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I f Caroline Bingley had one aspiration in her life, it was to be invited to the Almack's. Ever since she was a child, she'd been raised by her mother to strive for that elusive and exclusive white voucher and ever since she'd joined Madame Capman's Establishment for the Education of Young Ladies, where she had been nothing but a plankton in a sea of high-born whales and aristocratic sharks, all she'd wanted was to marry a member of the first echelons, dance at the prestigious assembly rooms which were very aptly called 'the seventh heaven of the fashionable world' and laugh in the faces of all the 'friends' she'd made who'd been so sure she would never reach their circles.

Up until the age of one and twenty, all of Caroline's efforts had been futile. At best, all she'd been able to hope for was a man like her brother-in-law - fashionable but ultimately inconsequential. In fact, at that time, in the eyes of society at large, Louisa was considered to have made a very good match by having married Mr. Hurst. He was heir to an estate in Suffolk that generated some 3,000 pounds per year and even had a house in town on Grosvenor Street. The Bingleys in comparison, had spent much of their lives in Yorkshire, only venturing into London some 10 years ago when their father sold his factories and business and decided to give his children a gentle-bred education.

But things changed once Charles graduated from university. Her younger brother— good-natured, amiable and easy-going as he was— had made plenty of single and influential friends during his tenure at Cambridge to whom Caroline now had access. Chief amongst them was Fitzwilliam Darcy. When Charles had first introduced Mr. Darcy to her, he had been four and twenty to her one and twenty and from the moment she had laid eyes on him, Caroline had known that he would be her ticket to the Almack's.

The Darcy family, apart from being of a noble, old and wealthy lineage, were very closely bound through ties of marriage with plenty of titled families. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy especially, was also known to be good friends with George Villiers, the current Earl of Jersey and the husband of Lady Jersey, who was one of the patronesses of the Almack's.

As long as Caroline was the daughter of a tradesman, she knew she would not be able to step one foot into those sacred assembly rooms. But, if she were Mrs. Darcy… why, if she was Mrs. Darcy, she could very well become one of the patronesses herself!

It had been almost four years since she'd put her cap on Fitzwilliam Darcy and now that she was turning five and twenty this year, she had to admit, at least to herself, that she was getting a little desperate. It certainly did not help that suddenly, after years of disinterest and downright condemnation, the gentleman was finally showing interest in a woman.

"I can guess the subject of your reverie," Caroline recalled the conversation she had shared with Mr. Darcy at Lucas Lodge with a scowl,

"I should imagine not." Mr. Darcy had muttered gravely when she'd slunk up behind him, grasping his arm. His eyes had not left their quarry, though Caroline had been too ignorant then to even wonder what or who Mr. Darcy was looking at.

"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner- in such a society; and indeed, I am of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise, the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"

She waited for him to commiserate with her, for the two of them had spent plenty of social gatherings in this fashion before. With her disparaging the fellow gents and ladies that she was forced to mingle with during soirees and balls and with Mr. Darcy agreeing with her mean assessments, sometimes verbally and sometimes with an equally distasteful look on his face.

But he did not agree. Not this time. Instead, he replied,

"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."

Caroline's heart stopped. Her grip on his arm tightened. Was he… flirting with her? Oh, she was feeling such palpitations at just the idea of it! Had observing her superior breeding and manners in this backwater society finally opened his eyes to what a jewel she was?

"Will you not tell me, Mr. Darcy," She simpered, "Who is this lovely woman who has inspired such reflections in you?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Mr. Darcy replied, "Miss Elizabeth Braxton."

"Miss Elizabeth Braxton!" Caroline gasped, her fashionably pale face paling further at those words. A gong was beating in her head, warning her of all the dangers she and her dreams faced, "I am all astonishment! How long has she been such a favourite?"

Finally, Mr. Darcy looked at her, but Caroline felt no satisfaction in his indifferent gaze,

"I believe from the very first moment I saw Miss Braxton, I have found her to be quite lovely."

A compliment! Caroline could not remember if she had ever heard Mr. Darcy compliment any woman who was not his relation. Gritting her teeth, she moulded her tone into something more teasing and less venomous,

"And pray tell, sir- when am I to wish you joy?"

"That is exactly the question 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. I knew you would be wishing me joy."

The words should have been encouraging. But, Mr. Darcy was looking away again and when she followed his gaze, it led her to Miss Braxton conversing with a couple of older gentlemen with her back straight and her quips intelligent. There was no sign of demureness or deference in the way she held herself. Caroline wrinkled her nose at the girl's conceited sense of independence. Miss Braxton might be pretty, but in her, Caroline could find nothing to admire.

Three days had passed since the party at Lucas Lodge, and Darcy was more than a little tired of the Bingley sisters. Enduring their presence was a sacrifice he was willing to make for the sake of Bingley's friendship, for the younger man was much more affable than he, and through him, Darcy was slowly increasing not only his social circle, but also participating in business ventures and investment opportunities for which Bingley seemed to have a knack. Having to suffer through a little fawning here and there was a small price to pay.

Or well, at least that was what Darcy was trying to convince himself of as he walked out of the house for his third outing of the day. He had ridden his horse the last two times, but even Titan needed his rest. Darcy had been riding him too frequently in order to get himself out of having to share a carriage with the ladies of his party. And so, he walked. The steward had informed him of a large fishing lake a half mile from the house that used to belong to the previous owner of Netherfield, but he had bequeathed it to the public on his passing. Darcy had not brought his fishing equipment with him, but he saw no harm in going over anyway.

Instead of the roads and pathways, Darcy walked through the woods so as to appreciate the flora. Hertford was very different from Derbyshire. While here the country was more pastoral and gently rolling, Derbyshire featured more rugged and dramatic landscapes. Darcy would always prefer his own home county, but the south was a nice change of scenery, and he was enjoying himself immensely when two girlish giggles made him pause,

"La! What a lark!" It was one of those Bennet girls, the youngest one, walking down the pathway parallel to him while arm in arm with her equally silly sister, "How long do you think Lizzy will search for us, Kitty?"

Kitty frowned at her sister, "Should we have left her so? Papa will be angry if he finds out. He favours Lizzy a lot."

Lydia snorted, "She deserves it. Every time she comes, she puts on such airs. Even Jane does not like her much and Jane likes everyone. And she would not even let me borrow any of her dresses! That yellow-cream one she wore at the assembly would have looked much prettier on me. Mama said so."

"Did you not used to say that yellow makes you look sallow?" Kitty asked rather innocently. Lydia gave her older but much meeker sister an irritated scowl,

"Not if the yellow is of such fine muslin!" She retorted, then hmphed, "I do not even know why she would not let me have it. She let Mary wear her new bonnet when we went to Lucas Lodge yesterday."

"Mary asked her if she could wear the bonnet. You tried to steal her gown when she was in the book room with Papa." Kitty pointed out.

Lydia glared at her sister, then pinched her arm. Kitty yelped, trying to jerk away, but they were still very much walking arm in arm, "Whose part do you want to take, Kitty? Lizzy, who is going away in a month, or mine, who shares a room with you?"

"Yours, of course." Kitty said eagerly, bumping her shoulder into Lydia's in a show of camaraderie, "It just feels a bit mean, that's all."

"It's not mean." Lydia huffed, "We are merely playing a joke! It is all a lark, really. She will search for us like an idiot and then when she does not find us, she will come home!"

Darcy watched the two sisters quietly as their voices grew distant and their persons smaller. They had been coming from the direction of the lake, and almost subconsciously Darcy sped up as he tried to figure out what kind of prank they might be playing on their cousin.

He saw her as soon as the lake came into view. Elizabeth was walking cautiously along the lake's pier, a blindfold across her eyes, and calling out for the girls,

"Lydia! Kitty!" She took a couple more steps forward, then stopped, huffing, "You are supposed to say something every now and then! How will I know where you are otherwise?"

Silence.

"...Lydia?" Elizabeth whirled around abruptly, somehow graceful even with her eyes closed and covered with a ribbon, "Kitty?" When again, nothing followed her inquiry except silence, Elizabeth scowled. Darcy watched, amused as the lady fisted her hands and placed them on her hips, "Those little devils left me here, didn't they?" She said to herself with a frown that was much too adorable to be stern. She huffed, pouted, then brought her hands up to untie the ribbon around her eyes even as she took another step forward-

Only to slip and fall right into the lake.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy exclaimed, all amusement draining and being replaced with panic as he ran towards the pier, shedding his greatcoat on the way and diving in right after her. Underwater, Miss Braxton's skirts seemed to be giving her trouble as she tried to swim up and her eyes were still blindfolded. Darcy reached for her, pulled her into his chest, and hastily tugged away the ribbon that was covering her eyes and making her panic. Her fine eyes found his the moment the blindfold lifted over her head and for one second- one ridiculous second- time seemed to stop as she recognised him, and stopped struggling.

Darcy further wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her up to the surface along with him. Elizabeth gasped, sputtered, coughed, her arms wound around his shoulders in an almost desperate hold,

"Are you well?" He asked as soon as she had regained some semblance of composure. Those dark, brandy-brown eyes looked up at him with diminishing terror and growing gratitude. She nodded, once, and then promptly started crying as the panic subsided.

Darcy sighed, more than a little enraged at those two silly little terrors for endangering their cousin so. And for what? A gown? A bonnet? Darcy did not even know. Slowly, he pulled both himself and Miss Braxton out of the water and onto the shore. It was not until she was standing on her own two feet and only inches away from him that Darcy realised that Elizabeth was wearing a very light peach colour day dress, and now that it was soaking wet and pretty much translucent, it was sticking to her body like a second skin and leaving very little to the imagination.

He averted his gaze quickly, but not quickly enough, for his face was aflame and his world forever altered. He guided her further away from the lake where he had discarded his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. That it engulfed her like a canopy and made her look further delicate could not be helped, and it took everything in him to not envelope Miss Braxton in a highly inappropriate embrace.

She had stopped crying by now, though she still looked wretched. Her chignon seemed to have lost its hold underwater and now, long and unbound, her hair plastered itself to her cheeks and neck and tumbled down her shoulders, reaching her waist. Elizabeth sniffed, and crossed her arms around herself,

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy." She cleared her throat, very visibly getting a hold of herself, "You have a very fortuitous timing indeed, sir."

"Are you cold?" He asked instead of taking any credit. Her involuntary shiver was a more truthful answer than the weak little "no" she tried to utter through chattering teeth.

"Come." He placed her arm on his soaking shirtsleeves, "We are closer to Netherfield than Longbourn. You can dry off there. I am sure Miss Bingley will have a dry gown that you can change into."

"Oh no, I could not possibly-" She tried to dissemble, but Darcy would not hear it,

"You will catch your death in this weather, otherwise, madam." He insisted, and was not lying. Clouds had been gathering rapidly since the morning, and now the sky was grey and the air cold. Elizabeth seemed to realise it too and so she merely nodded,

"Thank you, sir."