Insanity Is An Attractive Quality In Woman

A/N: My very first fan fiction. Please go easy on me. Scratch that, go as tough on me as you want to be. Constructive criticism is welcome. Any comments, good, bad, or profane, are welcome!

MODERN TIMES.

I'm sorry if the coroner's inquest didn't go exactly according to how it should go, but I'm just an ignorant American who's never been to England. I'm sorry if I offended any native Britishers by my perception of their customs or society.

And what I'm trying to establish by the 'newspaper clipping' and 'flashback' is that some of Will's pride, actually basically most of Will's pride, stems from his insecurity about the death of his parents and the pain close relationships can bring. So he acts all better-than-thou and all because he's scared that he'll have a close relationship and lose that person. Charlie is the exception because he's known him for his whole life and he aure can't abandon him now. And they're all British and in England.

And Jane and Elizabeth are best friends, NOT sisters. I made Caroline Bingley 'pretty' because I want Elizabeth to dazzle all the more next to her. It is much harder to dazzle next to someone who is pretty, which proves Elizabeth's looks. Out of respect for most peoples' personal interpretations of Darcy and Bingley, however, I will leave their hair colors, eye colors, and facial features alone.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Jane Austen's work or characters. I do not own the movies, and I do not own any of the brands mentioned in the story. I also do not own a Porsche, although I would like one very much. J

I DO NOT OWN FORBES, I DO NOT OWN DISNEY, AND NO AFFILIATION. (And yes, there is such a list as the Forbes Top Twenty Earners Under the Age of Twenty-Five.) Also I don't own Wuthering Heights/Characters.

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Prologue

Netherfield Park, 2:00 p.m., Second Parlor

"So," ventured Charles Bingley, known mostly as Charlie, "how angry are you?"

Will threw something across the room. It shattered.

"Well, at least it wasn't valuable. That was my grandfather's jewel-encrusted snuffbox, you-"

"Whatever," Will snapped. "You know I'll reimburse you if it's that important."

"It is, actually. It was handmade in the 1700s. Those jewels used to belong to Queen Catherine of Prussia-"

Will almost-laughed. "Okay, now I know you're just messing with me."

"Yeah," Charles admitted. "It's not important. What's important is, what happened with Dalia?"

"We broke up."

"I can surmise that. But why…….why are you so……"

"I don't even know." Will put his head in his hands and sat down uneasily on a sofa. "She thought I was cheating on her, but I think really that was her excuse for breaking up with me. And then I shouted at her that a Darcy would never do something so low. And then she said something about that abandoning someone was worse than cheating on them. And I yelled at her and she just shook her head and called for her car. And that was that."

"But why are you so angry?"

"Because she's such a-" Will swore. "Bitch. How could she insult me in that way?"

"Do you care about her anymore?"

A pause, long but not excruciatingly uncomfortable, followed.

"No," Will said. "No, in all honesty, I can say no."

"She was paranoid? Unhappy with you?"

"I…..abandoned her somewhat, I must confess. But what did she expect from me? I have business appointments! I--I have work to do! It's not my fault."

"That sounds like you're trying to defend yourself."

"I'm defending myself justly. These are real reasons."

" Not really. Do you think you….you're……."

"What? Spit it out, man!"

"Remember Katrina, and Helen, and Sarah, and now Dalia? And they all had the same problem with you, or similar enough. Do you think you're shying away from relationships somehow?

"I am not!" he said indignantly. But it was an automatic response. His mind was currently stuck in the past, looking back at a newspaper clipping.

Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq. died yesterday in a car accident. Their car was hit by a van at the intersection of Morris and Laney Road while en route to an important charity event of which he was the host. The van driver was not injured. Foul play is not suspected. A coroner's inquest will be held as a matter of course, in November. They have two children, Fitzwilliam (13) and Georgiana (10).

And then the court case. Aunt Rose had wanted to keep them away from it, but Will begged her for him to go. Some part of him wanted to go, to see the terrible person that had ended his parents' lives, intentionally or not.

"…call witness James Hopkins to the stand…"

A rotund, balding, short man stood up. His expression was humble and sad. Will had been hoping for someone disgusting and sinister looking, someone he could fix the blame on.

He took the requisite oath.

"You are James Isaiah Hopkins, age fifty-two?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are owner of a red van, license plate number 2F6T547?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you describe the events of September 22, 1999, when you were driving this motor vehicle?"

"I was driving to my mother's house. She was sick and I was going to bring her to the hospital. At the intersection, I made a left…. A left…. No, it was a right. A right turn," he reiterated. "There was a car in the lane next to mine that was going somewhat off-course, into my lane…I thought it must have been some drunk bloke, so I honked my horn. But then my hand slipped on the wheel and I turned left and crashed into the car."

"Thank you. That will be all.". . . . . . .

As everyone was leaving, James Hopkins stopped at Will. "Was it your parents I crashed into?" he said.

And Will, glaring daggers, said, "Yes."

And he said, "I'm sorry, lad."

And Will shouted something along the lines of how could he say that and how much he had ruined his life. The whole crowd was shocked and moved away in haste. But Will thought about the look on Hopkins's face when he said that. It was horrible. He looked so unspeakably sad.

Will tried to apologize the next day, but Hopkins had packed up and left town.

"Will? Will?" Charlie waved a hand in front of Will's face.

"Sorry," Will said slowly, abruptly coming back to reality. "You're…..right."

"That's okay," Charlie said brightly. "You just have to find the right person. Cheer up, mate. And speaking of finding the right person….."

Will grimaced. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Your charming sister is throwing one of her brilliant balls, in which all the ball-heads will be gathered under one big roof and for an orgy of drinking and idiocy."

"Not quite, it's a formal party. Which means it'll still be an orgy, but contained in dress gowns and suits." Charles smiled wryly. "It is quite uncanny how you predict her parties every time. Anyway, all the eligible girls in town, and a few out of town, will be there, especially when I tell them you'll be there."

Will groaned. "But you want me to do you one little favor that really doesn't seem so little, out-of-context. You want me to appear publicly with the incredible and brilliant hostess of the affair. You want me to go with Caroline, don't you?"

"Well….." Charles paused awkwardly. "Well, yes. She's been begging, threatening, and trying to bribe me since she started planning the party."

"Consecutively begging, threatening, and bribing, or randomly?" Will grinned. "Fine, I'll partner her and listen to her pointless chatter."

"Thank you. No, really, Will, thank you from the bottom of my very heart."

"Who'll you be taking?"

"This amazing girl, Jane. I met her a couple weeks ago and I am in love with her."

"Does she return your affection?"

"To some degree, yes."

"What do you mean, 'to some degree'?"

"She's shy and doesn't express much, but I just…" Charlie smiled dreamily. "I just know she cares about me as much as I care about her."

"Or maybe," Will said cynically, "you're just projecting your affection onto her."

"Always the negative one. Will, I'm sure of it, I'm really, really sure."

But the seed of doubt had entered into him. And like most seeds, it could only be prevented from growing by a definitive, clear digging out, which Jane was unlikely to provide.

O0..0O

Netherfield Park, 2:00 p.m., Caroline Bingley's walk-in closet

"It will be perfect," Caroline announced with smug overconfidence.

"What? What will be perfect?" asked one of her 'friends', Tara. Caroline's 'friends' were more like lesser copies of Caroline, like backup dancers on a stage, a time-honored spoiled princess Disney-portrayed ideal.

"The party, you idiot," Caroline snapped. She kicked off her heels and sat on the comfortable pink velvet ottoman in her closet. Tara eyed the sole of the shoe. Manolo Blahnik. Of course.

Poor Tara, who was the only 'friend' available to dump on and abuse today. The other four 'friends' were taking well-deserved vacations abroad. Working for Caroline Bingley is very stressful. In many ways, when you consider the midnight calls, it's a 24/7 job.

"Do you think I should wear the deep-blue velvet dress with cross-stitching, or the light pink one with the real pearls sewn in?"

It might, or might not, come as a surprise to the observer that Caroline already had her heart set on the deep-blue one and was merely having a moment of doubt. If Tara had said her real opinion, "Disgusting bints like you don't deserve custom-made dresses,", or that of the two she preferred the pink one, Caroline would have been angry and irritated, and replied that she clearly didn't know what she was talking about, and couldn't she see the blue one was best?

So Tara replied, "The blue one really brings out your…uh…." As neither Caroline's hair nor her eyes were blue, Tara didn't know what to say. Luckily, Caroline took it well.

"Yes, I completely agree," she said with satisfaction, secure in the comfort someone, even if it was a pointless backup, agreed that the blue dress was better for her. "The blue is suitable to my skin tone and facial features."

Skin tone! Tara thought mentally. Damn, I should have thought of that one!

"So who's taking you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy. You obviously know who he is….."

Of course she knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He was handsome to the point of total unfairness, was featured in Forbes's Top Twenty Earners Under the Age of Twenty-Five (he was twenty three), and with the body of a swimsuit model, according to a picture someone posted online. The thought didn't cross Tara's mind that he was valued only for these outward assets and that almost no one knew anything about his personality.

But then again, only shallow people would sign up to be one of Caroline Bingley's slaves.

"That dress looks unbelievably amazing on you," Tara gushed in a half-hearted, insincere way. It really showed off Caroline's ridiculous chest size, which were in all probability the work of mankind and not Nature. Maybe that was the real reason Caroline was so obviously preferential to the blue one.

The dress was beautiful by itself, an amazing sapphire blue velvet floor-length with a hand-sewn silver-thread design, and would have worked on a more delicate face. Caroline was very good-looking, but in an indelicate way. But to quote Tara's thoughts as Caroline tried on the dress, at least The Bint is happy.

O0..0O

Jane Taylor and Elizabeth Bennet's apartment, the Kitchen, 2:00 p.m.

"So…..your new boyfriend is coming over to pick you up?" Elizabeth asked for what must have been the fifty-fifth time.

"Yes,", Jane answered patiently. "And he is unbelievably cute and I am unbelievably falling for him." These were meaningful words, coming from someone who was quiet, reserved, and polite (except when in the presence of her family, and best friend Elizabeth).

"Really."

"Yes, really. He's hosting a formal dress party at his estate, Netherfield Park. And since I got a formal invitation, he says that even though he's going with me, he can slip you in as my plus-one. D'you want to go?"

"No," sighed Elizabeth. "Why would I want to attend a party consisting of the elite, and thus snobbish, upper class system, who would nod politely once they know I'm not titled and ignore me for the rest of the evening?"

"Charlie's friends are nice, and generally likable. And if you don't want to stay the whole party, just stay for a little and leave. Besides, while the old, and therefore more snobbish, people are entertained in the parlor, the younger set will be partying it up in the ballroom. Please, please go, Elizabeth."

"Oh. Well, when you put it that way..."

Jane looked hopeful.

"...No."

"Please?"

"Alright, if you can get me something decent to wear."

"Evie from the artist's convention says she can get you a decent dress."

"Store clerk by day, artist by night. How fascinating."

"Oh, stop it," Jane elbowed her. "Aunt Emma bargained somehow for something and got me a knocked-off designer dress but she didn't have time to get you one. The dress will hopefully make me look something close to beautiful."

"But you are beautiful," Elizabeth said, looking at Jane's soft blond hair and turquoise eyes.

Jane looked in admiration at Elizabeth's waves of sleek black hair and huge, dark eyes. "And you look like Catherine from Wuthering Heights."

"You look like Isabella from Wuthering Heights, and she wasn't staid or dull or-"

"Alright!" Jane said in annoyance. "That's enough. Will you go?"

"I already told you yes, Jane, but absolutely nothing's going to happen, I'd stake my life on it."

They laughed and chattered and generally talked about idiotic and useless things, unaware of the dramatic developments that would unfold that evening.

To put it shortly, if Fate decided to take her up on that bet, she'd be a dead woman.