wow - super comments! It's because of you that I post again so soon! This chapter more steam than steampunk, but hopefully enjoyable...

The next morning, Elizabeth grumbled as she pulled on a pair of slippers.

"There will be mud," she observed darkly, glaring at her sisters.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "And you, like every other respectable girl in this county, will pick your way delicately around it, conveniently showing just a bit of ankle as you lift your skirt just so." She demonstrated with a deft twitch of her dress, coquettishly batting her eyelashes. "And if you are very clever, indeed, there will be some excellent mud to avoid just as officers are passing in review."

"Are you certain you are only 15?" Elizabeth asked with a raised eyebrow. "In any case, I would prefer to wear my boots and keep my skirts at civil length."

"Then you shall never find a husband," Lydia declared, to Kitty's giggles.

"I hope to find a husband who cares for more than a finely-turned ankle," Elizabeth countered.

"Then you are a fool," Lydia laughed, "for that is all they care about, in the end."

"It is most improper to speculate what a man cares for in a woman," Mary chastised her youngest sister, "you should not speak of it."

"Ah, just so, Mary," Jane said gently. "We should have no more improper speech on the way to Meryton."

"Did you say something about improper speech?" Came a voice at her elbow, causing all five Bennet girls to jump.

"Why, Mr. Collins," Jane said, recovering quickly, "how nice to see you this morning. We were just preparing to walk to Meryton."

"Yes, I am well aware of this actuality, as I am to accompany you."

"Accompany?" Elizabeth frowned. "Why, cousin, I cannot imagine why you would wish to - I should think you would find idle girlish chatter quite tiresome, and ribbon shopping not to your taste."

"On the contrary, my dear Miss Elizabeth," he beamed up at her, being somewhat shorter than she was, "I quite enjoy the company of those of the female persuasion, and believe I may be of no small service. It often requires a man's eye to select a ribbon that is decorative and yet sufficiently modest for a lady of some refinement. Of course, you are all not quite so refined as my Patroness, Lady Catherine, and her most excellent daughter, Miss de Bourgh, but you are still entitled to the advice of a man of taste."

"Err, quite," Jane said quickly, before the looks of outrage on her sisters' faces could take verbal form. "We would quite appreciate your company, as well as your, ah, skill with the ribbon."

"What made you think to join us?" Elizabeth asked sourly, as she tied the bonnet strings around her chin.

"Your father commanded it," Mr. Collins answered, puffing his chest up proudly. "I was engaged in perusing a most important and very large tome with him in his library..."

"Did you say 'in his library'?" Elizabeth interrupted.

"Why, yes. We are both well-read men, so there is no explanation needed in wondering why we should engage in that activity in each other's company, nor why he would entrust me with his daughters."

"No explanation needed at all," Elizabeth repeated with a chuckle.

"Let us go then!" Jane cried, clapping her hands together and causing Mr. Collins to startle. Elizabeth quickly shot out the door, but to no avail: once upon the road, Mr. Collins surged forward and politely offered one arm to Jane and one to Elizabeth. And so they found themselves attached to his person for the entire stroll to town, condemned to listed to his non-stop observations about Lady Catherine, his plans for Hunsford, his new parsonage, and his various views of the proper deportment for young ladies. Each of these declarations met with barely concealed merriment from Kitty and Lydia, great admiration from Mary, and growing fatigue from the eldest Bennet sisters.

The moment they arrived in town, Elizabeth detached herself from Mr. Collins, requesting his gallantry in walking ahead and scouting for mud.

"Anything for you, Miss Elizabeth," he agreed, attempting to buss her hand, but finding it curiously absent as his lips descended. He ended up nearly kissing his own palm, much to the obvious amusement of Lydia and hurriedly strode ahead, coattails flapping behind him.

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged looks.

"What do you think that is all about?" Elizabeth murmured. Jane, who had her suspicions, just chose to shrug.

Just then, a small squeal emanated from Lydia's direction.

"It's Mr. Denny!" She exclaimed, in a stage whisper that surely carried up the street straight to the ear of the man in question. "He is returned!"

"And he is with someone," Kitty observed, peering at the young officer's companion. As the two men walked by on the other side of the street, and all five sisters - even Mary - drew in a sharp breath.

"That's someone, alright," Lydia gushed. The men tramped on down the street, suddenly turning and crossing the street, heading right for them.

"Keep walking!" Elizabeth hissed.

They were just outside the ribbon store by the time Mr. Denny reached the Bennet sisters, and the introductions were quickly made all around. His friend, Mr. George Wickham, had just received his commission as a Lieutenant and was to be stationed with the local garrison, along with Mr. Denny. As much as Lydia and Kitty preferred officers in their smart, red uniforms, both agreed later that Mr. Wickham looked very fine, even in mufti. He was tallish, with long, wheat-colored hair, tied neatly at the nape of his neck, which was thick but by no means bullish. He had a broad chest, which tapered into a narrow waist and hips. A strong jaw, shapely lips, and a broad forehead topped off this uncommonly virile form. When he told the ladies he had a head for figures and hoped to soon be joining the Corps of Royal Engineers, Elizabeth unconsciously took a step forward. Mr. Wickham smiled encouragingly at her.

Just then, the clip clop of well-shod horses interrupted the pitter patter of the lightly pheromonal exchange.

"Well met, Miss Bennet," called out one of the riders, who turned out to be none other than Mr. Bingley. "We were just on our way to Netherfield to call on you!"

Jane colored, and smiled slightly at the gentleman, averting her eyes modestly. "Then I am glad we have saved you the trouble. Although you are always welcome."

Charles Bingley swayed dangerously in the saddle. "Oh, um, yes. Thank you."

Mr. Darcy, who was beside him on a monstrous black stallion, rolled his eyes. "The invitation," he prompted.

"Right!" Mr. Bingley responded, straightening back up. "We wished to warn you, er, that is to inform you... Yes, and to invite you... There will be a ball at Netherfield, you see. Next Tuesday. I do hope you will come."

"All of us?" Lydia interrupted, much to Elizabeth's dismay. The pinched look on Mr. Darcy's face deepened, as though he had gone from smelling a rotted egg to a decomposed corpse. He stared fixedly at his own rather well-manicured fingernails.

"Of course," Mr. Bingley laughed, unfazed. "All of you." Suddenly, he noticed the presence of the two other men and halted uncertainly. Mr. Darcy glanced up and followed Mr. Bingley's gaze, freezing when he saw George Wickham, who looked up at Mr. Darcy at the very same moment.

Elizabeth noticed with great interest that Mr. Darcy instantly turned a bright shade of crimson, even redder than he had been when she had accused him of fondling her carriage. Mr. Wickham, on the other hand, had gone deathly pale.

Well, well, she thought. Isn't that interesting? They are obviously known to each other.

At the moment she thought that, Mr. Darcy yanked his horse's head around and spurred him into a quick trot and then a gallop and Mr. Wickham turned on his heel and strode right into the ribbon shop.

Very interesting, indeed, Elizabeth mused.

Mr. Bingley watched his friend's hasty exit with unconcealed confusion, though he at least had the presence of mind to beg leave of them before following suit and riding away. Mr. Denny, likewise, scratched his head, but just shrugged. Electing not to shop for ribbons, he excused himself, as well, and continued down the street.

"Shall we?" Elizabeth asked her sisters, indicating the ribbon store.

"You?" Kitty asked in disbelief.

"Are you not going to the blacksmith?" Jane inquired.

"Yes, yes, of course," Elizabeth said dismissively. "But I shall stop here first to keep you all company."

Lydia snorted and crossed her arms, but Elizabeth ignored her and strode into the shop. Soon, her sisters trailed in behind her, immediately distracted by the lace and brightly colored ribbons and bolts of cloth.

"I am actually quite discerning, when it comes to ribbons," said Mr. Wickham, who had quickly sidled up to Elizabeth.

"Perhaps you and my cousin should have something of a contest, them," Elizabeth smiled, glancing over at Mr. Collins, who was examining what looked like lacy women's drawers. "He has assured me is quite a good judge of such things, himself."

"You doubt his word?" Mr. Wickham laughed quietly at her scowl.

"Not at all," she reassured him dryly, "just the extent of my own interest. This is not exactly my favorite shop."

"That is curious," he gave her a calculating look. "I thought every pretty girl was in love with ribbons. So, if not, what, may I ask, is your favorite shop?"

"The blacksmith," she answered promptly.

"Mine, as well!" He laughed delightedly. "Shall we go there instead, then?"

Elizabeth enthusiastically agreed and prepared to depart on the handsome young man's arm, but not before her two youngest sisters professed great interest in the blacksmith, as well, and then Mr. Collins insisted that he accompany them.

Elizabeth huffed quietly in frustration. "Mary, Jane, you may as well join us, too."

Jane smiled and tugged along a confused and indignant Mary, who protested that she did not care for that "hot and dirty place."

As they strolled down the street, Mr. Wickham asked, with an air of extreme unconcern, "so, it appears you know the two gentlemen we just saw on horseback."

Elizabeth smirked, as he clearly sought to elicit information from her, and decided not to make it too easy on him.

"So it appears," she agreed.

Mr. Wickham glanced at her nervously and cleared his throat.

"Have they been in the area long?"

"Not long," Elizabeth responded.

The corner of Mr. Wickham's mouth turned up slightly. "You are remarkably succinct, Miss Elizabeth, when you wish to be."

"Indeed," she said.

Now Mr. Wickham laughed. "I ask," he finally gave in, "because Mr. Darcy is known to me. In fact, we grew up together."

"Did you?" Elizabeth asked, now quite intrigued, in turn.

"Yes, not an entirely happy story, I am afraid. Is his, ah, sister here with him?"

"No," Elizabeth responded. "Just Mr. Bingley's sisters."

"Just as well," he mused, "for she is quite an arrogant young woman."

"Takes after her brother, does she?" Elizabeth enquired sweetly, and Mr. Wickham shot her a wide smile.

"That she does. You are most perceptive, Miss Elizabeth."

They had no more occasion for conversation on the topic just then, however, as they had arrived at the blacksmith, and Elizabeth began placing her order. She noted with some satisfaction that Mr. Wickham seemed quite interested in her purchases.

Mr. Wickham accompanied the young ladies almost all the way home, telling Elizabeth, in a low voice, his story about Mr. Darcy. It was quite a sad tale, in which Mr. Darcy denied the dashing hero his rightful inheritance out of jealousy. The dastardly Mr. Darcy had made it clear that Mr. Wickham, the son of his father's steward, was too far beneath him to have secured the elder Mr. Darcy's true regard in his last will and testament.

"And so you see," Mr. Wickham sighed, "we left on bad terms, though I could certainly forgive him, for the sake of our long history together, if only he weren't too hard-hearted to afford me the opportunity."

"That is awful," Elizabeth declared, her eyes flashing.

"Your sympathy is a salve to a deep wound," Mr. Wickham replied, reaching for her hand and touching it to her lips. "I am afraid I must take my leave of you now, but may I call on you another time?"

"Of course," Elizabeth immediately answered, blushing faintly.

"Until then," he said warmly, also taking his leave of her sisters, who trailed a short distance behind, and even nodded at Mr. Collins. The girls all teased her the rest of the way home, but she was too pleased with herself and too outraged with Mr. Darcy to pay them any mind.

She might have been a good deal less pleased and more outraged if she had known that Mr. Wickham promptly made for town, where he visited one Miss King, whose hand he also kissed, and then the blacksmith's young daughter he had just met with Elizabeth to secure a private meeting with her later in the week. Finally, once the sun had gone down, after he had lost several rounds of dice, he retired to the hayloft with a pretty tavern maid, kissing rather more than her hand.