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T hump!

A foreign noise startled Darcy back to earth from the paradise that was his beloved’s kiss. Despite the oddity of hearing a sound in a private room in which they were perfectly alone, Darcy did not panic. Instead, he lingered; savouring the taste of Elizabeth’s kiss and only managed to pull himself away slowly, barely stopping himself from giving in when she tried to follow his mouth, clutching onto the lapels of his coat,

“Elizabeth-” His voice sounded hoarse, as though he had not spoken in a very long time, and Darcy cleared his throat. Elizabeth was looking around the room, her brows slightly furrowed even as her mind slowly cleared from the fog that had been induced by her first kiss,

“I thought I heard something.” She whispered to him, half expecting to see Hala peeking around the door from the corridor outside. It would be uncharacteristic of her to not give Elizabeth the privacy she had requested, but not something to be reprimanded over. And yet, the door remained undisturbed; neither could Elizabeth see anybody’s shadow from the little gap in the threshold.

It was indeed peculiar, Darcy supposed, but nothing he had any intention to pay attention to considering he had lately gotten engaged and that occurrence was by far the more important than investigating the source of an isolated sound.

“Elizabeth-” He placed a hand on her cheek, gently turning her face towards him, “Miss Braxton-” When he finally had her attention back, Darcy took her hands in his own and placed them against his chest, “Perhaps we ought to talk.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, though that one measly gesture could not stop a smile from blooming across her face,

“What about, sir?” She asked, half in an attempt to tease and half because she was curious about how candid he would be. He surprised her when he smiled back, looking just as bashful and joyous as she herself felt, and replied,

“About us, madam. And about how soon I can write to your grandfather to obtain his blessing to marry you.”

Elizabeth’s smile dimmed a little. Right. She remembered, Her grandfather.

“Perhaps…” She started hesitantly, and Darcy, sensing her unease, sobered immediately, “Perhaps, it would be better if he heard the news from me before you write to him.”

Here, she gave him a heavy, meaningful look. Darcy understood instantly. She was apprehensive about him meeting her family. Perhaps they were a bit more similar to the Bennets than he would have liked them to be.

It hardly mattered to him now, he supposed. Darcy had a feeling that Elizabeth could have been one of Mrs. Bennet’s own daughters and he still would not have been able to resist marrying her.

Still, if this was how she would like to proceed, he would grant her all the peace of mind that was in his power to give.

“Are you sure?” He asked,

Elizabeth nodded, “I had planned to leave for London by the end of the month anyway, but perhaps I ought to travel earlier. I would prefer to prepare my family to expect a proposal from you before you write to them.”

“Then, I shall follow you to Town. It would be much more ideal to have a proper interview with your grandfather than to simply send him a letter.”

Elizabeth blinked, surprised, “I thought you had come to Hertfordshire to help Mr. Bingley with his new estate?”

Darcy managed to not roll his eyes at the thought of his hopeless friend, his mood darkening slightly at the younger man’s recent behaviour, “Bingley can wait. I suspect the estate is the very last thing on his mind as well.”

“Ah.” Elizabeth smiled slyly, “Jane.”

The pressed his lips together to stop himself from smiling back. Bingley’s tendency to forget about work and responsibilities in the face of a pretty woman was one of his worst traits, and Darcy would not condone his habits by taking them lightly. “Yes. Miss Jane Bennet.”

“You can hardly blame him,” Elizabeth murmured, leaning her chin against his chest, her large clear eyes trying to cajole him back into better humour. Darcy was finding it incredibly difficult to not grin like a fool with Elizabeth Braxton essentially draping herself on him, and yet he made a valiant effort, “After all, Jane is a very beautiful woman.”

“You can hardly expect to convince me with that reasoning.” Darcy murmured, “After all, I have a much prettier lady in my arms at this very moment.”

“Ah, I see now that Chaucer was correct when he wrote The Merchant’s Tale. Love is blind.” Elizabeth teased, grinning up at him with a tauntingly pretty smile that instantly evaporated any speck of annoyance Darcy might have tried his best to hold on to, “It makes fools out of the best of us.”

Darcy laughed, then helplessly kissed her lips softly once more, “Miss Braxton, I assure you, from the moment I laid my eyes on you, I have been certain of your beauty. On my word, I have never encountered a woman more enchanting in my entire life.”

“Mr. Darcy, I am afraid if you continue, you will give me a big head.”

The look in Darcy’s eyes was almost as teasing as Elizabeth’s, “And I am certain you will look just as lovely with it.”

Caroline Bingley had been in the middle of changing into her third dress for the day when a maid burst into her room from the servant’s entrance. Monique was a small woman with sharp, hawk-like features which were only further emphasized by the horrified look on her pale face. As one of Miss Bingley’s personal maids, she was her mistress’ most trusted spy, and when in the vicinity of an eligible bachelor like Mr. Darcy, her sole assignment was to stalk and inform her mistress of the gentleman’s every movement, habit, and preference.

Most of the time, this task was a source of easy money for Monique. For every bit of information she relayed to her mistress, she was paid in valuable trinkets by Caroline Bingley, and while Mr. Darcy could often behave in the staid manner of a gentleman who valued his privacy, he was by no means secretive. In fact, Monique supposed he was the kind of man who liked his preferences and way of life to be known by all and sundry expressly so that nobody would dare to inconvenience or offend him in some manner.

Today, however- today Monique had followed Mr. Darcy through the day, had observed him through partly opened doors of servants’ entrances and by hiding behind strategically placed potted plants as he went through his day. The gentleman’s walk with the pretty Miss Braxton had been concerning, but Monique knew she would at least earn herself a silver brooch for the information. His talk with Miss Braxton’s uncle had Monique almost running to her mistress with the news of the gossip that was swirling around Meryton in hopes of earning herself a scarf or a pair of shoe roses. But, it was Mr. Darcy’s subsequent meeting with Miss Braxton, his subsequent engagement with the lady that had all thoughts of rewards and riches fleeing her mind. She was panicking as she ran through the servant’s corridors to her mistress’ room, forgetting to knock or curtsy or even stop for a moment to get her breathing back to normal before she flung herself at her mistress’ feet, clutching onto the ends of her shift while another maid tightened Miss Bingley’s corset another inch.

Miss Bingley, red in the face from both anger at her servant’s appalling behaviour and from the shortness of breath because of the fastening of the corset, turned to glare at the maid that had practically fallen at her feet,

“What is the meaning of this?” She hissed, for speaking any louder required the use of her lungs, which were currently being squished into submission until Caroline reached the ideal size for her waist. The past social season in London had had her indulging in a little too much French cuisine and not enough walks through Hyde Park. Her dress was having a difficult time fitting onto her body despite the forgiving pattern of the empire silhouette. Caroline was in a monstrous mood, but she knew that the dress she was planning to wear for the evening would be worth the hassle. The pretty yellow gown she had picked out might have been made with slightly outdated measurements, but it was the height of fashion in London. The plunging neckline, the sheer lace overlay, and the pretty capped sleeves that were just short enough to might as well be non-existent were bound to catch the eye of any man. Caroline was certain that even a gentleman as cold-blooded as Mr. Darcy would not be able to help himself from staring at her skin if she wore it.

“Mr, Darcy! Mr. Darcy is engaged!”

At least Caroline was certain, until those cursed, cursed words stopped her thoughts right in their tracks.

Caroline froze. The maid helping her into her corset froze. The air in the entire room seemed to stop moving. Slowly, stiffly, Caroline turned her attention to the maid kneeling in front of her. The expression on Monique’s face was such as if Armageddon was upon them. To Caroline herself, the metaphor did not feel too far-fetched,

“What did you say?”

“‘Tis true, madam! I saw it all with my own two eyes! Mr. Darcy and that miss from Wrexham! Engaged, madam!”

Caroline listened, horrified as Melinda related to her the series of events that had occurred since the morning. She had been too complacent. That witch of a woman had worked her charms on him faster than she had anticipated, and for this complacency, Caroline was about to pay the biggest price.

Despite herself, Caroline began to pace, that awful childhood habit of anxiously chewing on the nail of her thumb rearing its ugly head as a future where she was not Mrs. Darcy began playing in her head for the very first time. There would be no Almack’s in her future. No high-society soirees, no box seats at the theatre unless invited by an acquaintance who owned one (which was a rare occurrence in and of itself), and worst of all, no Pemberley.

Where was a woman of her taste her and sensibilities supposed to host balls and dinner parties if not at a mansion of Pemberley’s calibre?

No! Even the thought could not be borne! Mr. Darcy could not marry anyone else, least of all that blasted cousin of the bumpkin Bennets. Elizabeth Braxton might dress in pretty enough dresses, but she was hardly a lady. She employed the lowest forms of seduction to ensnare her target, talked with the opposite sex with the same candour and boldness of that of a man, and was not at all intimidated by women who were in all aspects better than her. Just the thought of having to fawn and flatter her, to have to refer to her as Pemberley’s mistress was inconceivable. Caroline refused to do it!

Abruptly, she turned to the maid who was still prostrate on the floor,

“You said this all happened right after Mr. Bennet arrived at Netherfield?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was not able to hear most of their conversation, but I am certain that Mr. Bennet demanded Mr. Darcy marry Miss Braxton because of the rumours that were being spread amongst the local society.”

Caroline sneered, her disgust for the people of Meryton and their tendency of making a song and dance out of nothing rearing its ugly head. And yet, it was this same idiocy that gave her a brilliant idea. Mr. Darcy was unlike the many rakes of London who shrouded their immorality with their title and behaved no better than pigs. He was honourable, honest, and gentlemanly to a fault. Eliza had taken advantage of his decency and ensnared him in an engagement he was obliged to accept lest his integrity be put into question. It was a deplorable thing to do, but Caroline was determined to save him from the awful fate that awaited him!

All she needed to do, really, was to create an even bigger and more obvious scandal. Then, nobody would be able to blame Mr. Darcy for having to propose to her instead. Indeed, he would be required to do so. She was a much better marriage prospect than Elizabeth Braxton anyway. While he may be enamoured by the woman’s wiles at the moment, she was sure Mr. Darcy would come to appreciate her sacrifice in the long run. After all, Caroline had a larger dowry, had studied in one of the best schools for ladies in London, and was the sister of one of his closest friends. A flirtatious strumpet from the backwaters of Hertfordshire could hardly compare.