Second Glances: A Tale of Less Pride and Prejudice Continues (Intro & Chapter One)

My dear Miss Austen,

How easy it is to trespass upon the dead! You have no ability to defend yourself, and here I am posed to turn this convenient state of affairs to good measure. I will not repeat my previous justifications, offered with sincere humility and good intentions at the time, for now such words would stink of hypocrisy. Dare I apologize for that which I do with great intention and for little reason more than my own personal amusement? No. I cannot find the gall.

Were you with us still, Darcy, Elizabeth, and all who attend them could rest safely in your own, motherly hands, instead of being tossed about so unceremoniously by those of us who pen such works as this. The situation is most unfair, but we must have more Bennets and Bingleys, more Collinses and de Bourghs, and all that we who truly love you can do to mitigate our transgressions is to try and honor your memory, even as we infringe upon it. You see, we are selfish and simply cannot help ourselves, and as “there is no hope for a cure”, to utilize your own words, you must forgive us.

Today I offer for your inspection, perhaps even approval, one Sir James Stratton. To again borrow your words, and from where you have been most often generous, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Should a gentleman of said description be so contrary as to defy this edict, his friends will feel perfectly at liberty to interest themselves on his behalf, and amply justified they will consider even the most intrusive interference, too. So thought Sir James. Position and wealth are largely considered blessings, but as both were attained through the sacrifice of a beloved father, Sir James rather regarded them as burdens. Since inheriting he avoided society, impatient with those who valued him for wealth and position alone. It was his vast preference to remain cloistered at Teggington, interesting himself in his estate and stables, seeking diversion in travel, and only mixing with English society as needed. Nevertheless, his friends would see him married, and such seclusion was not to be tolerated. Maybe, perhaps, if there were a charming daughter of the neighboring house, or another young lady in the area to whom he might attach himself, a season in London would not be of the utmost necessity, but no such ready damsels existed. Thus came the assaults, every person dear to him united in their cause. Some came at the question with care, pestering him with vague hints and suggestions, while others attacked directly, charging him at every opportunity with his duty and barraging him with their assistance. Though the latter approach was decidedly more provoking, he had to acknowledge it more effective, a thought bestirred by a letter from his aunt, Augusta Westingham, a leader of this second camp:

Barsington, Feb. 17

My Dear Sir James,

While I am not one to credit gossip, news of your recent escapade upon an unstable creature has caused me no small degree of alarm. My dear nephew, can you really have taken such an unwarranted risk? Am I to see the home I grew up in pass to virtual strangers, all because you will insist on hazarding your life before securing your patrimony? The entire fate of the Stratton family rests in your hands: do not be cavalier about your duty!

If you must continue at trying to break your neck, at least beget a child first – perhaps two, for good measure – and for that you must marry posthaste, as heaven knows you will soon be engaged in some new escapade. Despite my laments, it's what I always liked about you, James. You keep life interesting, and I was always one for a bit of adventure: the spice and flavor of variety. As Cowper further wrote of there being nothing “in the vale of life half so delightful as a wife”, we can be sure he too would urge you to savor this epicurean delight with all expediency.

It is to this end that I have invited several dear friends, all mothers of eminently eligible ladies, to a house party the second week in March. Your friend Mr. Brooks, who was so kind as to call this morning as he was passing through the area, assures me this will provide more than enough time for you to fully heal. If none of these ladies capture your heart, you will continue on to London for the season, where an endless number of young ladies will be sure to compete for your attention. I know not on what grounds you could possibly object! There can be no excuse for further delay.

Your affectionate aunt,

Augusta Westingham

Sir James sighed. Simon would betray him to his aunt. He was certain his friend had acted with the best of intentions, but being perfectly guileless sometimes led him to share that which need not be said. Nevertheless, he knew Aunt Augusta to be correct, however little he welcomed her involvement in his affairs, and saw no reason to resist her summons. If her house party produced just the right lady, all the better for him, but he would choose his own bride, not have one selected for him. And if, in the meantime, his fancy drove him to ride another unbroken horse, he would just have to do his very best to preserve his neck. It would not do to prove her right, after all, for if there were anyone who could gloat beyond the barrier of death, it would be Augusta Westingham.

Chapter One

“A rather thick letter for you, Miss Bennet. It must be at least four sheets. You will soon run out of pin money if you continue to maintain such verbose correspondents,” Mrs. Rivers chided her favorite at the breakfast table.

“Oh!” Kitty Bennet exclaimed. “It is from Miss Darcy. May I take it to Sydney Gardens to read? It is such a lovely day, and this weather cannot possibly last.”

“As you have no lessons scheduled until later this morning, I see no reason why a walk would not be most beneficial. As Abby has the morning off, you must take Miss Lydia with you, of course.”

The subject of this condition looked up from the far end of the table, where she and three other young ladies had been having a secretive conversation all their own. “I cannot attend Kitty without Miss Burke. She and I have important business to discuss.”

Mrs. Rivers narrowed suspicious eyes in their direction. “No more mischief, I presume?”

“None at all, Mrs. Rivers!” proclaimed an injured Miss Burke, a pretty, vivacious girl, and Lydia Bennet's closest associate. “I think a walk would be just the thing. Miss Lydia and I only wish to discuss the latest fashions. Miss Lenton has the newest plates, you know, and we finally had our turn to study them last night.”

“Important business, indeed.” Mrs. Rivers tone was dismissive, but her eyes revealed her amusement. “Very well. Mind you all stay together, and be back no later than one, or Signore Falcione will be most put out.”

“Yes ma'am,” all three ladies chanted, leaving the table to dress for their outing. It was not long before they were out the door, enjoying the unseasonable warmth and unexpected freedom.

While they journeyed the easy mile from Mrs. Rivers' establishment to Sidney Gardens, the ladies maintained their headmistress' dictate to remain together, but it was not long after they reached the gardens that Miss Burke and Lydia broke off from Kitty in order to pursue their private conversation, leaving their companion on a nearby bench. Kitty had very little faith in the notion that Letitia Burke and her younger sister were actually discussing fashion, for such conversation would not require the degree of secrecy they seemed determined to maintain. It was far more likely they were planning some practical joke or another, like hiding Miss Carson's workbag from her again. Kitty cared little for their antics and was happy to be left alone with her letter.

It was a very long missive. Georgiana Darcy had filled each page so closely with relations of her activities in London, where she was spending her first season, that even her elegant handwriting was difficult to decipher. Kitty enjoyed every detail about the balls and routs she had been attending, closing her eyes and dreaming of being in the elegant rooms with Georgiana, just as fashionably dressed. In this imaginative state of mind, Kitty had to reread the final paragraph several times before she felt convinced of its reality:

My cousin, Lady Annabelle Fitzwilliam, as you know, has been a huge comfort to me throughout this ordeal. Had it not been for her presence, I do not know how I should have fared these past few weeks. My presentation, without her companionship, would have been horribly daunting. So when it was revealed that poor Annabelle had contracted the measles, you can surely understand my distress. I do feel terrible for my cousin, certainly, but self-interest overrides sympathy, and my greatest concern has been how lonely I shall be for the rest of this season, having to attend all these overwhelming events without the sympathy of companion my own age and situation. Thus it is decided, assuming you consent, that due to the excellent reports from Mrs. Rivers regarding your progress, now is time to end your formal education that you might join us in London to share the remainder of the season with me. What do you think, my dear Kitty? I profess your companionship is even more desirable to me than Annabelle's, with whom I have never been very close. Please say you will join us! Lizzy says she will see to your wardrobe once you get here, and my brother has already written to Mrs. Rivers regarding travel arrangements. We hope you will be with us before Lady Day, as we are invited to a great ball that evening that I want you to attend. Do not leave me in suspense, but write your answer as soon as you are able. I await your response most anxiously!

Your impatient friend,

Georgiana Darcy

“London!” Kitty gasped aloud, as the full impact of the invitation made itself felt. “I must write immediately!” and looking around herself, she realized that neither Lydia nor Miss Burke were anywhere insight.

She rose quickly, setting off in the direction she had seen them take.  Soon she spotted both ladies, engaged in animated conversation with a young man she did not know. Quickening her pace, she was just within a close enough distance to the trio to overhear Lydia say, “Here comes my sister. Now we shall have no more fun.”

Kitty nearly froze in the shock of those words. She and Lydia, once inseparable, had grown apart in the year they had spent in Bath, the latter having easily made friends amongst the girl's her own age, while Kitty suffered the uncomfortable distinction of being the eldest pupil in Mrs. Rivers' care, but yet she had never suspected that she was regarded by the other as a nuisance. The knowledge hurt, but the past year had brought Kitty ample instruction on the concealment of such emotion, and she continued onward, established herself as part of their group, and awaited the introductions.

“Miss Bennet, may I present Mr. Beaumont? His family and mine have long been friends, and we grew up quite like brother and sister. This, of course, is Miss Lydia's sister.”                                   

The gentleman smiled and greeted her congenially, the pleasure he so happily betrayed in making her acquaintance easing some of Kitty agitation. Handsome, charming, an old friend of Miss Burke's, and apparently quite taken with her younger sister – if his taking advantage of the older sister's presence to heavily pepper his speech with Miss Lydia's, the L rolling from his tongue caressingly, might be taken as an indication of infatuation. She could see nothing objectionable in the chance meeting, but she wanted to know more of Mr. Beaumont.

“How long have you known Mr. Beaumont, Lydia?” she questioned as they headed back towards the school.

“Oh, any number of weeks now. We met one day at Letty's house, when I joined her there for tea.”

Letitia Burke was a resident of Bath, but her father, a widower, found it more convenient for his only child to reside with Mrs. Rivers while completing her education, as he was incapable of doing anything other than spoiling her. She had spent some years in her aunt's household before that good lady refused to undertake the task any longer, claiming she could no longer guarantee the girl's safety. School suited Miss Burke just fine, as she was free to go back and forth to her own home as often as she liked, while providing her with a great deal more interesting companionship. She had become fast friends with Lydia within days of their meeting, and together they were quite the bane of their instructors' existences.

Now she giggled mischievously, “But they have seen a great deal of each other since.”

Lydia glared at her friend. “I have seen him twice more: once again at Letty's, and another time, like today, we met him in the street.”

“He's very handsome,” Kitty acknowledged, and Lydia adopted a more amiable attitude.

“Is he not? I wish you had seen him in his blue coat!”    

“I do not know what you think attractive in Hugh Beaumont!” exclaimed Letty, making a face of disgust. “You would not be able to bear him if you knew him at I did, a fat and sticky child. I used to hate to dine with him.”

Lydia defended her admirer, claiming his past had no bearing on the present, and the two began to slacken their pace as they argued over Mr. Beaumont's merits. This conversation bore every appearance of being well-rehearsed. Kitty, anxious to at least begin a response to Georgiana before her music lesson, was several paces ahead of her companions when she reached the next intersection. Perceiving an opening in traffic, and not wanting to dawdle, Kitty boldly stepped into the street. She had almost reached the pavement opposite when a curricle came upon her, proceeding at a most reckless speed, and only stopped short just in time to avoid running her down. Kitty had jumped backwards upon perceiving her peril, and now her body trembled with fright as she contemplated her near escape. In such a moment of duress, an angry voice penetrated her through the seemingly violent noise of her pounding heartbeat, “What do you think you are about? Do you not know you might have been killed? Get out of the street!”

This advice, though roughly delivered, was so sound that she heeded it immediately, scrambling from the thoroughfare before allowing her anger to register. Observing the gentleman wrestling with his reins, trying to calm his frightened horses, Kitty found her voice and responded with equal heat, “In such a crush, sir, I am astonished you would proceed at such a pace!”                                                                      

Sir James Stratton, having gained control over his team, noticed that it was a genteelly dressed young lady upon whom he had nearly inflicted grave injury – one whose agitation added a very becoming glow to an already rosy complexion – and jumped down to render assistance. Kitty, in turn, took notice of his fine frame, elegant dress, and handsome face. However, though her appearance might work to quell his chagrin, his made her only more indignant. A man of such refined appearance should be more solicitous, like her sister's husband, Mr. Darcy. His next statement, “You really should take care to watch where you are going,” though spoken gently, was taken as further reprimand, doing nothing to quell her ire.

“I was perfectly aware of my proceedings, sir, and this near accident would never have occurred if you heeded your own unsolicited advice!” she proclaimed shakily, her heightened emotions starting to overtake any semblance of calm she had thus far managed to maintain.

Perceiving her very understandable distress, as well as recognizing the justice of her claim, Sir James offered her his escort, beginning to in introduce himself when an anxious call of “Miss Bennet! Are you alright?” came from the corner opposite, claiming the attention of his damsel in distress.

“I do not require your assistance, sir!” she declared as firmly as she could. “I am perfectly well to proceed on my own,” and turning on her heel she began to make her way back across the street, hoping she did not betray her weakened knees. However, as she almost immediately fell into the path of yet another vehicle, her attempt at composure was in vain.

She heard the young man snicker beside her as he grasped her arm and steadied her balance, and unwittingly leaning for a moment upon his support, he quickly guided her out of traffic. Overcoming her bewilderment, she threw off his grasp and turned on him, her face now fully flushed with the heat of her outrage, “Unhand me, sir! As much as I am obliged to you for nearly killing me, I feel far safer without your attendance!”

A determined twinkle shot from his eye as he smiled broadly (his apparent humor acted as an additional insult to the vexed Kitty, who found herself infuriatingly inclined to smile back), before he replied, “Oh yes. I can see you are perfectly capable of navigating a street all upon your own.”

“I do not know what you can possibly find amusing!” she declared in perplexity, straightening her disordered pelisse.

“Do you not?  Please accept my humblest apologies, not only for my own reckless driving, but also that of all the other carriages hereabouts, as they all seem determined to get in your way.”

“Oh!” cried an indignant Kitty as she turned her back upon the gentleman, gathered her companions, and proceeded on her way, now taking the utmost care to avoid any further potential mishaps.  As she once again reclaimed the pavement, she turned round to see the man directly behind them, gathering his reins and smiling at her, laughter in his eyes as he waved goodbye. Kitty thrust her chin into the air and continued up the street, Lydia and Miss Burke's questions echoing behind her.

**********

Want a little more? Check back for a peak at chapter two!

First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice is available on Amazon now (buy it here). Second Glances: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice Continues will be available soon.

First Impressions: Chapter One in its Entirety

You know, I'm not pleased with this fragment notion. Let us abandon it and try again. Here's chapter one complete.

Fitzwilliam Darcy found a quiet corner of the overcrowded assembly hall and breathed an almost silent sigh of relief. From the safety of this retreat he could watch with some degree of composure as his friend, Charles Bingley, smilingly endured the crush of new neighbors from which Darcy had just escaped. Bingley, always deemed universally charming, had somehow managed to maneuver his rather plain dance partner into introducing him to the blonde beauty whom Darcy found to be, unquestionably, the handsomest lady in the room.

Darcy tried to summon a smile in response to his friend's easy sociability but was far too unhinged to succeed in the maneuver. From the moment the Netherfield party made their entrance he could not help but be acutely aware of the familiar buzz that filled the attentive room as Meryton assessed the newcomers. Though he strove to be oblivious as rumor of his income spread through the crowd, the astute observer could clearly perceive the tinge of discomfiture that disfigured his handsome face. No deep observation was required on his part to immediately discern who amongst the strangers surrounding him was privy to the gossip and who remained in ignorance: their overly attentive demeanors told all. He cursed inside. Nothing put him more out of countenance than fawning sycophants and he was displeased to observe that this neighborhood, in which he had unaccountably found himself, had an ample supply. Almost always, except in very elite circles, Darcy felt isolated by his wealth. And when he was amongst his financial equals he felt equally isolated by his values and intelligence as, unfortunately, fortunes were frequently inherited by those of less than stellar abilities. Darcy suffered nearly perpetual discomfort in society but on the evening in question, amongst those he did not know, geniality was proving a particular trial.

Between the songs of the set Bingley sought out his visibly disconcerted friend in the kindhearted, if misguided, hope of admonishing him into ease. “Come Darcy,” he said jovially, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not,” Darcy replied emphatically. “You know how I detest it unless I'm particularly acquainted with my partner. At an assembly such as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.” He suppressed a shudder at the notion.

“I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!” Bingley cried in amusement, both at the irony of his statement, for never was he near as fastidious as Darcy, and at his friend's predictably taciturn behavior. “Upon my honor I never saw so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” Darcy declared with a glance in her direction. Inwardly he acknowledged that she was nearly the only woman he could remember noticing at all, so preoccupied was he with his own awkward predicament.

“Oh she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning around, Darcy saw a dark haired woman, of shorter stature than her sister, just perceptively tapping her foot in time to the music as she watched the dancers. She did not possess the impressive beauty of her sister, yet his quick mind was struck by the cheerful liveliness of her appearance. This lady did not pine over sitting out the set, sulking like so many women he had observed. No indeed – rather than languishing she displayed an easy pleasure in her surroundings and a generous goodwill towards those enjoying the dance. Darcy wished he could be so content, so able to relish his chosen role of spectator. He knew it to be the safest place for him. Were he to seek an introduction at this juncture it would, undoubtedly, incite unwelcome attention and gossip while forcing him to indulge in idle conversation with a young lady whose companionship surely must be intolerable. Why should he subject himself to such atrocities? A dance was entirely unthinkable. He moved to turn back round in order to give Bingley a decidedly negative response to his proposal when the lady's eyes locked on his and he realized, with a great deal of horrified mortification, that she had obviously overheard Bingley's idiotic suggestion!

She gave him a knowing look – he could almost read her thoughts: “Well sir? Would you deem my company insupportable?” There was no denying the challenge implied in the raised brow: she was clearly calling him out. Was retreat possible for a man such as he? To not step forward now would be ungentlemanly, an insult to what he must admit to be an intriguing young lady – unthinkable! If there was anything certain to overcome Darcy's timidity it was the need to always uphold the dictates of etiquette. Why else would he have come to this unfortunate assembly in the first place? He was a Darcy of Pemberley after all, descendant of some of the oldest families in England, nephew to the Earl of _________. He had the honor of his name to uphold; it didn't matter if it meant attending an assembly with his host or preventing the infliction of an insult upon a lady, he would fulfill his duty.

“Very well Bingley. If your partner would be so kind, I would be happy to make the acquaintance of her sister.”



Elizabeth Bennet was, to put it rather mildly, surprised when approached by the intriguing and handsome Mr. Darcy. Rumor had it he was among the wealthiest gentlemen in the land and was, to all appearances, extremely displeased with his provincial company and unlikely to oblige anyone with his attention. She had indeed overheard his conversation with Mr. Bingley and smilingly seethed at the man's dismissive manners. She prepared herself for what she perceived as the inevitable blow of rejection by lifting her chin, directing her gaze, and embracing a satirical perspective on the reticent gentleman. If nothing else, experience told her that such impertinence would readily drive off even willing partners, not draw them to her side. For a moment their eyes met but she failed to catch Mr. Darcy's response to his friend. Assuming it was not in her favor, she returned her regard to the dance. But here was an uncanny circumstance! For suddenly there he was, presented to her with all due ceremony by her sister Jane, “My dear Elizabeth, may I present Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mr. Darcy, this is my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he began smoothly, if quietly, “it is a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied prettily.

“Are you available for the next set? I would be honored if you would grant me your hand.”

“Certainly sir. I am indeed available.”

Darcy released the breath he had been holding, unobserved of course. The worst was over: the introduction made. He bowed and retreated from further conversation, waiting nervously for the dance to commence and praying it would not prove too tedious a trial to bear.

Elizabeth pulled Jane aside. “Did Mr. Darcy request this introduction or has his fine friend coerced him into it?” she eagerly inquired.

“Of course not Lizzy! Mr. Bingley assures me Mr. Darcy is everything amiable, only it seems he is a bit timid in a crowd.”

“Why should such a man as he be ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”

Jane gazed at her sister, imploring her to be kind to Mr. Bingley's friend.

“Very well,” Elizabeth responded to the silent request. “He is decidedly handsome. I shall not be such a simpleton as to allow myself to appear unpleasant to a man of such consequence.”

The ladies would have enjoyed laughing at this characteristic retort of Elizabeth's had not the next set begun to form and their partners presented themselves. Mr. Darcy braced himself against the curious stares of onlookers as he led Miss Elizabeth to the floor, but he could not ignore the hum of speculation as Meryton stood in wonder at the withdrawn stranger's singling out of the second daughter of Longbourn. He focused on this lady as the dance commenced, hoping to block out both his discomfort and the gossiping company.

In this endeavor Darcy found himself surprisingly successful. In Elizabeth's eyes he recognized a calm acceptance of his attentions, not the flirtatious idiocy with which he was so often confronted on the dance floor. She smiled becomingly in response to his gaze but seemed, having completed the basic preliminaries, not inclined towards conversation. Despite his instincts, Darcy actually forgot himself a bit and relished the rare pleasure of enjoying a dance: be assured – a most unusual occurrence.

Elizabeth noticed her companion's discomfort as they took to the floor and began to feel some pity for him, struggling as he was to conceal his vexation with the poorly concealed murmurs of her neighbors. Certainly this was not a man made smug by his position – rarely had she encountered anyone so ill at ease. Remembering her promise to make herself agreeable, she thought to initiate conversation but could not escape her own thoughts long enough to proceed. As he silently but expertly led her through the dance, she regretted the part she played in unwittingly provoking him into an uncomfortable situation. If only she had been less proud in her response to the overheard conversation – she was, after all, an eavesdropper, though be it an unwilling one, and thus deserved to hear something unflattering to herself. Yet it seemed that instead of being appropriately knocked down by her transgression, she was instead the subject of all her neighbors envy! The least she could do in return for such felicitous entertainment was not to torture the man with idle conversation. And so she never attempted it; they danced in a mutual and agreeable hush.

It did not escape Darcy that, though he could relish a silent dance, his partner might take offense at his total lack of conversation. As the first song ended he gathered himself to the task of making a rather mundane comment on the performance of the dance. Miss Elizabeth responded only vaguely, as befit the statement, finding that even with her rather extensive communication skills she was at a loss for a retort to such insipidly polite conversation. Mr. Darcy winced. He could only imagine how turgid he must appear to this attractive young woman, she who had been kind enough not to overwhelm him with just such humdrum chatter as he had been blubbering. Struggling for a smile, he strove to redeem himself, “It is your turn to say something Miss Elizabeth. I talked of the dance, now you ought to remark on the number of couples.”

Completely surprised that the quiet man could suddenly prove witty, Elizabeth smiled back and said with an arch look, “What do you think of books?”

“Delightful,“ he replied, suddenly feeling more composed, “much better than the usual ballroom conversations. Shall we pursue Richardson? He is a favorite of mine. But perhaps Shakespeare is more appropriate to the occasion?”

Elizabeth, though noting with approval her partner's literary taste, could not resist making a mischievous retort. “As you like, sir,” she challenged, “though acknowledging that 'brevity is the soul of wit,' perhaps I should execute mine by continuing to hold my tongue.”

Perish the thought! It became him to concede, “If the Bard himself can be harnessed towards such an unfortunate end, Miss Elizabeth, we really must abandon the topic of books altogether.” Elizabeth – it was a name he had always favored and enjoyed using it. How fortunate that she was a younger sister! They must not continue in silence now. “Having already covered the dance, what is there left we can discuss but the weather? Perhaps our health?” Darcy almost laughed at his own jest, so much was he enjoying the novelty of playing interrogator as, typically, his statements were intended to block conversation, not encourage it. But he was soon to discover that novelty is very short lived, if not regretted, as the dancer's roles reversed with Elizabeth's mischievous response: “Do you talk by rule then, when dancing?”

“Obviously not!” he emphatically thought. But who could not be astonishingly intrigued by the humorous glint in what he now recognized as a set of extraordinarily fine, dark eyes? Quite unthinkingly and totally unlike himself, he admitted, “As our dance has amply demonstrated, most certainly not!” They both laughingly accepted the evident truth of this statement.

“Did I just make a joke at my own expense?” Darcy wondered in amazement. Even more striking was that he found himself unconcerned by the self-inflicted jab, so comfortable was he with this lady he had only just met. Befuddling really, when so many women he had known for years continued to make him uncomfortable – Bingley's sister Caroline amongst them. He found his partner's next comment, calculated in kindness to sooth any blow to his dignity, terribly gratifying, “Sometimes a silent dance, well executed of course, can prove far more satisfying than one marked by the strain of broken small talk.”

“Indeed. Perhaps that is why society was wise enough not to be too stringent in its regulation of this area. Now that we have canvassed the topics allowed us we may happily forgo all further pleasantries, should we so choose.” Though they grinned at each other in amusement, neither wished to pursue such a course. They parted in the dance.

Elizabeth was greatly enjoying herself. Not only did she appreciate the blessing of a graceful dance partner but also the gratification of vanity in receiving such flattering attention from the most distinguished quarter she had ever encountered. But her happiness was threatened when, just as she regained her partner, she observed over his shoulder her mother, from the far side of the crowded room, determinedly striding towards the dance floor with their neighbor, Lady Lucas, in tow. The ladies positioned themselves near the dancers and proceeded to whisper furiously to one another – little doubt did Elizabeth have as to the nature of this conversation. For as long as she could remember, her mother had spoken of none but two topics: her nerves and the disposal of daughters. That the eyes of Mr. Darcy, a single man of immensely large fortune, should fall upon herself was certainly propelling both topics to new heights of interest for Mrs. Bennet.