Posted on Monday, 28 April 2008

William jumped to his feet as admiration surged through his senses. The young lady standing across the room, the one in springy-peach muslin, with a circlet of white starlet flowers at her neck - She was beautiful! Her brown eyes looked here and there, twinkling at the glitter and shine of the atmosphere. If only the music would start, he thought, and he could see her fluid grace in action. Nothing delighted him more. Why hadn't he noticed this feeling before? When had she become so....intriguing?

Although he was surrounded by a group of friends, he did not hear one solid word of their conversation. Unaware of the jostling and snickers that were tossed back and forth as he stepped out of the circle, he inched his way to the enchanter. She, like an open, inviting flower, had already attracted several bees. They clustered adamantly, shoved their fellows almost, to gather and get her attention.

William had never been very comfortable in a crowd. He was painfully aware of his awkward steps, his anxious countenance, and the nervous twitch in his fingers. To calm his digits at least, he clasped his hands behind his back. He was acting out the impending conversation in his mind. He would ask how she was fairing, talk of the cold and how it had bitten her roses (for he knew she tended a bed of them), ask her for some advice with his mother's lilies, then... Oh, then! He would ask her to dance and her eyes would sparkle back in acceptance.

As if to answer the beckoning of his mind, a fiddle strained and vibrated, attempting to tune up. A flute joined and other instruments melded to begin a reel. A reel! Not exactly what he had hoped for. There could be so little conversation when one was bouncing up and down a line of people, throwing their arms and legs high. Oh well. It was no avail anyhow. She was snatched up immediately by a Mr. Trent.

Horrid fellow, with perfectly-ideal features and charm! The poor innocent girl had no idea what a rake he was. Protective urges came to his heart; his eyes followed them as they bounded back and forth. It hurt to see her laughing at some remark the man whispered to her in passing.

At the very last note, he stepped forward, determined to get to her first. He did. "Hello and goodbye, Trent." Casting him a sly and indignant glance, the fellow simply said, "Well!" And off the sorry excuse for a gentleman went to flirt with a cousin of his.

Ignoring the hindrance, William turned expectantly, greeting her by name, "How are you fairing?" Expecting her to turn his way with that beautiful glittering smile, he was surprised to see her frown. She looked hostilely, almost crossly, at him. "William, I was fairing just fine until you took it upon yourself to be so rude. I did not appreciate your rudeness to Mr. Trent. You, William Lucas, are the most frustrating man of my acquaintance. I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone!" She stomped away, if her gentle movement could be called stomping.

William was crushed. And through the following years, even with several attempts at proposing, Fanny would never be his. Somewhere along the road, she had never forgiven him for trying to shield her from Mr. Trent's intoxicating, deceptive attentions that night. Thankfully, no serious harm came to her, for the man left town the fortnight following, due to a mysterious "family crisis".

The next summer when she went away to visit her aunt in Somersetshire (a summer in which he wished to die, from her absence) she met and fell in love with an Oxford man. At the wedding, William met his victorious foe and new neighbor for the first time. Cynical, always looking as if he had a private joke held up against the world, Mr. Bennet would, in his opinion, never be a compatible match for the girl of his heart. But as the years pressed on, William learned that they did indeed love one another and he laid to rest the painful disappointment of his youth, satisfied to be their generous neighbor and to take Fanny's daughters under his wing. They would have been his, had circumstances slightly altered. But what is it that Shakespeare said? "All's well that ends well?"

The End