Hi, all! This work is finished, and is available for pre-order on all the major ebook distributors (Amazon, Kobo, Google Play, iBooks, Nook). It will be released on the 30th. It's also in paperback. I do like to provide some of my books free for people who need that option, so I am posting this one here. I'm planning on posting two chapters a week, maybe more, maybe less. We shall see. Please do leave reviews and comments, but know that I won't be reading them until the entire book has been published. If you followed my last published book on fanfiction, you know why. ;) My skin has unfortunately not thickened in the meantime. I am a delicate tulip.

But ignore me and enjoy the story!

CHAPTER ONE

"Please," said Mr. Collins, giving Elizabeth Bennet a wide smile, "you must allow me at least one more dance with you this evening. I am most eager to be close to you. I have told you that my intent was to stay as near to you as is quite possible this evening, and I daresay I have been successful for the most part, save for the dance you took with Mr. Darcy, of course. Now, I would be most pleased if we could dance again."

"Oh, Mr. Collins, I don't believe I could dance any more this evening," said Elizabeth, trying to smile back at Mr. Collins, but largely failing in the attempt.

To say that Elizabeth could not smile meant that her emotional state was grave indeed, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet was, by all accounts, a girl of a cheery disposition who laughed and smiled much of the time. In fact, she had found Mr. Collins's attentions somewhat laughable earlier in the evening, but now she begun to become wary of them, as she had begun to realize what the portent of such attentions must be.

Earlier in the evening, she and her close friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, had put their heads together and giggled over Mr. Collins, who was the most odious man that Elizabeth had ever met.

Truthfully, she had made such a pronouncement about another man, a Mr. Darcy, only a few weeks before when at the Meryton assembly with her family. That was because Mr. Darcy had called her ugly in so many words and said that he wouldn't dare dance with one such as her. He hadn't done it to her face, of course. He had thought she could not hear, but she had been within earshot, and now she knew his true nature. He was a rude and uncouth man, and she despised him. She had been forced to dance with him earlier in the evening, only to be polite, and it had been a dreadful experience, during which he'd barely talked to her, and she'd had to drag any semblance of polite conversation out of him.

And that wasn't the end of it when it came to Mr. Darcy, either. She had learned that he had been uncommonly horrid to a childhood friend, the son of his father's steward, a Mr. Wickham.

Now, Mr. Wickham was the least odious man she had ever met. Mr. Wickham was funny and bright and quite flattering, and Elizabeth had been hopeful of seeing him tonight at the Netherfield Ball. But it was not to be. Wickham had not put it in an appearance.

That was why she had no qualms of begging off dancing entirely by refusing Mr. Collins. In polite society, a woman couldn't refuse a dance if she didn't want to seem extremely rude. Not unless she said she was through with dancing entirely. There was no Mr. Wickham to dance with, so foregoing more dancing was no hardship.

And she would not dance with Mr. Collins again, because he truly was the most odious man alive, more odious even than Mr. Darcy.

At least Mr. Darcy was somewhat knowledgeable about the way to conduct oneself in company such as this. He had a sense of pride. He didn't do such horrid things as Mr. Collins had done—begin speaking to a gentleman without an introduction. It was appalling. And Mr. Collins had a dreadful habit of speaking at length about all manner of insipid things. The worst was when he took to speaking about morality or the gospel or other such things. He was a parson, and she imagined his sermons must be dreadfully dull.

He was a buffoon, that was what he was. Mr. Collins was like a clown in one of Shakespeare's plays, too ridiculous to be real. If she hadn't been interacting with him in real life, Elizabeth might have pointed and laughed and declared him great entertainment. But Collins wasn't putting on a show. He was deadly serious about all of it, and he had no idea how foolish he seemed.

But the worst of it was that Mr. Collins seemed to have designs on her.

He had already danced with her twice. Asking for more dances with her was to practically declare their engagement.

Which was why she had to refuse.

She wasn't going to marry Mr. Collins.

She should have realized it before. It was obvious now that she thought about it. Mr. Collins probably thought he was doing a good thing. Elizabeth's father's estate was entailed on Mr. Collins. If he married one of the Bennet sisters, then there would be a home for the family after Elizabeth's father's death. Mr. Collins likely would have wanted to marry Jane, but Elizabeth imagined that her mother had steered him away from Jane, because Jane and Mr. Bingley had gotten so close lately. Everyone expected Mr. Bingley to propose to Jane, and Elizabeth hoped it would be so.

Her older sister was as sweet as she was beautiful, and she deserved pure happiness.

Elizabeth knew it would be expected of her to marry Mr. Collins. And she simply could not be joined to that man. He was, after all, the most odious man she had ever met.

"… it is a good thing for young ladies to exhaust themselves with such exercise," Mr. Collins was saying. He had been babbling for some time now, Elizabeth thought, but she had not been listening to a word he said. "Some men may wish for women to remain still and staid, but not me. No, I think that God gave us our bodies for movement, and I believe that the Lord rewards us with the deepest and purest slumber after we have all used our bodies to the extent that they have become quite tired. So, I am deeply satisfied with your answer that you will no longer dance, Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I admire you for it all the more. And I must say that I already admired you to begin with, my sweetest cousin."

Elizabeth coughed.

"I myself am not so tired," said Charlotte. "I do think I could dance again and find this exhaustion you think is the Lord's reward."

"Mmm," said Mr. Collins. "Would that there were someone to dance with you, Miss Lucas."

"Perhaps you might dance with her," said Elizabeth.

"Me?" said Mr. Collins. "Oh, heavens no. I am staying as close as possible to you, my beautiful cousin. And as for dancing itself, I am utterly indifferent to it."

"You were just saying that you thought it was something that God approved of," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, certainly," said Mr. Collins. "But the good Lord allows us to decide such things for ourselves. We are free to dance, or free not to dance. That is the very essence of free will, after all."

"Indeed," said Elizabeth. There was no way to get rid of this man, was there? She drew herself up. "You know, Mr. Collins, I have suddenly become most desirous of another glass of punch. I must go to seek one at once."

"Oh, do not trouble yourself, cousin. I am sure that one of the servants who I have seen about—"

"No, no," said Elizabeth. "I must have it now, and I must go myself, I'm afraid. My desire for it is without measure. Please excuse me." And before he could utter another word, she swept herself away, giving Charlotte an apologetic look.

But Charlotte only winked at her and began to speak to Mr. Collins.

Oh, thank heaven for Charlotte. She was a saint to speak to that awful man. She really was.

Elizabeth hurried through the rest of the rooms of the party. When she and Jane had been forced to stay here because of Jane's sickness, she had become rather familiar with the house, and she knew there was a door through one of the sitting rooms. It led outside.

Elizabeth went there and threw it open.

She stepped out into the chilly night air, welcoming its coldness as it hit her cheeks and invaded her lungs. It woke her up and helped to sharpen her mind. She needed to think of what it was that she was going to do.

She could not marry Mr. Collins. Absolutely could not. But if she denied him, the damage it might do to her family in the future was considerable. Also, her mother would likely lose her mind if Elizabeth said no to the man.

She needed a plan.

But even the brisk air brought nothing to her mind.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and began to walk. She should not walk too close to the front of the house, because she shouldn't be walking around alone at a party. It wasn't proper for her as a young woman without a chaperone of any kind. People might talk if they saw her. Lord knew, with the way that the rest of her family had been behaving all night, it wouldn't take much to set tongues wagging. She had been quite embarrassed by her mother especially, but also by her sisters and even her father. Not Jane, of course. She was too besotted to do anything other than dote on Bingley.

Elizabeth rounded the corner to the front of the house and then retreated, because she saw a man coming out of the front door. He was a red coat. There had been numerous officers from the regiment at the party, which was why she had hoped that Wickham would have been there.

It was Wickham's fault that she hadn't noticed what was happening with Mr. Collins earlier. Well, it wasn't directly Wickham's fault, she supposed. It hadn't been his intention to distract her so. She had been distracted, however, because he was so charming and so handsome and because of the way he had looked at her. There was a… a weighty quality to his gaze that sent shivers running through her.

Oh, why couldn't Wickham have been here?

And why couldn't he have been the one who wanted to marry her, not Mr. Collins? Elizabeth didn't have the best of luck in life, but she felt as if she was cursed that night. She could see nothing pleasant in her future, and she was saddened by it.

But wait.

Elizabeth peered around the house again. That was Wickham. He was here? Why hadn't he sought her out? Why hadn't he asked her to dance? She started forward to speak to him, and then realized that wouldn't be proper, both of them talking out here alone. She retreated again.

And then Mr. Darcy came out of the house, his expression stony.