The Netherfield party arrived late to the Meryton Assembly rooms. Elizabeth was already dancing when Bingley and Jane introduced Mr. Darcy to Mrs. Bennet. So, without introduction Elizabeth watched from the edge of her eyes his progress round the edges of the room.

He sneered magnificently.

Mr. Darcy had a tall noble figure, with thick handsome sideburns and piercing eyes. He turned about the room with an expression that shifted from bored, to a curled lip showing disgust, and then back to bored. He avoided all opportunities to converse, and when he settled in a seat for a few minutes, and Mrs. Long tried to speak to him — no doubt hoping to settle the last of her nieces upon such a rich gentleman, even if his sister was a fallen woman — Mr. Darcy had nothing of her conversation. Instead of replying he showed that haughty curled lip and drew his bed head back, as though recoiling from a smelly gift left by a dog.

Elizabeth saw his eyes dart about the room and when he saw that Mr. Bingley was otherwise occupied, he stood and walked away without replying to Mrs. Long.

The rudeness was delightful. She had never quite seen its like.

Everyone, of course, knew everything there was to know about the rich friend of Bingley’s. But, while the room was predisposed to think well of any friend of Bingley — even one with an illegitimate niece — Mr. Darcy finely disappointed every such hope to like him.

Elizabeth danced almost every set, and she paid all the attention to her partners they deserved, and she had a fine party. The ball lacked the spice of novelty such events held when younger, but a fast dance with a handsome young gentleman — or even with a not so handsome, not so young gentleman, if fate was unkind — was a pleasure which never lost its luster.

Once Elizabeth would have been confused by the friendship between Darcy and Bingley given the obvious dissimilarity in their characters. However she had known her brother-in-law long enough to discover that he could easily form an affection towards a large rock and decide it was a dear friend. More amazing yet, his friendliness would drag out of the rock a reciprocal feeling.

Were they Papists, after his death Bingley would be declared the patron saint of good-natured amiability.

Still, if Mr. Darcy was determined to despise the neighborhood, why had he come to the assembly? He was a philanthropist, Elizabeth decided after some consideration, for he had done the neighborhood a good turn. He had given them an excellent subject of conversation, and a man — even better a handsome man — to look upon with dislike. 

Everyone loved to have a villain nearby to hate.

Near the middle of the evening Elizabeth found herself obliged to sit out a dance due to a temporary lack of partners. As Elizabeth always had a partner for the far greater part of her evening, such was an event she took philosophically. And Elizabeth was always a vigorous dancer, so her legs were sore. She enjoyed the tall spectacle of Mr. Darcy walking his tall self about the room.

He came near to her, only a bare ten feet away. He examined the large portrait of the King hanging on the wall, well lit by a pair of silver candleholders set into the wall on either side of it.

Mr. Darcy sneered.

Elizabeth bit her lip with a delighted smile.

Bingley walked up to Darcy and clapped his taller friend on the back. “Darcy, dear man — make some effort to enjoy yourself. My friends are here. They shall think quite ill of you, if you make no conversation.”

Darcy replied with a rich baritone — he had a very good voice, one he could project, one which would be a pleasure to listen to in conversation, or if he read from a book.

The words were less pleasant.

“I am not present to make friends. I see little to like here.”

“Nonsense. Of course you are here to make friends.”

Darcy sneered. Bingley grinned happily back.

“My word, you never used to be half so ill tempered.” Bingley clapped his hands together in delight. “You need a dance. With a pretty lady!” Bingley waved to Elizabeth. “Lizzy, here. Come here — Darcy wishes to dance with you. You’ve not been yet introduced I believe—”

Elizabeth walked up with a bright smile; she expected to be amused whether he agreed to dance with her or not.

“I assure you — what my mood lacks will not be cured by being forced to endure a desperate spinster’s simpering company for half hour.”

To her surprise Elizabeth felt a little twinge of rejection at Mr. Darcy’s words, but the absurdity set her to laughing nonetheless. “My goodness! Bingley, your friend seems quite uncivilized — I thought the wilds of Derbyshire had been tamed many a year ago, yet here he is: a barbarian from times before Rome come to join us.”

Bingley looked at his friend openmouthed, shocked that he would say that to his sister-in-law, while Mr. Darcy’s cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of red, and he seemed caught between the inclination to sneer heartily at her, and the awareness he had gone too far and must apologize.

Once Elizabeth's laugh finished, she was still terribly amused by Mr. Darcy’s twisted expression, and she said with a bright smile, “Mr. Darcy, you broke my brother’s politeness, so I must introduce myself to you as he is too busy thinking you behaved shockingly.”

Elizabeth curtsied. “Elizabeth Bennet, at your service. And let me forestall the apology you think you should make. For it was in fact quite insightful of you to recognize that I am a desperate, simpering spinster. I cannot stand my own company either. Half an hour dancing with you would be quite as miserable for me as it would be for you. Alas — I cannot escape my own company so easily.”

“Miss Bennet, I am very—”

“You need not say it! I may deserve great pity for always bearing my own company, but I am a proud woman, and I do not wish to know that I am pitied.”

“That was not—"

“Say nothing!” Elizabeth patted Darcy on the arm. It was a muscular and well-shaped arm. No reason not to enjoy his person along with his personality. “You need not say it. You need not. But I thank you very much for the thought.”

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth again, but Elizabeth quickly curtsied and walked away, intentionally putting a little bit of extra sway into her hips.

 

===

 

Darcy felt thunderstruck. He’d become angrier and angrier over the course of the evening, and something of the past years of little cuts against himself and Georgiana had destroyed his old patience. 

He should be disgusted with himself for what he said. But as he watched the backside of Elizabeth Bennet, wrapped in a fine yellow silk dress, walking away, the only thing Fitzwilliam Darcy could think was that Miss Bennet was a damned fine woman.

Darcy half whistled.

“Ah-ah, Darcy.” Bingley grunted to get his attention, though Darcy did not look away from Elizabeth until she started enthusiastically speaking to another gentleman. Bingley said, “Lizzy — she never simpers.”

"I can see." He looked back at the woman with her laughing eyes.

“Go — apologize to her in fact, else Jane will be annoyed with you.”

Darcy looked sideways at his friend. He had only spent a total of five weeks in Mrs. Bingley’s company, but she had never been annoyed in that time. Darcy took a deep breath and consciously set off towards where Miss Bennet stood.

But as he did, Darcy thought, Why should I be required to apologize? Miss Bennet was twenty-four; quite old to be unmarried. Mrs. Bingley had talked up her sister a great deal — every time he poked his head out of Pemberley, he was thronged by poor woman who hoped that if they convinced him they would overlook the stain on his sister’s character, he might give them the joy of an income which was ten thousand a year, and likely more.

Gentlemanly etiquette required one apologize for truth.

He was yet a gentleman.

Before Darcy managed to work his way around the room, Miss Bennet had been led to the dance floor. She waited across from her new partner for the music to start. Darcy settled into a chair with the plan to approach her for a proper apology — which he must do for Bingley’s sake — as soon as the set ended. The chair was an old wooden thing that was three inches too short for his height and creaked under his weight.

The air was laden with the scent of sweat and spilled wine. The strings of the light Scottish reel grated after several hours of listening to similar music.

Darcy hated balls.

Miss Bennet was a graceful dancer. Darcy watched her with a heavy frown, determined to see fault, despite his initial impression of her attractiveness. He had excellent eyesight, and he could see that she smiled readily, with rosy blooming cheeks and dark flashing eyes. She had a light, easy step and she danced both with greater energy and elegance than her partner. The yellow dress fit her perfectly, showing off the neat curves of her figure while not being at all immodest.

Damn. There was nothing of the old maid in her appearance to despise. He might look for fault, but could find none, besides a few failures of perfect symmetry in her face.

She was twenty-four. In a few years that — exceptional — beauty would desert her. She must be desperate to find a husband. But he could not imagine Miss Bennet ever acting like the young misses desperate for his attention, who oriented all their behavior towards attempting to please and impress.

She never simpers.

When the next set ended Darcy leapt from his cramped chair to approach Miss Bennet. He felt distantly annoyed by his own eagerness to speak to the young lady and how hopeful he felt that she would yet have a set free tonight to dance with him, when he asked as part of his apology. 

“Miss Bennet—” Darcy spoke as he stepped up next to her and the gentleman she spoke to, but he stumbled to a halt when she looked him directly in the eyes. Her eyes were really delightful.

She smiled at him cherubically when he did not speak. “Mr. Darcy.”

He stiffened himself to look more solemn and made a modest bow. “Miss Bennet, I am most sincerely apologetic for my faux pas, and I beg you to forgive me.”

“Does he look sincerely apologetic?” Miss Bennet turned to her companion. “That is a very disapproving expression.”

The young man shrugged and held his hands open. “I have not been introduced to the gentleman, so I hardly would dare venture an opinion — he does look disapproving.”

“Of course!” Miss Bennet slammed her hands together with enthusiasm. “Mr. Lucas, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of a giant house with a delightful park in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy, Mr. John Lucas of Lucas Lodge a mere half mile from here.”

Darcy frowned. “Is your father Sir William? Who called upon us this morning?”

“Do not judge Mr. Lucas by him,” Miss Bennet replied. “He is the less inoffensive son of his inoffensive father.”

Sir William had offended Mr. Darcy. But the two gentlemen bowed to each other and said what was appropriate. Miss Bennet’s reference to Pemberley reminded him that Mrs. Bingley had said her sister had visited Pemberley some years ago. An event he vaguely recalled, not because he met the party, but because his under steward of the time, a promising young man of about twenty named Peake, had been a cousin of the Bennet's aunt, and had been convinced to leave service with him and join the firm of their uncle.

Since she’d seen Pemberley, of course she was desperate to capture him. No woman could ignore the charm of such an estate.

Once the introductions were complete Miss Bennet asked again, “Now that you have been introduced to Mr. Darcy, you have no reason to hide your true opinion — do you think Mr. Darcy looks sincerely apologetic?”

Mr. Lucas smiled. “You are the one who prides herself on excellent judgment of character.”

Darcy frowned. “I assure you, I know I ought not have said that. It was a thoughtless and unconsidered statement.”

“Pray tell” — Mr. Lucas had a very interested expression — “I fear I am missing the most significant element of the conversation, what statement does Mr. Darcy feel a need to apologize for?”

“He only turned into words what every gentleman must think upon meeting me for the first time — why, look at that woman, she must be thirty and five. A spinster and desperate for a husband. I do believe she will attempt to flatter and ingratiate herself with every gentlemen.”

Mr. Lucas laughed. “Are you blind? Our Lizzy doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

Miss Bennet laughed and pushed Mr. Lucas's arm, and though Darcy thought she looked pretty as she laughed, he felt more than a little offended that she laughed at him. “I have apologized. You are still quite attractive, Miss Bennet, and nobody would think you look like an old maid yet, and I’m certain your advancing age has not made you desperate. You still have a few years.”

That had not come out precisely right.

Mr. Lucas’s mouth fell open, and Miss Bennet’s eyes snapped to him. Her lips shaped a delighted smile. “I knew you would be worth knowing! A man who says what he thinks always. But I worry for you; my age is not near so advanced as yours. Are you desperate for a wife? For if this is how you choose to flirt, you are likely to remain desperate for some time.”

“I can marry near any woman I choose whenever I desire her, my fortune ensures that, and it shall not diminish with age.” Darcy’s mouth twisted with a little annoyance. “Even were I quite old, I would never become desperate for a wife. You, naturally, ought to understand that your charms are of a more limited duration.”

“Pardon me—" Mr. Lucas spoke as Miss Bennet drew herself up with flashing eyes, “do you attempt to apologize, or explain why your statement was true in the first place?”

“My apology was refused.”

“I daresay,” Miss Bennet spoke, “there are many stupid women. You shall always be able to marry one of them. But never a clever one. However, stupid men like stupid women. So, you have nothing to fear.”

“Ah — you are wrong, for in my experience, clever women like money more than the rest.”

Miss Bennet arched one eyebrow and gave him a skeptical look. “You have met a clever woman? I fear you may have been deceived.”

“You are spinsterish in your personality. Insulting those happier women who have found a husband.”

Darcy saw in Mr. Lucas’s expression that he had again stepped over some line. However he didn’t care. He felt again every annoyance of the entirety of the ball, and he imagined Georgiana lonely at home, playing with Anne and wishing that she once could be allowed, for only a few hours, to act as every other girl. And this lady had the temerity to insult him and refuse his apologies. His normal politeness was gone, and he had this desire to find some insult which would stick and make her flinch.

“That would be an excellent analysis of my character,” she spat, “if I wished to marry. You, sir, are an exemplar of why I do not.”

“You truly possess the mind of a spinster. Astonishing. Shouting to everyone that it is your own choice not to marry. Not only is that a lie to protect your dignity, but also a stratagem born of desperation; you hope gentlemen will slacken their vigilance near you if you claim to have no interest in them. And then once they have wandered too close, like a bear trap you will clamp upon them.”

“Does it astonish you so much to imagine a woman might not have any interest in you?”

Darcy shrugged easily and said in a mild tone, “It does. I do find it unbelievable.”

Miss Bennet looked skyward, her pretty eyelashes fluttering up, and bringing Darcy’s eye to the clear thin line of her eyebrows. “Heavens!” She said, “You are the perfect gentleman. Vain, overconfident, and with the most horrid beliefs about women.”

“Vain? I do not have vanity — I confess that I am proud. But where there is real superiority of character, pride will be under good regulation. You though, you are a bitter old maid, snapping at everyone about you, and disliking other women, and making a pretense of disliking men.”

“Under good regulation? I assure you, Mr. Darcy, this conversation proves you are not under good regulation.”

The moment snapped into clarity, and Darcy flushed feeling more embarrassed than he ever could recall. Had he just spent the past minutes insulting a young lady? He had seldom been in polite company since Anne’s birth, but his good breeding should not have deserted him. 

It was no excuse, but there was something incredibly provoking about Elizabeth Bennet.

Seeing that her words had struck him, Miss Bennet gave him a triumphant grin and said, “I, of course, accept your apology, Mr. Darcy.” She turned to a gentleman who had approached them as they spoke. “Mr. Goulding, I believe my next dance is yours?”

For the second time that evening Darcy watched the sway of Elizabeth’s yellow clad hips as she walked away and he thought to himself, that is a damned fine woman. The thought was joined with an absolute certainty that he was an idiot.

 

===

 

A few hours after midnight the clatter of the returning carriage and the doors being opened by his wife and Lizzy woke Mr. Bennet from his nap. When Lizzy burst into the drawing room and kissed his cheek, he could see from her delighted air that she had enjoyed the assembly.

“How was your evening, dears?”

Following his usual practice, Mr. Bennet avoided the crush at the assembly hall and spent the night with a book in a comfortable chair next to the piled fire in the drawing room.

“Oh! That horrible man!” Mrs. Bennet shouted. “That man may be Mr. Bingley’s friend, but Mr. Darcy is the most odious disagreeable man I have ever had the misfortune to be introduced to.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows and shared a smirk with Elizabeth. “The very most disagreeable? How remarkable.”

Elizabeth plopped herself inelegantly onto a sofa and said with a laugh, “On the contrary, I found him most insightful.”

Mrs. Bennet cried out again, “Heavens! Awful, what he said about our Lizzy! Bingley and Lizzy tried to hide it from me, but Mrs. Long overheard! She — the scheming woman rejoiced in the knowledge, I dare say — rushed to tell me. He called our Lizzy a spinster. A spinster. Our Lizzy! She is very old now — I’ve always said she is very old — she must be losing her beauty at a rapid pace for her to be remarked on so harshly.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

Seeing that Elizabeth was uninjured by whatever had been said, Mr. Bennet placed his book to the side and reached over to pat Elizabeth on the arm. “Now, dear, that hardly shows any great insight on his part. For though, contrary to your mother’s claim, your beauty is undiminished, he must have heard from Jane or Bingley that you are twenty and four. An age where some might begin to consider you, ah, what is the term — on the shelf.”

Elizabeth laughed. “No — identifying me as a spinster showed merely an ordinary level of observation, though to say it as I walked up to join him and Bingley required an extraordinary level of frankness. The insight came from realizing that I am both desperate and simpering from a single glance.”

“Simpering you say? Great insight into your character. You do seek to ingratiate yourself with all you meet. I shall exert myself to make a better acquaintance with such a Pericles.”

"You must! You must! Papa, you shall find him delightful. He was of course ordered by Bingley to apologize, but when he did…it was wonderful! While he apologized, he made it clear he yet stood by his view that of course I was desperate to marry him, and he added he could not believe that a woman would not wish to marry such a man as him."

"You liked him very much indeed."

"Such arrogance, such conviction of every woman's admiration — that cannot help but appeal." Elizabeth laughed and yawned. "I am to bed now."