Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

"IT WAS BUT this morning," Mrs. Fanny Bennet was saying in a loud, clear voice, something that was characteristic of her speech, for she was not one who felt embarrassment easily. "Poor, dear Jane was simply stepping off the front step for a morning walk when she twisted her ankle."

"My," commented Mrs. Bennet's companion, "what misfortune for her, on the day of the ball. I wonder that she did not stay at home this evening."

The two women were speaking inside the entryway at an assembly in Meryton, located at a public house. In the midst of the room, there were a line of dancers, and all around the outskirts were a number of other members of the community here, engaged in speaking or sipping at glasses of punch. The place was lively and crowded, and Mrs. Bennet would not have missed the event for the world.

"Oh, no, her ankle does not pain her overmuch," said Mrs. Bennet to her companion. "Jane would not have missed this event for the world."

In fact, though Mrs. Bennet was convinced her daughter and she were aligned in this statement, the truth was that Jane was quite miserable and would have rather passed the evening at home, perhaps with a bit of willow bark to chew and a dram of stiff drink to help her sleep.

However, Jane had not even thought to contradict her mother, having done so often enough in the past to have learned that it was a pointless activity. Her mother would have her way, and there was little use in arguing with her.

Even now, Jane sat only a short distance away, able to hear her mother's entire conversation, because her mother did tend to speak with such volume, and winced at the pain that was radiating from her twisted ankle.

"Well, if it does not pain her too much, that is a mercy," said her mother's companion.

"Indeed, it is, and I thank the good Lord for it," said Mrs. Bennet. "Furthermore, I have told her that there is nothing in the way of her taking to the dance floor, but she insists on sitting." At this, Mrs. Bennet turned and glared at Jane.

Who winced deeper and bowed her head. In truth, there was no dancing for Jane Bennet, not even if her mother wished it strenuously, which Mrs. Bennet did. Jane could barely walk. She was hobbling about, limping all the time. Dancing was out of the question, not that her mother was willing to believe such a thing.

"Ah, she must know herself how much pain she is in," said her mother's companion.

"I doubt she is in any pain at all," said Mrs. Bennet. "And look, over there, Mr. Bingley is dancing with Charlotte Lucas. If Jane were on her feet, I am positive Mr. Bingley would only be dancing with her."

Jane's wince deepened even further, for her mother's voice carried, and Jane was frightened everyone in the room was going to hear her. She worried because her mother sometimes said things about the Lucas family that were not entirely complimentary, and Jane did not want to be present when the Lucases themselves heard these things projected across a public ballroom.

"You did hear the news about Mr. Bingley, did you not?" Mrs. Bennet continued. "That he is newly here in the neighborhood and looking for a wife? That he has a perfectly adequate income and is settled so agreeably? I have been convinced now that he would take one look at Jane and fall in love with her, and yet, there she is, sitting." Mrs. Bennet glared again .

Jane grimaced. But her attention was pulled from her mother in the doorway by the arrival of her sister Elizabeth right next to her. Elizabeth smiled, a little breathless, and said, "I'm back now, having walked around the entire perimeter and made inventory of everything even remotely interesting."

Jane looked up at her. "Lizzy, you needn't worry over me, you know."

"Mrs. Jones has an awful cough. The housekeeper of the Hughes family has run off with the footman of the Wright family. And Charlotte is dancing with that Mr. Bingley, as you can probably see. Other than that, all continues as usual in Meryton, with little variation." Elizabeth smiled, because she was being jocular, trying to raise Jane's spirits. She had promised, when Jane had been consigned to coming to the ball by their mother, to come check on her elder sister regularly.

"I mean it, Lizzy, off with you. You mustn't waste your whole evening fretting over me."

"I promised that I would not abandon you," said Elizabeth. "Perhaps I shall fetch you some refreshment? You must tell me whether you would prefer lemonade or the wine punch."

"No, you needn't run errands for me."

"Well, the truth is, if I weren't with you, I'd likely be with Charlotte, and she is busy, isn't she?" said Elizabeth. "So, what else am I to do?"

"Go dance with someone."

Elizabeth scoffed.

"The Mr. Darcy person isn't dancing," said Jane, turning to look at the man, who was across the room, standing behind a chair, clutching the back of it and staring out into the midst of the floor. He had an expression on his face that bespoke some level of either pain or boredom, Jane could not say which. "He looks lonely, Elizabeth. I think he may be shy. Would you not go to him and strike up a conversation?"

"We've hardly been introduced to him. "

"We were," said Jane. When they had come in, their father had been introduced to Mr. Darcy by Mr. Bingley, who had then waved out at all of them and presented them to Mr. Darcy as ‘the Bennet family.' It counted as an introduction, surely. "Mostly, anyway."

"He does not look like the sort of person I should even like to speak with, let alone dance with," said Elizabeth, looking the man over.

Jane tilted her head to one side. "You don't think he's handsome?"

"Oh, certainly," said Elizabeth. "Quite tall and with a noble mien and all of that. However, most conversations I have ever had with handsome men have been exceedingly boring. Do you not think that people who are fair in appearance have no inducement to develop their minds?"

"You have not spoken to him yet. You can't know if he's unintelligent."

"I feel strongly he is," said Elizabeth, smirking.

At that moment, Mr. Darcy's gaze alighted on Jane. Their eyes met. He tilted his head in recognition and then gave her a graceful nod, his mouth curving into a small smile.

Jane smiled back.

"Jane?" said Elizabeth.

"Hmm?" said Jane, still looking at Mr. Darcy.

"If you don't tell me what you wish to drink, I shall choose for you myself."

"All right, then," said Jane with a shrug.

"What are you looking at?" Elizabeth turned to look.

"Nothing," said Jane, tearing her gaze from Mr. Darcy's. "Lemonade, if you please?"

"Of course," said Elizabeth. "As you can see, there was not such a difficulty in giving me an answer after all, was there?"

ELIZABETH BENNET WAS nearly across the room to fetch herself and her sister a drink when the music ended.

She stopped, waiting to see if her friend Charlotte Lucas would join her, now that she was finished with her dance with Mr. Bingley.

But Charlotte was immediately pulled into conversation by another man in the crowd, a Mr. Tom Thane. Mr. Thane was married, but he seemed to have developed a fascination with Charlotte. He was always claiming the first dance on her dance card, and Charlotte could do nothing about it, for it was impolite to refuse a man if he asked a woman to dance. She could claim a malady that prevented her dancing entirely or she could acquiesce—thus were her options.

Charlotte said that Mr. Thane had hinted at untoward things on at least three separate occasions. She and Elizabeth were fairly sure he wanted Charlotte as a mistress, and he thought he might be able to convince her to behave in such an ignoble fashion because she was eight and twenty and had no marriage prospects to speak of.

Elizabeth was triumphant at the thought of Mr. Bingley, the newest eligible bachelor in the area, to take a shine to Charlotte. What a thing for her friend!

Upon seeing Mr. Thane intercept Charlotte, Elizabeth abandoned her journey to get drinks for herself and Jane and went to save Charlotte. She could insert herself into the conversation, get Charlotte free, and then Mr. Bingley might ask her friend for another dance.

"You're one of the Misses Bennets, aren't you?" came a voice.

Elizabeth turned to see that Mr. Bingley himself was right beside her, and it was he who had thus addressed her.

Mr. Bingley was an amiably attractive fellow, not nearly as dark or tall or noble in mien as his friend, Mr. Darcy. He had fair hair and a straight nose and a genuine smile, however. Elizabeth could find nothing to complain about the look of him.

Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, that man looked dangerously attractive, she thought. That was the sort of man who was so fascinating to look upon that a woman might make all manner of awful decisions just to be in a position so as to do so. That sort of man… well, luckily, that sort of man would never notice someone like Elizabeth, who was not a plain girl, but who was not an exceedingly beautiful woman either.

"I've gotten the surname wrong, haven't I?" Mr. Bingley shook his head. "Drat. I have met so many different families over the past several weeks, you see, and I am doing my best to keep them straight but am still failing at the task. Please accept my apologies, if you would, and let me know your name?"

"No, no," said Elizabeth. "You are correct. I am a Bennet. Miss Elizabeth."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Bingley. "The quick one."

Elizabeth was confused. "Pardon me, sir?"

"It's something your father said," said Mr. Bingley. "He had descriptors for each of you. One was beautiful and kind, one was silly and adventurous, one was a follower, and one was serious and concerned with righteousness, and I can't remember which any of those were, but I remember that Elizabeth was the quick one."

"I don't know what he means by that," said Elizabeth, furrowing her brow. "Though I may say I'm surprised he had any kind words to say at all. You would never know it to hear him complain about all of us the way he does. So many of us girls and he the only male, you see. He is vastly outnumbered and thinks to even up the score by squawking loudly about it."

"Squawking, you say?" said Mr. Bingley, chuckling. "You're his daughter, yes. I can see that. He is very funny, and you are, too."

"You flatter me, sir," said Elizabeth.

"You're the eldest? Oh, no, you said you are Miss Elizabeth, so there is someone else who must be addressed as Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, and she's over there," said Elizabeth, turning to point across the room at Jane, and realizing that Mr. Darcy was there, sitting next to her sister .

"Oh, quite!" said Mr. Bingley, looking in that direction. "That's right. She's Jennifer, isn't she?"

"Jane."

"Jane, yes," said Mr. Bingley. "She sprained her ankle this morning, though, and isn't dancing."

"That's right."

"And look at Mr. Darcy over there," said Mr. Bingley, shaking his head. "Just like him, really, coming up with any excuse not to dance. Now, he can claim he was chivalrously entertaining your sister, I see."

"Mr. Darcy does not like dancing?" said Elizabeth.

"He says it's an activity for savages," said Mr. Bingley. He turned back to her, grinning. "Call me savage, then, I suppose." He waggled his eyebrows. "Has anyone claimed the next spot on your dance card, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Oh, I thought you might dance again with Miss Lucas," said Elizabeth.

"I should like to dance with you," said Mr. Bingley, smiling at her.

Elizabeth had no choice, really. She could recuse herself from dancing entirely or say yes. "I am honored, sir," she said.

"Excellent news," said Mr. Bingley.

"Well, I shall see you by and by, then," said Elizabeth, trying to get away from him so that she could explain this to Charlotte, who couldn't be upset about it, not really, could she? She fretted about that. Certainly, there could be no real attachment on Charlotte's part from one dance. On the other hand, she had not rescued her friend either, and Charlotte was likely forced now to dance with the lecherous Mr. Thane. Elizabeth wished she'd been a bit quicker getting to her friend.

"I cannot think it will be long," said Mr. Bingley. "We shall hear the music striking up again any moment."

And the lemonade! She'd utterly forgotten that, hadn't she? "I need to bring my sister some lemonade quickly, then," said Elizabeth.

"Looks as though Mr. Darcy is doing that," said Mr. Bingley.

He was right. The man was striding across the room for the refreshments. He'd have lemonade in a moment and would be bringing it back to her sister.

Mr. Bingley offered her his arm. "Tell me every little thing about yourself, Miss Elizabeth."

"Every little thing," she echoed.

"Yes," said Mr. Bingley. "Do you like porridge, for instance? Would you rather tea or chocolate in the morning? How many times have you read Robinson Crusoe? You have read it, haven't you?"

Despite everything, Elizabeth found herself smiling. "Oh, everyone has read Robinson Crusoe, Mr. Bingley."

"Yes," he said gravely. "Just so. But did you like it when you read it, that is the real question?"

"Didn't you like it?" she said, still smiling.

"Oh, no, I found it dreadfully ridiculous," said Mr. Bingley. "I highly doubt that half of the things that occur in that book could all have happened to one person. It all became rather ludicrous the longer it went on."

She considered. "I suppose there is some truth to that. But it is pretend."

The music started.

"I don't hold with it, you see," said Mr. Bingley, leading her onto the dance floor.

"With what, sir?" she said.

"With believing in preposterous things," said Mr. Bingley. "I like things one can count on. I'd much rather something solid than something exciting, you see?

"So, you'd rather not be shipwrecked on a desert island?"

"Definitely not," said Mr. Bingley. "What about you?"

"No," she said, giggling, enjoying herself with him, "I suppose it doesn't sound the least bit comfortable, does it?"

"DARCY, WE MUST have you dance," boomed his friend Bingley's voice.

Mr. Darcy was seated next to Miss Jane Bennet, a half-empty cup of lemonade in one hand. He tilted his head back up to look at Bingley. "Oh, we must, is that it? Who is this ‘we' you speak of?"

"The general assembly," said Mr. Bingley, gesturing around. "Everyone is saying it, you see. I have spoken to my lovely companion here, Miss Elizabeth—" He thrust her forward.

Mr. Darcy blinked at the woman in front of him, a jerk going through him at the sight of her. She was—not pretty—no, that wasn't the right word, he didn't think. There was something about her face that one wouldn't term pretty. But there were other words he might use to describe her. Striking, maybe? Dazzling? Eye-catching? Stunning?

She was the sort of woman who you looked at once, looked away from immediately, and then felt yourself turning back to by some force that compelled you to stare at her.

He choked, looking down into his cup. Of course Bingley had snagged that one, while he'd been over here with this one.

Bingley had said he thought the Bennet girls were the prettiest, sidelong, as they were in the midst of all of the introductions, giving Darcy that sly look that he liked to give him sometimes, and Darcy'd had to agree. Those girls were the prettiest.

This one, the eldest, with the sprained ankle, she was very pretty. But it was a sort of boring kind of prettiness, nothing like the other one, who he was not going to look at, because he and Bingley were not going to get into some sort of competition over these country girls.

It's not as if either of us is going to marry one of them, he told himself.

"Miss Elizabeth says that you must dance," said Mr. Bingley.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, though Mr. Darcy wasn't looking at her, so he could only hear her voice and it was delighted and free and amused. "I said nothing about how Mr. Darcy must alter his behavior. I only pointed out that gentlemen were scarce and that many a young lady was in want of a partner."

"Ah," said Mr. Darcy, raising his gaze to hers, "but I have been somewhat bewitched by your sister, madam, who is certainly in need of some companionship, being that she cannot dance."

"Did I not say that he would claim chivalry as a shield?" said Mr. Bingley, delighted.

"You did," said Elizabeth. "I am quite capable of sitting here and keeping my sister company, you know, Mr. Darcy. You could find a partner—"

"No, no," cried Mr. Bingley. "That won't do. Haven't I claimed the next dance on your card, Miss Elizabeth? I felt certain that I had."

Elizabeth looked at him, clearly stunned, her lips parting. She had not expected that, two dances in a row. Flustered, her cheeks flushed. The vulnerability writ on those stunning features of hers only made her more beautiful in some strange way. Mr. Darcy looked away again. Stop looking at her, for heaven's sake.

"Do say yes, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Bingley.

"Oh, of course," said Elizabeth. "Yes, I shall be pleased to dance with you again."

Jane Bennet spoke up. "I don't wish to keep Mr. Darcy from dancing. It is true what Lizzy says. Gentleman are scarce, and you must do your duty—"

"It is my only duty to make sure you are well entertained, I think, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy interrupted, turning to Jane. Until the other sister had appeared, he'd been quite enjoying her company, thinking her the prettiest and sweetest creature in the entire place. He was not convinced this wasn't the case, in all truth, for Miss Elizabeth seemed to have some level of the mischievous in her, and there was no guile in Miss Jane Bennet, not even a modicum of such a thing.

Miss Elizabeth might be more intriguing and more compelling, but surely, if one were looking for a wife, her elder sister would be the better choice.

Not that I am looking for a wife, he thought furiously.

If he were, he would not seek one here, in the middle of nowhere, at this dreadful country ball, among these sorts of people. They were respectable, he supposed, if it came to that, but they were quite in want of connections, especially meaningful connections. The Bennet family was not the sort of family he could be united with. It simply wouldn't be proper.

But Bingley, he was situated differently in the social hierarchy, and a Bennet sister might do quite well for him, Mr. Darcy supposed.

Bingley was speaking. "After this dance, Darcy, I shall have to relinquish my rights on Miss Elizabeth. She will be quite available." He waggled his eyebrows at Darcy.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Darcy, raising his gaze to Elizabeth. "I suppose I could ask for a space on your dance card."

"Don't put yourself out, sir," said Elizabeth, pressing her lips together.

"I have already committed myself to the entertainment of your sister," he said. "It would be rude to withdraw my service at this point."

"Perhaps you don't like the look of me," said Elizabeth, with a little smirk.

"That's it exactly," he said blandly. "Why, anyone looking at you would think of you as only tolerably pretty, of course, not handsome enough to be tempting."

"Darcy!" said Bingley. He turned to Elizabeth. "He's this way sometimes, and—"

"It was a joke," said Elizabeth, still holding his gaze.

"None of the Bennet sisters could be described as anything other than tempting," said Mr. Darcy.

"You flatter us, sir," said Elizabeth.

In the distance, the music started up again.

"That's our cue, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Bingley.

"So good to meet you, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, her voice cold .

"You as well, Miss Elizabeth," he replied. She doesn't like me, he realized. Probably making that offhand comment about her beauty hadn't been wise, but she'd taunted him with it, led him right to it. What was a man to say in response to a woman saying Perhaps you don't like the look of me ? There was no response except a compliment, and Mr. Darcy hated to be forced into such things.

On the other hand, he didn't think she had been fishing for a compliment either. She'd said it in such a pointed way, she had meant to lead him into some other trap, a trap to make him appear improper. This could only mean that she hadn't liked him before saying it. What had he done to draw her ire before even meeting her?

He glared after them as they made their way onto the dance floor.

He was determined not to like her either. Harridan of a woman, really. The elder sister was ever so much more pleasant.