Volume I

or

Darcy and Hurst

A Great Beefhead, and The Gentleman Who Merely Looked The Gentleman

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, mus' be in want o' a wife.

This, according to Mrs Hagrid Bennet, sat at the breakfast table on a rather non descript Tuesday in September. The Lady would often issue such profound bits of wisdom over their crumpets, having little else to occupy her mind at present, the majority of books exhausting her patience and most embroidery being too fiddly for her curiously masculine hands.

Wisdom like this was never without design with a woman such as Mrs Bennet, and her intention was revealed a minute or so later, when she asked whether her husband had heard that Netherfield Park was let.

Let at last!

Failing to grasp the immense gravity of this news, Mr Bennet turned a page of his newspaper and looked at his wife through his half moon spectacles, an expression of utmost serenity suggested in every aspect of his countenance. He had not.

Yes, Netherfield Hall was let, to a man of large fortune- handsome and rich, rumour had it he possessed five thousand a year. As such, he was everything that any doting mother could want for her daughters, and Mrs Bennet did not hesitate in telling her husband as much. What a fine thing it would be for their girls!

Mr Bennet turned his newspaper, and observed that he failed to see how it could concern them. But didn't he see that she was thinking of marrying one of them?

"Mr Frank Bingley! A fine thing indeed!"

Albus Bennet, who had been perfectly still and unconcerned up until this point, slowly folded up his newspaper and looked at his wife with detached inquiry.

"Bingley, you say?" He asked, pausing to smile at his two eldest daughter's, who had entered by way of the hallway, looking decidedly sleep deprived.

Scratching his beard in contemplation- Mr Bennet was the contemplative kind- the man returned to his eggs and his newspaper, adding only; "Oh, yes. Fine family name. Fine thing for our girls. Very fine indeed. I remember his father- had a penchant for collecting toads."

Accustomed to the many quirks and eccentricities of her husband, having had these past twenty years at least to learn them, his wife ignored the latter part of his statement in favour of reading into the first. "So yeh'll visit him?"

"I shall do no such thing."

Lily snorted into her porridge, and Alice helped herself to a second portion of eggs.

Mr Bennet did, in fact, visit Mr Bingley. As it happens, he was among the first. After he retired to his study following breakfast, he disappeared as if by magic from his fireside, reappearing a few seconds later on a hillside three miles south, a book tucked under his arm and his spectacles set firmly in place.

If his wife had known this, she might have found herself somewhat more at ease, and relaxed over the next couple of days. For reasons best known to himself, however, Mr Bennet had decided not to disclose the information.

Which left Mrs Bennet to carry on her campaign completely in the dark.

Nothing could be commented on without also eliciting a comment on Mr Bingley. There was to be a ball at Meryton? Mrs Bennet wondered if Mr Bingley might attend. Bertha and Mary were going to see Aunt Phillips? Did Mr Bingley have any aunts, she wondered. The cook had stocked a new kind of ale? Good heavens, what if the young man didn't like ale… What on earth would she serve him when he came over for dinner?

And what kind of young man didn't like ale? She wasn't quite sure she could endure such a man as a son in law… Ruddy in complexion and jovial in manner, there was only one surefire way Hagrid Bennet knew to ensure a continued acquaintance, and that was on the strength of her ale. She was the best brewer and drinker in the county- she was renowned for it.

That, and her exceptionally pretty daughters.

Finally, however, Mr Bennet could take no more. Seeing that his second daughter was employed reading over a section on love potions, he could not resist commenting; "Careful, Lily. I have been most reliably informed those things are very potent. I doubt our Mr Bingley has the constitution for it."

"Our Mr Bingley- our Mr Bingley indeed!" Cried his wife. "I'm quite sick o' Mr Bingley!"

Mr Bennet had a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I am very sorry to hear that, my dear. If I had known that last week, I should never have called on him. I am afraid we can scarcely escape the acquaintance now."

Mrs Bennet choked on her rock cake. Although that might have been the density of the baking.

"Will he be at the ball, papa?" Bertha asked.

Alice jolted slightly- with everything that had been going on, she had completely forgotten. Next week was the Meryton Assembly, and there would be no getting out of it, not if the rest of the family had determined to go.

"He may have disclosed an intention of that kind." The tips of his fingertips pressed together, a sure sign of mischief. "He's bringing a large party. You'd better finish that hat, Alice, dear. Blue becomes you."

Bertha and Mary were giggling- a sure sign of plotting- and Petunia's eyebrows were beginning to contract in disdain. That was all their father needed in way of a cue.

"And now, I am going to my study." Moving slowly to his feet, he took advantage of his wife's temporary silence to catch his daughter's eye. In the lazy swirls of light spilling through the windows next to her father, Lily could see the absurd twinkle in the blue eyes just visible behind half moon spectacles, inviting her to laugh at the ridiculousness of everything. "Please save your raptures until I am out of the room."

Lily would remember the shriek that followed the rest of her days. Years later, she would swear her eardrums had never fully recovered.

"What a good joke it were, not to tell us!" Mrs Bennet would later exclaim.

Expression schooled into blankness, Lily agreed that it was a very fine joke indeed. But the mirth sparkling her eyes betrayed her, and speaking to Alice later, she would wonder whether her mother would have thought it so remarkably funny, had it been continued an instant longer.

He was a tall gentleman, decent looking and richly dressed, with extraordinarily messy hair. An air of careful cultivation clung to him in spite of this, and though it could not be described as fashion, the younger Bennet's could not help but note the colour of his cravat suited his eyes far too well for it to be unintentional.

Alice remarked on his uncommon good looks, and Emmeline, on the size of his estate. Lily could not but be irritated by the annoying habit the man had, of tousling up the back of his hair.

Everyone here knew each other; knew who they wanted to seek out, who they wanted to avoid, and at whom they would direct their grittiest smiles and falsest pleasantries.

Perhaps that was why, when Bingley's party entered, they drew every eye and silenced every gossip.

It was true that they were a small community, and to create a sensation of some sort is the undeniable privilege of every stranger entering a small community. But the fact of the matter was that at least one of the strangers entering the assembly that evening did not feel a stranger to the little Hertfordshire society at all. Mr Bingley had been much talked of in Meryton.

Every young man of 5,000 a year must be stared at by pretty girls and spoken of by scheming mothers, wherever he may choose to go. If he is handsome, then an entire community may be lost. And Frank Bingley most certainly was that.

It was not, however, the much talked of Mr Bingley who drew Lily's eye.

For an instant the atmosphere was like that of a church, albeit with a lot more pointed whispering behind hands. As if that would do anything to prevent the five strangers discerning they were the topics of conversation. Then Sir Horace moved forward, hand outstretched in greeting. Emmeline's father was not one for moderation- his booming tone filled the hall, consuming every crevice and filling every ear. Conversation spilled outwards from the party, gaining strength until it filled even the places furthest from the centre that the newcomers had formed.

"That gentleman with Bingley. The one with the glasses. I wonder who he is? I don't think papa mentioned him."

"He has a very singular expression." Lily replied. "As if the whole world displeased him."

Whilst this was true, it was not the whole truth. The gentleman did look displeased. But a strange aura of vitality and intelligence clung to him, perhaps in the way he stood, or the strange contrast between his hands and eyes. For though the latter were fixed and unmoving and filled, Lily believed, with a kind of general aversion for the company, his hands would not stay still. They flitted from his sides to the back of his head, knotted in front of him then behind his back, clenched and unclenched like the opening of a flower. There was a restless vigour in them. Hands not made for stiff ballrooms or stuffy parlours.

Dragging her eyes away, Lily smiled at Emmeline. "Are you not engaged to dance with Mr Abbott?"

"Oh, hush." Emmeline laughed. The slow bloom of splotchy pink was not missed, however, by her friend. Emmeline raised her eyebrows. "You're intolerable."

As it turned out, Lily's hunch about Mr Bingley's friend was to be proven right.

The first half of the ball was spent in speculation about his fortune, as the first half of balls generally is when strange young men without wives attend. The gentleman's name was discovered to be James Darcy, and he was a man of extensive property in Darbyshire. Found to be richer by several thousand a year, he was suddenly handsomer and more amiable by far than his friend. Wasn't there something pleasing about the arch of his nose? Something regal? And he carried himself in such a fashion as to put his friend to shame.

Lily had to fight the urge to bang her head on the nearest wall.

That was, until it was discovered that his manners were conceited, that he was rude to everyone, and above being pleased. Strangely, Mr Bingley was suddenly much more handsome, and much more agreeable. Of course Mr Darcy's nose was perfectly fine, but it was slightly large, and crooked. Regal having given way to supercilious, and there was found to be something uniquely pleasing about Mr Bingley's easy manners and dimpled chin.

But it didn't appear to matter what most of the room thought of Mr Bingley's easy manners, or his dimpled chin. The instant the young men were introduced to the young Miss Bennets, Frank Bingley found himself caught.

So it was that, though Alice's impossibly good nature had led her to lend Bertha the blue hat which suited her eyes so very well, and her best gown with the loveliest brocade to Mary, she danced not only once with Frank Bingley, but twice.

Mrs Bennet could barely stop herself clapping her hands in glee.

Watching Alice's second dance, the shortage of young men having obliged her to sit this one out, Lily felt a smile spread across her face. Her elder sister was lovely in a way that Lily had never hoped to be. In a way that made it look as if she had been touched by light. There was a softness about Alice, a gentility, which could not be attained by either practice or affection. But she was a terrible dancer.

As clumsy as Alice was, she was pretty enough to get away with standing on her partner's toes, blundering her way through the dance with an apologetic smile so lovely anyone with half a heart would forgive her for their bruised toes. But Frank Bingley… He was something else. Lily didn't think she'd ever seen anyone match her sister for falling over their own two feet.

It made Alice anxious, Lily knew. Having to dance in public was something her sister dreaded. But with Frank Bingley, she laughed so heartily the colour rose in her cheeks, and Lily was glad.

Nevertheless, there was something faintly terrifying about how quickly the transformation had taken place over Mr Bingley's face. His sisters, at the very least, seemed not to like it. And though she was laughing, Lily thought she could read bemusement in Alice's face.

It was infatuation. Attraction. Whatever you wanted to call it. The notion of love at first sight was absurd. Anyone who had been ensnared so quickly, could certainly be caught by someone else just as fast. A blinding of the eyes, that was all.

So why was her mother not the only one whispering of matrimony? Lily gritted her teeth. The two sisters had heard Mrs Bennet's exclamations, she was sure. How could they not have? No one could have missed the way Hagrid had clapped her hands together in jubilation.

Everyone in the assembly was watching Mr Bingley and Alice dance. After all, it was not everyday you saw two people trip and stomp with such strange grace.

The dance ended. Mr Bingley bowed, and stepped away. He was still grinning when he reached his friend.

Lily, concealed in an alcove, heard everything.

"Come, Darcy," cried Bingley, with an enthusiasm Lily found almost laughable. "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

Darcy replied that he would not. There was no one in the room, it seemed, with whom it would not be a punishment to dance, aside from Bingley's sister Cornelia. And she was already engaged.

Lily repressed a snort. She could not imagine a punishment worse than standing with Cornelia Bingley, whom she had overheard speaking with Alice, and who had come across as insufferably self satisfied and condescending. Then again, she had thus far found no reason to think Darcy did not share these traits. Perhaps they would suit each other very well.

Apparently, Mr Bingley found his friend similarly ludicrous. He appeared to be fighting a smile.

"Good heavens, Darcy," said he "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! So many amiable young women, and several of them uncommonly pretty. I have never met with such delightful company, or such happy manners, in all my life, as I have found amongst this gathering tonight."

There was something very endearing about the sincerity of his tone. Perhaps it was the contrast with his friend- people who come into a new society ready and eager to be impressed by what they find will rarely find a cold reception. But Lily felt new respect for Bingley to bloom in her chest- for, she allowed, she had not felt very cordially towards him of late. With all the talk about him that had taken place around the Bennet's dining room table in fact, she had quite a store of hexes that she'd been saving for meeting him.

He was, of course, made easier to like by the suspicion that when he spoke of "so many amiable young women", he meant Alice. "Uncommonly pretty" was a compliment Lily's imagination was happy to apply to her elder sister.

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," came the reply, with a significant look at Alice.

His friend laughed, and Lily, as if to acknowledged that, whatever his other shortcomings, Darcy had good taste.

"Oh, she's an angel, to be sure. But she has a younger sister somewhere, of whom she speaks very highly and who is exceptionally pretty. I'm certain she'd introduce you, if I asked?"

"The red haired one. I noticed her." said he, his tone turning, if possible, more derisive, and more cold. As he spoke, he reached up and tousled his hair. Never had she so badly wanted to laugh at anyone. Or hit them with a good curse. She wasn't quite decided which yet. "She is tolerable, but no where near handsome enough to tempt me. Besides, I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men. Miss Lily Bennet has been seated these past two sets. Return to the smiling Miss Bennet, Bingley, and enjoy. I'd rather be alone at present."

It was the first time all evening Lily had seen his hands still.

Mr Bingley looked for an instant as if he was going to do just that, but then he turned to his friend and raised his eyebrows. "You learnt the young lady's name rather fast."

"It's a small company." replied his companion, with not a little awkwardness. "There are not many names to know."

"You will never cease to confuse me, my friend." said Bingley, with a smile.

Mr Darcy made no reply, and after a moment Bingley followed his advice and sought out Alice for their next dance. After he had left, it did not take Darcy long to follow suit, and Lily was left with nothing very pleased to say about James Darcy.

When she recalled the incident to her friends, however, fifteen minutes later, she told it in such high spirits that no one but those who knew her most intimately would guess that Darcy's slights had touched her at all. For Lily was young, and of a lively disposition, a disposition which did not take anything seriously unless it was necessary to do so, and an infectious, self deprecating humour which took delight in anything ridiculous.

For the Bennet's, the evening was a very great success.

Bertha and Kitty came home jubilant- they had danced every set, from eight until four, without once sitting down. Alice smiled and remarked on how well she thought the band had played. Even Petunia, to whom balls were rarely agreeable, was able to muster a self satisfied smile- she had been praised as playing "rather well", and recommended to Miss Bingley as "the most accomplished young lady in the neighbourhood."

No one's joy, however, could match that of Mrs Bennet. She was confident of a proposal by Michaelmas, and a wedding by August. Sitting on the steps at the front of the house, Lily could hear her in the first floor bedroom, in raptures over how beautiful Alice would look in white lace.

And Lily, as dawn broke over the rusted trees, splintering the sky into glorious shades of red and gold, thought of how Mr Bingley's eyes had clung to her sister, and how Alice had smiled. They made a striking couple. Something about seeing them together made her uncomfortable, made her itch under the skin.

It was cold, and Lily pulled the blanket a little tighter about her shoulders.

A slight rustling of muslim against the stones was the only warning of the latter's arrival, and suddenly a tea cup was being pressed into her hand.

"You're not worried, are you?"

The beading was coming loose from Lily's hair, and she reached up to pull it free, taking her time to answer.

We're no closer to discerning the truth, she wanted to say. As it happens, it feels like we've moved further away. But, of course, she didn't say that. Instead, she said "I was just thinking about how Bingley smiled at you."

So she listened to her sister talk about how Mr Bingley was just what a man ought to be- how he was sensible and humorous and amiable and handsome and (rich, she interjected with a laugh, which a man likewise ought to be if he can help it). She listened, and she thought of how this was what every other girl their age should be doing. She listened, and she was glad.

The cockerel cried it's morning song, and Alice and Lily fell into bed with aching heels, still laughing, still flushed, and very tired. They slept through the afternoon, a rare treat, and when they rose, Lily could not help a comment, on how lovely it was to be kept in bed by something as simple as a ball.

The Bennet's closest neighbours were a family by the name of Lucas, and it was a most fortuitous proximity. Their eldest daughter, Emmeline, was an intelligent woman of seven and twenty, and the particular intimate of Lily, their natures being such that their friendship was a foregone conclusion. As greatly as Emmeline profited from Lily's wit, which brought fresh diversion and vigour to the apparent monotony of life as a spinster of seven and twenty, it was Lily who gained most from the acquaintance. For her friend was well read and serious, and had a practicality which, though Lily had never precisely lacked, had been in earnest need of cultivation when the Lucas's first relocated, a fact which can no doubt be attributed to her mother's influence. Application and patience had been dormant virtues in Lily when the pair first met. If Miss Bennet had taught Miss Lucas to laugh, then Miss Lucas had in turn taught Miss Bennet to think.

As for the other Lucas's; Sir Horace was a kind man, whose knighthood twelve years prior had rendered him a little proud, although not off puttingly so, for he used this pride in an attempt to make himself agreeable and courteous to all the world. Lady Lucas was an small, endearing lady of whom no one had a true bad word to speak, just clever enough to be of use to Mrs Bennet, although not so clever as to be disagreeable company. Their other 6 children were all equally friendly, and their youngest daughter, Nymphadora, was a dear friend of Bertha and Mary.

As the principal friends of the Bennet family,the necessity of meeting the following day to discuss the ball was a given. To which end, the 5 Miss Bennets and their mother set off as soon as the eldest daughters had arisen, in order to talk over tea and rock cakes- rock cakes which were not, thankfully, the work of Mrs Bennet.

"My, Miss Lucas, how well ye started the evening las' night! To be Mr Bingley's first choice!"

Mrs Bennet's face crinkled as she spoke, and Emmeline stopped a smile in a mouthful of cake. Though her friend's mother was a good soul, of whom she was prestigiously fond, there could be no doubt about the response she was waiting to hear.

"Yes, but I hazard, he preferred his second choice by far."

Feigning surprise, Mrs Bennet looked around the room, as if Mr Bingley's second choice could be conjured up from the dust. Alice blushed. "O, you mean Alice? To be sure, he did dance wi' her twice- and he tol' Mr Robinson- I forget what he said, but it were very complimentary, very complimentary indeed. You get yer good looks from me, dearest, is it not so, Lady Lucas? Well, yes, I believe he do admire her a great deal."

Lily recognised her cue. With a playful glance at her sister, she supplied "Perhaps you refer to what I heard him say to Mr Robinson- that Alice was quite the prettiest girl in the room, that there could be no two opinions about it, and that he thought he could settle into such a society very well indeed."
Alice appeared unruffled by her sister's teasing, her needle dipping in and out of the cloth before her, scarcely any colour rising in her cheeks. "I hope he shall- I am sure we shall all benefit very greatly from his society. He is quite an agreeable young man, I believe."

Oh, yes, Lily thought. Quite an agreeable young man.

Mrs Bennet could scarce contain her excitement, though she had had Lily repeat the story thrice on the way here, and twice more over breakfast. "Well, that do sound very decided, don't it? Very decided indeed. Course, you mustn't get yer hopes up, Alice, dear. It could be that it comes to nought."

"What of his friend? Mr Darcy has not the good taste his friend displayed by half. My poor Lily- to be only just tolerable."

"What a bag o' moonshine! Don't you go gettin' it in yer head to listen to that great beef head, Lily, yer better than he is by far. Such a caper witted, disagreeable man- it should be a gran' misfortune to be liked by him, and don' you forget it."

"Mama!"

"What? There be no one here to take offense, is there, Filius?"

Lady Lucas, used to her friend's language, looked torn between amusement and exasperation. Alice shook her head. "Do you not think that there could have been some mistake on our parts, mama? His acquaintance speaks of him so very highly- and I do not think a young man of Mr Bingley's temperament likely to befriend a gentleman like you describe. Besides, Miss Bingley says that he is a taciturn, reserved man amongst new acquaintance, but upon further knowledge a kinder and better humoured man could scarce be found."

"Taciturn! Bah! If he were only taciturn, the great dandiprat would not 'ave spoken so ill o' our Lily. That coxcomb's problem is he were so ate up with pride he could not recognise a" pretty girl if she were stood mere inches from his face."

Emmeline refilled her guests' teacup. "His pride doesn't bother me. But I do wish he had danced with Lily."

Mrs Bennet scowled at her newly full tea cup. "If you meet 'im again, Lily, I would not dance with him if he were the last man in England."

Lily hid her smile. "I believe I may promise quite safely, ma'am, that I shall never dance with Mr Darcy."

"His pride does not strike me as so offensive as pride frequently does, because there is great reason for it. It is not so very wondrous, after all, that a well looking young man with fortune, connection, every advantage that can be desired, should be proud."

At which point, Petunia- who herself was proud, due to the perceived wisdom and depth of her profound reflections- began lecturing upon the difference between pride and vanity. Lily moved to the other side of the room, and cut herself a second slice of cake. Though she felt great sympathy for her sister, she could not help but be irritated whenever she opened her mouth. Her voice grated.

When, at long last, Petunia felt the need to pause for breath, Emmeline interjected. "Very well said Petunia." It had not been. "But at 10,000 a year, I do not suppose the difference between vanity and pride is a matter Mr Darcy has spent very long pondering. What would one do with a fortune as great as that? I should not know where to begin."

I would, thought Lily, though she said nothing. She had had her suspicions about her friend for well over a decade, but there was no way to know for sure. Thank the lord, they were beyond the witch burning days of centuries past, but there was still great suspicion afoot about people who could do the things Lily could do. Silence was the key to their survival.

"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas, "I should not worry for a second about pride! I would have a pet fox called Ernie, and drink twelve bottles of wine a day."

Lily's stomach tightened, and she hid her face in the curtains until it was time to go.

As their acquaintance wore on, the friendship between Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley became a matter of increasing confusion for Lily. Where on earth was the sense, after all, in an attachment between the respective embodiments of all that is amiable, and all that is determinedly disagreeable?

So here are the facts, some of which Lily was able to learn, and some of which evaded her until much, much later on. Bingley was several years older than Darcy, and they had been intimate from when they were boys, being two of the only wizards in a very large neighbourhood. In their earlier days, Bingley had proved a useful guide and tutor for young Darcy, who was forever being dragged into new troubles. His tales of Hogwarts had delighted a small James, who had reenacted Frank's quidditch matches and spells with a gusto familiar to all younger siblings; Frank had laughed, and Darcy, who had no siblings of his own until very late in his childhood, had come to regard Frank as an elder brother. Even whilst they attended school, separated by several years and very different groups of friends, Frank and James had remained close. Frank had been there for Darcy in some of the hardest periods of his life; through the death of his parents, through the trials of his sister, through the betrayal of one of his closest friends. As they grew older, a shift seemed to occur; Frank had always been an older brother to James, but suddenly James was overtaking Frank in their lessons, was involved in occurrences beyond Frank's experiences, was having to make more and more hard decisions. Though Frank had always been an older brother figure in James's life, when Frank's parents died, James found that it fell to him to guide his friend through his new business, through his responsibilities to his sisters, through the handling of his finances and servants and the running of his household. A shift had occurred, and Mr Bingley, with that good nature that was so often attributed to him, never once resented it.

For Frank recognised that there were parts of James's life which were off limits. His friendship with Hurst and Colonel Fitzwilliam- those three were part of some great society on which Frank knew he would never dare infringe. He would never try to advise Darcy on his estate, or his work for the order, or the upbringing of Marlene.

For James nothing in Frank's life was off limits. He could advise on anything, do anything, infringe on anything. What was Frank's, belonged also to James, and with a fierce protectiveness and loyalty that was unique to him, James would defend Frank against anything and anyone.

Everyone who knew either gentleman, knew that.

September wore on and transformed into October, as September is wont to do, pouring water into the sunlight and coating the earth in glorious shades of brown and gold.

It seemed that Bingley's affection for Alice was more than a blinding of the eyes. So much so that the Miss Bingley's visited the Miss Bennet's, and the Miss Bennet's visited the Miss Bingley's in their turn, and it was agreed between the Miss Bingley's that though the younger Miss Bennet's were disagreeable and foolish young women, and the mother intolerable, they should very much like to get to know the two elders better.

It is difficult to say how much of this could be attributed to their brother. Certainly Lily found she liked the man a great deal more than she had anticipated. His warmth, intelligence, and overwhelming good humour made it difficult to dislike him. And if he had not much genuinely original to say, he more than made up for it by being more than willing to laugh at other people's wit, as well as being in possession of very sound judgement and admirable sensibilities. In fact, Lily told her sister, she quite approved of him. Alice had like many a stupider person.

Lily's opinion of Mr Bingley, of course, was not hurt by his very great admiration of Alice. Though Lily could not like the sisters, she would have put up with a great deal of their pompousness, just to see Alice happy at his smile. Yet her sister was not hasty, and though Lily suspected she felt a good deal she did not show, she could not help but be glad that Alice was so cautious in her public meetings with Mr Bingley, acting as cordial and pleasant as she would to any other agreeable young gentleman of their acquaintance.

However, when voicing this aloud to Emmeline, she found that her friend did not quite agree.

Emmeline gave a shrug. "It may be nice not to have the general public know of one's every attachment. But if a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."

Lily shook her head at her friend. Though it was true, as Emmeline pointed out, that Bingley did not know her sister's modest and unassuming disposition as she did, surely any fool could perceive how much she liked him.

And besides, if Bingley truly liked her sister, surely he would persist in getting to know her well enough to learn her disposition and comprehend her feelings? Where questions of matrimony were concerned, one could not be too careful.

Here, too, Emmeline disagreed. Happiness in marriage, she said, was entirely a matter of chance- it was better to marry hastily and secure the match, than act with caution and lose the gentleman entirely. She had always known Emmeline's view of marriage to be different to her own. But really, to be so cold and methodical… And about so serious a decision… An ill advised union could make you unhappy forever, until death you do part.

Perhaps it was that Emmeline had not had the advantage of seeing what a mismatched marriage could do to the people who entered into it. For the first time in the course of their friendship, Lily wondered if perhaps her friend were so very sensible after all.

But no matter. Lily was confident that their parent's bizarre and in many respects unsuitable match had taught her sister caution as surely as it had taught her. Even seeing Alice and Bingley- sweet enough to make your teeth rot- Lily was not sure there was a love strong enough to induce her to marry. Not sure she had the constitution for it.

As absorbed as she had been in watching Alice and Mr Bingley, Lily was far from seeing that she was becoming an object of fascination herself. When they had first met, Mr Darcy had deemed her scarcely tolerable, in the second meeting, he saw no beauty at all in her figure, and at the third, he looked only to criticise. Such pride, however, must always be punished by nature; no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that there was not an attractive feature in Miss Bennet's face, than he made several mortifying discoveries. The critic was captured by the beautifully intelligent expression of her eyes. Mr Darcy had seen more than one failure of symmetry in her form, and there was nothing particularly brilliant about her complexion. However, her figure had to be acknowledged to be both light and pleasing, and though he had many times stated that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, there was something captivating in their easy playfulness. And her hair was, he mulled, quite wonderful. It was not, as he had first thought, simply one colour, and he found himself privately fascinated by its hue, by the soft coppers and deep oranges and bright reds that twined together to make Miss Lily Bennet quite one of the prettiest young ladies he had ever beheld.

Lily, of course, was completely unconscious of this, and saw nothing more than a disagreeable gentleman who refused to be pleased by anything, and who had slighted her at the ball.

Frowning at her friend, she could be heard saying "Why must Mr Darcy persist in listening to my conversations? It is quite disconcerting, and I am sure I do not know what he means by it."

"I am not Mr Darcy."

"No, and I am quite glad of it. You're far too pretty and far too agreeable to be encumbered by such a dour face. I believe he means to laugh at me." This thought prompted her to laugh herself. "Well, no matter. I am quite content to be laughed at, for I am very funny, and make myself laugh from time to time."

Amused, Emmeline watched her friend throw a glare at Darcy across the room. "Irritating, disagreeable man. I have half a mind to ask him what he means by it."

As fate would have it, the opportunity presented itself. Darcy was moving their way.

"Please, Lily, do not. Such a powerful gentleman, you shall only regret it if you do, you must not!" Emmeline's eyes flashed in warning.

But Lily was a self proclaimed contrary soul, and her friend's warning only made her want to confront Darcy more. And so "Did you not think I expressed myself uncommonly well to Colonel Forster just now, Mr Darcy?"

The gentleman in question raised his eyebrows, a look of great surprise arresting him. But he was not a man to be out done, and a brilliant smile overcame him. "With great energy and vigour, although it is a subject which often animates young ladies."

Lily laughed delightfully- a full bodied laugh, which tilted her chin and reached her eyes. "Mr Darcy means to mock our sex, Miss Lucas- I was persuading Colonel Forster that the regiment should hold a ball."

"Not at all." Said the latter. When it seemed unlikely that the man should say anything more, Lily turned to him with a mock confessional look. "In truth, it is not my venture. My younger sisters are very greatly enamoured with the regiment at present, and I seem to have found myself roped into their attempts to dance with officers."

Silence fell, that very particular branch of uncomfortable which makes your skin prickle. Looking between the pair, Emmeline saw that neither was going to speak, and, just for something to say; "Do you enjoy dancing, Mr Darcy?"

"Not if I can help it. Good day, Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas."

The two exchanged startled looks. "Mr Darcy, it would seem, is determined to remain an enigma." Emmeline observed.

"Oh! There is nothing mysterious about such a man! He cloaks himself in arrogance and disdain because he is arrogant and disdainful. He lurks because he wishes to have more ammunition for his endless censure of us all, and he engages in conversation, so that he may return to the simpering Miss Bingley, and mock every word to which we have given breath." She gave a light, teasing smile. "There. I have him wholly figured out."

The truth was, that her meeting with Mr Darcy in that manner had quite disconcerted her- her meetings with Mr Darcy almost always disconcerted her.

Emmeline raised her eyebrows but said nothing, looking towards the piano, where the instrument had just been opened. Petunia was playing. Having been born a plainer child by far than her sisters, and not yet having grown out of it, Petunia was devoted to acquiring knowledge and accomplishments, and always eager for a chance for display. Though her vanity had endowed her with very great application, it had likewise ruined her skill, for it gave her a pompous and self satisfied air which would have quite destroyed the performance of a far better musician. Mozart was followed by the request for Scotch and Irish airs from her younger sisters, which she happily acquiesced to, though with every show of disgust that a young girl who says she prefers Mozart might be presumed to give.

Propped on a nearby wall, Mr Darcy watched them all with considerable displeasure- they did not appear, however, to notice, and the only impact of this stance was to exclude him from all conversation. He had, however, an ulterior motive- this pillar gave him an unobstructed view of Lily and her dance with Mr Fawley- she moved, if not with a great deal of elegance, then with more vigor than he would have supposed any women capable of. This pillar, too, had the added bonus of being directly in sight of Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet, so he was quite safe, in that anyone watching him, would presume he was watching his friend.

"I can guess the subject of your reverie." came a soft, cultivated voice from his right. Mr Darcy closed his eyes. He had been dreading that voice more and more, these past weeks.

Cornelia Bingley was elegant rather than pretty, and had all the niceness of manner that money had been able to buy her. When he had first met her, Mr Darcy had not objected to her company. As he had gotten to know her better, however, he had realised his mistake. She was ambitious, corrupted by the affluent manner of living her father and brother had been able to give her and determined to climb the social ladder. She was also the most paranoid woman of Darcy's acquaintance, and he had no wish to bring her harsh wit down on his own head.

Something about the way her voice grated, however, made it difficult to resist. "I should imagine not."

"You are thinking of how insupportable this type of event is, and wondering how on earth we should endure many evening spent in this fashion, and I have to say I agree with you completely. I have never in all my life heard such meaningless noise, nor conversed with such inspid yet self important people! If there is a single society on earth more decidedly muggle than this one, I shall eat my own hat. What I should not give to hear your thoughts on them!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

The reaction was instant, and exactly what Mr Darcy had calculated. A look of bewildered exasperation and undiluted panic flooded her face, and Miss Bingley's eyes darted around the room fast enough to make you nauseous trying to follow them, flitting from face to face.. After teasing him, half jokingly, on the merits of every halfway pretty woman in the room, and congratulating him on how pretty a Mistress of Pemberley Mrs Bennet would make, she landed upon Lily "Ah! I have never in my life been so astonished! Miss Lily Bennet! How long have you been capture by those delightful emerald eyes? And how soon am I to wish you joy? You shall have a wonderful mother in law indeed!"

Inspite himself, Mr Darcy winced at the thought. He had heard a great many tales, it was true, of that lady's mother becoming more than a little inebriated and committing outrageous acts- singing bawdy ditties, chasing stray dogs, setting fire to her kitchen- which would make her a most unsuitable connection. Knowing as he did, however, that Miss Bingley meant only to tease him into betraying more than he felt, he wore an expression of perfect indifference.

"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment."

"Mr Darcy, I am sure your beloved Miss Bennet should be quite hurt to hear you backtracking in this manner! If you are quite serious, then I shall consider the matter completely settled. Though you shall have to forgive me if I chose to wait on you both on days where your mother in law is absent."

The gentleman chose not to reply to these onslaughts, and whilst his composure convinced her of her safety, her wit flowed long.

Author's Note: Also available on ao3.

Hagrid's dialogue was this alarming hybrid of Tess and the D'Urbervilles and the black country dialect translator google found me in the first draft- I've tried to put it right, but I'm not sure how successful I've been!

I'm not Austen or Rowling. I've tried to retain a sort of flavour of Pride and Prejudice whilst also incorporating some of Rowling's world, but obviously I'm not as talented as either of these incredible authors, and it seemed like blasphemy to think I could rewrite some of Pride and Prejudice, so a lot of it's really heavily quoted!

I've been so excited about writing this, and I really hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.