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T homas Bennet was not the kind of man to venture out into society unless there was an errand he had to run, or an appointment he had to keep.At his very core, he was a homebody,morespecifically, he was a man who never ventured outsideofthe four walls of his study unlesshe wasproddedinto doing so by somesort of anoutside influence.It could, he supposed, at times be a lonely existence, for his wife could not suffer through a single day without visiting her sister and their neighbours, histwo youngest daughters preferred frolicking down the streets of Meryton to anysort ofsensible or productive occupation, andhis second oldest could more often be foundat Lucas Lodge instead of at Longbourn.In the end, Thomas supposed, it was his eldest, Jane, who took after him the most when it came to his retiring nature. Quiet, peace-loving, and solitude-seeking woman that she was, Jane could most often be found in the morning parlour, needlework in her hand, and couldonly be induced into calling on people when her mother forced her into it.

Despite avoiding human interaction as often as possible unless itwas thrustupon him, Thomas had found that there were certain times, infrequent as they might be, when one felt the need to speak to an object that would answer back, preferably in an intelligent manner. In such rare times as those, his choice of companion was often Reginald Goulding, a most sensible man, schoolmate, and close childhood friend. Thomas had sent a note to his friend just that morning, making an appointment to meet at The Quick Twig for a pint and some rational conversation.

Reggie was a tall, strapping fellow with disproportionately narrow shoulders and dark, bushy brows. His hair was as red as maple leaves in the thick of autumn, andhis cheeks and chin were coveredin dark, unsightly freckles. In their little community of Meryton, there were only a few that could claim Mr. Bennet as a truefriend(most having been, at some point or the other, subject to his caustic wit), and fewer still for whom Mr. Bennet would return the sentiment. Reggie grinned widely when he spotted his reclusive friend sitting at the barstool with a pint of draught beer in his hand and another waiting on the counter. Coming over, he slapped the other man’s shoulder in a friendlymanner,and plopped onto the empty seat beside him,

“It has been much too long since we last did this, Bennet.”

Thomas Bennet grinned back, raising his mug in silent cheers, “That it has, Reggie Goulding. How have you been? And how is Jameson?”

Jameson was the eldest of the three Goulding children and the heir to the property.While not as large as Longbourn,theFoxbury Hall generated a solid income of around 1,200poundsevery year.With three sons and no daughters, The Gouldings were more than satisfied with their lot.Their eldest had only graduated from Oxford last year and had returned to help his father with the estate.Their second eldest, Elliot Goulding, was in London apprenticing under a barrister, and theyoungest Goulding, Mickey, though only fifteen, was studying at Harrow and was known to declare to any who would hearhim,that he was going to practise medicine and become the best physician England had ever seen.

“Jameson is as he always was.” Reggie Goulding sighed, “As awkward as a mouse and too serious for his own good. His poor mother despairs of him ever getting married.”

The eldestGouldingindeedwas a rather gawky fellow. Gangly, inelegant, and in possession of a spectacular pair of buck teeth, he was certainly not the charming, valiant hero most ladies looked for in a husband. He was, however, intelligent, practical, and more responsible than most gentlemen his age. If Thomas had even a hint of interest in match-making, he would consider the young man for any of his daughters, but he did not, so he changed the subject,

“Michael is graduating early, I heard. Are you planning on sending him toOxford,or Cambridge?”

“Neither, actually. Mickey wants to go to the London Hospital Medical College.”

Mr. Bennet raised a brow, “He isvery serious, then? About becoming a physician?”

“It would seem so.” Reginald Goulding grinned proudly, “The lad has certainly got the smarts for it.”

“So he does. It would be good, I suppose, for our little town of Meryton to get a true doctor in our society. Mr. Jones does his best, of course, but the man is often stretched too thin to be of proper help to anyone.”

“Speaking of Mr. Jones, he has been visiting your niece at Netherfield, I heard. How is our dear Miss Braxton?”

Mr. Bennet waved away his friend’s concern, though there were times he worried for his niece himself, “You know Lizzy. A more robust girl I have not seen.A trifling cold will notdoherin.A couple of days of rest and she will be back home as good as new, I am certain.”

“Yes, certainly, yes.”Mr. Goulding quickly agreed,thoughhedid look like he wasstruggling tosay something.Thomas knew his friend too well to miss his uncertain expression and darting eyes. Raising a curious brow, he asked the other man,

“What is it?”

“There are these reportsbeing spreadabout,” Reginald sighed after hesitating half-heartedly for only a moment, “And they are completely rubbish, of course. Nothing but conjecture, and I only bring them up to you because I know the kind of man you are. You could have heard nothing of them, and as the guardian of the young lady whose reputation is now in question, I only thought it right for you to be made aware-”

Thomas, now alarmed, cried out, “Good God, man! Spit it out! Has something happened? What isbeing said?!”

Meticulously, Reginald Goulding tried to explain the rumours that werebeing spreadregarding his niece and the gentleman from Derbyshire. Lizzy’s accident at the lake, Mr. Darcy’s rescue and, in hindsight, his suspiciously fortuitous timing. His carrying her all the way to Netherfield with no chaperone insight,and his overt concern for the lady’s well-being,

“Of course, any man with half a brain would believe that the entire episode was nothing but a series of unconnected events that led to Miss Braxton and Mr. Darcy being in the same place and at the same time, but you know how these women-folk are, Thomas. They hear anything even remotely scandalousandthey spread the news without a care in the world. It does not help, of course, that Mr. Jones himself is adding fuel to the fire, telling his sister, Mrs. Long, how he left Miss Braxton in the company of Mr. Darcy when he went to check on her progress.”

Groaning, Thomas rubbed his hand over his face, once again cursing his youngest twodaughterswithout whosestupidity,none of these happenings would have taken place. Lizzy, that poor parentless child, had only him to look after her so far from Wrexham. Ever since his dear brother’s death, Thomas had vowed to himself to do his best to look after the girl. Of course, for a very long time, his vow had remained untested, for Vivienne had taken Lizzy with her to her grandfather’s house even before her mourning had ended. It was not until a sixteen-year-old Lizzy arrived at Longbourn one day, wanting to become acquainted with her father’s side of the family,did Thomassee her again.

She had been such a young, bright thing. Slighter than any ofhisgirls, though she was older than almost all of them, with Christopher’s dark hair and her mother’s lovely bronze eyes.He foundhe shared with hera profound love of knowledge, and in the months she visited since then, he taught her chess, classic Greek, and the ability to laugh at other people’s folly.

To think of that young, intelligent girl becoming the protagonist of such ridiculous, mean-spirited rumours made his blood boil. And for her tobe linkedwith that Darcy fellow of all people! Handsome and rich though he was, Thomas was not unaware of the impression he had made amongst the people of Meryton. Mrs. Bennet had called him a proud, disagreeable fellow, and for a wealthy, eligible and attractive man to fall into his wife’s bad books, the gentleman wouldcertainlyhave to have given considerable offence.

A man in Mr. Darcy’s position was no doubt more than a little familiar in the ways of trifling with a woman. These young, rich, society men, Thomas wascertain, were all heathens hiding under their shiny veneers . The Bennets had kept Elizabeth’s lineage a secret with the best of intentions, but nowThomas could not help but wonder if that same secrecy had made Darcy think that his prey was just an unprotected orphan. Had he targeted his niece from the beginning? Had he followed her to that lake? Good God, had he pushed her into the water only to then rescue her andcome out ofthe entire incident a hero and a saviour?

Rage and panic blinded Mr. Bennet of any logical reasoning, and beforehe could think any of his actions through, he was throwing down shillings for the ale on the bar table and taking his leave from his friend in high dudgeon, of a mind to confront the man he was determined to think of as a villain.

It was not until Thomas was in his carriage, nursing his indignation and wondering how he wouldbe able toexplain these events to the Earl should his niecetrulybe compromised,didhestart thinking a littlemore objectively.Ever since he had known of her, Mr. Bennet had been more protective of Elizabeth than any of his own daughters. After her father passed, that protectiveness only became more potent. Despite her illustrious relationswhono doubt held more power than him in any social sphere, as the only beloved daughter of his only beloved brother, Thomas often thought of her as his charge. Carelessly indolent in almost every aspect of hislife,and finding the ladies in his own purview to be either too silly or too tedious, it was only in relation to Elizabeth and her welfare that Thomas found he could exert himself.

As Netherfield came into view, Mr. Bennet endeavoured to calm himself. Despite everything else, he was about to confronta very powerfulman, and he could not let the arrogant young lad get the better of him. Mr. Darcy would not be meeting an angry and panickedguardian,but rather a well-composed, intimidating and exemplary member of the gentry.

As soon as the carriage came to a stop, Mr. Bennet alighted down onto Netherfield Drive. Walking on towards the stone steps with his back straight and his chin up, Mr. Bennet had just begun to climb up onto the portico when movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. Turning his head, Bennet took in the scene beforehim, froze, and promptly lost all his carefully collected calm.

There, just off to the side of the house in the front gardens, stood the object of his ire, the gentleman’s arms enveloped around his beloved niece. Mr. Bennet’s eyes felt like they were bulging out of his sockets as he took in the incriminating scene before him,

“Lizzy Braxton!”

Elizabeth turned around instinctively at the sharpreprimand,and started when she recognized the man who had said her name in such a castigating tone,

“Uncle?!”