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11th December 1812, Wednesday

Fanny Bennet was feeling more than a little put out.

She had been hoping that Mr Bingley would come back to Netherfield by the time of the Goulding's Party, but the first set had already started, and there was no sign of him. If that was not bad enough, her beautiful Jane was dancing with that awful Lucas boy! Jane was so beautiful! Almost as beautiful as Fanny herself was in her prime, it would not do for her to attach herself to a man whose estate made less income than even Longbourn. God Forbid if Mr Bennet was to meet an untimely end, and that horrible Mr Collins threw her family to the hedge grows, How will she and her four daughters in addition to the Lucas family themselves survive on a mere a thousand pounds a year?

Just the thought of it was inconceivable!

Even now, she could see on the other side of the room where Mrs Goulding had assembled the cakes and the sandwiches and where all the older ladies were now gathered, that their dialogue was rife with gossip. No doubt they were tittering and giggling about Mr Bingley’s jilt. Their hushed tones and their rapidly moving lips could mean nothing else. Mrs Bennet thought about ignoring them, but curiosity got the best of her, and she walked over in high dudgeon, ready to defend her daughter who was at least ten times prettier than any of theirs !

Mrs Bennet’s nose was high in the air as she made her way to all the other ladies, ready to defend her daughter, even if it meant encouraging the suit between Jane and John Lucas and exalting his many virtues and moaning about the numerous trials that their courtship had suffered almost from their infancy, only to stop in her tracks when she heard what the women were really talking about-

Mr Darcy. And Lizzy.

Fanny frowned, looking over to where her second eldest was indeed dancing with the proud, handsome man. She had not noticed Mr Darcy coming into the parlour. Since almost the beginning of the party, her attention had been on Jane and John and how inseparable the two of them seemed. What could Mr Darcy mean by it? Coming to an intimate celebration without the rest of his party?

“Is this not the first time he has danced the first set?” Fanny Bennet heard Lady Lucas ask the lady next to her, Mrs King who nodded mutely, her gaze glued to the striking pair that Mr Darcy and Lizzy made on the dance floor,

“Indeed, did you see how he made for her as soon as he entered the house? Did not even pause to greet the gentlemen.” Mrs Goulding remarked, her voice hushed and awed, “Poor Jamie did not stand a chance trying to ask Lizzy for a dance.”

“They look a very merry pair for certain.” Mrs Hastings remarked, and all the ladies watched as Miss Lizzy giggled at something Mr Darcy said. The man himself did not much smile, but there was a softness there on his face that was so very different from his usual stiff and disdainful expression which told everyone about his ease and his preference for his dance partner .

“They must have reconciled their initial disagreement.” Mrs King chimed in, “Otherwise Lizzy would not be so open with him now. Look how she smiles so prettily- she looks just as beautiful as Jane with that expression in her eyes, if not more.”

Mrs Bennet could not help but agree. Happiness suited everybody, but nobody wore it as well as Elizabeth. And well, maybe Mr Bingley hadn't come back for Jane, but Fanny supposed Mr Darcy and his ten thousand pounds would be a good consolation for all her disappointed hopes.

12th December 1812, Thursday

The morning could not come fast enough for Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.

The night after the dinner party had been interminably long and by the time the Bennet women had returned home, they were told that Mr Bennet had already retired for the night.

Lizzy had kept her growing feelings for Mr Darcy very close to her heart, and would have preferred to talk to her father alone to confess them all before the gentleman himself came calling to ask for her father's consent. Still, the situation was not so very dire. Mr Darcy’s blatant preference for her as a dance partner, their rather lengthy and very intimate-looking talk in the garden and then his undivided and much desired attention towards her for the rest of the night had made for the majority of the gossip fodder that had circulated amongst the party's attendants.

In the carriage on the way back home, Mrs Bennet's happiness at her second eldest's good fortune was both loud and effusive.

Her youngest sisters tittered at Mr Darcy’s hidden unexpected romanticism, and Mary tutted her disapproval for the same.

Only Jane was quiet- her expression unreadable as her eyes rested on her lap.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder if her sister was thinking about Mr Bingley, and how by forming such a close connection with his oldest and dearest friend, there would be times she would inevitably be in his company .

The rest of the night, Lizzy had slept very ill.

Her mind was filled with Mr Darcy.

Their past interactions and his reticence, the Netherfield ball and his vastly improved manners after.

Elizabeth realised that she owed quite a large part of her present felicity to the newly minted Charlotte Collins, and became more determined than ever to restore their friendship to its former state of strength and devotion.

She did not know when she fell asleep, but Lizzy woke up to the sun bright in the winter sky and her mother yelling downstairs in the breakfast parlour.

It took a moment for her to comprehend what her mother was saying, but when she did, Lizzy jolted up with a start,

"He is come! He is come! Lizzy's Mr Darcy has come! Hill!! You must attend to me! I'm not fit to be seen! Martha! Go wake up Lizzy this instant! Dress her up in one of Jane's dresses!"

Elizabeth did not need any more prompting and quickly jumped up from her bed and ran towards the open window of her bedroom. The window faced Longbourn's front gardens and its drive. Elizabeth could see Mr Darcy riding towards the manor. She watched him as he dismounted and gave his stallion a pat on the flank before handing off the reins to young Lauren, the stablehand's son.

A gust of cold air blew through the window, reminding Elizabeth of her less than proper attire- a rather old and threadbare nightshift and her hair, unbound and wild. She was about to retreat back inside, when just at that moment, Mr Darcy looked up.

Their eyes caught.

Elizabeth's cheeks darkened with a blush even as she saw, despite the distance, as Darcy's lips parted in surprise, his jaw hanging loose at the unexpected scene that would no doubt be fuel to his dreams. He had just started to smile when Elizabeth realised she was frozen on the spot, and quickly stepped aside, her back pressing against the wall as she tried to calm her rapid heart rate .

He had come! And he had seen her looking like a gorgon!

Suddenly, the door to her bedroom opened, and Martha entered looking harried and fussed as she carried a pressed lilac coloured day dress in her arms,

"Miss Lizzy, your mother insists you dress quickly and come downstairs."

"Yes, I must." If nothing else, Elizabeth needed to protect her betrothed from her mother's crassness and her younger sisters' silly behaviour. She rushed over to Martha, pulling off her shift on the way, "Hurry, Martha! Mr Darcy has come to speak to my father!"

─── ※ ·?· ※ ───

Darcy was directed at once to Mr Bennet's library by Longbourn's butler, a Mr Hill, as soon as he entered. Despite his own haste, a part of him wished he had a moment alone in the parlour to regain his equanimity. The image of his Elizabeth, watching him arrive from her bedroom window, completely bare except for that flimsy excuse of a nightdress she was wearing, with her hair wild and cheeks red from the cold air, was taking quite a toll on him. He had only ever dared to imagine her thusly on the darkest and loneliest of nights. Only in the safety of his bedchambers, and only when he had plenty of time afterward to regain his sensibilities.

He was offered no such reprieve now, and was greeted by an idle Mr Bennet sitting behind his desk in his library imbibing on a morning glass of brandy.

Darcy had no reason to believe Elizabeth's father to be an alcoholic. He was quite lackadaisical, certainly and perhaps took more pleasure than was wont in making sport of his wife and daughters' ridiculous and offensive behaviours, but Darcy had never really ever seen Mr Bennet in his cups. Still, it made Darcy wonder what kind of life a man could be leading in a quiet country like Hertfordshire that would induce him to drink at eight in the morning.

"Ah, Mr Darcy. I must confess, I'm not so very surprised to see you. Mrs Bennet was very good to inform me this morning that I should expect you to call on me. Apparently, you paid my dear Lizzy the most particular attention at the Gouldings' party last night. How many times did Mrs Bennet say you danced with Elizabeth?"

"Thrice, Sir." The first, the fourth, and the last. They were the only sets either of them danced that night. If Darcy was very honest, he had hoped that such blatant displays of his affections and Elizabeth's reciprocal regard would induce her parents to give him their consent more easily. After all, last night he had more than admirably raised the entire society's expectations for a match between him and Miss Elizabeth.

Mr Bennet's face, however, was unreadable. For a moment, he just stared at the taller gentleman, as if trying to decide what to make of Darcy. That inquisitive look in his eyes was one Darcy had seen Elizabeth herself wear quite often. Though, on the daughter, the expression was infinitely more adorable.

"I confess I had not given much thought to my wife's ramblings. It is certainly not the first time she has been sure a wealthy gentleman would come to ask for her daughter's hand, only for said gentleman to quit the neighbourhood instead."

Darcy blushed on Bingley’s behalf, though he refused to become discomposed by the crass teasing. To allude to one daughter's jilt to another daughter's suitor might have been a clever sort of comment to make to Mr Bennet, but Darcy could find no humour in it. The eldest Miss Bennet might not have been heartbroken at Bingley's continued absence, but her reputation as an eligible lady had certainly taken a hit.

When Darcy did not respond, Mr Bennet continued ,

"Whatever has become of your friend, Mr Darcy? Does business still keep him in Town?"

The way Mr Bennet emphasised his words left little doubt that he knew it was not exactly business that was keeping Bingley away.

"From what I understand, Sir, the Bingleys mean to spend the rest of the winter season in Town."

"Ah, So Mrs Bennet's fears have indeed come true and poor Jane is doomed for spinsterhood. It is such a shame.” Mr Bennet pretended to think, then leaned forward as if to talk more conspiratorially, "Say young man, are you quite sure it is Lizzy's hand you want to ask for? Dear Jane is quite easily five times prettier than Elizabeth, and not nearly as troublesome."

Darcy was incensed, and had just opened his mouth to demand the older man cease toying with him when the door to the library opened and Elizabeth entered, her pink mouth puckered in a scowl,

"Papa, you must stop vexing Mr Darcy and grant him permission to marry me."

She was properly attired now in a very pretty purple dress and her hair was bound in a loose updo. Still, all Darcy could see her in was what she had been wearing when he had espied her looking out at him from her window upstairs, and his blood heated when her eyes met his. His thoughts and musings must have been ill concealed, for Elizabeth promptly blushed, then looked back at her father, her countenance significantly pinker than before.

Bennet raised a brow, surprised, "Lizzy, I raised you better than to listen at doors when gentlemen are discussing important affairs. I would sooner expect this behaviour from your silly mother than from my most sensible daughter. "

"You were taking an inordinately long time to come to the matter, Papa. I wish to marry Mr Darcy, and Mr Darcy wishes to marry me. But, he has business which calls him north quite urgently and for the foreseeable future, which is why we must also ask you to grant us permission to correspond with each other." Elizabeth stated, crossing her arms across her chest, “There. Now I have explained everything. So you see, Papa, Mr Darcy doesn't have the leisure to endure your games or your teasing. He must leave for Derbyshire as soon as possible."

Mr Bennet raised a sardonic eyebrow, then turned to Darcy, "Is that so, Mr Darcy?”

Darcy was looking at Elizabeth, an amused and affectionate half smile on his face, “Quite." He replied without taking his eyes away from his intended.

It was a gentleman's prerogative to ask for his wife-to-be's hand in marriage to her father. Elizabeth seemed to have quite effectively asked for her own hand on behalf of Darcy. Where any other man might have taken offence at such blatant disregard of tradition and etiquette, Mr Darcy only appeared more besotted than ever. Mr Bennet shook his head even as he chuckled ruefully. His Lizzy seemed to have found the one man in England who would not only tolerate her impertinence but also enjoy it. Bennet could not have parted with his favourite daughter for a less deserving man.

"Very well, you have my consent to correspond with one another and my blessing to marry at your leisure. "