LAUGHTER

AN: Many thanks to LadyValyria for beta-ing this chapter. It's a bit longer than the previous two, which is probably a trend that will continue as we get into The Plot.

Which Miss Darcy, for one, would probably prefer we never got into at all, so she could remain comfortably bored.

The first time that Miss Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth laugh, she'd been quite zoned out of the conversation. The Bennet ladies were over at Netherfield because Mrs Hurst had rather hit it off with Miss Bennet, so it was really the two of them spending the beginning of their acquaintance together accompanied by a faintly ridiculous number of other women with no particular wish to be there. As soon as they were close enough to merit more private visits, Darcy's presence would cease to be required. Therefore, she saw no particular need to become much familiar with the Bennets in the brief time their acquaintance would be necessary.

Given that, she hadn't the faintest idea what had prompted the young lady to let out such a sudden, sharp "Ha!",was utterly unprepared for it, and was admittedly rather startled. So startled, in fact, that she pressed her needle through its fabric with a speed and force quite unplanned for, and pierced through to her finger on the other side.

As most people do, when faced with sudden pain, she cried out. This, of course, brought every eye in the room (far too many, not familiar at all, she did not even remember all of their names) onto her. No one meant anything by it beyond the instinctual turn towards unexpected sound and concern upon identifying pain as its cause. But to a Darcy who felt she had shown weakness, it felt like scrutiny.

If eyes had felt like scrutiny, Miss Elizabeth's question felt like an attack. "Are you alright, Miss Darcy?"

Now, if what follows had actually passed through her head in words, and at the same speed it takes to read those words, she would have been quite capable of seeing all the flaws in her reasoning, and responded better. But it came in emotions instead, which are harder to dispute, and all the thinking was done in the space before a quick reply.

A startle response, especially to something as innocuous as laughter, was a sign of weakness. That being startled had prompted Darcy to injure herself was even worse. Miss Elizabeth wanted confirmation that she was weak, and easily startled, and afraid of her. If she gave someone the tools to hurt her, it was as much her fault as theirs when they used them. She could not show weakness, she could not give that kind of power to a young woman she did not even know.

"Of course I am," she said, hard and fast and sharp, "don't be ridiculous."

As far as first verbal exchanges that expressed more than names and polite greetings went, it was far from the best.

When Darcy looked back down to her embroidery, bleeding finger stuck in her mouth, there was a drop of blood splashed over the breast of the clean white dove she'd been working on on and off since Ramsgate.

It was not long before the ladies of Netherfield were obliged to return a visit to Longbourn. It was an obligation on Miss Darcy's end, anyway.

Her fingertip was still wrapped in a bandage, and she had left her embroidery behind.

It was a relatively small house, for how full it was — of people and of things. The furniture was of generally good quality, though much of it was old and visibly patched, and not all of it matching. Some of the floorboards creaked when she stepped on them, and the looks she got whenever they did suggested that there were not often visitors who did not already know where not to step.

There was no distraction this time. No wandering mind. She would not be caught off guard again.

And when she was paying attention, it was easy to notice how often Miss Elizabeth responded to people's comments with subtle jokes, usually at someone's expense. That was impolite, and not at all funny, and Wilhelmina found herself pursing her lips to keep them from twitching, furrowing her brow to make sure there was no crinkle in the corners of her eyes.

So it was that she spent the next five minutes glaring at Elizabeth Bennet for no apparent reason.

Eventually Miss Elizabeth must have noticed this, because she turned and met the stare head on. Wilhelmina didn't usually like eye contact, but this had nothing much to do with an inherent aversion to looking at another person's eyes, or being observed while doing so. The issue was that maintaining it was rather difficult — it took a lot of focus, made it harder to do other things like speak or listen. It always felt a bit like a challenge, or a competition, but other people did not treat it that way.

Elizabeth Bennet did. When she looked at Wilhelmina there was the sense of a gauntlet being thrown down. One she had no intention of picking up, but half thought she already had.

Those eyes were burnt into her vision long after they had both looked away.

It was quite imperative that Miss Darcy think about something else.

It was another two days before the Bennets next came to Netherfield, this time for dinner, and this time with the men involved. Or, well, half of them — Darcy had yet to meet Mr Bennet, and Mr Hurst was falling asleep on his wife's shoulder, but the Bingleys were both very sociable in their own ways.

Darcy seemed constantly to be looking over at Miss Elizabeth, quite against her will, so she decided it was prudent to find things about her that were unpleasant. To notice things she did not want to look at, so that she could stop and return to her chicken and not do anything she knew she would regret.

Miss Elizabeth had a scrap of carrot lodged between her right front tooth and its neighbour, caught more easily because her teeth were not quite straight. Her nose bridge was crooked, and constantly scrunching as she spoke. There was a pimple over her left eyebrow, not quite hidden by a mousey brown fringe.

Her laugh, when Mr Hurst briefly roused to say something that didn't really make sense, was loud, grating, and nasal. She threw her head back a little and Darcy could see right up her nose. She leant an elbow on the table, and you weren't supposed to do that.

Wilhelmina missed it, when it was over.

AN: I considered using a turtle dove for the embroidery, given that pairs of turtle doves were used as a romantic symbol in the Regency, and the specific message of birds flying away from one another and tying closer together because of it seemed very fitting for this couple in particular. LadyValyria pointed out that a lone turtle dove wasn't really a Regency motif that would make sense, and that white doves (which I had written in first) worked better for the symbolism of this specific scene, and I thought that the image of blood hitting the white dove seemed more dramatic than hitting grey, so we've wound up with what we've wound up with.

It's lucky that this chapter was basically finished before I went out tonight, because now my glasses are broken (I swear I didn't do anything weird with them, one of the arms just fell off. I've had them about a year, which seems to be the lifespan of glasses from the place I've been getting them from) and writing is really annoying because either I've got to deal with constantly adjusting so they don't fall off my face, or I've got to squint at my screen and give myself a headache.

I'm also approaching a return to uni, and before that a return to uni event planning, and intermixed with that my dad's desire to go out and do stuff with my sister and me as much as possible before we're away learning all day again, so will be rather busier than I have been. Updates may remain as frequent as they have been, or they may slow down dramatically, I just don't know yet.