Chapter I

N o matter how much changes, some things always stay the same. Never had the truth of that axiom struck Elizabeth Bennet so much as it did after she returned to her home after visiting Charlotte Collins in Kent.

Distance, Elizabeth mused as she witnessed the scene in Longbourn's sitting-room, had a way of dulling the senses, of teaching one to look at situations and events with a softer eye. When away from Longbourn, it was common for her to "forget" how riotous her home could be, that it had never been the restful haven she thought it should be. For a time, she even thought back on her visits to Rosings Park with something akin to fondness—at least Rosings had not been so loud as Longbourn.

The mere notion that she would find solace in Rosings Park, the home of the meddling and dictatorial Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was so ridiculous as to bring a smile to Elizabeth's face. Had her mothers and sisters been at all calm, they might have noticed and asked her to account for her sudden mirth.

"I am pleased with your return, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet had said when she entered the house. Then, sensibly, in Elizabeth's opinion, he had retreated to his study as was his wont, leaving Elizabeth to exchange news with her mother and sisters. They, of course, flitted from one subject to the next so rapidly that it was difficult to learn much of recent events.

"Do you not think it is a travesty that the officers shall depart, and we shall lose their company?"

That was the one exception, for it was a subject upon which Lydia focused her attention to the exclusion of all others. The girl had made her opinion known within moments of greeting Elizabeth at the coaching inn at Watford.

"That is the way militia companies operate, Lydia," replied Elizabeth. "It is no surprise to hear the regiment is to leave."

Lydia gave her a sour glare, but Elizabeth ignored the immature girl.

"That is true," said Mrs. Bennet with perhaps a little more understanding than Elizabeth might have expected. "They are for their summer quarters, and then they shall billet in a new location in the autumn."

"But why can they not simply stay here ?" whined Lydia.

"Contrary to your belief," replied Elizabeth, "having such a militia company in Meryton is a drain upon us all. That is why such companies move about so much."

Lydia huffed and pouted. "I asked Papa to take us to Brighton, but he insists he will not."

"He has told you why, Lydia," said Mrs. Bennet, again surprising Elizabeth with her reasonable attitude. "The expense of renting a house there would be too much of a burden on our finances. I am afraid I must agree with your father—it is best that we do not go to Brighton."

While Lydia scowled at her mother, Elizabeth looked on with interest. Her father, rather than teasing and provoking his wife as he usually did, appeared to have taken the trouble to explain why it was not wise for the family to summer in Brighton. Even so, it was a surprise that her mother accepted his explanation rather than push for the scheme, regardless. Unless Elizabeth misjudged the matter entirely, her father must have tied the explanation to her mother's allowance, for Mrs. Bennet was almost always unreasonable unless it affected her ability to purchase what she liked.

"Well, I shall die of a broken heart," proclaimed Lydia. "Then you shall all be sorry."

"If you intend to do so," replied Mrs. Bennet, "I ask you to cause as little disruption as possible. My nerves cannot withstand it."

Again, Lydia grumbled her displeasure, though she did not deign to respond. The dry response was unlike her mother's usual sense of humor, leading Elizabeth to wonder if something of her father had finally rubbed off on her mother after more than two decades of marriage.

"We shall simply need to take every opportunity to be in the officers' company until they depart," said Kitty, evidently trying to raise her sister's spirits.

"I shudder to think of what Denny or Sanderson will suffer at the loss of our society," declared Lydia. "Our separation will dash their hearts to even more pieces than ours!"

In truth, Elizabeth was certain the officers would get on tolerably without Lydia's company. What Lydia did not consider was the presence of silly young girls in every community from Land's End to John o'Groats. In a city like Brighton, there must be so many that every officer could dance from sunup until sundown and never lack partners!

"And Chamberlayne and Carter too!" exclaimed Kitty.

"At least Mr. Wickham is gone," said Mrs. Bennet. "With his behavior of late, I cannot but consider that a benefit."

"Mr. Wickham is gone?" asked Elizabeth, finally hearing something of interest. "Has he resigned from the militia?"

"He has," said Lydia, clearly offended. "The business with Miss King soured him on military life."

"Business with Miss King?" asked Elizabeth. "Has something interfered with their betrothal?"

As Lydia was caught up in her offense, Kitty took up the standard of response. "There is no betrothal, Lizzy, and there never was. Mr. Wickham was eager, but Miss King's guardians intervened. Her uncle took her to Liverpool, and though Mr. Wickham followed her there, he returned empty-handed."

"Poor Wickham!" exclaimed Lydia. "To be refused by such a nasty, freckly little thing must have stung his vanity!"

"How does this relate to Mr. Wickham leaving the regiment?" asked Elizabeth.

"That is harder to understand," said Mrs. Bennet. "When he returned, it was clear he was not in good spirits; he snapped at more than one lady, quite unlike his usual gentlemanly conduct."

That gentlemanly conduct was, of course, nothing more than a pretext to hide the propensities no one in the neighborhood would find moral. Elizabeth had already determined it was pointless to try to convince anyone of his character, so she said nothing.

"After some days of this," said Kitty, taking up the tale, "Mr. Wickham resigned his commission and went away. We have seen and heard nothing of him since."

"Then perhaps it is for the best."

"Oh, that is rich, Lizzy, coming from you !" spat Lydia. "Why, were you not violently infatuated with him the very day after his arrival?"

"Not at all," said Elizabeth, knowing a quiet denial would serve her better than an angry denunciation. "I counted Mr. Wickham a friend, yes, but there was never anything beyond simple friendship from my side."

"That is entirely sensible, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet firmly. "Mr. Wickham has proven himself to be no gentleman—I would not part with you to such a man."

Flattered by her mother's approving words, Elizabeth nodded, grateful Mrs. Bennet had not seen fit to raise the subject of the other man in Hertfordshire in November. There would come a time when Mrs. Bennet would demand some news of the Collinses, at which time she would no doubt lament the loss of such a promising prospect. Now, however, when her mother appeared to be in a forgiving mood, Elizabeth would not raise such a subject.

Similar topics dominated the ladies' conversation throughout that afternoon and no doubt after Elizabeth retired to her room in Jane's company. To her sister, she related some of the news she could not share with her mother and younger sisters, and while she avoided any mention of Mr. Bingley, she recounted everything else. Jane expressed all the shock, curiosity, and interest Elizabeth expected, including her declaration concerning her better opinion of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth's opinion of the gentleman had improved, yet not so much as Jane might aver, so she again kept her own counsel.

That evening at the dinner table was more of what she had experienced earlier in the afternoon. While Mrs. Bennet was quieter than her wont, no doubt due to her agreement with her husband concerning the subject of Brighton, Lydia was in rare form. If she was not whining about the regiment's departure, she was demanding her father oblige her by ensuring she remained in their company, and if that was not enough, she even declared that she would ask her friend, Harriet Forster, to invite her to go as the particular friend of the colonel's wife. Elizabeth would not put it past her to do just that, but she again restrained her tongue, unwilling to push the girl to any greater heights of folly.

In this, Lydia's faithful assistant supported her, though Elizabeth could not say if Kitty truly wished to go to Brighton. Kitty was as much dominated by Lydia as ever, and while she was never so brash or bold, Elizabeth had often despaired of her behavior. Add to this Mrs. Bennet's occasional comments, not all of them proper, Mary's tendency to insert little homilies whenever the occasion presented itself, and Mr. Bennet's jibes designed to provoke his daughters, and Elizabeth felt quite fatigued.

"I said it before, Lydia," said Mr. Bennet when the girl made some outlandish claim, "but you are foremost among the pantheon of silly girls in England. Go to Brighton yourself? How do you suppose you would support yourself and where would you stay?"

Lydia glared mulishly at her father. "If you will not do your duty, then there is little other choice."

"And what duty is that?"

"To ensure your daughters have every opportunity to move in society and find husbands!"

Mr. Bennet snorted in amusement. "You suppose a militia man, who cannot even support himself without assistance, wishes to support a silly little flirt such as you? That is foolishness of a sort even you rarely attain."

As the bickering continued, the uproar forced Elizabeth to consider Mr. Darcy's charges concerning her family. While she had defended herself vigorously and believed he had no right to speak in such a way, Elizabeth could now acknowledge the gentleman's assertions were valid.

Which brought another matter to her mind—how in the blazes had Mr. Darcy developed a tender regard for her in the face of such inhibiting circumstances as the company of her family? When the gentleman had departed, Elizabeth had been certain that his love had been entirely imaginary and whatever regard he had convinced himself of possessing would wither and die before long. Now, however, she was not so certain of her opinion.

That led to contemplations that were most unlike Elizabeth, an illusion in her mind's eye of Mr. Darcy's bitter repentance for his words and subsequent return to Hertfordshire a changed man. That he might be changed, she could not dispute, for it appeared she had misjudged him to a certain extent. The notion that he would act to put himself in the presence of a woman who had spurned him less than a fortnight before was so fantastical as to beggar belief.

Soon, she put such thoughts firmly from her mind and returned her attention to her family. Elizabeth little doubted the probability of seeing him again was remote—her true regret was that she had not convinced him it would be proper to inform Mr. Bingley of Jane's true feelings. Then, if the man did not act, at least he would know of what he had lost. There was little chance of that, however, for Elizabeth did not think Mr. Darcy had repented of his determination to keep his friend from Jane.

When she sought her bed that night, the remembrances that had kept her company these past days settled in about her, cold comfort against her convictions. While she might have thought they would stay with her and disturb her sleep, she was pleasantly surprised when she awoke the next morning to the knowledge that sleep had found her almost as soon as her head had rested on her pillow.

In London, Darcy dealt with a similar frustration as that which bedeviled Miss Elizabeth Bennet, though unknowing. Darcy's vexation, however, had nothing to do with family and everything to do with the sister of one of his closest friends.

Bingley was an excellent fellow, his joy in life and lively disposition a perfect contrast to Darcy's more sober—some even said somber—demeanor. Few could draw Darcy so easily from his reticence, the other being his cousin who, because of his duties, was not always available. This was only one reason Darcy cherished his friendship with Bingley as much as he did.

Friendship with Bingley, however, had one rather significant drawback—it also meant enduring the man's sisters far more often than he wished. Mrs. Hurst was not so much of a problem, for other than a distressing tendency to support her younger sister, she was quiet and intruded little on his senses. Darcy had nothing in common with her, but other than that, he had no true disinclination for her company.

Miss Caroline Bingley, however, was another matter altogether. Society in London was fraught with danger for the unwary man. The preponderance of predatory females was such that a man who did not take care might find himself quickly imposed upon, tied to a woman not of his choosing for the rest of his life. The reverse was also true, for there were as many men looking for an easy increase of their consequence and status as there were women.

In a society teeming with harpies hunting for the tastiest morsel, Caroline Bingley was the worst. It was difficult for Darcy to understand her, for while he did not look down on Bingley for his descent, Miss Bingley did everything she could to forget her origins, carrying herself as haughty as a duchess. Darcy was well aware of her ambition to provoke him to offer for her, thus elevating her to the level of society she craved; that was the sum of her purpose, for she did not care a tenth as much about him as the position he could offer her.

One evening, as he and Georgiana dined with the Bingley family at Bingley's townhouse, he watched Miss Bingley critically, noting how she employed that time-honored strategy of flattering his sister to gain his approval. It was a curious device, though Darcy supposed she might dupe a man of a particular lack of understanding and discernment into offering his approval because of it. Darcy, however, had no such limitations, and he knew that Georgiana saw through Miss Bingley's efforts herself.

"I say, Darcy," said Bingley, close by his side and in an undertone. "Caroline is laying it on thick tonight, even for her."

Darcy did not even try to suppress his amused grin at Bingley's statement. No fool, Bingley had long been aware of his sister's ambitions, such that he had even warned Darcy of the likely outcome of the introduction before they had ever met. That he was comfortable speaking of such a subject spoke volumes about their friendship. Bingley was in no doubt of Darcy's opinion of the possibility of an alliance between their houses, for they had spoken of the matter more than once. Darcy had no interest in Miss Bingley, and Bingley would never press him in that direction.

"Is she becoming desperate?"

Bingley snorted, hiding it by taking a sip from his glass. "She has said nothing to me, though I suspect she is feeling the effect of your indifference. I tried to warn her to remain open to the suits of other men, but she remains convinced that you will offer for her."

"Three years is a long time to hold such hope," noted Darcy.

"Perhaps by this time next year, she will abandon this obsession." Bingley shook his head and added: "Then again, she will never accept the futility of her ambitions until you meet your bride at the altar, exchange vows, and sign the register."

Darcy turned an amused glance at his friend. "You do your sister a disservice, Bingley. Do you not suppose she will object to the match in the middle of the church?"

"She may at that, my friend."

"Has anyone offered any hint of interest in her?" asked Darcy idly.

Bingley frowned and shook his head. "Not so far this season. It has become too well known that she is interested in only one man and will consider no other. I do not suppose you plan to marry soon?"

With a chuckle lacking mirth, Darcy suppressed the sudden image of a dark-haired beauty with some of the finest eyes he had ever seen. "No, I cannot say I am considering it at this moment. But I must before long, for I am not getting any younger."

"Then I shall await that day with bated breath."

The problem was not her physical appeal, Darcy mused a little later that evening. Miss Caroline Bingley was not an unattractive woman—indeed, several men had called her handsome in his hearing. If her figure tended a little too much toward willowy than Darcy preferred, she was not bereft of feminine charms, and her face, if not precisely pretty, was appealing enough when she was not displaying contempt, superiority, or other nastiness.

No, the drawbacks regarding Caroline Bingley were all concentrated on her character rather than form or figure. In short, the woman was a ball of ambition, her purpose to attain the highest level of society she could with no care for suitability, feelings, or anything else she considered unimportant. As she had demonstrated many times over, she possessed a caustic wit, one she did not hesitate to direct at those she felt were inferior or a perceived rival. She maintained enough sense to avoid offending the truly powerful in society and she presented herself as the picture of propriety, but Darcy knew she could be positively vicious if she felt crossed.

In the past, Darcy had avoided her when possible and endured her when necessary, but he had always felt more than a hint of amusement at her antics. Regardless of her pretenses, he would never connect himself to her; this resolve allowed him to witness her efforts with a sort of dark amusement. That amusement, however, had now changed to annoyance and the desire not to endure her any longer.

That, he knew, he could attribute to the effect meeting Miss Elizabeth Bennet had on him. Before, when he had no woman to whom he felt himself attached, or even had any interest in knowing, it was a simple matter to take his amusement where possible. Perhaps it was not precisely proper, but Miss Bingley had made herself ridiculous by her behavior, and Darcy was philosophical enough to understand it. Now that he had experienced what it was to admire a woman, it seemed he had no more patience for the likes of Miss Bingley. Had Darcy not completely botched his interactions with Miss Bennet, he might have obtained that protection an engagement would afford him from Miss Bingley's machinations.

Of his behavior with her, Darcy could not think without abhorrence. Though much of Miss Bennet's opinion of him was grounded in the falsehoods of a libertine, the rest she had learned by observing him the previous autumn. When he reflected on those times, he could not help but suppose that she had taken his measure and found him wanting. Darcy could not claim that she was not justified. What he could do about it, Darcy was not certain. Yet the notion that he was not ready to surrender had taken seed in his mind.

"Your sister, Mr. Darcy, is everything wonderful," said Miss Bingley to him later that evening.

The same pattern had happened often enough that Darcy could now recite exactly how an evening in her company would proceed without fail. She would pay her compliments to his sister, flattering her outrageously, all while glancing at him periodically to ensure he had witnessed it. Then, when she thought she had paid Georgiana enough attention, she would approach Darcy and praise her to the skies, hoping to provoke a reaction. That she never received one did not pierce her determination, for her behavior would not alter a jot, no matter how many times she was in Georgiana's company.

"I am proud of my sister, Miss Bingley," said Darcy, opting for a simple answer.

"Such elegance, Mr. Darcy," simpered she. "You could rightly parade her accomplishments before all and reap the praise of society."

"Georgiana is not yet out."

"Which makes her progression all that much more astonishing. The only thing lacking is a woman's counsel to guide her as she prepares for her debut."

That was among Miss Bingley's tamer observations, blatant though it was. She seemed to believe that reminding him of his single status and his duty to rectify that lack would cause him to fall at her feet. That he had not so much as intimated at such in the three years he had known her did not discourage her in the slightest.

"Then I shall inform my aunt, Lady Susan Fitzwilliam, that her efforts on my sister's behalf are insufficient," said Darcy as an aside. "I had thought the guidance she provided was excellent."

"Of course, no one can fault your esteemed aunt," exclaimed Miss Bingley, her tone all consternation. "I did not intend to slight her."

Miss Bingley paused and regarded him, more than a hint of asperity in her look, which told Darcy she had already put the subject to the side. "I hoped to make your aunt's acquaintance, Mr. Darcy. I am available whenever you wish to introduce us."

There was no reason to reply. Though Miss Bingley had no notion of it, his aunt knew something of her and did not appreciate the reports she had received; Miss Bingley would receive no invitation from his aunt, for she was a jumped-up social climber in Lady Susan's opinion. This fit with his own opinion nicely, for Miss Bingley would see such an introduction as unmistakable favor, rendering her behavior all that much more objectionable.

"I declare, Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley when he did not respond to her comment, "I have rarely seen you as dull as you are this evening. With such excellent friends at hand, I expected a little more liveliness from you!"

"My behavior tonight is unaltered from any other time in company, or so I believe. Having known me for three years now, you understand that I am not a voluble man. I do not ‘rattle on' as my housekeeper at Pemberley is fond of saying."

Miss Bingley regarded him, giving no indication of her thoughts. After a moment, she nodded slowly, then an exasperated sort of smile came over her face.

"Yes, well, I suppose that is accurate enough." She darted a glance at her brother, who was speaking with Georgiana with some animation, then fixed a haughty look on Darcy. "At least you are not pining for a Bennet sister like my brother."

That haughtiness became a sneer as she glanced back at Bingley. "Even now, almost six months after the event, I am certain he wishes to be back in Hertfordshire." Snorting with disdain, she added: "You are much more cognizant of the devices of ladies of their ilk than my brother, though I will own I remember something about ‘fine eyes.'"

Darcy ignored Miss Bingley's understated contempt for her brother—while he could not imagine why she thought betraying such to him would make him any more likely to approve of her, it truly did not signify. Miss Bingley had not so much as alluded to the Bennets, Netherfield, or their time in Hertfordshire for some months now, likely because she did not wish to bring it to her brother's attention now that she thought she had truly detached him from Miss Bennet. That she did so now was almost certainly a consequence of Bingley's inattention.

The little dig about Miss Elizabeth and Darcy's comment about her eyes had also been absent from her conversation in recent months. Before they left Netherfield, it had been a common remark, obviously designed to induce him to recant his original observation. That it had failed did not seem to cross her mind. Now that she had spoken of Miss Elizabeth again, Darcy thought she deserved a little tweaking on the subject.

"I cannot say that I have pined for a Bennet sister," said Darcy, reflecting that the statement was true to an extent—regret was a more accurate description of his recent ruminations. He had yet to descend to longing. "Perhaps I did not mention it, but I was in Miss Elizabeth Bennet's company not one month ago."

The way Miss Bingley's eyes shot to him, the expression of utter stupefaction adorning her features, was beyond satisfying. "You returned to Hertfordshire?"

The demand—for such it was—the woman spoke in a voice louder than she intended. Bingley glanced at them, and Mrs. Hurst, who was closer, regarded them with something akin to worry. Fortunately for Miss Bingley, her brother had not heard what she said, for he shrugged and returned to conversing with Georgiana. Miss Bingley realized she had almost drawn his attention to that which she most wished to avoid. That did not mean she would remain silent on the matter.

"I am all astonishment, Mr. Darcy," said she in a low voice, with an edge he had not heard from her directed at him . "That you would seek Miss Elizabeth out again is beyond my comprehension."

"I offer my apologies, Miss Bingley, for it appears I misled you. I did not return to Hertfordshire, except to pass through when returning from Pemberley."

Miss Bingley regarded him, uncertainty replacing horror. "Then you came across her in London?" Again, the woman snorted her disdain. "No doubt she came here for that purpose and put herself forward most brazenly. It is little more than I might have expected of her family ."

"Again, you are mistaken," replied Darcy. Disinclined though he was to allow even this much disdain for a woman who did not deserve it, he ignored it and continued to speak, knowing he had provoked this conversation. "It was in Kent when I visited my aunt."

"Kent?" echoed Miss Bingley. "Whatever could Miss Eliza Bennet be doing in Kent?"

"Do you recall Mr. Collins, the Bennets' cousin?"

A truly unpleasant smirk rolled over Miss Bingley's face. "Then she did marry him? How fortunate for her."

"No, she is not Mrs. Collins," said Darcy, by now enjoying the ability to pierce her conviction and deflate her vanity. "Mr. Collins married Miss Elizabeth's close friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas. Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Collins's younger sister were visiting the parsonage when I attended my aunt."

"No doubt planned to coincide with your visit."

No, Miss Bingley, thought Darcy, Miss Elizabeth is not you , after all.

Aloud, Darcy only said: "Mrs. Collins extended the invitation soon after becoming engaged, I believe."

"Well, that is truly unfortunate for her, though I suppose her friend must rejoice in her success." Miss Bingley took on an airy unconcern as if her words were of no importance. "Mr. Collins was, of course, her only chance to ever receive a proposal of marriage, for she has little fortune, no connections, her accomplishments are at best rudimentary, and she has a most unsettling air about her, akin to a bluestocking though with no knowledge of the world. I would pity her for her situation if I did not think her the most reprehensible creature in the world."

Amusement turning to fury in an instant, Darcy decided he had enough of this woman's petty barbs. Without another word, he turned to his sister.

"The hour is late, my dear. I believe it is time we returned to our home."

Georgiana agreed at once, as he had known she would, and soon the Darcys farewelled their hosts. As they were leaving, Darcy noted Miss Bingley watching him with a look that bespoke calculation. Darcy cared nothing for her opinion. At that moment, he determined he would endeavor to be in her company but little from that time forward, would not invite the Bingleys to dine, would not accept invitations from them. Bingley would understand. They could meet in other venues, and Darcy considered any intimate activities with his family to be a trial, anyway. He would not endure Miss Bingley any longer.