Posted on Wednesday, 22 June 2005, at 9:11 p.m.

"Charles, when are you going to finally buy a place and stop renting? What's this latest? Netherfield? Where is that?"

Charles Bingley pointed to a house just appearing outside the window of the carriage. "There."

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Bingley said impatiently. "Put on your spectacles."

Taking the offending items from a case inside his pocket, Darcy placed them upon his nose and looked out again. "Ah, looks familiar. Have we been here before?"

"Yes, about forty years ago." Bingley smirked. "I'm surprised you remember."

Darcy frowned. "It's last week I have trouble remembering. Forty years ago is no problem." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We came to check it over but at the last minute another offer was accepted and you ended up staying with the Hursts for the remainder of the year. It's still for sale?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's for sale again. That fellow who beat me to it ended up buying the place, married a local lady and raised his family here. Now he's gone to America to make a bigger fortune, apparently. Can't be bothered to own any property here." He focussed on his companion who was still obsessing on the landscape. "I met a few of the locals myself, last week."

Darcy's head turned slowly to face his friend. "Oh, no."

"What do you mean? Don't be like that. I promise you're going to like these ladies." Bingley grinned.

"Fifty year old widows? Toothless and burdened with a half dozen runny nosed brats?" Darcy shook his head. "Count me out. You've tried it too many times before."

"Oh, come on," coaxed Bingley. "You don't think you could still attract those nubile young things, do you? When was the last time one of the debutantes threw a glance your way?" Darcy turned away, annoyed. "Hah! I thought so. Face it, Darce. Our prowling days are over. You were too fastidious to find a woman to suit and I just fall in and out of love too easily. Far less frequently these days, too."

"I don't need a wife," grumbled his old friend.

"Who said anything about needing one?" Bingley waggled his eyebrows. "After all these years I'm surprised you don't want to find a lady willing to just put up with your moods." A famed glare was all he got for his effort. "Look, that doesn't work on me anymore. Georgiana has been married and gone from Pemberley for more than thirty years. Her kids are grown up, for crying out loud! I'm not suggesting you go out and produce an heir at your age but you could at least put a smile on your face and see if your bank balance can do the rest."

Another glare shot across the compartment but Bingley ignored it, humming merrily to himself as they drew up the drive to his new home.

***

"And this is my eldest daughter, Jane." Mrs. Bennet leaned on her walking stick, wishing she could sit down and not have to do this yet again. How many men had she introduced her daughters to over the years? Hundreds. How many of those men had married Jane? None. Not that they hadn't asked, of course. Jane, though kindness itself, always refused for some reason known only to herself but it seemed to her mother it had something to do with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was Mrs. Bennet's second eldest daughter and one royal thorn in her side. Wild as a girl, impertinent as a young woman, Lizzy was a sharp old spinster now and still revelled in what she viewed as control of her own destiny. "The only thing you have control of is how poor you will be when you die," Mrs. Bennet was often telling her. "I cannot understand you, Elizabeth Bennet. You seem determined to send me to an early grave with your obstinate refusals of every man's proposal."

Never mind that Mrs. Bennet was far past the age of going to the grave early. Lizzy had heard more offers of marriage than could be counted on the hands of all five of her daughters but did the ungrateful chit accept any? No! If she didn't laugh at the absurdity of one man, she'd be moaning about the lack of respect in another. Respect! Just what that had to do with marriage was anyone's guess. Her mother certainly didn't let it stop her from marrying Mr. Bennet and the three younger Bennet sisters were dutiful girls who listened to their mother. They were happily married and respectable. Well, respectable anyway. What happiness had to do with marriage was anyone's guess.

If it hadn't been for Jane and Elizabeth still residing at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet would have been off to London to supervise the coming out of her great granddaughter. Lydia had gone to America with her husband, her four children remaining behind in England. John, the eldest with a daughter just turning 18, would have welcomed the assistance, she was sure. But there was Jane being tiresome, and Lizzy being stubborn. Neither would cooperate. It had been like pulling teeth to get them into suitable gowns for the Assembly in Meryton. Their figures were not what they used to be but then the two hopefuls were hardly dashing young bucks themselves. Once at the hall the two sisters seemed to gain some energy, however. For this small miracle Mrs. Bennet was grateful.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet."

Mrs. Bennet sized up the man now in possession of Jane's hand, looking as if he would devour it on the spot. She recalled his name was Bungley, or Binkle or something like that. Her memory was not what it used to be either. "Who is your friend?" she asked, noticing the second man and not wanting to waste any time waiting for the half wit to realise he'd failed to make an introduction. Her feet were tiring.

"Oh," Binkle said, a little embarrassed. "This is my friend Mr. Darcy. Darcy, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet."

Darcy groaned. Not another one. Will he never learn? He made a small bow, panicking for a moment when his back refused to allow him to return to an upright position. He felt a hand on his elbow and smiled thankfully at his assistant.

"You're welcome," sneered Elizabeth.

"Oh, Lizzy," her mother said with a wave of her hand. "This is Mr. Darcy. You may dance with him." She then turned and walked to the nearest divan, heaving a sigh as her bottom came to rest on the cushions. She saw her daughter and Darcy still standing where she had left them and impatiently gestured to the dance floor. Darcy blinked, trying to make out the shadowy movement in the distance. He never wore his spectacles in public.

"Will you lead or shall I?"

Her sarcasm raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "I shall," he curtly replied, then admired her skill in tricking him into actually dancing with her. It had been years since he'd set foot in a ballroom and this evening Darcy had given his friend an earful of invective for dragging him here without informing him of their destination. Now he smiled wickedly as the music began. It was a waltz. His partner's distaste was evident. This was going to be very enjoyable.

Mrs. Bennet watched her daughters begin another round of hopeful husband hunting, at least that's what she considered it even if she was doing all the hunting for them. Lady Lucas, bless her heart, was a wellspring of information about Binkle, right down to his last farthing of interest gained in the previous quarter. Mr. Darcy she was less knowledgeable about but he couldn't be worse off financially and if Lizzy would make some sort of effort to wipe the snarl off her face she might stand a chance of getting him. At this point Mrs. Bennet would settle for just getting rid of her in any way, be it wife, mistress or housekeeper. Jane appeared to being doing well. Her mother made a mental note to keep the two women separated for most of the evening. There was no reason to chance Lizzy spoiling Jane's weakening state with her acid comments.

Bingley placed an arm around Miss Bennet's ample waist. He loved the waltz. Any dance that allowed a man to touch a woman in this manner, in public, won his approval. His steps were sure enough but it would not do to be too agile. The occasional brush against one's partner was the high point of the waltz.

The heat of Elizabeth's resentment could be felt several feet away. Darcy, therefore, could hardly miss being singed in the close proximity of this dance. He was secretly amused. Several times he deliberately moved out of step with the music to feel this Miss Bennet's body lurch against his arm so that he could pull her toward him. Her sizeable bosom heaved indignantly before his eyes as she was forced to clutch at his shoulder, a vain attempt to prevent being crushed against his bountiful midriff.

"Please, Mr. Darcy," she breathed huskily, hardly able to draw in air with his arm holding her so tightly.

"I love it when a woman begs for me," he whispered laughingly.

Her eyes flashed sparks but she was unable to free herself. "You are an arrogant, conceited -!"

"Careful, Miss Bennet! Your mother is watching. You wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea." Darcy loosened his grip just enough to give the lady more space. "There now, is that better?"

"You are impenitent, sir."

"I assure you I am not," he grinned, watching her expression as she realised his game. "I may be old but I'm not dead yet."

Elizabeth suddenly found herself intrigued by this man. He was rude, crude and obviously loved his food but no other man had ever dared to treat her in this fashion. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Not in any no-name market towns in the back roads of Hertfordshire, I can tell you." Darcy gave her a sly grin. "Have you been here all of your life?"

"Pretty much. A dull place. As you can see," she said, trying to gesture toward her figure but failing miserable as the fingers of one hand were entwined with Darcy's and the other arm was trapped between his ribcage and the arm he held around her waist, "I have little to advertise these days and even in my younger years the only men I attracted were interested in my body, not my brains."

"Hmm," Darcy acknowledged, appraising her form in more ways than one. It was ponderous but pleasing in a roly-poly kind of way. "You have brains?" he asked, ready to silence her bellow of rage should it occur.

To his immense disappointment she laughed. "Difficult to believe, I know. If I truly had any brains I would have married one of those wealthy dimwits who offered for me over the years instead of spending my golden years with an aged mother and comatose father, becoming more bitter and twisted each day."

"They must have been dim, indeed. Had they been truly determined to have you they would have ensured a marriage would take place." Darcy sniffed disdainfully.

"How?" The question seemed innocently expressed. Elizabeth smiled vapidly.

"Simple," he replied, then began an explanation. "Pressuring your father to consent is the first step."

"That was tried. Failed. Papa won't make me do anything I don't want to do." Over the man's shoulder Elizabeth saw her mother making helpful gestures, signs which seemed to indicate she wanted her daughter to snuggle closer to her partner. Elizabeth snorted in a most unladylike way and turned her head.

"How unusual." Darcy considered further. "I'll just skip to the chase, then. The most potent method would be to compromise your virtue in some way."

"This is Meryton, not London. Nobody would be shocked by that here. Trust me." She batted her eyelashes, creating a strobe effect with the sparks.

Such a claim could not go unchallenged. Darcy did not believe a word; Meryton was no Sodom or Gomorrah. He didn't see any pillars of salt on his way into town. "Is that so?" he said, his mind coiled like a snake about to strike. Without another word he pulled Miss Bennet closer and pressed his lips against hers. He released her hand and wove his now freed fingers through her hair. Pins rained down on the floor at their feet and suddenly a pile of hair joined them. Neither party noticed.

Nor did anyone else in the room, actually.

All eyes were on Bingley and Jane Bennet who were oblivious to the world around them, oblivious to the music, and continued to waltz as the jaunty sounds of Turlough O'Carolan invited the others to dance a more respectful reel.

Mrs. Bennet was quick to awaken when Lady Lucas squealed.

"Are they in the garden again?" she cried out before recalling where she was. Her friend was pointing to the scandalous couple in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by laughing men and women who had adopted them as a centrepiece for the reel. "At last!" crowed Mrs. Bennet. Her eyes searched the room for her other daughter and spied Elizabeth and Darcy in flagrante delicto. She nearly swooned from the excitement.

Finally, after more than forty years, her job was done.

***

"I told Bingley I didn't need a wife."

"You didn't get one," Elizabeth pointed out. "If you expect me to do that obeying stuff you can forget it."

Darcy grinned. "I love a challenge."

The End