Page 1 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

T he tavern in Meryton was the sort of place he enjoyed.

Warm firelight spilt unevenly over worn tables and rustic benches.

The air was thickened with the mingled scents of roasting meat, stale ale, and sweat.

Laughter and occasional bursts of song masked private conversations, creating a comforting anonymity.

It was an atmosphere where secrets could be shared without fear of being overheard.

He lounged in a shadowy corner, nursing a tankard and observing the room with practised disinterest. His attention sharpened upon the entrance of a young woman he had learned was a kitchen maid from Netherfield Park.

Her nervous gaze swept the room. She was young, tolerably pretty, and quite na?ve. Just the sort of girl he preferred.

He rose smoothly, ensuring their paths intersected as naturally as possible. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice gentle, his smile warmly reassuring. “You seem troubled. May I assist?”

She hesitated, blushing vividly under his gaze. “Oh, it is nothing, sir,” she murmured softly. “I—I only came to meet a friend, but I fear she is not here.”

“Perhaps I might keep you company until your friend arrives,” he offered, guiding her to a quieter corner of the tavern. “What is your name?”

“Bet Younge.” She lowered her eyes shyly.

“Delighted to meet you, Bet.” He bowed as if to a duchess, and, as he knew it would, it caused a blush to rise on her face.

“Are you travelling through town or are you living in the village?” he asked conversationally.

“I am from Northumberland, but presently I serve at Netherfield- the great house outside the village,” she said, barely meeting his eyes.

“Ah, from another county as am I. How are you finding your employment at that house- Netherfield, you say?”

“Oh, it is well enough,” she answered, her eyes briefly lighting with pride at her elevated station. “But demanding, sir. The company there is grand. They are always wanting something.”

He directed at her a smile of studied charm, artfully warm but utterly without sincerity, inviting confidence. “Ah yes, that sort always finds a great deal for a servant to do. Who might these grand guests be?”

Bet lowered her voice, eager to share the gossip she had overheard. “There is Mr. Bingley, of course, and his sisters, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Darcy—very high indeed, I am told.”

He tensed imperceptibly, his heartbeat quickening at the confirmation. “Darcy? A friend of Bingley’s, is he?”

“Oh yes,” Bet said eagerly. “A close friend, sir. Very high-and-mighty. Right solemn, if I may speak plain.”

He suppressed a smile and nodded thoughtfully, leaning closer to Bet as though imparting a great secret. “You know, Bet, I believe I may have heard of Mr. Darcy, and not to his credit. But perhaps I should not speak of it.”

Her eyes widened in curiosity. “Oh, sir, please—tell me.”

“Perhaps another time,” he demurred quietly. “To-night, I wish only to enjoy your company. Might I buy you something to warm you?”

Bet smiled shyly, fully caught in his charm. “You are most kind, sir.”

He signalled to the landlord, leaning back with quiet satisfaction