Before we meet

Chapter One - Before We Meet 

Netherfield Park may have been let at last, but the illustrious Charles Bingley of five thousand pounds per annum was not the only gent to join the neighborhood that autumn. Yet while Mr. Bingley was the talk of the town, the source of speculation, and the hopeful suitor of many homely daughters, Mr. Bradley slipped into Meryton with nary a twitter.

For this fact the gentleman was grateful. He had never been one for gossip or the grandiose; and in truth, he was old news. Had the matrons and maidens of Meryton been less occupied with ogling the prospects of young Mr. Bingley, Bradley might have been touted as Meryton's returning son - not that many of the town's inhabitants, however, could claim more than a passing acquaintance with the man. Yet returning he was.

Nearly three years had passed since he had last ridden down the dusty streets of Meryton. And on his arrival, Bradley would have been hard pressed to say that anything had changed. The apothecary's shop, the group of young ladies milling about the Milliner's window, gossipy Mrs. Hart peering out from behind her parlor curtains, the inn, the assembly rooms… Yes, it all looked the same.

But, oh, it felt different.

He had never felt at ease during his visits to Hertfordshire, despite his uncle's best efforts. He had never been able to acquire a feel for the society, or any society for that matter, but it had always been harder in Hertfordshire. Bradley had never been able to decide whether it was the local mamas who were eager to match their daughters to the nephew and heir of the esteemed George Bradley, Q.C., or the fact that every time members of the neighborhood, particularly of the female persuasion, approached him he had felt like a tongue-tied tot in short pants.

As his mother often lamented, he was shy. Thankfully, though, his reserved nature had not affected him in his and his uncle's chosen profession, and before he'd had to return home to his family in Somerset, he had made a decent name for himself as a junior barrister in London. But socially, he was piteously inept.

He had been content with his lot for the first four and twenty years of his life. He had managed on the rare occasions he had been thrust into London society; he had survived his uncle's attempts to draw him out in Hertfordshire. Neither of these experiences, however, had prepared him for the past three years he had spent at his childhood home. That he had changed was inevitable.

Perhaps he was not quite so shy at the age of seven and twenty. Managing the family's estate, securing their interests both financially and socially had succeeded where his uncle had failed. Never before had he carried or expected to carry such responsibility. It had been a harsh lesson - hard-won but enlightening. And while he was thankful for the experience and for the changes it had wrought, he had been pleased to pass the responsibility on to his elder brother.

He was pleased to return to Meryton, too. And though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he was frightened as well. He had spent three years thinking of little beyond this day. He had pinned his hopes, his whole future on this visit. But the outcome was beyond his control, and that was not something he had become accustomed to.

He had smiled at the greetings of the household staff, nodded during the fifteen minute meeting with the enthusiastic housekeeper, Mrs. Roseberry, and listened to his uncle's secretary, whom he had decided to retain, prattle on about investments and local affairs for almost two hours. Mr. Leven had spoken eloquently on investments, business meetings, matters of the firm, but Bradley had been hard pressed not to compare him to a gossipy old maid or a matchmaking mama when the secretary had moved on to the neighborhood's happenings.

As he retired to his uncle's study, his new study, after a satisfying supper, Bradley had to hold back a snort of laughter as he recalled the usually reserved secretary's visage transform into that of an exuberant fifteen year old maiden's when he began to speak of Hertfordshire's newest resident. Mr. Bingley certainly seemed to be the toast of Meryton - and very few had even met the man! His uncle would have been delighted to hear of the mamas' hopes and the gossips' news, even more so by what he had considered to be “the folly of his fellow man.”

Pouring himself a snifter of his uncle's fine brandy, Bradley let his gaze sweep over the room. It was as he had always remembered it - the south wall lined floor to ceiling with books, and not just those pertaining to law; his uncle's collection spanned a plethora of subjects and styles. It was almost as an afterthought that one could smell the rich leather of the bindings and the musky fragrance of vellum. In front of the shelves was a desk made of rich mahogany, elegant in its simplicity. Bradley was certain that the supple leather chair behind it still carried the scent of both his uncle's pipe tobacco and wig powder. An impressive hearth dominated the north wall; and even though the day had been mild, the flames lapping against the stone were most welcome. Heavy drapes had already been pulled across the bank of windows that made up most of the east wall - Bradley could recall many nights that had bled into morning when he had been thankful that the thick material kept out the morning sun. Late night brandies with his uncle had often led to rather long, but pleasant, and often boisterous discussions.

Lowering himself gingerly into what had always been his favorite leather chair in front of the hearth, Bradley raised his glass, silently saluting the man who had been as dear to him as his own excellent father. He took a sip of the liquor, grimacing as it burned his throat - his uncle had always said that the best brandies did so. Bradley had to agree. At the moment, he only hoped that this brandy would be able to dull his overactive imagination.

Yet, two hours and four brandies later, the question still weighed heavily on his mind.

While his uncle had loved the local society, he had not been one to recount the local events in his frequent missives to his favorite nephew. George Bradley had simply felt that he could not do them justice. Perhaps thrice he had mentioned a friend or two, denoted a death, or lamented a dispute. And his nephew had been grateful - at first. He had longed to forget. Now, the unvoiced question reverberated through his mind, its effect amplified by the alcohol.

He had almost asked Mr. Leven, but he had not been able to bring himself to do so. Now he wished that he had, all the while thinking that the question might be best left unanswered.

With a dejected sigh, Bradley hurled the empty snifter into the dying flames and went to bed. 

Twice he had thought he had seen her as he peered out his parlor window sipping a cup of tea. He could never be certain, though - maybe if he had been able to hear her laugh? See her smile?

He often wondered, those first few days, if she was still at Longbourn. Three years was, after all, a substantial amount of time. They had come to no understanding; he had not formally courted her. Yet he had known, almost from the first moment of their short acquaintance, that the spark he felt was reciprocated. But could it have been sustained in his absence?

He had heard little talk of the Bennet daughters thus far - a comment made in passing by Mr. Leven denoting their exceptional beauty, save one, and Mrs. Roseberry mentioning that the youngest daughters were now out. He had refused to ponder the implications of that.

In the three days since his arrival, Bradley had yet to step beyond his uncle's former threshold. The business of settling the estate had commanded most of his time. Discussions with his secretary and housekeeper, and maintaining contact through the post with his family in Somerset had filled the rest.

He had a few visitors though. A very few. Not surprisingly, Sir William Lucas was the first…

They exchanged pleasantries that afternoon over sherry, Sir William extending his sympathies, proclaiming Bradley's uncle to have been, “the most amiable and honorable man of my acquaintance.”

With a nod and his thanks, Bradley asked after the local harvest and the new mill that had been constructed on the south side of the town.

Sir William was happy to expound on both subjects, but his mind soon turned back to the more social aspects of the community. “I can see that you are still in mourning, sir, and you do your uncle a great service in remaining so, but I think he, as the amiable man that he was, would have been saddened to see you devoting yourself so wholly to business.”

Before Bradley even had a chance to formulate a response to Lucas' statement, the gentleman continued. “We are to have an assembly, nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual modest, monthly affair; I can assure you that the neighborhood would be delighted to receive you there.”

This time Bradley had his answer ready, but, again, Sir William was too quick. “I can recall you being a rather fine dancer, sir, when you participated in the local society.” The jovial man punctuated his statement with a good-natured smile.

“Sir,” Bradley responded after clearing his throat, “I cannot at this time say whether I will be able to attend. There are matters in London that require my personal attention, but you have my word that I shall consider the matter.”

“Capital! Capital!” Sir William replied, and Bradley bit back a smile at the gentleman's customary enthusiasm. When Lucas wanted to continue on in a similar social vein, however, Bradley neatly turned the topic to the more mundane. The population of birds that would meet their demise in Hertfordshire that autumn was happily discussed until the visit came to an end.

When he was alone once again, ensconced in his study, Bradley had to shake his head at his cowardice. He could have had his answer; Sir William would have been pleased to supply it. His daughter's close acquaintance with the sisters Bennet would have ensured Bradley of a thorough answer, even if not satisfactory.

He consoled himself that, as the saying went, ignorance was indeed bliss.

The next day brought yet another afternoon visitor, this time in the form of Mr. Phillips, a Meryton solicitor who had been on cordial if not professional terms with George Bradley, although the younger Bradley was fairly certain that their acquaintance had been superficial at best. While Sir William had been only too anxious to discuss the town's next assembly, Mr. Phillips seemed more interested in ascertaining the latest gossip, most likely for later reporting to his wife, and implying that he wished to establish a business relationship with the Bradley nephew. When neither subject bore fruit, the man spent the rest of the visit repeating the gossip Mrs. Phillips had accumulated in regards to the famous Mr. Bingley.

Not even once was Bradley tempted to inquire after the man's nieces.

The following morning, after yet another restless night, Bradley was pleased to receive a letter from his beloved mother with the morning post. As he sipped his coffee at the breakfast table, he eagerly broke the seal.

My dearest son, 

As you had hoped, we are all well. Henry is conducting the estate business as though he has done so all of his life. You, I am certain, can well imagine how much pleasure this transformation gives me. I was fortunate enough to receive a letter from Edward, only this morning. His leave is still planned for the month of November. I am positive that he will be pleased to accept your gracious invitation to Hertfordshire, and I will implore him to join me on the trip. 

Pray, son, do write soon as to the particulars of the journey. If I could, I would join you this very moment. While you seem to making progress with your business, I can tell from your letters that something is weighing on your mind. If I may relieve your burden, please allow me to do so…

The letter continued, detailing the neighborhood happenings - a marriage, a birth - and finished with his mother's hopes that his uncle's household was treating him well.

On two separate occasions, Bradley traveled to London and back, settling matters with his uncle's junior partners, managing the final details with the solicitors that would allow him to assume control of the practice later that year. The first trip saw him leaving Meryton the morning after receiving his mother's missive. As a dutiful son, he had already posted a reply, detailing the plans for her travel and other necessary information. He could not help but be anxious for her arrival.

Upon his return, three days hence, he found a short missive from his younger brother, Edward, declaring his intention to accompany their mother on the trip to Hertfordshire. Bradley was pleased that his mother would be traveling with family, but was unable to feel at ease with the prospect spending a long month in his flighty brother's society.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a soft blue bonnet bobbing by and he was lost for the rest of the day.

The following afternoon he received the only other visit he had been expecting - from Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

Almost since the moment of his Uncle Bradley's arrival in Meryton, some six years prior, upon his partial retirement from his firm, he had formed a friendship with the somewhat eccentric gentleman from Longbourn. That their senses of humor were similar had accelerated the process. During the younger Bradley's frequent visits to Meryton, before the time of his father's death, he had observed Mr. Bennet's near-sedentary lifestyle. And while George Bradley had done little to change Mr. Bennet in essentials, the two did enjoy an occasional hunting venture, a game of billiards or backgammon at a party, and, more often than not, a social gathering in each other's company.

Yet regardless of the gentleman's close acquaintance with the uncle, Bradley had dreaded this visit. He would have his answer, yea or nay, and his future could, perhaps, be most grievously affected.

No sooner had the gentleman been shown into the study, and Bradley had begun pouring them each a glass of port, than he found himself voicing his first inquiry. “I trust, sir, that your family is well?”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied as he took the proffered seat in front of the fire, “they are all in excellent health. Although, son, Mrs. Bennet's nerves have seen their better days.” The last was said with a sardonic grin, and Bradley had to fight back a smile. Yes, he had been treated to a dose or two of Mrs. Bennet's nerves during his earlier visits.

“I can see that you are well, Mr. Bradley,” Mr. Bennet continued. “It seems that the business of running an estate has suited you well - you look quite the part of a gentleman landowner...”

“Yes, well,” Bradley said, handing his guest a glass of port, this time unable to restrain a small smile, “I am pleased to have handed over the responsibility to its rightful owner.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes fading away as he began to speak again. “You have my deepest condolences, son. Your uncle was a fine man, one whom I was proud to call my friend.”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Bradley responded. “I thank you, Mr. Bennet. I am sure you know, though, that my uncle valued your friendship quite highly.”

Mr. Bennet smiled sadly. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

After a long moment of silence, the elder gentleman cleared his throat. “Yes, now let us move on to happier topics.”

They spent nearly a quarter of an hour discussing Bradley's options with regards to his uncle's former home. That he was undecided in the matter was readily apparent. When the discussion moved on to Bradley's previous visitors, Mr. Bennet seemed to reclaim his sardonic humor, readily laughing when Bradley mentioned Sir William's invitation to the coming assembly.

Mr. Bennet did not inquire as to whether or not Bradley would attend, although he did say that he planned to accompany his family. “I dare say it will not be the same without your uncle, but I have promised my daughters that I would attend.”

Bradley's chest tightened as he formulated his response. A few moments later, he said, “Mrs. Roseberry, I believe, mentioned that all of your daughters are now out. That must keep you rather occupied at the assemblies.”

Mr. Bennet laughed. “Oh, not nearly as occupied as Mrs. Bennet. Although, I will say that my youngest two are rather spirited. Perhaps Jane and Lizzy have spoiled me in regards to my other daughters.”

The information he desired not received, Bradley continued. “All your daughters are still at Longbourn, then?”

“Yes, to Mrs. Bennet's consternation!” With a laugh from Mr. Bennet and an inward sigh from Bradley, the gentleman moved the discussion on to various other local matters.

Bradley's second trip to Town saw him staying two days longer than he had planned. While he had gone by carriage, he returned on horseback, arriving only the afternoon of the assembly.

Business matters had kept him occupied during the day and most evenings, but at night he had little to do but ponder his dilemma. While he had received a satisfactory answer from Mr. Bennet, he still was not certain if it was wholly appropriate from him to attend the assembly. But that she would surely be there was quite an inducement.

He had wrestled with the matter for several sleepless nights. When he finally decided that he would attend, he was not sure if it was the prospect of seeing her that had finally overcome his doubts, or if he had just been worn down by the lack of sleep.

Mrs. Roseberry was pleased to see him return, and she scurried about, ordering servants to stoke the fires and for Bradley's valet to ready a bath. She appeared to be rather pleased that he would be attending the evening's festivities. No doubt she was eager to hear more of the elusive Mr. Bingley.

After he had washed away the dust from his ride, dressing carefully, he had eaten a light dinner as he discussed the London trip with Mr. Leven. Once the business had been concluded, the secretary was only too happy to fill his patron in on all he had missed, particularly in regards to the Bingley party. Bradley almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all - that one blue-coated man, and possibly seven gentlemen and twelve ladies, could create such a stir seemed beyond his comprehension.

When Mr. Leven had finish his recitation of recent Meryton events, Bradley retired to his study, nursing a brandy as he mentally prepared himself for the night to come.

It was but a short walk from Bradley's new residence to the Meryton Assembly Room, and while his heart urged that man to make haste, his mind, in control of his legs, bade him to tarry. That he was nervous was given. More accurately, he was frightened.

In truth, the positive response he had received from Mr. Bennet signified naught. She had not married. She was still at home. But was she promised? Being courted by the dashing young man from across the lane? Did she care for him - had she ever? And if she did, even a little, would she be willing to begin anew?

It had been his duty to return to his family. That he did not doubt she would understand. But that he had stayed for so long? That he had left her with no understanding between them? Could she see that it had been beyond his control - that despite his every instinct commanding him to hare back to Hertfordshire and fall to his knees in supplication before her, he had been honor and duty bound to stay? His desires had not signified then, would they now?

So it was, with no little amount of trepidation, that Bradley entered the assembly hall and ascended the stairs. He was early; the entertainment had yet to commence, but the voices of those who had already gathered could be heard quite clearly as he approached the doorway at the end of the hall.

He had to hold back a smile as he overheard two matrons loudly discussing, of all topics, Mr. Bingley! The humor in the ladies' discussion of the gentleman's purported poultry as well as the relief that Bradley himself was not a source of speculation, suitably distracted the man, and before he knew it, he was crossing the room's threshold.

The sight before him may have well been familiar - gossiping matrons, giggling misses, garrulous men bent on avoiding the generous ministrations of both - but the charge he felt from entering the room was wholly unknown. That she might be there, that he might observe her countenance and inhale her scent was enough to send his stomach on a hurling spiral that seemed to settle it somewhere near his knees. The sensation was so overwhelming that he closed his eyes against it, and when he opened them, he could do no more than study the floor.

The whole of their acquaintance had amounted to little more than three dances at two assemblies, a game of Whist, and half a dozen conversations. Yet, when Mr. Bradley had returned to Somerset, it had been as a man in love. Four and thirty months had done nothing to ease his tender regard; the saying, “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” was, indeed, quite applicable for the heartsick young man.

He had endured three long years of anguish and loss. Dreams that had come and gone - few born, many spent. Nights that he had lain awake, her vision silently settling at the center of his soul, finally, mercifully, lulling him to sleep. Days that had seemed as if they would never end. Indecision. Defeat.

And, now, at long last, as small as it was - hope.

So it was, with a sharp intake of breath, that he found the courage to lift his gaze from the floor and saw her standing across the assembly room; it was as if not a moment had passed. Three years fell away.

She stood precisely where he had left her that fateful night - a sister to her right, a friend to her left. Her head was tilted toward the former, listening, and if he strained his ears he could just make out the musical sound of her laughter.

She was the same, yet so different. Perhaps her figure had filled out some, not that it had ever been lacking, and maybe she had grown an inch or so, but her hair was still the same - sweet ringlets framing her face, chestnut locks tickling her neck in the most provocative manner - and her eyes, they were exactly as he had recalled - sparkling, lovely, shining with humor and warmth.

Elizabeth.

His Elizabeth.

She had graced his dreams night after endless night. Yet, in flesh, she was so much more.

He might have stood there for the entirety of the evening, simply drinking her in, had Sir William Lucas not obstructed his view. Serving as the host for the evening's assembly, the man greeted Bradley enthusiastically. “Ah, Mr. Bradley!” the man exclaimed. “Welcome, welcome - I can not tell you how delighted I am that you chose to attend our little gathering.”

Bradley was capable of little more than a shallow bow of greeting. His head and heart were still filled with Elizabeth.

“Yes, yes, you sir, are all that is amiable. Returning this afternoon from Town, and yet still you are here! Yes, amiable indeed.”

That he flinched was not surprising. Sir William's well-meant speech had managed to do what all the talk of the illustrious Mr. Bingley had shielded him from. Bradley gained the regard of the entire assembly. The man himself doubted that anyone could be easy under such scrutiny, and the silence that had prevailed, only to be broken by hushed whispers, did not make him any the more comfortable.

“Thank you, Sir William.” Were Bradley more easily amused, he might have found humor in the way the residents seemed to lean forward, training their ears for the rest of his response. In truth, his only concern was Elizabeth's reaction to his presence, which, from his limited vantage point, did not look promising. “I can assure you that it is my pleasure to be in attendance.”

Sir William's smile widened. The murmurs of the crowd increased in number and volume. Bradley simply fought to retain a pleasant countenance as he willed Elizabeth to lift her downcast gaze.

“Very amiable, sir!” Sir William exclaimed yet again. “I hope, sir, that you will allow me the honor with reacquainting you with some of our residents.”

Sir William's visage left no doubt that the garrulous man expected Bradley to comply. He was left with little choice but to agree and nodded his head in assent. His reunion with Elizabeth, sadly, would have to wait.

He might have been easier if Mr. Bennet had been among the party; but Bradley was relieved that the observant father of his beloved was not. Misters Abingdon, Perth, and Harrington were pleasant men, but Bradley was not interested in conversation. And while Sir William seemed pleased to keep a dialogue flowing within the group, Bradley was genuinely thankful for the gentleman's talkative nature. He could scarcely keep his attention from wandering to Elizabeth.

A quarter of hour had passed, and she had yet to meet his gaze.

While Bradley had little doubt that she was aware of his presence in Meryton - at the very least she would have received such information from her friend Miss Lucas or from her aunt, Mrs. Phillips - it seemed from her reaction that she had not expected him to attend the gathering. He could only hope that surprise explained her reticence.

Still ensconced between her sister and Miss Lucas, one or the other speaking softly to her, to which she would respond with the shake of her head, a whispered, but clearly curt reply, or, once, with a roll of her eyes. Through all of the ladies' discourse a gentle blush stained her cheeks. Bradley knew not what to think. But that his re-entrance into her life was causing her discomfort, he could not doubt.

When the musicians began to tune their instruments in preparation of the evening's first dance, it seemed clear to Bradley that the gentlemen had no intention of claiming partners for the first. He might then have withdrawn from the group and attempted to claim Elizabeth's hand - had not Mr. Bennet chosen that moment to join the small party.

“Bradley,” the man said, offering his hand, “I see that I shall be able to avail myself of some intelligent conversation this evening after all.” The twinkle in his eyes clearly belied his serious tone.

With a small, wry smile, Bradley shook his head. He had been found out.

“Yes, well.” Mr. Bennet looked toward his second eldest before turning back to Bradley. “Perhaps not so intelligent. Do tell me, Bradley, why you are keeping company with such a simpering bunch when there is, hm, more agreeable conversation to be had elsewhere.”

If Bradley was surprised by such an open declaration, he did not let it show. He merely nodded and politely took his leave. He would waste no time now in seeking Elizabeth's agreement for the first dance of the evening.

Making his way along the perimeter of the room, Bradley's gaze was trained on Elizabeth. Had he been less affected by her presence, he might have noticed Miss Lucas squeeze Elizabeth's hand before she moved to join Sir William for an introduction to Mr. Bingley. As it was, he was aware of little beyond the sweetness of her countenance and the subtle blushes that bloomed on her cheeks.

He was but ten feet away when she looked in his direction. Bradley knew not what to make of the expression in her eyes. That she might be confused he could understand. Embarrassed? Heaven forbid, repulsed?

Joyful, however, she was not.

Sternly, he reminded himself that such a reaction was to be expected - even if she did harbored some sort of regard for him. His presence had not been anticipated. His regard must certainly be suspect. There would be time to discover her feelings later, for the time being, however, he would have to content himself with making certain that his were known.

His eyes met Elizabeth's as he stepped in front of the sisters. Her gaze faltered for a moment; his never waned. “Miss Bennet.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth.” Bradley could hear the plea in his voice as he said her name, and he cared not. He would disguise his wishes no longer. He bowed low after his last appellation, and when he lifted his eyes, watching her ascend from her curtsey and whisper a soft, “Mr. Bradley,” he could scarce catch his breath.

“You have our heartfelt condolences, sir,” Jane ventured. “Your uncle was an excellent man.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, “he was.”

“I thank you,” Bradley replied. His attention only wavered from Elizabeth when he continued, with a nod, “I thank you, both.”

“You are welcome, sir.” He thought it charming, how Elizabeth pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

“I can see that you are both in good health,” and with a nod toward the opposite end of the room, “as well as the rest of your family.”

It was Jane who replied. “Yes, we are, thank you, sir. And your family?”

“My mother and brothers are both in excellent health. I thank you.”

“Your uncle, Mr. Bradley,” Elizabeth ventured, her tone cautious as best, “had informed us of the loss of your father. Please, accept our sympathy.”

Bradley could not help but grimace as he nodded. “You are very kind. Thank you.”

Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed; Bradley watching Elizabeth, Jane regarding both the gentleman and her sister, while Elizabeth studied the floor. “How have you, sir,” Jane began, then, after a quick glance at her sister, “found Meryton upon your return?”

“More wonderful than I had recalled.” He hadn't hesitated in making his response, his earnest regard still resting wholly on Elizabeth.

Her blush darkened, and he continued. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, taking a careful step forward, “might you honor me with the first?”

She glanced at her sister before meeting his gaze for a long moment, her indecision evident. When she looked away, however, it was with resignation. “Thank you, sir, but I cannot.”

Bradley need hear no more, yet she attempted to continue. “I have - ”

“Please, madam, do not trouble yourself. I thank you for your consideration.” He bowed, bid both of the ladies a good evening, and with nary a backwards glance, the gentleman walked away.

The initial stings of anger and humiliation quickly faded. And, save toward himself, Bradley was unable to feel resentment. By all rights, Elizabeth was correct in her rejection of him. That justification did not, however, ease the ache in his chest, and were it not for the remains of his pride, he would have fled the place at once.

Instead, he stalked to the opposite side of the room - dodging left and then right as dancers moved to line up in front of the musicians. Availing himself of a glass of wine at the refreshment table, his back turned to the crowd, Bradley could do no more than draw in deep, even breaths.

He could feel his skin burning. His fingers trembled. And, were he more cognizant of his actions, he might have tasted the iron of blood from the inside of his cheek. In one swallow, he dispensed with half of his wine. After another quick breath, he drained the remaining liquid.

That he was not alone prevented him from immediately obtaining another. The circumstances of his uncle's business would keep him in Meryton for a fair period of time; it would not do to add to the gossip that was sure to be spread. Elizabeth did not deserve to be plagued by his vain wishes.

When the musicians began the first refrain of the dance, Bradley flinched. He closed his eyes, and in his mind he could see a younger Elizabeth across from him, her hand outstretched, her smile bright - for him. Three years suddenly seemed like an unbridgeable chasm.

That he had dared to hope was now utterly ridiculous. That he had made his intentions known, and rather publicly, was daft!

Self-castigation, however, could only distract Bradley through the first half of the set. That he might be able to ignore Elizabeth's presence was as alien to Bradley as denying himself breath; it simply could not be done. Should he try, the burning ache in his chest would have demanded it. And it did. He turned.

Involuntary or not, Bradley immediately regretted his actions. For there, near the end of the line, was Elizabeth. The man who stood across from her was unknown to Bradley, but such a detail as his name mattered not. That this man had chosen her, that she had agreed to dance with him - that she had refused Bradley - he could not but feel the rejection acutely.

Was this man her beau? What did she feel for him? Could Bradley bear to remain in Hertfordshire once he knew the answers to those questions?

He had to look away.

Others may have joined him, they may have spoken, but, if they did, Bradley heard not a word, and, wholly engrossed in his own morose thoughts, he stood in determined silence. It was not until he was joined by Mr. Bennet, shortly before the set was to end, that he was able to rouse himself.

“These young bucks,” Mr. Bennet said with a shake of his head as he gestured toward the row of dancers, “a young lady can scarce step across the threshold before they are accosting her for the first dance of the evening.”

Bradley bit down on his lip.

“I dare say my own daughters often get caught in their onslaught.”

The younger gentleman cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” Bradley ventured carefully.

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “No, `tis certain. Unless I was to speak of Mary.” He nodded toward the girl.

The younger gentleman's gaze followed Mr. Bennet's, settling for a moment on the young lady before returning to the dancers. He was well aware of what Mr. Bennet was implying. But that it could be true?

He searched Elizabeth's countenance for affirmation. He watched as she smiled gently at her partner as they met again in the dance, and Bradley could not help but feel that her pleasure was forced. His conviction, however, could not be impartial.

He longed to enquire of Mr. Bennet whether he concurred with the notion, but had not the courage to do so. He supposed, though, that he must satisfy himself with the father's previous statements and his own limited, and possibly irrelevant, knowledge of a younger Elizabeth.

So it was as the last refrain of the music faded, and Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Bradley,” the older man began, nodding toward the dancers, “I should leave you to sort out your own amusements.”

Absentmindedly, Bradley nodded, his attention fixed solely on Elizabeth as her partner took her hand and led her off of the floor. For several long moments he lost sight of the pair, but when he managed to spy Elizabeth at last, she was standing beside Miss Lucas. Her partner was gone.

Bradley's relief was acute, and he watched the ladies for several minutes as they engaged in earnest conversation. But when Miss Lucas glanced his way for the second time, Bradley determined to make his way across the room.

Three years of uncertainly felt trifling when faced with the events of the past hour. That he might pass another minute without knowing Elizabeth's heart was unimaginable. He studied her countenance as he made his way to the pair, longing to know what was passing through her mind, in what manner she thought of him, and if, in defiance of everything, he might still be dear to her.

They regarded him as he approached, and Bradley, in turn, acknowledged both of the ladies when he stood before them. But while he exchanged pleasantries with Miss Lucas, he could think of nothing beyond making his regret known to Elizabeth. It was with haste, then, that he proceeded. “Please, Miss Bennet, accept my humblest apologies - ”

“Mr. Bradley,” she beseeched, “there is no need -”

“Pardon me, Miss Bennet,” he interrupted, “but I should not have behaved as I did. Please, do accept my apology.”

Elizabeth, clearly uncomfortable with his adamance, scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face. Yet, when she did deign to answer, her tone was amiable. “I shall, sir, upon your insistence,” she ventured carefully, “though I must maintain it to be unnecessary.”

Bradley's feelings of relief were of no trifling nature, and he responded first with a bow, and then with a whispered, “You are too kind, madam.”

It was shortly thereafter that Miss Lucas bid them both a polite adieu, and it was clear to Bradley that the lady had been conspiring to gift them with a few moments' private conversation. And if he might judge from Elizabeth's complexion, she had reached a similar conclusion. The gentleman could feel naught but gratitude, yet whether Elizabeth felt more pleasure or pain upon being subjected to the possibility of a private tête-à-tête, he could not ascertain. Her discomposure, however, was a certainty.

At length, every idea for placing Elizabeth at ease failed him, and, after standing for several moments in awkward silence, Bradley, at last, asked the question occupying the forefront of his mind. “Might we begin again, Miss Bennet?”

Had he expected her to ponder the question longer, he would have been sorely disappointed. It was with alacrity that she responded. “Yes, Mr. Bradley, I believe that we may try.”

That his question and her answer were doubly applicable did not escape his attention, and it was with hard suppressed joy that he continued. “Perhaps, then, you would be gracious enough to honor me during the upcoming set.”

Elizabeth's smile at his question may have been tentative, but it reached her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Bradley,” she whispered, “I thank you.”

The gentleman was at an utter loss; there were no words to convey the joy he felt at that moment. He could do naught, save slip deeper under Elizabeth's spell. Her eyes, the very feature that had first captured his notice, trapped him, bound him, and for a moment he swore she had seen into the depths of his soul. His power sank. He was helpless. Lost. Completely and utterly bewitched. Anew.

It was a sensation he would not forsake for all of the riches in England.

Had Elizabeth not looked away then, Bradley could easily have imagined doing nothing more than gazing into her eyes for the remainder of the evening. Circumstances as they were however, and Bradley, seeing as much as sensing Elizabeth's discomfort at the sudden intensity of his regard, forced himself to attend to their surroundings.

They stood, then, in silence. And when the dancers began to take their places for the coming set, Bradley simply held out his hand. The smile in Elizabeth's eyes had faded, yet she reached out with only a moment's hesitation. Her gloved fingers slipped over his. Kindle. Bradley could feel their warmth as she settled them softly against the center of his palm, - ignite - and, with his thumb, he grazed the tops of her satin-covered knuckles. Ablaze.

Cognizant as he was of his reaction to their contact, Bradley could not help but search out Elizabeth's. And when she met his gaze, he had not a doubt. She had felt it too. It was a struggle, then, to find his voice, and when he managed a rather weak, “Shall we?” it cracked as though he was a lad of fifteen.

She merely nodded her assent, and with a gentle tug and a warm, if bewildered, smile, Bradley led her slowly to the far end of the set. As the music began, he hoped that she would become easier, that they might enjoy together a pleasant discourse. He had to wonder, though, as they were silent through the first several turns of the dance, if they would not speak for the entirety of the quarter hour. He, however, desiring more than ever to please, naturally supposed that every such power would fail him, and was quite reluctant to break the silence on his own. It was, then, with genuine relief that he listened to her stilted question as they passed again in the dance. “Do you mean, sir, to stay long in the neighborhood?”

The embarrassment of her manner as she spoke, joined by the circumstances attending their being partnered in the dance itself, combined with her manner in their previous encounters, opened to Bradley a new supposition on her behavior. And before they were separated, the gentleman replied, “That, I am afraid, Miss Bennet, is not a question I can answer with ease.”

They circled the couple to their left, and upon their reunion and at Elizabeth's questioning look, he continued. “It depends on circumstances that are quite beyond my control.”

Even though their acquaintance had been brief, Bradley was not a stranger to Elizabeth's superior understanding. He had hoped she might comprehend the greater meaning of his statement, if not from his words, at least from the manner in which they were spoken. Yet, she seemed determined to mistake his meaning and replied, “Business matters, I suppose, are often so.”

Her tone, however, was refreshing. That she seemed to have regained the natural confidence he associated with her manner could not but please. Determined to press his point, Bradley continued. “Certainly, in some instances,” he offered. “However, my business in Meryton is well under regulation.”

Once again, they were separated, and Bradley watched as Elizabeth puzzled over his last statement. When, several moments later, they moved to join in a circle with the couple to their right, and before they did so, Bradley began, “Personal matters - ”

His words, however, were forestalled by a startled gasp from Elizabeth. Bradley turned, took her hand, and pulled her toward him to avoid her collision with the gentleman to her right, who had turned the wrong way. Her foot, however, was an unfortunate casualty of the under-coordinated man's folly. The man reddened, righted himself, and apologized as quickly as he did profusely before retaking his place in the proper circle.

Bradley glared at the young man as he and Elizabeth regained their positions in their own circle. When they had, he retuned his attention to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet?”

“I, sir, am fine.” At his look of doubt, she smiled - deluge - and continued. “Having one's foot trod upon is certainly not a surprise during a dance. I dare say it will happen again before the assembly is over.”

For a moment, Bradley considered whisking her away from the floor and demanding that she sit for the remainder of the evening. He was then, however, drawn back to the present by Elizabeth saying, “Just take care, sir, that it is not your foot that I curse.”

The archness of her tone was a pleasant surprise, and Bradley could not help but smile as they wove through the line. His voice was grave, however, when he said, “You have my assurance, Miss Bennet, that I will be most diligent in regard to your slippers.”

“Slippers, indeed!” She laughed - a musical lilt -! “I have more fear for my feet!” She passed in front of him then, rather closely. Sweet junipers. And as she stepped to the right and turned, she seemed to study him for a moment. “I hope, sir,” she said as she took his hand, - flaming - “that you do not mean to imply that I care more for my satin than I do for my toes.”

Bradley stepped forward. “Were you any other lady, Miss Bennet,” he replied, lowering his voice, “I have no doubt that your conjecture would be accurate.” It was then that he passed in front of her, and, then that, halfway through the maneuver, he felt her breasts brush across the plane of his back - fire. It was to his credit that he was able to complete the step, though later he would not be able to imagine how he was able to do so.

When he turned, Elizabeth had already begun her circle, and, when she returned, her cheeks tinged crimson, she spoke. “I suppose,” she said, carefully enunciating each word deliberately, “I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Bradley, and thank you accordingly.”

Then, as they made their final weave through the line, Bradley smiled. “I had hoped that you would.”

With the arch of her brow and a teasing smile, Elizabeth parried, “Thank you, sir, or take your statement as a compliment?”

“The latter,” he answered as they moved to take their final positions. When the last refrain of the music faded, his expression softened and Bradley lowered his voice to reply, “The former is most unnecessary.”

This portion is dedicated, with love, to those who have disgruntled the duck…

The entrance of the Bingley party was of no interest to Bradley. As they stood in the assembly room's doorway, he did little more than glance in their direction. He cared not whether Mr. Bingley had donned his blue coat, or if his party consisted of the rumored twelve ladies and seven gentlemen or the amended five sisters and one cousin. The sole object of Bradley's interest was standing before him.

It was with unsurprising alacrity, then, that he led Elizabeth away from the dancers, and when they reached the opposite side of the room he wasted no time in pursuing his object. And so it was, with more feeling than finesse, that he hastily applied for Elizabeth's hand during the last set of the evening.

He watched with dread as she deliberated on his request, and her answer was, at last, a whispered “Yes.” Smiling gently, then, she said in a stronger voice, “I would be pleased to do so, Mr. Bradley.”

Though the slight upturn of his lips may not have communicated Bradley's joy effectively, he felt it nonetheless. “I thank you, Miss Bennet,” he replied, pressing her fingers gently before releasing her hand.

Silence reigned for a long moment, fleeting from Bradley's pleasured reflection to subtle awkwardness, and when Elizabeth looked as if she might depart, he cleared his throat. “You,” he began quickly, “erm, Hertfordshire seems to be experiencing lovely weather this autumn.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. Bradley was mesmerized. “Yes,” she said, smiling. “It has been unseasonably warm.”

“You have, then, been enjoying time spent out of doors?” It was an inane conversation at best, and Bradley had no doubt that Elizabeth concurred, but he was determined to keep it going.

“Yes,” she replied with greater ease and a teasing glint in her eyes. “Autumn, is, I suppose, a particularly lovely time of year for walking.”

“It is a beautiful season. Most certainly, my favorite.”

Elizabeth glanced away. “Have you, Mr. Bradley,” she said a moment later, “had an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the wilds of Hertfordshire?”

Bradley could not help but smile. “Wilds?” he asked with a lift of his brow. “No. Most unfortunately, no. Business has kept me indoors, save trips between Meryton and Town.”

“Your business will keep you much in Town, then?” Elizabeth replied - yet, there was a look and a manner about her that seemed to give the question greater meaning, and it was a moment before Bradley responded.

“Keep - no. Although frequent trips will, no doubt, be necessary. My stays, I hope,” he said, regarding Elizabeth with earnest interest, “will be of short duration.”

Elizabeth nodded, placed her hands behind her back and again looked, in all practicality, as if she might away.

That she might take the floor with another superceded any concerns Bradley may have had concerning the extent of her comfort or discomfort with his presence, and he continued. “Have you, Miss Bennet, frequented London of late?”

“Only a visit to my uncle's home, Mr. Bradley,” Elizabeth offered as she glanced about the room. “This past spring.”

Bradley nodded. “You enjoyed your visit?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“Yes,” she replied, smiling again, “It was a lovely time of year for walking. But, in truth, one would be hard pressed not to find delight with such agreeable company.”

Lord help him, he flinched. Instantly, his mind's eye was assailed with images of Elizabeth dancing with half of London's finest gentlemen and more than a few ridiculous dandies and useless fops. It was nearly half a minute before he felt himself under enough regulation to speak. “You,” he began, clenching his fists behind his back, “ehem - You were out much in company, then, during your visit?”

She seemed to consider him for a moment before she replied. “Yes, I suppose that I was.” When he made no response, she nodded toward the collection of matrons on the opposite end of the room and said, softly, “You will excuse me, I hope?”

“Oh, yes - yes, of course,” Bradley responded after following the direction of Elizabeth's gaze. Her mother, if he could judge from Mrs. Bennet's manner, seemed to be in urgent need of speaking to her daughter, and despite his desire to keep her at his side, he had no choice but to let Elizabeth go. “Until later, then, Miss Bennet,” he said.

She smiled, clearly discomforted, nodded, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Bradley to ponder the implications of their time together.

For the past hour, Bradley had been consigned to the company of the gentlemen. And while he had found their conversation to be no more agreeable than he had earlier in the evening, he cared not. He was incapable of occupation - idle, inane, or otherwise.

He had sipped his wine, nodded when such a response was deemed appropriate, smiled when the gentlemen laughed. And all the while his mind was full of Elizabeth.

He watched as she danced, cringed as she smiled, flinched when he witnessed her introduction to the highly vaunted Mr. Bingley. His relief in that matter, however, had been in the gentleman's obvious preference for the elder Miss Bennet.

And through it all, the gentlemen prattled on - endless discussions of sport, carriages, horses, cards, and, of course, Mr. Bingley and his party. It was, therefore, with alacrity that when Miss Lucas passed by Bradley took the opportunity to make his escape. She was solicitous in her acceptance of his hand for the next set, and Bradley himself was rather pleased. That he might converse with such a close acquaintance of Elizabeth's was enough to drive away his displeasure with the events of the past hour.

Any joy he had anticipated, however, came to naught. Bradley, in all his attendant awkwardness, fared poorly in his attempts to direct the conversation toward the object of his affections. And while Miss Lucas was all that was amiable and sensible, she was not, it seemed, to Bradley's consternation, much inclined to encourage such a discourse. His disappointment was bitter.

Upon the close of the set, Bradley, however, had no cause for relief; Sir William approached the couple, smiled his amiable smile, and insisted upon reacquainting Bradley with “Hertfordshire's finest matrons and their lovely charges.”

“Such a shame,” he said, “that such an agreeable dancer should find only two partners in a room of plenty.”

Bradley could not be pleased. With more politeness than patience, he attempted to decline Sir William's offer; that gentleman, however, would not be satisfied.

“Nay, Mr. Bradley, nay,” cried Sir William with a shake of his head. “Truly it is no trouble. Indeed it would be my honor.”

It was with polite resignation, then, that Bradley nodded and followed the gentleman. Due to her proximity, Mrs. Long was the first the two happened upon, and she was apparently as delighted at renewing the acquaintance as Sir William was in performing the office. She spoke energetically for nigh on ten minutes of Hertfordshire and London, her late husband and her dear nieces. It was then that she beckoned the younger of the two to approach. Reflex ruled, and Bradley cringed.

“I believe,” the matron said, her smile knowing, “that you had made the acquaintance of my dearest niece when you last were in Hertfordshire, sir?”

Bradley agreed that he had. Mrs. Long simpered, smiled and spoke the introduction with all the enthusiasm of a lady with two eligible, yet unmarried, female charges.

Miss Julia Long was a handsome young woman - though in Bradley's mind, unable to bear a comparison with the eldest two Miss Bennets - yet her manners gave the impression of a lady who might be found among the Ton. Perhaps not among the most fashionable set - money, situation, circumstance must have their due -yet it was not readily apparent that the lady had spent considerable time in the country. The local charms had not affected her.

With a smile that was an odd mixture of self-confidence and demure solicitude, she marked her deference. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Bradley, to make your acquaintance once again.”

Nodding curtly, Bradley could only reply in kind; his rejoinder was, however, free from the lady's salient solicitude. That she seemed not to notice was readily apparent. Miss Long continued to smile her smile as she inquired after his health, his family, his trips to Town, and his general impressions upon returning to Meryton.

“The town itself has hardly changed,” she said. “I am certain you shall agree.” Leaning forward slightly, her smile waning, she continued, “It is the people, however, who are not so constant.”

Frowning, Bradley replied, “Yes, I suppose,” he allowed. “Yet, it does not necessarily follow that time must be one's enemy, that change might not be good.”

The lift of her brow, her quick glance toward the Bennets showed Bradley that he had not misconstrued her initial meaning. But her smile returned. “And yet,” she said, “a converse argument could be justly presented.” Then, with an air that could only be named as condescending, Miss Long continued, “But I am certain that you, good sir, are correct.”

“Yes, yes,” Sir William cried, saving Bradley the trouble of making a response, “I am certain that he is; Hertfordshire souls are among the steadiest in the nation - of that I have no doubt!” He smiled at each of the ladies in turn, then at Bradley. “And now, I am sure that you, Mr. Bradley, are wishing to ask this charming young lady to honor you in the next; let me not delay you!”

Bradley was sunk; he could do naught else but politely attend to Miss Long during the next set. With humble resignation, he inquired as to her agreeability in the matter. Her staunch approval was not surprising. Neither was her aunt's.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Long cried, smiling, “you honor us, sir. Yes, you do, Mr. Bradley, and I must thank you again and again.”

Unable to manage even the barest of smiles, Bradley could only nod. And when Sir William declared his pleasure and anticipation at watching “such a fine pair form the circles” it was all Bradley could do to repress a sigh. A thousand activities could bring him more pleasure.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing save the general impression that such a pairing might induce, Bradley, with great fortitude, led the lady to the line. She was silent as he did so, smiled when he took his position across from her, sighed when he reached for her hand! It would not do; he could not be easy; he could not resign himself to the situation. And yet his partner seemed to be at the pinnacle of pleasure!

For the entirety of the evening, much to Bradley's dismay and despite the scarcity of young men in attendance, Elizabeth had not been in want of a partner. Yet now, as Miss Long and her reluctant partner separated for the first circle, Bradley, surveying the room, was chagrined to find Elizabeth sitting near the wall - and very much alone! That he might have conversed with her, and perhaps enjoyed a smile or two were he not engaged in such an utter folly -! He could not but feel the loss acutely. A thousand times he cursed himself. Would he had thought of an excuse! Had he only stayed with the gentlemen! He was in every way wretched.

He willed Elizabeth to meet his gaze; she did not.

“It is an honor, sir,” Miss Long said as they met again - smiling, “- a grand honor, to be partnered with such a fine dancer!” When he regarded her, she dropped her gaze. “A finer,” she declared, lowering her voice, “I have never known.”

He ought to have replied likewise. He did not; he could not! “I thank you, Miss Long.” Then, struggling to sway his tone farther from disinterest, “You are far too generous, I am sure.”

The lady tittered. “Indeed, I am in earnest!” When he looked away, she continued, “You, good sir, are far too modest!”

“I shall not be as ungentlemanly, Miss Long,” Bradley ventured as they swept through the movement, “to argue either my virtues or vices with you.”

“You, Mr. Bradley,” the lady smiled, squeezing his fingers -! “could be naught else but a perfect gentleman!”

Bradley cleared his throat but did not respond. And, as it was, Miss Long did not depend on his making one; she ventured, “My aunt, Mr. Bradley, tells me that you shall be remaining in Hertfordshire until you have completed your business.”

“Yes,” he said, stopping as Mr. Bingley, who was rejoining the dance, slipped past the couple and begged their pardon in a most amiable manner. Bradley nodded at the gentleman and continued, to the lady, and perhaps too curtly, “Your aunt is correct.”

Still, she smiled. “I shall hope then,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement as they made their next turn, “that your business is most operose and inexhaustible so that you may stay with us indefinitely!”

“And yet,” he said, looking past the line of dancers, “I must wish for the contrary to occur.”

“Such,” she remarked, sighing, “is often the way with gentlemen. Such single-mindedness, however,” she continued, the corners of her lips tipping into a rueful smile, “one could not attribute to a lady.” At his raised brow, she added, a teasing glint in her eyes, “While remaining within the bounds of politeness.”

He supposed that she had meant to make him laugh - at the very least, smile. And yet he could not be drawn; he would not find pleasure. Silence must be longed for - his eventual release, an ecstasy even in thought.

“You, sir…”

Whatever she had meant to say was lost upon Bradley at the sound of Elizabeth's laughter. To not turn and discern the lady and the source of her mirth was an utter impossibility! It was not with a small amount of curiosity, then, that he regarded her as she stood, more than twenty paces from where he had last spied her, occupied in a spirited discussion with Miss Lucas. That Elizabeth was exceedingly amused, and her friend no less so, was readily apparent; and yet, their subject was not.

“ - Would you not agree, Mr. Bradley?”

Had Miss Long not placed her hand upon his arm, he did not doubt that she would have been unable to gain his attention. Reluctantly returning his attention to his partner, Bradley raised a brow. “Agree, Miss Long?”

Bradley would have to have been a simpleton to miss the laughter in Miss Long's hazel eyes when she responded. “Yes,” she smiled, “Would you not agree, sir, that the weather in Hertfordshire has been rather exceptional?”

“Yes, of course,” he said blandly, leading the lady through yet another circle, passing through the figure formed by Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet.

“I suppose,” Miss Long commented when they resumed their positions across from one another, “that the country must have that one advantage over Town. I dare say that the weather is nigh on unbearable this time of year!”

Bradley sighed. “Of course.”

“And yet, you must admit, Mr. Bradley, that the superiority of the society must be of ample consideration.” She laughed - a dry, high giggle that made the hairs on the back of Bradley's neck stand on end. “Surely, sir, you cannot claim to find enjoyment at such a gathering as this.”

“I cannot?”

Her smiled widened. “I knew such was the case with you,” Miss Long said, with a wave of her hand and a curt nod, summarily ignoring the tone and inflection of his words. “My aunt, sir, you must understand, has assimilated herself into this inferior society - I knew her suppositions could not be correct, and here you are proclaiming that, indeed, I am in the right!”

What she might have been meaning to imply, Bradley knew not, and furthermore he sincerely doubted that he wished to be enlightened. He was however left no choice in the matter, for after they separated and then moved together again for the final steps of the dance, the lady had quite moved on - “I suppose,” she said, casting a glance across the line, “that it is not a surprise on whom Mr. Bingley has settled his favor.”

Bradley made no comment. “Of course it is not,” the lady sighed. “My mother would always say, sir, that a man will quickly be caught by a pleasing figure and a handsome mien. Yet, she also said,” Miss Long continued, smiling again, “that he would be hard pressed to remain so were the lady not in possession of ample accomplishments, grace, a superior manner to her speech and expressions. And I, sir,” she said with a lift of her chin, “have not once doubted the veracity of her words.”

A whispered, “indeed,” was his first and final word on the subject; the music ended, his release was imminent. He bowed to her curtsey, her smile triumphant as they stepped away from the dancers.

It had been with disinterest that Bradley returned the niece to her aunt. Their inquiries had been unable to draw him, their compliments had not flattered. His leave had been taken upon the earliest opportunity, and he had retreated to the seclusion of a post near the shadows of the refreshment table. From there he was able to morosely observe the two sixth.

Three years may have changed the man, perhaps had altered Elizabeth - her feelings were certainly in question - yet, that same period of time had failed to dull Bradley's memories. To him, in such a setting, they seemed sharper than ever.

Elizabeth had been a wisp of a woman then - barely seventeen, full of the vivacity and verve of a curious child. Wisdom and wit, however, had belied her age. And yet it had been the simplicity of her smile, its earnest reflection within her eyes that had first drawn his attention. Unacquainted with as much as her name, Bradley had been, at that very moment, enamored.

It had been more than a month before he had been able to secure an introduction, though her name and identity had been sought and learnt upon the very day she had arrested his attention. To finally have her voice, its tone, its sweet inflection, added to the vision he had often glimpsed from across a street, the distance of a room, had been a moment of the sweetest serendipity. And to further find the lady in possession of a keen intellect, a lively manner of speech, and eyes that were capable of dancing, sparkling, shining with such humor and tenderness as she regarded him - he had been nigh undone.

Self, however, had to be obeyed, and Bradley had not been able to proceed with ease following their initial meeting. That he had been so easily bewitched, that she had managed, in the span of one brief moment, to touch his heart - his sensibilities he had to question; caution, he had to employ. And yet she had continued to draw him.

Resistance, in the end, had been futile. To observe could never have been enough. To feign disinterest and protect his pride and his heart had been a vagary of the most absurd kind. He would know her; he would love her. And when, not a month later, he had taken her hand and led her to the line for the final time, he had known. Elizabeth was the keeper of his heart.

Had he then been asked to speculate upon her feelings, he would have said with all due assurance that they were, at the very least, of a similar nature. Her smile had been tender; her words all that could lend him hope. Had duty not called him away, had reason not forced him to abandon her near the edge of the room only moments after their dance had been completed, he would have courted her in earnest; he would have seen her as his wife.

He watched now as she danced with Mr. Bingley, her pleasure evident in both her eyes and smile, and yet Bradley could not help but feel relief; that she did not look upon the man as she had once looked upon him. That the gentleman's preference for the elder sister had been marked. That despite the awkwardness, the confusion, the dismay, he might, entitled or no, believe that their differences might be resolved.

Reason, he decided, must be his companion. He must look upon his situation as if a stranger, a voyeur - he must remain impartial if he wished success in the discovery of her heart. And yet, as reason goes, it must at times be cast aside, and such became the case almost the moment after he had vowed to follow it…

For not ten paces away, clearly unconcerned with the possibility that anyone might observe or overhear, stood Mrs. Bennet, engaged in what could only be described as a diatribe directed at her eldest; concerning, Bradley did not doubt, himself. It could be no other, he was certain.

“You give credit where none is due!” the matron cried as she fluttered her handkerchief. “And that he should act so, such a slight, and toward your sister! No, Jane, you are far too generous. He deserves no such deference.”

What her daughter said in response, Bradley knew not, for her voice was too low, but all of those in the vicinity must have heard the mother's vehement rebuttal. “I can assure you, child, that Lizzy has earned his disapprobation!” Then, with a wave of her hand, a loud sigh, and in a quieter voice, she continued, “And yet, she should wish, she should be pleased to avoid his approval. If she is at all sensible, it will be so.”

The daughter tried to turn the subject; the mother would not be led. “Lace, Jane, cannot draw me; I must speak as I find! And I find that his manner, his look, his very nature is not what it ought to be.” Then, lifting her chin, she said, “I dare say Mrs. Long shall agree.”

“Are you quite sure, Ma'am - ”

“Jane -! I dare say she would! Did you not hear? How he stood there so silent and sullen! He spoke not a word! A more disagreeable man,” she continued with a significant look about the room, “I have never seen. Very ill-favored, indeed!”

“Is there not a little mistake?” asked Jane, so softly that Bradley was barely able to hear.

“Perhaps a very little! He only spoke when he could not escape it! To be so prideful as to dislike her because she does not keep a carriage; I know that to be the case. He surely heard that she came to the assembly in a hack chaise. And should that make him more agreeable?”

Bradley could not help but start. He knew nothing of Mrs. Long's situation, save by her own repeated incantation that she had two unmarried nieces, one of whom was rather persistent. How Mrs. Bennet could reach such a conclusion, he knew not - and prideful? Prideful? To his knowledge, he had never been described as such.

“And I,” Mr. Bennet said as he approached his wife and daughter, “Mrs. Bennet, dare say that you are making yourself even more agreeable by howling about in such a manner.”

With a huff, the lady responded, “And surely, you, sir, could find fault in this,” she said, pointing toward, from Bradley's point of view, the dancers. “Your own favorite daughter. Slighted! Yet you will probably say that you like him just fine. My nerves shall not survive this evening; I swear it to be so!”

“Should your nerves be prepared to draw their last breath, Mrs. Bennet, you must alert me at once. A gathering, indeed, a grand gathering will be called for.”

She bemoaned her ill-use. “You have no sympathy for all that I suffer!”

“Yes, yes, as you have often lamented,” he said, shaking his head, “and while your nerves are in such a fragile state, madam, perhaps it is advisable that we seek out Lady Lucas. I do know how she soothes you…”

Bradley watched as Mr. Bennet led his wife away, leaving his eldest to seek out the company of her friends. Relief, the gentleman had to feel. And yet, within the same, he could not help but experience discord. To be so uncertain of Elizabeth's wishes and feelings; to be so clear upon her mother's - would she have but said, implied, intoned how her daughter might have felt! And yet he could not consider, in all rationality, that the matron might have done just that.

He watched then, his spirits sinking by the moment, as Mr. Bingley escorted Elizabeth away from the dancers and toward her sister, who happened to have engaged herself with the two ladies who had accompanied that gentleman and his friend.

All pretense of abiding by reason abandoned, Bradley considered his position. That he ought not have come, he was certain. That he had managed to incite anger, quite possibly invited ridicule, and, to his deepest regret, pained Elizabeth, was a burden he could not dismiss. His surprise, then, was great, when not ten minutes later he looked about to find Elizabeth approaching him.

She regarded him tentatively, her manner nervous as she asked after his enjoyment of the evening's festivities. His reply, he did not doubt, was stilted and ill-formed, and at her look of bewilderment, he reworded his statement. “A ball,” he said, “is an event I have re-learned to despise these past years - this night's could be naught else but an improvement.”

Elizabeth did not respond; seemed to know not how to respond. He added, smiling ruefully, “I had not the talent necessary to acquit myself well in Somerset's society. I do not believe that I spoke as much as I ought to, nor did I find as much pleasure in the dance, as several mothers, including my own, often lamented.”

Her amusement at his words was evident. “And, sir,” she said, smiling as she glanced about the room, “How does our little society compare to your recollections?”

Bradley could not meet her eyes. “I believe,” he said, then cleared his throat, “ - Miss Bennet, before this night I believed little could fare well against my memories.”

She did not respond, and when he looked up, her cheeks had darkened and her gaze was fixed upon the floor. He continued then, in no more than a whisper, “I should be glad to have been wrong.”

That statement gained her regard. “Should?”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice thick, “but I have no right. These three years, my behavior - ”

Elizabeth's dark eyes softened, and his words slipped away. He knew not what to make of the expression she bore, and yet it rendered him uncommonly light, utterly speechless.

“Sir,” she implored, “you owe me nothing. Please, do not - ”

“No,” he said, clasping his hands tightly before him, “No. I do, in my heart I know that I do.”

That she looked away did not surprise him. Had he thought before he spoke, he would have expected as much. Her cheeks stained crimson, her gaze directed at his feet, she said, her voice soft and tremulous, “Were I able to speak now… Had I expected…” She shook her head.

Bradley stepped forward, his every instinct commanding him to damn society and propriety and take Elizabeth into his arms. His sense and reason, however, prevailed, and that battle won, he said, “I did not come tonight - I did not seek you out to force you to speak.” He sighed and bit down upon his lip. “It is not the time, `tis too soon; it is not the place…” And then, glancing past Elizabeth's shoulder, he found the justification for his words approaching them.

Lady Lucas, a moment later, moved to pass, and Bradley made to step back and to his right, intending to allow the lady a wide girth; he was, however, forestalled by Elizabeth's touch. The warmth of her fingers, he could feel despite the thickness of his coat, the satin of her gloves, and it was a moment before he could look away from the juncture of her fingers and his forearm.

And when he did, when he glanced beyond his shoulder, he found the source of her caution. The gentleman with whom Bradley would have collided stood impassive behind them. The unknown gentleman did not speak - he merely scowled his displeasure before turning on his heel and stalking away. It was, then, with a raised brow that Bradley returned his attention to Elizabeth. Her smile, her certain amusement, was curious, and yet Bradley could not question her pleasure. He smiled, too, and nodded his appreciation.

The evening had continued; Elizabeth and Bradley, silently, had gone their separate ways. And for the latter, Jane had proven to be a pleasant partner. Her smiles were generous; her every action was genuine. She was, truly, all that was amiable and good. It was, therefore, only the work of a moment for Bradley's esteem for the young lady to be rekindled.

Her beauty, few could rival, though Bradley could make a hearty case for Elizabeth being the more handsome of the two - for the younger sister, natural energy and lively manners must but enhance her desirability. And while Jane might have lacked her sister's playful disposition, her sense and kindness could not be discounted. She must be respected, regarded highly, and rightly so, wherever she went.

He could not be surprised, then, that she was so valued by her sister and that the regard was, quite naturally, wholly mutual. Their affection for each other could not but be admired. And when he had told the lady so, she had smiled and quietly informed him that she was truly blessed. His agreement had been hearty.

“Mr. Bradley,” she had said, her amusement at his uncharacteristic vigor clearly reflected within her eyes, if not evident in her countenance or tone, “I thank you for your generous compliments, on behalf of both Lizzy and myself.”

When he had replied that he had merely spoken upon the truth of the matter, she had only smiled, and yet he could not help but imagine that she had wished to laugh instead.

They might have spoken but little of Elizabeth; their topics, perhaps, had kept too much to the mundane, but Bradley could not be insensible to her intelligence and charm, and had been, therefore, sorry to see their time together come to an end. Such enjoyment, he knew, could be little found amongst the assembly's attendees.

He had stood then, near the edge of the room, watching, waiting, wondering - would the final dance never come? Miss Julia Long had passed once, smiled, seemed as if she might stay to speak, and yet his countenance must have discouraged her; she had moved to be with her sister. Others had done the same, several gentlemen had offered more than a nod, several ladies had given him an appraising look, and Bradley had barely minded at all.

Though curtailed, his conversation with Elizabeth had soothed him. They would speak, of that he was certain. And whatever her feelings at present, he knew they were something. She was not disinterested; in her heart, he was more than a former acquaintance. Her words may have been ambiguous, but her eyes had told her tale.

Time, however slowly Bradley reckoned it, did pass; he did claim Elizabeth's hand for the final dance. And when he led her to the floor, it was with quiet confidence. Shoulders back, head high, he felt the distinction of her company, his fortune in her forgiveness.

Her subdued manners, their mutual silence, while unfortunate, could not be disarming. That, necessarily, an embargo had been placed upon any such topic that might allude to their earlier disclosures, was little cause to repine. Such could not be helped. It was his ambition then, after they had completed the first several turns of the dance, to find a subject on which they might converse with equanimity. And when none were readily evident, he asked again, and with no little amount of trepidation, after her time spent in London.

“Twice,” she said in response to his question in regard to her attendance at the theater. “My aunt,” she added, “finds great enjoyment in such occupation, and I must subscribe to very little less.”

“Did you attend the opera, Miss Bennet, or did you see a play?” he asked after they passed the couple on their left.

“Both,” Elizabeth smiled. “Although, for the opera, in general,” she said, “I must confess a preference.”

“I should not be surprised,” he said, taking her hand, squeezing it gently, “to learn as much. I always recall that you have a great fondness and appreciation for music.”

Though his voice was level, he had no doubt that his tone bespoke of intimacy. That Elizabeth concurred was evident, for she quickly redirected the conversation. “And you, sir, do you often attend?”

“When I have the opportunity, I do,” he responded as she completed her circle. “Though I doubt such will present itself in the near future.”

She considered him for a moment. “Your business, when you are in Town, as you said, shall keep you much occupied. It is unfortunate you should have to miss such a pleasure.”

Bradley was certain that he need not, ought not reply that his time would be better spent, more pleasurably spent in Hertfordshire. And as he turned about her, he said, instead, his voice low, “Other demands must have their due.”

Their separation came then, and Bradley could not help but take pleasure in the gentle blush upon Elizabeth's checks as she moved away. His implication had not been missed. And when, some moments later, he reclaimed her hand, he was further heartened by the archness of her smile. “Have you considered, Mr. Bradley,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “That there are few in such a place as this, at such a time as this, who would be so brave as to rank business before the Bard?”

“And yet,” he said, unable to restrain a smile, “when you consider the demands of a gentleman: business, society, duty and heart, would not a wise man place society at the end of such a list?”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, considering him, smiling before crossing behind him, “yet you failed, sir, to observe that I made no mention of the said individual being wise, let alone a man!”

Bradley laughed. “Touché, Miss Bennet! Touché!”

“And your answer, Mr. Bradley - for clearly you have an opinion on such matters, must also beg a question.” At his raised brow, she continued, her very manner and tone mischievous, “What, sir, would you claim to be the demands of a lady?”

“Oh, no, Miss Bennet, you shall not find me as unwise to argue upon such a matter with you.”

“Then,” she said, to his complete amusement, “we must return to the question of valor.”

Valor, indeed! His smile at her statement was genuine; his happiness could be little increased. To stand opposite of her for such a battle, for such a pleasure, no, he could not find discord; he could only bask in the wonderful glory of a heart overwhelmed with love.

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