Snobs And Scholarships

Chapter 1

Surely no town in the world is better suited to accommodate the rich, handsome, intelligent aristocrat than Oxford.

Where would such a person feel more at home than amidst the dreaming spires and grimy splendour of the soot-blackened, ancient houses of learning, confirming with every carefully tended lawn, every honey-coloured turret one's privileged position in life?

What better way to affirm one's superiority than to stroll casually past those painted `PRIVATE' signs that bar the eternal tourists from proceeding?

Yes, times have changed. But some institutions are not so prone to alteration. And while the colleges now gladly accept female students and actively encourage pupils from disadvantaged backgrounds to apply, the times of the `gentlemen's club' linger in the black-and-white photos of long-dead sportsmen that grace the walls of the private college bars.

Oxford will always be the place where old public school boys recognise their kind by their proudly displayed school ties, their more-than-averagely expensive suits at formal occasions, and their general demeanour, which belies their youthful age.

William Darcy drummed his fingers on the desk of his new room, and looked around him.

As he was now in his fourth and final year, he had had the pick of college accommodation, and he had to commend himself on his excellent taste. He had possibly chosen the best room Pemberley College had to offer.

Apart from being spacious and light, his new abode afforded a most pleasant view of the college's private park, and one could even catch a few glimpses of the river between the still gloriously green trees.

His room was located right beside the great hall, so that he would hardly get wet at all when walking over for dinner on one of Oxford's many rainy days. The library, the gym, the bar and the common room were all no more than a three minute walk away.

William had already inspected the facilities - his room was en suite, of course - and found everything to his satisfaction.

He only shared a kitchen with three others (when did he ever use the kitchen, anyway?) and his scout, well aware of his reputation as a generous tipper, had done an admirable job at cleaning the room.

The walls had been freshly painted, and the new curtains were in place, as he had requested.

Of course, the furniture left something to be desired, as ever, but he could always have some of his own sent over, or buy some new things. But he rather thought he would keep them, as he quite enjoyed their seedy elegance, and did not mind slumming it when he was in Oxford.

All in all, he could not say that he was dissatisfied with his new home. He would be the envy of all the college this year.

Those who were not so fortunate as to belong to his set would tag along to his famous gin parties, laughing whenever he said anything even remotely resembling a joke and acting like they were his oldest friends.

The pick of the college's female contingent would hang around him, and some would pass through his bed: always well-spoken, intelligent, good-looking girls.

He would surely be elected to some committee position or other, and no doubt the Master would invite him to a few of his private `do's', showing off his star student to foreign visitors and making indelicate suggestions for future investments in the college: `What about `the Darcy Room', eh?'

William turned to stare out of the window. He had been in Oxford for a mere two hours, and already he was bored.

`You look mighty reflective. Don't you like your view?'

`Charles!' William could not help smiling, as he caught sight of his friend Charles Bingley, who had appeared in the open doorway.

`Of course I like it. Come in, come in. Would you like a drink?'

`Aah, the good times are back,' Charles laughed, throwing himself into William's armchair and upsetting a pile of folders in the process.

`Oops, clumsy old me. I hope those don't contain your dissertation!'

He shuffled them back together, only upsetting their order even more. William inwardly groaned to see his carefully arranged accounts thrown into disarray, but said nothing. He did not want to get off on a bad start with possibly his only Oxford friend he was genuinely glad to see.

`I haven't had time to get ice, or limes, yet,' he said, noting that his voice sounded a little colder than before. Don't be a prick, Darcy. He didn't do it on purpose.

`Never mind any of that! Have you located the gin yet?' Charles walked over to the boxes that William had left in storage, and began rummaging around in them.

`Yes! I have it here. Just ... leave that.'

Heaven help me, he thought. I love this man, but he will drive me round the bend.

`Excellent, excellent.' Charles beamed at him. `So - had a good summer?'

`Yes, Italy was lovely.'

`Georgiana getting on alright?'

`Yes, she is doing very well, thanks. She got very tanned. Here you go.'

Charles took the glass from his hand and winked at him.

`First gin `n tonic of the year, my boy. To many more to come!'

William raised his glass to Charles' and smiled, indulging his friend. `I'm sure you needn't worry about that.'

`Thailand was fabulous,' Charles volunteered, and launched into a lyrical, if incoherent, description of his holidays. William watched him, barely listening, but entertained by his good humour and enthusiasm, and his complete lack of concern as to whether his account was interesting or not.

Charles was never worried about such things. He always felt completely at ease, with anyone, anywhere. He was one of those people it was just impossible to dislike, unless one was absolutely determined to dislike people just because they were likeable.

`Is Caroline here yet?' William asked, when Charles paused to take a sip of his drink.

`Oh! That's right! Yes, she is, actually, and she asked me to tell you that she's wanting to go punting in, oh', he glanced at his watch, `ten minutes or so, since it's such gorgeous weather. I have to go, of course, so that means that you'll have to go too.'

`I don't know, Charles, I've only just arrived ...'

`Oh, come on, don't be such an old man! You know it'll be fun. I'll provide the strawberries and champagne if you bring the glasses. Caroline would never forgive me if you didn't come.'

William shrugged, half-annoyed, half-glad to be dragged out of his room. It was just hard to refuse Charles anything. He could be as persuasive as an excitable puppy begging for a walk.

He felt considerably better as they walked down the High Street in the glaring sunshine, carrying a picnic basket with the half-chilled champagne that Charles had thoughtfully taken from William's ever-stocked fridge. Charles was skipping ahead of him, stuffing strawberries into his mouth and now and then turning around and grinning boyishly at him, as if he was worried that William might disappear if he didn't keep checking up on him.

As they walked down the steps at Magdalen Bridge, they were greeted by a somewhat shrill voice:

`There you are, Charles. What took you so long? I said three o'clock!'

Caroline emerged from the shadows, dressed, as ever, in what William assumed to be the latest fashion, and some kitten heels that were most impractical for punting.

`Ah, you've brought the dashing delectable Darcy himself. Come here, gorgeous.'

A cloud of expensive perfume hit him in the face as she made a great show of kissing him on both cheeks.

`Ah, lovely. You look so handsome. I see bella Italia suited you well.'

He smiled, embarrassed by her extravagant praise.

`Hello, Caroline.'

She pouted.

`No frown, darling. Why so downcast? I know this old place is nothing like RRRoma, but let's get you onto the river and you'll feel better in no time!'

He grimaced.

`Get on with it, then.'

Chapter 2

Half an hour later, as he was lazily stretched out on some cushions, watching the river glide past in the dappled sunlight, a glass of champagne perilously balanced in his hand, and with Caroline Bingley feeding him strawberries with her perfectly manicured fingers, he had to admit being back in Oxford was not so bad.

He sighed contently and closed his eyes.

`You must be hot, sweetie. Let me cool you down a bit.'

Before he knew what was happening, Caroline had undone the top two buttons of his light summer shirt.

Bending down until her lips almost touched his neck, she blew teasingly over his skin, and then ran her finger over the outside of her glass and traced the cold condensation along the curve of his collarbone.

He sat up, spilling his champagne, and pushed her away.

`Caroline ...'

She laughed.

`Oh, Will. Ever the prude.'

A flash of sunlight between the trees blinded him temporarily, and he felt irritated, with Caroline for breaking his pleasant languor, and with himself for being so touchy.

He did not like Caroline Bingley, exactly. She was just always there. Not only was she Charles' older sister, but she was in William's year, so he had become accustomed to seeing her practically every day.

He did not question her presence. She was certainly sophisticated, good-looking and intelligent, and well, she was just part of his set. But he never felt quite at ease around her. There was something artificial, even shrewd, about her, and the attention she invariably lavished on him made him uncomfortable.

To all intents and purposes she had her sights set on him, he could see that, yet after all this time he still wondered whether she actually liked him, or only liked what he was: rich, handsome, everybody's golden boy.

Not that it mattered. His heart was utterly untouched by her. He had tried to feel more, thinking how convenient it was, she being Charles' sister - he certainly liked Charles, and Caroline never seemed to venture too far from Charles' company - but he just could not muster up any warmer feelings. He had taken her to the occasional party, but that was all.

Sometimes, he felt a vague sense of unease about it all. Here he was, in his fourth year, twenty-four years old, and not only still single, which wasn't so unusual, but completely ignorant of love.

Of course, he'd had his flings - he could hardly help it - and sex was enjoyable, but he had never felt more than a passing physical interest in his girlfriends, if one could call them that.

Charles, on the other hand, was madly in love every five minutes, and every so often announced that he had found `the One'.

Although William disdained a heart that was won so easily, he secretly felt a stab of jealousy every time he saw his friend's arm wound tightly around some girl's waist, or even when Charles knocked on his door in the middle of the night, drunk, sobbing, and clutching his broken heart.

That depth of feeling was simply alien to him, and he doubted whether he would ever experience anything like it. Here was a town full of delectable women, and he had sampled some of the best - yet walked away unaffected.

He did not think he was a cold man, but perhaps certain events in his past, and the necessity to stay standing in the face of adversity, had made him less susceptible to the lighter pleasures of life.

He had only just started his first term at Cambridge, fully enjoying his newfound freedom, when that awful phone-call had come.

His father, his only remaining parent, had suffered a heart attack while out walking his dog, and his condition, William was told, was `very alarming'.

How furious he had been to discover, once he had rushed home, that they had lied to him: Mr. Darcy had died on the spot. While he sat on the train, biting his nails and cursing the state of the railways, his father's cold body had been collected by the undertaker.

`We didn't want you to find out in Cambridge, not without anyone there to hold you if you needed it,' Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, had said, with typical warmth and simplicity, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

But he had not allowed anyone to hold him.

How the weight of responsibility had crashed down on his shoulders.

At nineteen, he had suddenly become solely responsible for the house, the estate, the staff, the investments, and, most importantly, his younger sister.

How could he give way to his own grief when Georgiana, now orphaned, clung to him like a parent?

How could he think about himself, about his own life, when so many, and so much, depended on him?

Of course, his studies had to be abandoned. There was nothing else to do. He moved back to Derbyshire, and started the painful process of filling his father's shoes.

Truly grateful had he then felt for what he had only recently bitterly resented: Mr. Darcy's decision to defer the start of his studies for a year, so that he might learn `the business of the estate'.

The older man had considered it his duty to acquaint William with all that he would one day inherit, and - perhaps not without foresight - had insisted on doing so sooner rather than later, before university and the outside world rendered the already strongly independent spirit of his son impervious to his father's wishes.

William had loved his father too well to rebel, but he had hated the dreary year of learning the accounts, being taught about investments, and supervising the staff, when all of his school friends were either at university or travelling abroad.

The only thing that had made staying at home worthwhile was the chance to be with his younger sister, then only ten years old, whose gentle, affectionate company he had sorely missed at Eton.

As his mother had died when Georgiana was just a baby, she was the only female - apart from Mrs. Reynolds - he knew intimately, and he certainly did feel lonely at times in the all-male environment of school.

He could only imagine what Georgiana's childhood years had been like, alone in the great house with her loving but taciturn father, who refused to replace his beloved wife with a nanny for his daughter.

Small wonder she was so fond of animals. They had been practically her only company.

Thank heavens for the invaluable Mrs. Reynolds, whose kind nature had ensured that Georgiana did not grow up completely bereft of womanly affection and guidance.

Even when Georgiana started attending school, shyness and social awkwardness had prevented her from making many friends.

It had pained William to see, when he came home for the holidays, that solitude had made Georgiana so timid and ill at ease in company that she had become quite afraid of her older brother, and it always took her several days before she could let go of her reserve around him.

Yet despite all this, the attachment between brother and sister was very deep, and, if nothing else, William had enjoyed being able to spend time with Georgiana, both for his own sake and hers.

Now, death's cruel thunderbolt had thrown them together once more, and the duty of looking after his bereaved sister weighed heavily on William.

He had done his best. He had inherited his father's cool head for business, and with the aid of the excellent staff, his takeover of the estate had been smoother than anybody could have foreseen. He was quick to learn, quick to improve, and, unlike his father, did not hesitate to ask for help, or to hire people to assist him.

As far as Georgiana was concerned, when the first shock of bereavement was over, William had thought it best that she should be sent to a boarding school. He considered it the only sensible thing to do under the circumstances. Georgiana now had neither father nor mother, and he felt himself unequal to the task of raising a young girl.

Besides, Georgiana's excessive shyness would certainly not be helped by her being shut into the great house in Derbyshire, much as she loved it. It was high time she saw some more of the world than her brother, the staff and her pets.

William had taken great care in selecting a school for her, and had finally decided upon St. Catherine's School for Girls in Edinburgh. Georgiana had liked it there when they went to visit, and it had seemed like a friendly environment.

A year had passed, and everything was more or less in order - sufficiently so for William to turn the occasional tentative thought to his studies again.

He could never contemplate going back to Cambridge. The dreadful memories and unfulfilled potential associated with that place had made it unbearable to him.

Yet, he wanted to study. He longed for a life like that of others. He was too young to be content with running his estate. He wanted to be carefree, to see people of his own age, to get drunk, to be irresponsible.

Perhaps that was no longer possible. But he refused to give up his own youth so easily.

And now, with his father no longer there to pressurise him into pragmatic decisions, he would be free to study whatever he wanted. There was no reason why he should continue studying Economics, a subject he did not particularly like, and with which he was confronted daily anyway.

The estate was in hand, and he could come home whenever he was needed.

Georgiana was settled at school, and seemed happy. He had promised to visit her often.

So, at the grand old age of twenty-one, slightly jaded, slightly cynical, slightly embittered, but desperately eager for a new experience, William Darcy became a student of Classics at Oxford's Pemberley College.

Chapter 3


`Lizzy?! Lizzy, where are you?'

Elizabeth Bennet's head jerked up at the sound of her mother's voice. For a moment, she had actually managed to lose herself in her novel and forget all about the world around her.

Sighing, she closed her book and carefully peeled the college chaplain's cat off her lap, where it was curled up, purring contentedly.

`Sorry, puss, you have to go. I know, I know, I don't like it either.'

She swung her feet off the bench and put the cat down on the grass, giving it a parting caress as it stalked away.

`I'm coming, mum!' she called, slipping her book into her shoulder-bag and twisting her hair into a ponytail.

She entered the code for the door to staircase 14 and stepped inside, the cool air descending pleasantly onto her skin after the heat of the sun.

As she walked up the stairs to her new room, Elizabeth felt a momentary tug of annoyance at her mother's atrocious planning, coming to visit her in her very first weekend at Oxford, just when she was supposed to be making new friends and getting to know the city. But it couldn't be helped. Her mother always did exactly as she pleased, with very little regard to her daughter's or anyone else's wishes.

`Oh, there you are,' Mrs. Bennet said, rather impatiently, as Elizabeth appeared. `I was just about to call you.'

She snapped shut her new, bright pink mobile phone and stuffed it into her fake Burberry handbag, from which she took a plastic perfume bottle.

`Where have you been?'

Elizabeth had to restrain herself not to cough as Mrs. Bennet sprayed herself liberally with cheap patchouli, although she did hold up her hand when her mother threatened to do the same to her.

`No, thanks. I was outside in the quad, reading.'

`Reading!' Mrs. Bennet said contemptuously, spitting the word out as it were dirty. `You've always got your nose in those bloody books. It'll ruin your eyes, you know, and you'll be sorry when you have to wear glasses.'

Elizabeth sighed, and smiled.

`I am at university now, mum. I'm supposed to be reading.'

`I don't know what you need university for, anyway. You're far too bookish as it is. You'll never get a boyfriend this way.'

Elizabeth could not help but laugh.

`Really, mum, even clever girls have been known to get boyfriends.'

Her mother sniffed.

`Men don't like clever women, and that's a fact. And why do you need all those degrees, anyway? You're better off finding a man with some money than with all your books and learning. They won't pay the rent, you know.'

Elizabeth only smiled, and said nothing.

This was invitation enough for Mrs. Bennet.

`All that money to go to bloody university, and for what? To slave away as a teacher in a school somewhere? Nobody is waiting for you and your English degree. I don't know! You'll come crawling back to me, and you know I can't support you ...'

`I thought you wanted to go shopping?' Elizabeth interrupted, trying to steer her mother away from an argument they'd had at least twenty times before.

`Yes! We have to get you some proper clothes! You'll have lots of dinners and balls to go to, and you can't go wearing those eternal jeans of yours, you know. You need some proper dresses, and shoes too. I know you, you'd only go in your flip-flops. I won't have posh English folk looking down on my daughter.'

Elizabeth sighed, knowing that she had to yield to her mother in some respects, if only to keep the peace.

`Alright then, but nothing too ridiculous. I don't have any money, remember?'

Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth for an acerbic reply, but was silenced by Elizabeth's phone.

`Hi, Lizzy, it's Charlotte.'

`Charlotte! How are you?'

`Fine, fine. How is your mother?'

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

`We're just about to go shopping for some proper attire for me to survive the trials and tribulations of Oxford society.'

`Oh, I was going to ask you to come out for a picnic, as the weather is so beautiful.'

`Oh!' Elizabeth glanced at her mother. `That sounds lovely. I suppose I could come over for an hour or so. Shall I come by at about three?'

`Sure, see you then. Enjoy the shopping!'

Elizabeth groaned.



***



Elizabeth looked at herself in the dressing room mirror, at her flushed face, dishevelled hair and the horribly tight and low-cut dress her mother had insisted she try on.

`But mum, I can't breathe in this dress,' she complained, vainly trying to pull the top of the dress a bit higher.

Mrs. Bennet slapped her hands away.

`Just leave it! Would it kill you to show some cleavage? I think this is a lovely dress.'

`Mum, I look like a sausage bursting out of its skin. If I showed any more cleavage, I'd be arrested for indecent exposure. The green dress was nice.'

`The green dress,' her mother sneered. `Nobody will ever notice you in green, you know. It doesn't stand out, and God knows, you need all the help you can get.'

Elizabeth bit her lip, but decided to hold her tongue.

`Well, you wouldn't be bad-looking, you know, if you would only make the most of what you have! If you put on some make-up and bleached your hair like Jane, you would look fine. But you'll have it your way, as always.'

`Jane is a natural blonde,' Elizabeth said through clenched teeth.

`And those clothes you wear! I know you have good legs, you got them from me, after all, but I hardly ever see them. What those flared trousers of yours hide, is anyone's guess.'

Elizabeth cast a critical glance at her mother's mini-skirt, and maintained a diplomatic silence.

`And look!' Mrs. Bennet pushed Elizabeth's breasts up with her hands. `Not too bad at all. Far better than that flat-chested Charlotte Lucas. If only you would wear clothes that showed off your assets, you wouldn't always be overlooked by the men.'

`Why are you so anxious for me to be noticed by the men, anyway?' Elizabeth muttered, pushing Mrs. Bennet's hands away.

`Sweetheart, this place is crawling with rich men.'

`So?'

`So, rich men need wives. Everybody knows that.'

`I am not here to find a husband, mum. I'm actually here to study. Things have moved on a little since the nineteenth century, even in Oxford.'

`Oh, have it your way. Buy your green dress, and watch Jane get all the men, as always.'



***



`Oh, Charlotte, she is driving me insane.'

Charlotte laughed. `Show me the dress, then.'

Elizabeth pulled her new dress out of its plastic bag and held it up.

`My mum hates it, of course. She thinks it doesn't show enough cleavage, and the colour does nothing for me, apparently.'

Charlotte sniggered. `I think it's lovely.'

`Yes, well, I'm the one who's going to have to wear it, aren't I?'

`Very true. Besides, I don't think your mother's style is quite ... you.'

`Indeed. I don't think it's quite `her' either, but let's not go there.'

Charlotte stretched herself out on the grass, soaking up the late summer sunshine. Like Elizabeth, Charlotte was a fresher at Longbourn College, and the two girls had become friends over the course of Freshers' Week.

Elizabeth liked Charlotte. She was quiet and unassuming, not loud and excitable as some girls she'd met. Both Charlotte and herself had taken a year out before going to university, so neither of them were quite so ecstatic at being away from home and parental control.

`When is she leaving?' Charlotte asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

`On Monday morning. That is, if she survives as long as that. At the moment, it's looking doubtful. You may have to provide me with an alibi.'



***



`This looks like a nice little spot,' Charles said, and immediately flopped down on the grass.

William followed with a bit more decorum. Caroline made sure William was comfortably seated, before she lowered herself down on the grass in as seductive a manner as she possibly could. Stretching her long slim legs out in front of his face, she purred:

`Will, be a darling and take my shoes off for me?'

William only looked at her.

`Alright, alright, no need to glower.' She sighed. `Charles?'

Her brother scowled. `Really, Caroline, I'm not your slave, you know.'

`Oh, be a good boy, please.'

He shrugged. `Alright then.'

William frowned and watched in mild displeasure as his friend bowed to Caroline's wishes, as ever. Charles really was too pliable for his own good.

`Careful with those straps! Those are Gucci's, you know!'

Turning away from the argument between brother and sister, William let his eyes wander over the Meadow. It was busy. A few yards to their left, a couple were kissing passionately, shamelessly, William thought. On their right, two girls were prostrate in the grass, one reading, the other lying on her back with her eyes closed.

For a fleeting second, William wondered what it would be like to be somebody else.

`Another glass of champagne?' Charles interrupted his musings.

`Hmm? Oh, no thanks, I've had enough.'

`Just as well.' Charles grinned. `There only enough left for one. Caroline, I take it you've had enough, too?'

`Charles, you are such a boor.'

William closed his eyes. He felt tired. Another year of this, he thought. God help me.

`You know,' came Charles' voice, `I have a sudden craving for a bop.'

William opened one eye, and grimaced.

`Are you quite sure you should have another drink?' he said.

Charles laughed. `No, really. I can't remember the last time I went to a bop.'

`Neither can I, I'm pleased to say.'

`Yes, I know we're above all that, but I just really feel like being silly today and having a good old-fashioned jump-around. There's one on at Longbourn College.'

`Longbourn?' Caroline sniffed. `Isn't that the one with the awful sixties architecture?'

`No, it's that tiny one near Worcester. Very ancient.'

`Oh yes. The crumbling ruin. Well, I'm not going in there. I'm sure the vibrations from the music would cause the whole thing to collapse. I don't know why they still take in students, the place is unsafe.'

`Honestly, Caroline, anyone would think that Pemberley was the only worthwhile college in Oxford, from the way you carry on,' Charles said, his voice betraying mild annoyance.

`Well, it is!'

William looked away.

For a short while, he had felt glad to be back in Oxford.

He tried to remember how much he had loved it in his first year: the freedom, the lack of responsibility, the silliness of it all. Now, he was just bored. He had been in Oxford too long to pretend it was even remotely like the real world, and escapism no longer pleased him.

The couple to his left had ceased their furious kissing. The girl's head now rested on her boyfriend's chest, and he was stroking her hair. The sight make William feel inexplicably irritated.

On his right, the girl with the book had stopped reading and was clearly listening to their conversation. Her hand rested in her book, marking the page, and her face was turned in his direction. Sunglasses obscured her eyes, so he could not tell whether she was looking at him or not. There was a hint of a smile about her lips.

`What do you say, Will? You won't let me go alone to this bop, will you? Caroline refuses to go.'

`What makes you think I will? I'd rather hammer rusty nails into my eyes.'

Charles burst out laughing. `Oh Will, I wouldn't be as blasé as you, not for all your money. What is the harm in a bit of fun? Are you afraid it would be too much for your old bones? Are your joints too stiff for you to dance? Or maybe you are scared to be exposed as a geriatric amongst all those fresh-faced young `uns?'

William smiled sourly. The eaves-dropping girl next to him was making a very poor attempt at hiding her amusement. She managed to contain the laughter that was evidently bubbling up inside of her, although the corners of her mouth twitched dangerously. Her obvious mirth nettled him.

`Alright, I'll come, if it's the only way to shut you up. Somebody must keep an eye on you, after all. But don't expect me to get dressed up.'

`Aah, but the theme is `fruit and veg' ...'

`Don't push your luck.'



***



`Lizzy?' Charlotte said, pushing herself up on her elbows.

`You will be able to come to the bop tonight, won't you? I wouldn't like to go without you.'

Elizabeth turned to her friend, smiling broadly.

`Are you joking? I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

Chapter 4

`A gin and tonic, please,' William put a five pound note on the bar.

`What?' A girl wearing an orange top and earrings in the shape of carrots leaned over the bar, turning her ear in his direction.

`Gin and tonic!' he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the music.

`Sorry, we're all out of gin! Only beer bottles left.'

`I'll have a beer, then.'

Huddled in a corner of the small bar, sipping his cheap, luke-warm beer half-heartedly, William couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to come to this bop.

Longbourn College's bar and common room seemed packed to at least twice their maximum capacity, and then some. The windows were completely steamed up, and he was sweating, despite the fact that he was standing still.

Always uncomfortable in crowds, William felt especially out of place amongst the barely-old-enough-to-drink revellers, clad in exotic costumes that could generally only be connected to the theme of the night by a great effort of the imagination.

Somebody dressed like a giant banana smashed into him, pushed by his undoubtedly inebriated friends.

`Sorry mate!' the banana shouted, as William shook his spilled beer from his hands.

Cursing under his breath, William fought his way through the packed corridor to the common room, where it took him several minutes to locate Charles, hard to miss in a bright green t-shirt emblazoned with a large lemon. He was jumping around with more enthusiasm than grace, and surrounded by a group of obviously amused girls.

Caroline, who had quickly changed her mind about not attending the bop when she heard William was going, was standing a little way off, talking very fast to her best friend, Louisa, and seemingly not in the slightest bit disturbed by the music.

`Charles. Charles!'

`Will! What happened to you?'

`I'm going now.'

`What?'

`I'm going now!'

`What?'

William took Charles by the arm, and pulled him aside. Finding no refuge from the music, he indicated to his friend to follow him, and stepped outside, into the quad. It was still busy here, with lots of smokers milling around and newly-formed couples seeking the cover of darkness, but at least the boom of the music was muted.

`I'm off, Charles. I've had enough.'

Charles' face fell. `Oh, don't go. I'm having such a good time!'

`Well, you don't have to leave, just because I am.'

`Come on, Will, stay a little. You've only been here half an hour.'

`An hour and a half, actually.'

`Well, whatever. Of course you're not having fun, if you insist on walking around on your own and glowering in that fearsome manner of yours. You're scaring the kids! Just come and join my group! They're the nicest girls I've ever met. You were there when we started talking, I don't know why you wandered off.'

William did not care to reply to this, as it would mean admitting that he, William Darcy, was jealous of Charles Bingley. It irked him that Charles was so much better than he was in company, and Charles' good-natured advice annoyed him.

Social events were never a joy to him, but parties like these were simply torture. Charles, however, loved them, and he positively flourished. William was acutely aware of the contrast between them, feeling his own deficiencies deeply, and Charles' concern and well-meaning attempts to draw him out of his shell in public only made things worse.

Within ten minutes of their entering, Charles had been chatting animatedly to two girls, laughing and joking as if he'd known them all his life, while William stood by in determined silence, quietly hating himself, Charles, the girls and everyone around him.

Arrogant indifference had become his shield. He simply didn't have Charles' easy manners, nor did he much care to speak to perfect strangers just because it was the established convention at such events. He had no talent for small-talk, and did not like being on the receiving end of it either.

Besides, he knew himself to be an object of interest to many in the crowd on account of his money and position. Oxford was only a small pond, and he was a big fish.

He hated to see girls staring at him, imparting the facts of his life and fortune to each other in excited whispers, and then coming up to him with greedy smiles. He had no idea to react to this, and had settled, for want of a better response, for cold rudeness as the most effective way of repelling this kind of unwanted attention.

Deeply reserved man that he was, there was no level on which this blatant gold-digging and gossipy interest was not painful to him. It revolted him to think of the private events of his life bandied about so thoughtlessly, his father's death and his subsequent inheriting of the estate either being considered a blessing, which was intolerable, or a reason for vulgar pity, which was perhaps worse.

As a result, he had become distrustful of friendliness in general, always suspecting an ulterior motive, unless it came in the shape of such genuine abundant good humour as Charles'.

But apart from all this, there was another reason for his dark mood this evening.

Of the two girls Charles had started talking to, one was extraordinarily beautiful, a stunning combination of long blond hair, large blue eyes and soft pink lips.

This conventional beauty alone might not have been enough to capture William's interest, if there had not also been an air of genuine, disarming sweetness about her, which made even him feel at ease.

However, it was only to be expected that, faced with a choice between friendly, charming Charles and grimly taciturn William, she naturally felt attracted to the former. Soon enough, the two had hit the dance-floor together, and William had been left alone with the other girl, not bad-looking, perhaps, but nothing compared to her friend.

William, who would rather have nothing at all if he could not have exactly what he wanted, certainly had no interest in her, and had barely looked at her twice. After standing together in awkward silence for a few moments, she had rejoined her other friends, leaving him to the enjoyment of his dissatisfied feelings.

With even Caroline, who could usually be relied upon to provide company, occupied in gossiping with Louisa, there was nothing to do for him except wander around alone and feel increasingly out of place, and angry with Charles for bringing him there.

`What is there for me in your little group? I hate dancing, as you well know, and you have snatched up the only girl worth looking at,' he said, more bitterly than he had intended.

Charles' eyes shone with a fire that was only too familiar to William.

`I can't argue with you there. Jane is absolutely the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Honestly, she's an angel.'

`Why are you wasting your time with me, then?' William said resentfully, trying, not altogether successfully, to hide his jealousy.

`Oh, come on, Darcy. There must be a way that you can enjoy yourself, too. You've paid to get in, and I won't have you leave without at least a little bit of enjoyment.'

`I don't see how that will happen. They're out of gin.'

Charles shook his head in mock-exasperation.

`Honestly, sometimes I think you are determined to have a bad time. Why don't you just come back with me to Jane and her friends? They really are lovely girls, nothing to be afraid of, and very attractive, too.'

`Charles, no offence, but you would call even a rabid bull attractive, so forgive me if your estimation carries no weight with me.'

`It's true, though!' Charles cried, not in the slightest bit hurt by William's sarcasm.

`You met Jane's friend, Elizabeth, yourself. You can't say she's not pretty. I really think you'd like her, if you gave her a chance. Clever girl. More your kind of humour - at least, half of it goes over my head. Excellent dancer, too.'

William tried to visualise the other girl, but honestly could not remember anything except that she was not a patch on Jane.

`She wouldn't shatter any mirrors, I suppose, but she'd have to be significantly prettier to tempt me onto the dance-floor. Besides, I suspect that you're only trying to interest me in this Elizabeth so as to get both of us out of the way of you and Jane. If she was truly attractive, you wouldn't be trying to sell her to me. I'm sorry, Charles, but I really don't fancy joining the Wallflower Appreciation Society tonight. You'll have to find somebody else to entertain your cast-offs.'

Before he had finished speaking, he noticed Charles' face change expression, and his eyes dart to a space just behind him. Turning around, he found himself face to face with none other than the girl under discussion.

Her expression clearly showed that she had heard and understood every word he had said. To his surprise, she merely flashed him a smile and walked away, keeping her eyes boldly on him as if to challenge his disparaging remarks.

He watched her join another girl and whisper something to her. The other girl burst out laughing, and both turned to stare at him in amused scorn, an experience completely novel to him. He now recognised them as the two girls who had occupied the space beside them in the Meadow that afternoon, and mortification began to seep into his brain.

Embarrassed at his faux-pas, he felt his face redden, and he quickly turned away. No girl had ever looked at him like that, with such self-assured disdain, and yet such mirth. He felt most uncomfortable. Never in his life had he been regarded as an object of ridicule, yet he was sure that that was exactly how she thought of him. For some reason, the thought pained him, especially as he could not deny that he had deserved her contempt.

`Ah, William, Charles, there you are.'

For once, William was genuinely glad to see Caroline. She offered a most welcome distraction. His delight was to be short-lived, however, as she immediately embarked on a long tirade against Longbourn College and its inhabitants.

`What an uncivilised place this is,' she complained, taking a small mirror out of her handbag and re-applying her lipstick. `Look! My shoes are ruined, and some Neanderthal stepped on my toes. Not that anybody here would have the slightest idea how much these shoes cost. They all dress like peasants.'

`Caroline, it is a bop,' Charles countered.

`I don't know why the music has to be so loud, or why there needs to be so much alcohol. I saw a girl throw up in the toilets! Bops would be so much more pleasant without all the noise and the booze, so that one could actually have a conversation.'

Charles laughed.

`Much more pleasant, I'm sure, but not quite so much like a bop.'

Painfully aware that Elizabeth and her friend were still within earshot, William glanced in her direction, only to encounter a look of such defiance that he turned away immediately.

He gulped down his beer and kept his eyes steadily on Caroline, who continued her criticism of Longbourn College and its bop, students, buildings, location, fortune and academic distinction, blissfully unaware of any unsympathetic listeners. After a long enough interval, he made his excuses to Charles and Caroline, and went to collect his coat.

Involuntarily, his eyes travelled to Elizabeth as he waited in the queue. She was now talking to two male friends and seemed utterly oblivious of him.

Only now, he noticed she was wearing a pretty red dress, on which she had stuck small yellow spots in imitation of the surface of a strawberry. Her henna-red hair had been decorated with a few green leaves, like a crown. He found himself appreciating the elegant originality of her costume, despite his usual disdain for fancy dress. She actually looked quite nice.

As he was putting his coat on, her gaze fell on him, and he felt a strange jolt of fear and shame when she raised her eyebrows, as if to emphasise the cowardice of his hasty retreat.

He cycled back to Pemberley as fast as he could, feeling oddly foolish and humiliated, a sensation which lasted at least to the locked wooden door that gave entry to Pemberley's grounds.

Only when he was seated in his easy chair, a perfectly chilled gin and tonic in his hand, did he feel master of himself again, and confident enough to dismiss Elizabeth and her fiery eyes from his life. He hoped never to see her again.

Chapter 5


`Ah, my feet are killing me!' Charlotte sighed, and threw herself on Jane's bed. `What time is it?'

`Ten past three,' Elizabeth said, putting the kettle on. `Would you like a cup of tea?'

`Lizzy, I love you. Yes, please.'

`What a mess that was,' Jane said from the corner, where she was taking her make-up off in front of the mirror. `I'm sure Rick and Rebecca were very grateful that you helped them tidy up.'

`Well, it seemed a bit harsh to leave them to it, after they had organised everything and all.'

Elizabeth poured three mugs of tea, and put one down for Jane.

`There you go, you lucky lass.'

`What do you mean?' Jane asked, innocently.

`Oh, I don't know, what could I possibly mean?' Elizabeth teased, handing Charlotte a mug of tea. `Any thoughts, Charlotte?'

Charlotte frowned and put her finger to her lips in mock-concentration. `You wouldn't by any chance be thinking of the lovely and most attractive Charles Bingley, would you?'

`What, you mean that vile man who stole Jane away from us at the start of the night and wouldn't leave her in peace until she'd given him her phone number? Never!'

`Oh, stop!' Jane was blushing, but she couldn't hide a smile.

`Oh, stop!' Elizabeth repeated. `Isn't that what you told him, when you were snogging him at the door?'

`Oh, stop?' Charlotte said. `Wasn't it `More, Charlie, more!'?'

`No point denying it, Jenny. Your bright red colour says it all.'

Jane could only smile in embarrassed delight.

`But what about you, Miss Strawberry?' Charlotte said. `Not pretty enough to tempt a certain gentleman onto the dance-floor, eh? Poor you.'

`Ah yes, the shame of being rejected by the king of snobs,' Elizabeth said airily. `What did you say his name was?'

`William Darcy. He's Charles' friend,' Jane said apologetically.

`He may be that, but he is without doubt the most arrogant person ever to have walked the earth. With the exception of that girl he had with him, perhaps.'

`That's Caroline, Charles' sister,' Jane said. `I don't think she's that bad, really. She was very nice to me, anyway.'

`Jane, you should have heard what she said about Longbourn. In her little world, anybody who doesn't study at Pemberley is not fit to lick her Gucci shoes. I'm sure she and that William Darcy are well suited for each other. Imagine what adorable specimens their children will be. They'd better put their names down for Pemberley now, just to be sure. Arabella and Roderick, or something horrible like that.'

Charlotte laughed, and sipped her tea.

`He's well fit though, William Darcy,' she said, dreamily. `And rich too. Mmm.'

`Charlotte, you are so shallow,' Elizabeth said. `A man only needs to be tall, dark and handsome, and you turn to mush, never mind if he is also mute, a semi-idiot, or borderline psychopathic. Not me. I could never like a man for his good looks alone. My ideal man must also be arrogant, up his own arse and boring. Thankfully, William Darcy fits all of our criteria. I therefore declare him The Perfect Man, and I humbly bow before his judgement.'

Charlotte giggled.

`And yet,' Elizabeth continued, pacing up and down the room like an orator, `he's thoughtful too. Look at the way he gently crushed my pride. What girl would not like to discover publicly she's not pretty enough for Oxford's most eligible bachelor? It was most attentive of him to demolish my self-confidence so completely. He must be in league with my mother.'

Charlotte smiled in sympathy, and extended her hand to Elizabeth, now seated on the floor, her back against the bed.

`Anyway,' Elizabeth said, `I am delighted that he lived up to expectations and is exactly the sort of rich, supercilious English snob I had expected to find here. I would tell him that he confirmed all my prejudice against Oxford, but sadly he will probably never be seen within a 100 yard radius of me again, unless he is overcome by a sudden desire to join the Wallflower Appreciation Society.'

Even Jane burst out laughing, although she could not help coming to William Darcy's defence.

`I just can't believe he said that about you, Lizzy. Are you sure he was talking about you?'

`Well, I could be mistaken. He might have been referring to another not-pretty-enough Elizabeth, who had to be distracted so as to give another Jane a fair shot at her admirer.'

Jane shook her head.

`I'm sure he didn't mean it like it sounded.'

`I'm sure he did. Honestly, Jane, if there was any way of making his words less ego-destroying, you can rest assured I would have discovered it by now. The guy would make Marilyn Monroe believe she looked like bloody Jane Eyre. He has a remarkable talent.'

She pouted, running her hands over the skirt of her dress.

`And after I spent an hour on my costume, too. I certainly didn't see any better looking strawberries in the room, so I don't know what he was complaining about.'

`Maybe he's allergic to red fruit.' Charlotte offered.

`Especially those that are other people's cast-offs. Well, my dears, I'm off. If rejection by William Darcy wasn't enough excitement for one weekend, I've also got my loving mother to contend with. Jane, my love, sweet dreams of your wonderful Charles. Charlotte, no drooling over rich arrogant bastards. I'm going to bed and nurse my battered pride.'

`Try not to shatter any mirrors on your way,' Charlotte called after her.

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue, and closed the door.


***


If William Darcy had hoped to avoid Elizabeth in future, he was to be sorely disappointed, as the very day after the Longbourn bop brought them face to face again.

Having got up late, Charles and William met for a coffee and then sauntered into town at their leisure. As they passed Blackwell's, William remembered that he needed to buy some books, and Charles, having nothing better to do, decided to accompany him.

William saw Elizabeth as soon as he stepped into the shop. She was standing by the `ideal gifts' table, clutching a small pile of books to her chest and accompanied by the most ghastly woman he had ever had the misfortune to behold.

Although she was in her mid-forties, she was dressed as if she was at least twenty-five years younger. Her ample bosom was squeezed into a bright pink latex top, almost indecently low-cut and accentuating her anything-but-flat belly in a most unnecessary way. She was wearing a very short leopard-print skirt and a fake leather jacket. Six-inch white stilettos graced her feet, and her ankle was adorned by a faded tattoo. She was wearing a quantity of fake gold jewellery so bright that William found himself involuntarily squinting. A mass of peroxide blonde hair was piled high onto her head. Her features might possibly have been attractive, if they had not been covered by a thick layer of fake tan and garish make-up.

It was hardly credible that she had actually dressed like that on purpose. She reminded one forcibly of an ageing prostitute.

William's immediate impulse was to duck behind a pillar and quietly leave the shop, but unfortunately Charles had spotted Elizabeth too.

`Look, it's Elizabeth, Jane's friend!' he said happily, eagerly stepping towards her. William had no choice but to follow meekly, knowing he'd look even more like a prat if he tried to escape now.

Elizabeth, however, did not notice them, as she and the ghastly woman were obviously in the midst of an argument.

`Look, mum,' she said to the other woman, clearly struggling to stay calm. `I'm only asking you if I can borrow a tenner off you. I need to get these books for my course and I don't have enough money right now. I will pay you back as soon as I get a job.'

William noted, with some surprise, that Elizabeth's voice was much softer than he had imagined, and that she spoke with a very gentle, quite pleasing Scottish accent, until he remembered, somewhat guiltily, that he had not actually heard her speak yet.

`Come on, mum, ten pounds. You'll get it back today. I'll borrow it off Jane or Charlotte.'

`I'm not giving you any money,' Elizabeth's mother said, folding her arms with a very self-satisfied air. `You're the one who said you could go to university and pay for it all by yourself. I knew you'd come running to me for money sooner or later, but I'm not giving you a penny. You'll just have to learn the value of money the hard way.'

William found it hard to believe that this woman could actually be related to Elizabeth. Everything about her seemed to deny the fact.

They didn't look remotely alike. They were as different as summer and autumn. Elizabeth was slender and elegant, yet her mother could only be described as full-figured. The latter's almost orange skin and unnaturally blonde locks contrasted most unfavourably with her daughter's porcelain-pale complexion and deep red hair.

Although the older woman's blatant sensuality would definitely hold appeal for some men, it was as if she'd gone out of her way to make herself look cheap. Next to her gaudy Christmas ornament of a mother, Elizabeth looked like a paragon of good taste, dressed as she was in a simple light green cord jacket and flared jeans. William's eyes flicked from Mrs. Bennet's killer stilettos to Elizabeth's feet, and he was strangely relieved to see that she was wearing plain red flip-flops.

Moreover, while Elizabeth's accent was soft, her mother's was so broad and harsh as to render it almost unintelligible, and her penetrating voice did it no favours either.

Everything about this woman grated on William's senses, not in the least her incomprehensible meanness towards her daughter.

`I would have had enough money if you hadn't made me buy that bloody dress!' Elizabeth hissed.

Whether to spare Elizabeth an argument or simply because he was oblivious to any tension, Charles chose this moment to announce their presence to her.

`Elizabeth!' he cried, waving enthusiastically at her.

She started, her face momentarily betraying a fear of having been overheard. She looked quickly from Charles to William, and for a second, William saw the same spirit flashing in her dark eyes as he had the night before. It was almost as if she was daring him to find fault with her again. Then she smiled at Charles, and suddenly looked far prettier than he would have given her credit for.

`Charles! How nice to see you again! This is my mother.'

Without betraying the slightest hint of surprise or abhorrence, Charles extended his hand to Elizabeth's mother, who shook it almost brazenly, eyeing him with obvious, and offensive, interest.

`Annie Bennet.'

`Charles Bingley. Lovely to meet you,' Charles said, with such sincerity that it was hard to doubt him. `Making sure Elizabeth is well settled in, I take it. Are you staying long?'

`She's leaving tomorrow morning,' Elizabeth said, rather quickly.

Seeing Mrs. Bennet stare quite openly at William, Charles introduced him, and William was forced to shake hands with her.

`Did I introduce you to William last night?' Charles asked, turning to Elizabeth.

She smiled. `Perhaps, but it was hard to hear anything. Unless, of course, you were standing outside.'

William chose not to meet her eyes. Mrs. Bennet, however, shifted the burden of mortification back to her daughter, by loudly exclaiming:

`Oh, this is Jane's Charles! Lucky Jane, to land herself such a handsome and wealthy boyfriend. Your father is in oil, isn't he?'

`Er, yes,' Charles said, in confusion, but looking quite pleased to be described as `Jane's boyfriend'.

Elizabeth bit her lip and looked at the ground.

Although disgusted with Mrs. Bennet's vulgarity, William felt rather sorry for Elizabeth. He could only imagine how ashamed she must be.

`Well, I keep telling Lizzy that she should make more of an effort with the men, but there you go! She's lost out to Jane again. I don't suppose you have any interest in my daughter?'

Now it was William's turn to blush. He stammered something unintelligible, stealing a glance at Elizabeth. She, too, was bright red, and staring determinedly at the ground.

`Well, I don't blame you. Gentlemen prefer blondes, they say! I've tried to tell Lizzy nobody likes redheads, but she does insist on dyeing her hair that funny colour!'

`I think we'd better get going, mum,' Elizabeth said, with remarkable self-control, putting down her books. `I think I'll get these another time. Good to see you again, Charles.'

Without a backward glance, she escorted her mother outside. For several moments, William stood there, looking after her and wondering what gentlemen, if presented with such an alternative, could possibly prefer the blonde.

`Will!' Charles called from the bottom of the staircase to the upper floors. `Coming?'

William was about to follow him, when his gaze fell on the books Elizabeth had left behind. Just three books, standard Oxford editions, the cheap paperback versions.

`You go ahead, I'll follow in a second,' he said. Without quite knowing why, he picked up the books and walked over to the till.


***


Elizabeth looked at the blue plastic bag, at the three books lying in front of her, at the note in her hand, and did not know what to think.

`There was a message too,' the porter had said, when she went to collect the mysterious parcel that had been waiting for her as she came back from the station.

`Here it is: for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I wrote it down, you see, so I wouldn't forget.'

Elizabeth looked at the porter's note again.

`From your mother. Important: don't mention it to her.'

`Oh yes, you're not to mention it to your mum. A present, I suppose?'

She had nodded absent-mindedly, too astonished to speak.

Now, she sat in her room, turning the books over and over in her hands, wanting, but hardly able, to believe that her mother could have been so thoughtful.

Chapter 6


`Well, Elizabeth,' Dr. Thomas said, handing Elizabeth's essay back to her, `an amusing piece of work, I must say. Of course, your essays are as silly and ignorant as the rest, but I do believe you may be slightly more perceptive than your fellow students. Well, we can live in hope.'

Elizabeth smiled, feeling genuinely pleased. A fortnight's acquaintance with her tutor, Dr. Thomas, had taught her enough about his eccentric ways and unorthodox teaching methods to recognize that this was as close to praise as she could get. Dr. Thomas' character was generally misunderstood in the college, and Elizabeth was one of the few first year students who did not live in mortal fear of his tutorials, peppered as they were by sarcastic comments. He delighted in baffling his students by asking seemingly irrelevant questions, which invariably exposed fatal flaws in the points they had so painstakingly made, and reduced their essays to smoking heaps of rubble.

Elizabeth liked his quick wit and sharp mind. It kept her on her toes.

`So, Miss Bennet,' Dr. Thomas said, peering over his spectacles. `Tell me. How do you find Oxford so far? Have you been mowed down by a cyclist yet? Are your lungs adjusting to the most polluted place in Britain?'

Elizabeth laughed. `I like it very much.'

`Indeed? And what do you make of the natives? A strange race, are they not? Or are you having too much trouble understanding their odd Southern dialect?'

Elizabeth chuckled. Like herself, Dr. Thomas was a Scot, a fact he proudly clung to as an extra factor to set him apart from his colleagues. Elizabeth suspected he deliberately exaggerated his accent in front of nervous freshers, gleefully frightening them with his majestically rolling R's.

`Ach, they're not so bad,' she said. `Except, perhaps, that some people here seem to think that they are above everybody else just because their dad's loaded.'

``Some people'? Do tell, are you speaking of the general populace, or have you caught the contemptuous eye of some Lord or other?'

`Not at all.'

`Don't think I don't recognize a knowing smile when I see one, Miss Bennet.'

`Well, I certainly haven't caught anybody's eye, since that what you seem to be interested in.'

`Insolent girl. Well, Englishmen are not renowned for their good taste, so don't fret.'

`I wouldn't dream of it.'

`Good girl. Now, run along, and leave me in peace.'

Without looking at her again, Dr. Thomas buried himself amongst his books once more, oblivious to Elizabeth's presence before she had even left the room.

As Elizabeth crossed the quad on her way back to her own room, she heard her name being called. Turning around, she saw her friends Lydia and Kitty and a small group of rather good-looking men coming towards her.

`Lizzy!' Lydia, the louder of the two, cried, waving frantically at her. `Come and meet our new friends. They're rowers.' She gave this last piece of information extra emphasis, and as Elizabeth came face to face with the boys' muscled physiques, she was left in no doubt why Lydia and Kitty were so excited about their new `friends'.

`Boys, this is Lizzy. Lizzy, this is Luke, Adam, and George.' Kitty was positively glowing, and Lydia was eyeing the boys with a very mischievous look on her face.

`We were just on our way to the common room. Want to come along?' Lydia asked, giving Elizabeth a penetrating, meaningful stare. Elizabeth could easily guess what was going on in her mind. Three boys, three girls…

`Alright,' she said. `But only for a little while, because I've got a lot of work on.'

`Lizzy is such a good girl,' Lydia sniggered. `It's only Second Week, and she's working away like there's no tomorrow.'

Elizabeth smiled apologetically. `Don't mind Lydia. It's funny how having to pay for your own education makes you appreciate it about ten times more.'

She regretted her words immediately, fearing that they might make her sound bitchy or as if she was fishing for sympathy. George, however, nodded.

`I know what you mean,' he said. `Personally, I would love to be able to study here. But without money, you don't get anywhere.'

`So you're not a student here?' Elizabeth asked, glad of his support, and deciding that George was definitely the best-looking of the lot.

`I wish. No, I'm only visiting my friends. But at least I do get to visit, and sample some of Oxford's delights. It's a place of great beauty.' This last statement was made while looking directly into her eyes, and Elizabeth blushed. He was very handsome indeed.

`Are you staying long?' she asked, trying to sound casual and not betray her obvious interest in his answer.

`Actually, I am. I'm at a bit of a loose end at the moment, and Luke and Adam have been kind enough to offer me their flatmate's room. He's away in Guatemala, doing research.'

`So we'll be seeing more of you.'

`I hope so.' He smiled, and Elizabeth felt her heart jump.

Half an hour later, she left the common room, feeling very pleased with herself. Lydia had looked at her incredulously when she announced that she really had to go - after all, Elizabeth and George were getting on like a house on fire, and wild horses couldn't have dragged Lydia away from a good-looking man like George, not if he had spent only half the attention that he was lavishing on Elizabeth on her.

Indeed, Elizabeth found it very easy to talk to him; it was as if they'd known each other for years. But although she liked him very much, she was not so smitten as to forget that she had better get to work if she did not want to be made a fool of in Dr. Thomas' tutorials. Besides, for all her flirtatiousness, Lydia still had an important lesson to learn: always leave them wanting more …


***


A few days later, Elizabeth was leaning out of her window, looking up at the clouds and assessing the chance of rain. It was Sunday morning, and she and Jane had agreed to go out for a run, but the sky was looking very threatening indeed, and as it had already been raining for several days, the streets and parks were full of muddy puddles.

Dressed in an old white t-shirt and her faded tracksuit bottoms, Elizabeth jogged up the stairs to Jane's room. Undoubtedly, Jane would be wearing a brand spanking new outfit, most likely in one of those baby pastel colours she seemed to favour, and which looked so good on her. But then, Elizabeth reflected, Jane could make anything look good.

She was therefore surprised to find her normally punctual friend still in her pj's, bleary-eyed and pale, and generally looking not at all well.

`I'm sorry, Lizzy,' Jane whispered hoarsely. `I feel really ill. I've been up half the night, coughing.'

As if to demonstrate the truth of this statement, she was immediately seized by a prolonged and painful fit of coughing, which brought tears to her eyes. Elizabeth sat down next to her, and gently held her long hair back while Jane was bent over, struggling to regain her breath.

`Poor dear! Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you anything?'

Despite her wretched state, Jane still managed to smile.

`That's very sweet of you. I think I'm okay. I'm just sorry that you will have to go running alone.'

`Jane, I swear, if you were on your deathbed you'd probably still try to get up and offer your place to someone else. A bad cold is the perfect excuse for extreme selfishness, and you are certainly in need of that. Here, you get back in bed, and I'll make you some tea and a hot water bottle, in case you want it.'

It was a sign of how ill Jane was really feeling, that she meekly crept back under the covers, shivering and coughing. Elizabeth saw to it that she was comfortable, tucking her in and straightening the bed covers.

`Now, I'm going to go and get you some throat pastilles, some honey, and whatever else makes very sick people better. Do you mind if I go for a quick run first, though?'

Jane shook her head, her eyes half-closed.

`I'll try to be quick, and then I'll come and nurse you, and I expect you to complain to your heart's content. That is the established custom when ill, you know. I'll take your key, so that you don't have to open the door for me.'

Perhaps Jane has the right idea, Elizabeth thought, as she stepped into the cold drizzle. Staying in bed suddenly seemed much more appealing than going out into grey, wet Oxford.

Come on, girlie, you're not made of sugar.

She set off at a steady pace, and was soon enjoying the quiet of the streets, which were quite deserted due to the early hour and the state of the weather. Feeling ambitious, she decided to take a jog down to the boathouses, and within a quarter of an hour or so she was running along the river, distracted by the boats and not paying any attention to the path.

`Shit!'

Without looking, she had run straight into a huge puddle. Her trousers were splattered with mud at least as high as her knees, and she felt cold water seeping into her trainers.

`Idiot!' she hissed at herself, pulling her soggy trainers out of the mud and looking down at her stained clothes. A group of powerful-looking girls in rowing gear passed by, avoiding the puddle easily and glancing curiously at her. Aware that she looked slightly silly, and remembering her promise to Jane, Elizabeth decided that it was time to admit defeat, especially as it had started to rain harder.

She felt a little bit self-conscious as she arrived at the supermarket wet, dirty and sweating, but it was not worth the bother going all the way back to Longbourn to change. She quickly went round the shop and was just on her way out, carrying a big bag full of lemons, ginger, honey, cough drops and a few magazines for Jane, when she bumped into none other than Charles Bingley, his sister Caroline, and his friend William Darcy.

Oh, great.

`Elizabeth!' Charles exclaimed, looking absolutely delighted to see her.

She smiled, feeling the disdainful eyes of his two companions on her, and trying to look as if she felt perfectly at ease.

`Out shopping?' Charles asked, as if the supermarket setting and the bag of groceries she was carrying weren't any kind of hint.

`Yes. I'm just getting a few things for Jane. She's ill.'

`Oh?' Elizabeth was pleased to see the look of genuine concern on Charles' face. That boy was falling for Jane. And why not?

`Is she alright? What's wrong with her?' He was certainly making no effort to hide his interest in Jane. Elizabeth found she was liking him more and more.

`Just a bad cold. But she's in a pretty bad state. Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry. I'm just going to run and take these things to her now.'

`You do look a bit … messy,' Caroline said. `I know Longbourn is out in the sticks, but I didn't realize you had to ford a river to get to civilisation.'

Elizabeth pretended to laugh, determined not to show her embarrassment.

`I had a bit of an accident while I was running. Didn't look where I was going.'

`Obviously…' Caroline said, smirking at William. He, however, was staring at Elizabeth.

`Is that all you are wearing?' he said suddenly. Elizabeth almost dropped her bag, she was so astonished to hear him address her.

`Excuse me?'

`Well, it's raining very hard. You're not venturing out dressed only in that?'

Elizabeth was at a loss what to say. Where on earth did this sudden interest in her clothes come from?

`Er, yes, actually. I think I'll survive a bit of rain.'

`You'll get soaked!' Charles observed. `It's not a bit of rain, it's bucketing it down.'

`Well, I'll just run.'

`You won't be able to, not with that bag,' William said.

To her annoyance, Elizabeth had to admit that he had a point.

`Okay, so I'll get soaked.' She shrugged. `It'll be fine.'

`Here.' He folded his umbrella, and held it out to her. `Take that.'

Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes. William Darcy was offering her his umbrella? Was the world coming to an end?

`Oh, no, I couldn't. Honestly, it'll be fine,' she said, noticing that Caroline looked very sour indeed.

`Please, I insist. You'll only end up getting ill too, otherwise.'

There was something in his voice and manner that made it hard to resist him. Besides, her shoes were already wet through, and she was getting cold.

`Alright then. Thanks. I'll make sure you'll get it back.'

She felt very awkward. He looked so serious. Was the guy incapable of smiling?

`Well, I must be going!' she said, smiling as good-naturedly as possible, and ignoring Caroline's black looks.

She walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, successfully resisting the urge to turn around to see if William Darcy's dark eyes were still following her.


***


`Well, well, well!' Charles clapped his friend on the shoulder. `The age of chivalry is not dead, eh?'

Caroline frowned.

`Honestly, Will, you chose a very stupid time to be gallant. Now that you've given your umbrella away to Sweaty Betty over there, how are we going to get home without getting drenched?'

`You and Charles have umbrellas of your own, don't you?' William said curtly.

Caroline chose to ignore this statement.

`Did you see the state of her shoes? And her trousers? Six inches deep in mud, I'm absolutely sure. I don't see why she should go shopping dressed in her pyjamas just because her friend has a cold.'

`I think it's very nice of her to look after Jane,' Charles said.

Caroline ignored him, too.

`Come on, Will,' she pouted. `You must admit that she looked dreadful. I don't know what sensible woman would go running in this weather. She certainly looked the worse for wear.'

`Not at all. Her eyes were brightened by the exercise.'

Caroline spent the rest of their shopping trip in haughty silence, a fact which afforded William a novel kind of satisfaction. He watched her as she impatiently waited for Charles to gather his groceries, looking at her brother with disdain and not lifting a finger to help him.

I don't want you, he thought, and immediately wondered where that flash of insight came from.

He got absolutely soaked on his way back to Pemberley.

Stripping off his wet clothes in his bathroom, he thought of the way Elizabeth Bennet's hand had touched his when she took his umbrella from him.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and smiled quietly to himself.

Chapter 7


Elizabeth was pleased to see Jane looking a little better when she returned to Longbourn. She was sitting up, propped up by a mass of pink cushions, and reading one of her course-books.

Elizabeth wagged a finger at her.

`Jenny… You're ill, you might as well enjoy it. Here, look what I brought you.'

She took the book from her friend's hand, and replaced it with Heat magazine.

`Look. It has pictures of Angelina Jolie's bum, and everything.'

Jane smiled, but did not protest.

`Is that all for me?' she whispered, pointing at the bag Elizabeth was carrying.

`It is indeed! Everything to make sure you will be your lovely self again as soon as possible.'

`You shouldn't have … Can you get my purse from my handbag over there?'

`Oh, no. It's my treat. When I get struck down by flu, you can do the same for me.'

Jane sighed in resignation, and sank back into the cushions.

`Nice brolly,' she said, watching Elizabeth fold up William's umbrella.

`You'll never guess who gave it to me. I bumped into your Mr. Bingley in the supermarket.'

`Charles gave you his umbrella?'

Elizabeth fancied she could see a little colour returning to Jane's face.

`And he's not my Mr. Bingley,' Jane added, fixing her eyes on her hands.

`I'm not so sure. He was very concerned when I told him you were ill.'

`Really?' Jane said, a little too quickly.

`Really. But no, amazingly enough, it wasn't Charles who acted the part of the noble knight. William Darcy came to the aid of this damsel in distress.'

`William Darcy?'

`I'm as astonished as you are. Charles' sister wasn't too pleased about it. If looks could kill, they'd be carrying me out of Sainsbury's in a box now.'

`I'm sure she was just worried about getting wet herself.'

`You think that, and I'll think that she was just annoyed that William's attention was not fixed on her for once.'

`Maybe he likes you,' Jane mused.

`Jane, how can you say that? Shall I remind you of his comments on the night of the bop? I took care to learn them off by heart. I think he must have realised I overheard him, and he was trying to apologise in this roundabout way.'

`Well, that's nice of him, isn't it?'

`I suppose so. He's such a strange guy! He never smiled or anything. He just stared at me. I don't know what he would have done if I'd refused his umbrella. In fact, I was too intimidated to refuse. He was talking to me like he was my dad. Quite disturbing, actually.'

`Well, I think he has redeemed himself. He must have got very wet on his way back.'

`I hope so,' Elizabeth said vindictively, and the girls both laughed.


***


William awoke from a very perplexing dream, sweating and aroused. Disentangling himself from his sheets, he discovered that he'd left the heating on overnight, and that the room was boiling hot.

Throwing his window open and leaning out into the cool air, he took several deep breaths. Watching clouds of steam rise from his mouth, he felt himself slowly leave the realm of fevered dreams and return to the pleasant, calm reality of Pemberley life.

He had been dreaming about Elizabeth Bennet. Or rather, Caroline Bingley and Elizabeth Bennet.

In the confused and illogical world of his dream, he had been having sex with Caroline, when he suddenly realised that Elizabeth was watching him, a mocking, contemptuous look in her eyes.

Those eyes.

William shook his head in irritation, trying to rid himself of the image of Elizabeth as she had looked the day before in the supermarket: messy, wet, dirty; cheeks flushed, lips red, eyes shining.

The contrast with Caroline could not have been greater.

He had always thought Caroline a rather attractive woman and he had believed that, if he wasn't interested in her particularly, that he would probably end up with somebody like her.

All of the girls he'd slept with had been of the `Caroline' model: perfectly groomed, smart, classy, in control. Thoroughbreds. Perfect women.

Elizabeth Bennet was the sort of girl he normally would pay no attention to whatsoever, if he even noticed her existence at all.

That was how it ought to be. There was no shame in admitting that people were different. A girl like Elizabeth could never survive in his world, and he did not even want to contemplate hers. The very idea was laughable.

Then why on earth was he dreaming about her?

And what had possessed him to give a fine quality umbrella away to a grubby girl in sports clothes, and to allow himself to get soaked to the skin on a whim of misplaced chivalry?

Not to mention his foolish, incomprehensible act of charity -paying for books she couldn't afford to buy herself. Why should he care? Why indeed?

Caroline was right. He was being ridiculous. He was obviously reacting to some weird chemistry this girl was emanating, but it would lead nowhere. It couldn't. He wouldn't allow it.

And yet, as he stepped into the shower, he found himself still thinking about her - the aura of vigour and energy about her, her artlessness, her smile, the challenge in her bright, bright eyes - and he knew he would have to address the issue of his inexplicable physical attraction to her, both immediately and in the more distant future.


***


`Will, I'm in love.'

`Hmm?'

`Will, I'm going to get my IQ tattooed on my forehead. Are you listening?'

William made a vague sound of assent, and turned a page of his newspaper. He and Charles were nestled in comfortable chairs in Pemberley's common room, a glass of wine at their elbows and a reading table full of magazines and newspapers to enjoy.

Or so William had thought.

He had no choice but to focus his attention on his friend, as Charles slapped down his newspaper and leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he was about to impart some information of great importance.

`Will, I've fallen in love with Jane. Truly, madly, deeply.'

William sighed. He had seen this coming. After all, Charles and Jane had been going out for three weeks or so - generally the time around which Charles would start making declarations of this kind.

`This is it, man. She's the one.'

`Is she?' William asked mildly.

`Yes, she is it. She's so beautiful, and lovely, and I'm just so … so … Well, I don't know, but I have a good feeling about this. A very good feeling.'

`I'm happy to hear it.'

`God, would it kill you to show a little enthusiasm?'

`I'm sorry, Charles. I'm ecstatic. I hope you'll name your firstborn after me.'

`If you don't stop being sarcastic, I'll kick you in the nuts.'

`Alright! I'm very happy for you. Jane is certainly a lovely girl. It's just that I've heard this kind of thing before, that's all.'

`Ah, but this is different,' Charles said, folding his hands behind his head, and leaning back in his chair.

`Jane is just … She's just so …'

`Alright, you've convinced me.'

`You might want to take better care of your nuts there, mate.'

`No, I'm quite serious. Clearly, she's rendered you inarticulate. What better proof of your love could there be?'

Charles shook his head, jabbing a finger into William's chest.

`Oh, Will. I pity you. To be so disdainful of everything. One day you will find somebody who will bring you to your knees, and then we'll see if your sentences will still be grammatically correct, with all the parentheses in place and with at least three words of four syllables worked into each. I bet you'll be just as much of an inarticulate fool as I am.'

`Do be sure to let me have a copy of your report, will you?' William said, picking up his newspaper again.

`Come on, Will. You must have been in love once, too.'

`Must I?'

`Are you really telling me you've never been in love? At your age?'

`We can't all have your good fortune, Charles.'

`Not even a crush? A sexual fantasy? A minor infatuation? A slight interest even?'

`Are you quite finished? I'm trying to read the paper.'

`Pardon me. Don't let me keep you from the stock market any longer. I'm beginning to think that's your one true love. Long may she reign.'

As the door slammed shut, William lowered his newspaper and stared out of the window, watching his friend's retreating back with both guilt and anger, and wondering if Charles was right about him. Was there a woman who could break through his safe, ordered existence and leave him grovelling at her feet?

The newspapers had suddenly lost their appeal. He forced himself to read the dry letters, but Elizabeth Bennet's face appeared unbidden before his eyes, convincing him to give the endeavour up as hopeless.

He drained his glass in one go.

For a moment, he sat with his head in his hands, fingers running through his hair, frustration and self-loathing raining down on his bent back.

Charles is right. You'll always be alone. A lifetime of arrogance and loneliness. You deserve it.

He got up, threw the newspaper aside, and, reaching the door in three quick strides, headed in the direction of Charles' room.

Chapter 8


Elizabeth sighed and straightened her back, yawning as she did so. It was a quiet night at the Lamb and Flag, and she had just wiped all the tables, collected the glasses, and emptied the ashtrays. Now there was nothing to do. Two more hours until closing time.

If it wasn't for Lydia and Kitty, it would have been a very boring night indeed. And they had brought Adam, Luke and George with them…

She glanced over to the table nearest to the bar, where her friends were sitting. Lydia and Kitty, who had had quite a lot to drink already, were laughing hysterically at something Luke had just said. Adam's arm was around Lydia's waist, and Luke was sending Kitty some very obvious signals. Poor George was stuck with Mary, a rather unattractive girl, who never drank alcohol, did not like parties, and whose conversation was limited to how much she hated going out. Elizabeth could not think why she'd agreed to come, unless she was acting as a chaperone, or if she harboured a secret appreciation for rowers underneath her dour exterior.

As Elizabeth walked back to the bar, she caught George's eye, and he winked at her. She smiled back, feeling her stomach flutter.

She had spent most of the evening leaning over the bar and chatting to her friends. George had been very charming and most attentive to her, and she felt sure that he liked her as much as she liked him. She was feeling very optimistic.

She only hoped he would be able to stay in Oxford. He had just been telling everyone how difficult it was to get a job, and how skint he was.

He was gorgeous, though…

`Excuse me.'

She shook herself from her reverie and turned to attend to her customer. It was William Darcy.

He seemed shocked to find her there.

`What are you doing here?' he said, with the bluntness she was coming to expect from him.

`I'm conducting research into the social habits of Longbourn students,' she said.

What does it look like I'm doing?

To her surprise, he smiled. A very small smile, but it was there. Perhaps he was human after all.

`I'm sorry, I didn't know you worked here,' he said.

`Yes, well, we can't all be millionaires.'

She said it without thinking. It wasn't intended as a personal dig - she was just not in the habit of conversing casually with actual millionaires. William's smile disappeared, and his face darkened.

`Two pints, please,' he said stiffly.

Elizabeth felt his eyes on her as she pulled his pints for him, and was uncomfortably aware that he resented her casual comment.

`Thanks again for lending me your umbrella,' she said, by way of apology. `I hope you found it okay. I left it in the porter's lodge.'

`Yes, I did, thanks,' he said, in a slightly warmer tone. `Although you would have been welcome to keep it.'

`Ach no, it was far to expensive to …' She realised too late what she was saying, and stopped foolishly in mid-sentence, not knowing how to go on. She felt herself going bright red.

`Uh, that's four pounds eighty.'

He handed her a twenty-pound note. `I'm sorry, I don't have anything smaller. We millionaires don't carry petty cash.'

She looked at him in confusion. Was that a joke? His eyes were fixed on her, but they gave nothing away. She smiled uncertainly.

`Aren't you going to tell me to keep the change?'

For a moment, she though she had put her foot in it. Then the corners of his mouth twitched.

`A fifteen pound tip? You must have great confidence in these pints. They'd better be exceptional.'

She laughed, and handed him back his money.

`There. You'd better invest it, or something. Invest it in another round, if you like.'

`Tell you what. I'll invest in a packet of crisps.'

`Salt and vinegar, I presume?'

He raised his eyebrows. `Why?'

`Well, it seems to suit you, somehow. Tell me, do you like gin and tonics?'

`Yes, I do.'

`How about dark ales?'

`Yes, I like them too. May I ask to what these questions tend?'

`Merely to the illustration of your character. I'm trying to make it out.'

`I suppose you mean that I'm sour, bitter, with a very small sense of humour.'

`Did I get it right?' Elizabeth was enjoying herself now.

William was about to reply, when Elizabeth got distracted by the approach of George Wickham.

`I'm sorry. William, this is my friend George. George, this is William Darcy.'

The two men had turned to face one another as she spoke, and she was astonished to see the change in their demeanour. George reddened and looked embarrassed, but William drew himself up to his full height, as if to intimidate George.

`We've met,' he said curtly, his eyes burning with such intense dislike that Elizabeth momentarily feared that he would attack the other man. With an obvious effort, he turned away from George to face her.

`I won't be needing these anymore.'

Before she had had a chance to reply, he had put down his drinks and disappeared. She looked at the closing door in utter bewilderment.

`What was that all about?'

George hesitated before he answered her. `I'll tell you later.'

Elizabeth didn't think the end of her shift would ever come. But at last it was closing time, and once Luke and Adam had taken the hint and escorted a giggling Kitty and Lydia outside (Mary having left long before), she was finally at liberty to ask George all about his relationship with William Darcy.

`It's not a subject I enjoy talking about,' he said, as they walked back to Longbourn. `You see, I've known Will Darcy for most of my life. In fact, I grew up on the estate that was then owned by his father.'

`You grew up together?'

`Yes. My father worked on Mr. Darcy's estate, and Mr. Darcy took quite a liking to me. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I guess Will must always have been jealous. Mr. Darcy was a very kind man, you see, and … well, if you know Will at all you will see what a disappointment he must have been to his father. Unlike Will, who looked down on me because my parents were poor, Mr. Darcy wasn't arrogant or proud in any way. He always looked after me. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy died about five years ago.'

He stopped for a moment, as if overwhelmed by emotions. Elizabeth touched his shoulder in sympathy, and he took her hand, holding it gently.

`Anyway, in his will, Mr. Darcy had left me a rather large sum of money, enough to make sure I would be able to go to university, something Mr. Darcy had always wished for me. But William refused to pay me the money. He contested the will, produced another copy, and I got nothing.'

`No!'

`Oh yes.'

`Why would he do such a thing?' Elizabeth almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew William Darcy was arrogant, but dishonest? Cruel? Immoral?

`Like I said, he was very jealous of me, because his father clearly had wished for his son to be more like me. But there's more. Will has a sister, Georgiana. A beautiful, wonderful girl.'

He sighed.

`Georgiana and I fell in love, and Will just couldn't stand it. He forced Georgie to break up with me. She didn't dare stand up to him. After all, she didn't want to fall out with the one remaining member of her family.'

`So he blackmailed his sister into ending your relationship, just because he was jealous of you?'

`Yes. He refused to let me into the house any more. I couldn't stay there, not knowing that Georgie was so close and I wasn't allowed to be near her. I had to leave. And so, you find me here. If it hadn't been for William's jealousy, I'd be studying here now.'

`Oh, George, that's just horrible. I can't believe he did that to you!'

`Well, I suppose he should be pitied, because his father didn't like him.'

`He took everything from you and you think he should be pitied?!'

George shrugged. `I'm not vindictive, I suppose. I would like to see him happy too, if only for his father's sake.'

`Well, that's very noble of you, I'm sure, but if I were you, I would wish him a slow and painful death.'

`Far be it from me to wish him such a thing, even if he does deserve it. Well, that is the story of my involvement with Will Darcy. Let's just talk about something else now. Let's talk about you.'

They continued their way to Longbourn in happy conversation, and Elizabeth went to bed with her head all a-flutter, not sure what her feelings regarding George were, except that Will Darcy had treated him in the most hideous manner, and that she could not hate him enough.

Chapter 9


William looked critically at himself in the mirror. He wished Charles had simply made arrangements for a formal dinner. At least then he would have been able to put a suit on. What exactly did one wear to a `casual' dinner? If it had just been Charles and Caroline, it wouldn't have mattered very much, but the whole point of the night was that Charles had invited Jane, so that all parties could get to know each other better. Elizabeth was coming too, `to make sure that Jane is not the only stranger', as Charles had said. William was sure that meant that Elizabeth would serve to counterbalance the formidable presence of himself and Caroline.

Would a jacket be too formal? Knowing Charles, he would be just as likely to be wearing an old jumper. But then, Caroline would probably be dressed to the nines, if only to intimidate the `Longbourn plebs' as she referred to them behind Charles' back.

He looked at the pile of clothes on his bed. Jackets, trousers, jeans, jumpers. All perfectly acceptable attire. Why was he having such difficulty deciding?

He finally opted for jeans with a black jumper over a white shirt, and headed down to Charles' kitchen armed with two bottles of wine. Charles was busy chopping up vegetables, while Caroline sat at the table, looking at her nails. She was wearing heels that looked far from casual.

`Will,' she purred.

`Hi. Can I do anything, Charles?'

`No, no, all under control. Perhaps you can take care of the wine?'

William was busy uncorking the bottle of red wine, his every movement watched by Caroline, when Charles' phone rang.

`That'll be the girls. I'll just go and let them in.'

`God, a whole evening in the company of the Longbourn 'lassies',' Caroline sighed dramatically, as soon as Charles was out of the door. `How perfectly boring.'

William made no answer. He went over to the stove for something to do, and stirred the simmering vegetables.

`Here we are,' came Charles' voice from the hallway, and he entered, followed by Jane and Elizabeth. Jane smiled prettily at William and Caroline. William's eyes immediately flew to Elizabeth, and he was struck by how beautiful she looked. Her red hair shone under the kitchen light, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that sent shivers down his spine.

As Charles resumed his cooking activities, aided by Jane, it fell to William and Caroline to entertain Elizabeth. After offering the ladies a glass of wine, William was more than happy to let Caroline do the talking.

`So, Elizabeth, I understand you and Jane are childhood friends?' Caroline said, crossing her legs and flicking her hair back.

`Yes, we've been best friends ever since we were six years old.'

`Really? How sweet.' Caroline's tone spoke of anything but sweetness. `But Jane is a second-year, isn't she? And you're only a fresher.'

`Yes, she went straight to university from school. I had a gap year.'

`A gap year? Don't tell me that you went and looked after cattle in Australia or some ghastly country like that.'

William had often found Caroline unfriendly towards other girls, but her hostility towards Elizabeth was on a whole new level.

`I took a year out too,' he said, a bit sheepishly.

`Yes, Will, but you didn't spend it looking at a big rock in a horrid desert on the other side of the world.'

Elizabeth laughed. `I didn't actually go to Australia.'

`Well, what did you do then?'

`I worked for seven months, and then I went to Nepal to work in an orphanage.'

`Gosh, how Mother Teresa-ish.'

Elizabeth made no answer.

`William spent his year working too,' Caroline said smugly. William flinched. He would much prefer not to compare his gap year to Elizabeth's - it could do him no favours.

Elizabeth turned to William. He could see that teasing, slightly mocking look in her eyes again, and it unnerved him.

`And how did you spend your year?' she said.

`Uh, my father wanted me to take a year to learn how to run the estate,' William said, looking away from her and feeling more than a little foolish. He suddenly wished he had spent his gap year doing something immensely worthy. He very much wanted to change the topic, but couldn't think how.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Caroline regarding Elizabeth with obvious and offensive distaste. Casting around in his mind for something to say, William had a sudden flash of inspiration.

`What part of Scotland are you from, Elizabeth?'

`Aberdeen. Do you know it?'

`Yes. Well, I've not been to Aberdeen itself, but my father took me for a walking holiday to Aberdeenshire when I was young. The countryside is stunning.'

Elizabeth was about to reply, but Caroline interrupted her.

`Aberdeen?' she sniggered nastily. `Isn't that somewhere near the North Pole? Why anybody would want to live there, I don't know. I hear it only gets about three hours of daylight in winter.'

`Yes, but it hardly gets dark in summer.'

`My father used to go to Aberdeen,' Caroline said. `He told me that the accent was incomprehensible, and the people were worse. All drug-addicts and drunkards.'

`I should think your father would have taught you some appreciation for Aberdeen, or at least for its oil business. Isn't that where he made his fortune?' Elizabeth said, calmly taking a sip of her wine.

Caroline looked furious, but was forced to cease hostilities for the moment by the arrival of a piping hot lasagne on the table.

Charles, Jane and Elizabeth chatted merrily throughout the meal. Caroline only contributed a few snide remarks here and there, and William said hardly anything at all. He was having trouble focussing on anything or anyone but Elizabeth.

God, she was beautiful. How had he ever thought otherwise? Jane and Caroline were nothing compared to her. Her almost translucent complexion, her fine high cheekbones and her thin, straight nose combined to make her face look strikingly sharp, like exquisitely cut glass. Her features were softened, however, by her dark, perfectly almond-shaped eyes, almost Arabic with their long lashes, and her lips, her soft lips, that he just wanted to touch…

No. No, no, no.

He was trying desperately to fight the power she had over him, but it was so tempting to just yield to it. She was distracting him from his food, from the conversation, from everything.

Forcing himself to take his eyes from her, he turned to Jane and Charles instead. Charles was not making the slightest attempt to hide how smitten he was. Jane, however, received his attentions with a command of countenance that bordered on indifference. She barely looked at Charles when he was speaking to her, and although she was perfectly friendly to him, William could perceive no particular warmth in her manner.

Poor Charles. He was about to be disappointed again.

The more William watched the two of them, the more he became convinced of the inequality of their attachment. He would have to speak to Charles and prepare him for what was to come. Perhaps he might even be persuaded to a pre-emptive strike.

After dinner, William volunteered to do the washing up. He figured that, if nothing else, it would prevent him from staring at Elizabeth. He was both elated and worried, therefore, when she got up to help him.

`You left very suddenly the other night,' she said, picking up the dishcloth.

William had by no means forgotten about his encounter with George Wickham, but he had managed to overlook his own hasty departure. He now saw that his behaviour might have seemed somewhat erratic.

`Yes.' He found it was all he could say without entering into dangerous territory.

`I take it you and George are no friends.' She spoke neutrally, but he sensed her interest, and it caused a mass of old resentment to stir deep within him. What had Wickham been telling her?

`George Wickham is excellent at making friends, but he's not quite so proficient in keeping them,' he said, hoping she would assume a private grievance and drop the subject.

`His loss of your friendship is something he's likely to suffer from for quite some time.'

Anger leapt up in William's heart like a flame out of the glowing embers. So Wickham had been telling her stories.

`I would not believe everything that George Wickham tells you,' he said, in a voice that barely concealed his emotion.

`Perhaps you could supply the other side of the story.'

`I prefer not to talk about George Wickham under the current circumstances.'

`Then I have no choice but to believe him.'

It was all William could do to stop himself from breaking the wineglass that he was washing. He now regretted not having given in to his first impulse on seeing Wickham again. It would have been so satisfying to punch the bastard in his lying face.

`Tell me,' Elizabeth said. `Have you ever been in love?'

William experienced a distinct rush of blood to the head. Had she been speaking to Charles? Why was his capacity to love suddenly of such general interest?

`I don't see what that has to do with anything, but no,' he said, immediately feeling that he was not being quite truthful.

`I thought not.'

She picked up a plate, looking straight at him with eyes that made his heart cower.

`Have you ever known what it is like to want something really badly, and not to be able to have it?'

`If you're referring to things that money can buy, then no, I suppose not.'

God, somebody help me out of this.

`And if it were in your power to help a friend achieve his dearest wish, would you not do it?'

`That depends on the person, and on what his dearest wish was.'

`But you would not knowingly destroy somebody's happiness, without a very good reason.'

`I should hope not. But if their happiness threatened that of others, I might.'

She nodded. He mentally begged her to give up the interrogation, but she was not done yet.

`If you felt that somebody had wronged you, could you ever forgive them?'

William thought of George Wickham, and said without hesitation: `I'm afraid not.'

`I see. I thought as much.'

They finished their job in silence. William's feelings were in too much turmoil to guess what she was thinking. Her questions had left him feeling supremely ill at ease, yet somehow only increasingly attracted to her. Anger and desire vied for precedence in his breast, and he noticed his hands were shaking.

He spent the remainder of the meal insensible to anyone other than Elizabeth. She fascinated him. It was clear that Wickham had spun her some sob-story or other, and he could not blame her for believing it. He had been duped by Wickham too many times himself.

Uncomfortable as he had been under her questioning, he had rather enjoyed their exchange. Elizabeth's defence of her friend did credit to her spirit, and she certainly had plenty of that.

Try as he might, William could no longer deny that he was falling for her. It was as if a force quite outside himself was drawing him towards her. He wanted to touch her, to feel her warmth, to cut himself on her.

He was barely listening to the conversation. Charles proposed going out after dinner, and William agreed to it without realising what he was doing. He was too preoccupied with Elizabeth, who had picked up a banana from the fruit bowl and was peeling it as if she was doing it with the express purpose of torturing his senses even further. As he watched her eat it in complete innocence, his befuddled imagination started suggesting all manner of things inappropriate to the situation. He was sure no banana in the history of the world had ever been consumed more seductively.

He got up hastily.

`Excuse me. I just need to go to my room to, uh, get my coat.'

He practically ran up the stairs.

In the safety of his room, out of the reach of those eyes, he briefly relieved the tension that had been steadily building in him, but it brought no release. Breathing heavily, he leaned over the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. His wild, fevered gaze gave him the confirmation he did not need.

He was lost.

Oh, Elizabeth, what are you doing to me?

Chapter 10



The first strains of a well-known song blasted out of the speakers and the crowd cheered, jumping in appreciation as the singer's slightly hysterical voice started an impassioned tale of betrayed love.

`I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down because I want it all…'

William stood pressed into a corner of the bar, gulping his drink like a man parched and never taking his eyes of the dance-floor. He knew he ought to stop drinking and leave, but it was as if an invisible hand held him rooted to the spot, forcing him to watch and suffer.

Elizabeth and George Wickham.

He knew he was drunk. He should spare himself the humiliation. But he couldn't move.

How Wickham had materialised, he had no idea. He supposed that it was Elizabeth who had invited him, and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

Her exquisite laughter. Her brilliant eyes. Not for him. For Wickham.

He wanted to hit him. He wanted to hit her. He wanted to throw her down on the ground and ravish her.

Elizabeth, whispering in Wickham's ear. Wickham's arm snaking around her waist. Their bodies pressed together. And then their lips.

`I just can't look - it's killing me …'

The barman looked at him suspiciously as he ordered his third gin in half an hour. He was making a fool of himself.

`Jealousy…'

He wished they would change the song. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him. He wished that Elizabeth would look at him the way she was looking at Wickham.

He had made such an effort to speak to her on the way. He had asked about her studies and how she liked Oxford. Was the weather better than in Aberdeen? She had him attempting small talk, for goodness' sake. He had never had to stoop to that.

He just wanted to be near her. She had been pleasant, but quiet. And then Wickham had turned up.

`It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss …'

God, he hated the man. He could not bear the thought of the two of them together, wrapped around each other now, perhaps in bed together later on … He imagined Wickham's hands on her body, and her eyes looking longingly up at him as she opened her legs to receive him …

He shuddered in horror. It could not happen. He had to do something to prevent it. She had no idea, how could she? He could not just stand by and let it happen, whatever she might think of him for his interference.

He drained his glass and marched over to Elizabeth, ignoring Wickham as best he could. She did not notice him until he was right beside her. When she did, she seemed surprised to see him, and he fancied there was something a little cold and haughty in her manner as she turned her face towards him and raised her eyebrows.

`Can I talk to you?'

`What, now?' It did not escape him that she looked at Wickham, not him, as she spoke, but he tried not to feel hurt. She had no idea what Wickham was, and that's why he was there.

`Please? It's important.'

She followed him past the bouncers and into the street, where she turned to face him, her arms folded across her body. She shivered slightly in her thin top and raised her shoulders to fend off the cold night air. He had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her.

`Well, what's so important? I'm freezing out here.'

`I just want to warn you about George Wickham.'

`What about him?'

There was no mistaking the hostility in her voice now. He was too late - she had been taken in.

`He's not what he seems. Just … be careful.'

`What, he's really a psycho-killer?'

`Of course not.'

`Well, then, I think I can look after myself. Excuse me.'

Before he could say anything else, she had disappeared back inside. He followed her, prepared to tell her exactly why she should be wary of George Wickham's advances, but he halted when he saw her making her way to that very individual, throwing her arms around his neck and whispering something in his ear. Over her head, Wickham's eyes met his, and a triumphant, mocking smile crept over his features.

William did not even bother to pick up his coat. Pushing people out of the way, he swept out of the door, blood pounding in his ears. He was chilled to the bone by the time he reached Pemberley, but he was barely aware of it. It took his numb fingers several tries to get the key in the lock. He slammed the door behind him, glaring round the room like a caged lion.

He has trumped you again. Oh, Elizabeth.

He fell into his chair, covering his eyes with his hands. He had been defeated.


***


`Stop it!' Elizabeth giggled, and slapped the hand that was creeping up her thigh. Not in the slightest bit put off, George launched another passionate assault on her, pushing her up against the door of the Longbourn lodge.

`I've never been inside of Longbourn,' he whispered, showering kisses on her neck.

`And you're not going to make it tonight,' Elizabeth said, pulling a hand off her breast.

`Why not? Come on, you know you want to …'

`Because I'm not that kind of girl.' She pushed him away, holding him at arm's length.

`Well, I think you should be.' He caught her arms and twisted them away from him. `There. Now you're at my mercy.'

She laughed. `I should have listened to William Darcy after all, shouldn't I?'

`Take me upstairs, and I'll show you what he meant by being careful about me.'

She ducked under his raised arm, dodging his grasping hands.

`Not tonight, sonny.' She winked at him, and slipped through the door.

`I'll stay here all night if I have to!' he shouted through the door.

She hesitated for a moment. He was so cute. Why not just give in?

`Let me in, gorgeous. Let's have some more fun.'

She opened the door just enough to poke her head outside.

`You can have one more kiss, but that's all the fun you're getting tonight.'

He clutched his breast melodramatically. `Fair lady, you're killing me.'


***


William awoke feeling like he had been steamrollered during the night. His muscles were sore, and a splitting headache was pounding away in his head. Getting up gingerly, he realised he had slept in his clothes, and all the memories from the night before came flooding back.

Elizabeth…

He heaved himself off his bed like man at least three times his age, and dragged his aching body over to the window to look out at the tranquil scene. A momentary spell of dizziness overcame him, and he held his head with both hands as if to contain the pain that was hammering away inside his skull. Leaning his burning forehead against the cool glass, he allowed himself to contemplate the extent of his misery.

He had fallen in love.

She had succumbed to the charms of George Wickham.

He had made an absolute fool of himself, and, to top it all off, he had given himself a terrible cold by storming out of the nightclub in the heat of the moment. There had been little heat left by the time he had made it back to his cold, empty bed.

`Oh, God,' he groaned, crawling back into bed without taking his clothes off. He simply could not face the day. He wrapped his duvet around him like a human embrace, feeling lonely and utterly wretched.



***



`Elizabeth Bennet, you brazen hussy!' yelped Charlotte.

Elizabeth blushed, but could not conceal her delight in Charlotte's evident astonishment and awe.

`George Wickham? Finest specimen yet witnessed in Oxford? And you, Miss Purer-than-the-driven-snow, have SLEPT with him?'

`I'm sorry, Charlotte, you'll have to speak up. I don't think that was quite audible … IN LONDON!'

`Well, pardon me, but it's your own fault for springing such news on a poor unsuspecting girl. George Wickham! And you! Who would ever have thought it?'

`Thanks a lot.'

`I didn't mean it like that. You seem so prim and proper, and I distinctly believe I heard you sermonising about the dangers of sleeping around just a few days ago ...'

`Well, there is nothing inconsistent in that. I don't intend to sleep around.'

`Aah, I see. You intend to keep him.'

`I don't know about that, but I fully intend to explore all that he has to offer. So far, I can't complain,' Elizabeth said, winking at her friend.

`Lizzy, you kinky beast. I should have known you weren't as innocent as you were making yourself out to be - that twinkle in your eye does not indicate the chaste lifestyle of a virgin. Go on, spill the beans. What was it like? Is he as good as he looks?'

Elizabeth could barely suppress a smile of triumph. `My lips are sealed.'

`Hmpf,' Charlotte grumbled. `I bet they weren't last night.'

Elizabeth only smiled.

---