Author's Note: I would like to thank Patagonian for beta-reading this fic and Carlanime and Sandra for the encouragement. The characters and situations in this story were originally invented by Jane Austen. I'm merely playing with them.

BURNT BRIDGES

Mr. Darcy-de Bourgh, a thirty-five year-old widower, had never much enjoyed dancing. Unfortunately, this had never kept his friends from inviting him to balls, and since he did not have a ready excuse for all of them, he had to attend them sometimes. He hardly ever danced, and usually spent most of his time walking about the room and avoiding conversation. Try as he might, he had never managed to feel at ease in a ballroom. There were too many people he didn't know, and the frivolous mood required in these situations eluded him. People knew his story, and most of them knew to leave him alone. He was content to remain on the side, only dancing with ladies he knew well and making polite small talk with whoever came his way. Over the years he had learnt patience in such occasions, but not enjoyment.

Currently, he was looking from the balcony of Lord Pembroke's London house at about half-a-dozen couples moving about. There was one woman, especially, who was taking his attention. She looked in her late twenties, beautiful and elegant, and Darcy could not shake the impression he had met her before. It was grating him that he could not place her. He had seen many women with the same classical beauty, tall and fair, and yet, there was something familiar about the serene countenance of this one. To add to his confusion, she reminded him of someone short and dark. He didn't know who that was, either.

He had been staring at her for quite a while when he was startled by someone talking to him. It was Sir Arthur Linger.

"Well, Darcy, enjoying yourself?"

"Who is that woman in green who is dancing with Weston?" Darcy asked.

"Ah, the beautiful Mrs. Johnson! Wife of the industrialist! I see you have good taste, Darcy," answered Sir Arthur.

Darcy did not know any industrialists. Exciting as the recent changes in Great Britain were, he did not move in those circles. Besides, he was certain the lady had been single when he had met her.

"What was her maiden name?" he persisted.

"I don't know," said Sir Arthur. "She is from Hertfordshire, I believe. Her father was a gentleman – bit of a scandal in the family, if I remember well. A sister ran away, and she was considered quite unmarriageable until Mr. Johnson came along."

"Hertfordshire?" repeated Darcy. Suddenly it all came back to him. "A Miss Bennet, maybe?" he asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. I can't tell you that."

The woman was Jane Bennet, of course, the same one Darcy had taken so many pains to keep away from Bingley, seven years ago, and whose sister Darcy had so hopelessly fallen in love with. She had refused his hand, however, and while this memory was still painful, he had learnt to consider it one of the greatest blessings in his life. She had shown him how his pride had led him astray, and how wrong he was to mistrust anyone who was not a close friend or relative. She had shown him how his manners, impatient and abrasive, had given people a good opportunity to hurt his reputation. He would forever be grateful to her for that.

After his failed proposal, he had never heard from her again. He had often wondered what had become of her. Had she had gotten married? Did she had children? And here was an opportunity too good to pass. He had to ask Mrs. Johnson about her sister.

"Can you secure me an introduction?" he asked.

"To whom? Mr. or Mrs. Johnson?"

Darcy took a second to consider.

"Mr. Johnson."

He did not wish to risk being snubbed by the lady.

"Very well," answered Sir Arthur. "I would be careful, though, he does not like men to show too close attention to his wife," he added with a smirk.

"I assure you, I have no such intention."

They made their way to the tables where the men were playing cards. Sir Arthur introduced him to a florid man in his forties who was sitting across Lord Pembroke.

"Ah, Darcy, come to pay tribute to the man who is bringing steamships to Britain?" said Pembroke.

Mr. Johnson looked pleased, both by the introduction and the compliment. He had an intelligent, shrewd look, and, although he was not a man of fashion, he was well-bred enough to mingle well with Lord Pembroke's friends.

"I have heard much about the SS Savannah, sir. When will it come to Liverpool?" asked Darcy.

"Soon, I hope," answered Mr. Johnson. "I was just telling his Lordship about the good news I received from New York this week. I dare say she will arrive in Liverpool before the end of June."

"I am very pleased to hear that. I do hope it will allow us to establish a lasting peace with America."

"And so do I, sir. There is nothing worse for business than war," answered Mr. Johnson.

"I understand that you have prints of the ship," said Darcy.

"Certainly. The Times showed a reproduction of them, as I am sure you remember."

Darcy waited for a few moments, but no invitation to see them came. He had to be more direct.

"The lady in green dancing with Mr. Weston is your wife, I understand?" he asked.

"Aye, sir, she is."

"Was she not a Miss Bennet?"

"You are correct."

"I believe I met her, many years ago, when I was in Hertfordshire. Her father's estate is called Longbourn, is it not? Near Meryton?"

"Indeed, sir, it is."

Mr Johnson gave him a calculating look, but gave no sign of alarm. He called his wife, whose partner was just leading her back to her husband.

"My dear, I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy-de Bourgh," said Mr. Johnson.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Johnson, "we met more than seven years ago."

She curtseyed and smiled pleasantly as if nothing in the world had ever happened between her sister and Darcy. But there was a look between the husband and wife, and Darcy fancied that he saw Mr. Johnson relax a little.

"I remember very well that Mrs. Johnson was taken ill one day at Netherfield Park, where I was staying," he said for the sake of conversation. "Her sister came to nurse her for a few days. I will never forget how she walked three miles through the muddy countryside to see her sister."

"I need not ask you which sister you are talking about," said Mr. Johnson. "Elizabeth would never pass up a chance to nurse anybody."

"Good Lord!" said Lord Pembroke. "Her mother had no objection?"

"I will always be very grateful for my sister's attentions to me at Netherfield," said Mrs. Johnson.

It was said with great mildness, but Darcy felt the underlying defense of her sister. He didn't want her to think he'd set out to insult her family, and he didn't like the idea of Lord Pembroke, of all people, looking down on Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

"Indeed," he said in order to add to Mrs. Johnson's words, "I can assure you that Miss Elizabeth Bennet's behaviour was always very proper, and I am certain that, had she had any alternative, she would not have come on foot."

But his words were lost on Lord Pembroke, whose attention had already gone back to the game.

He wanted to hear more about Elizabeth Bennet. Should he ask Mrs. Johnson to dance? He hesitated a little, but his curiosity overcame his reluctance, and, to the raised eyebrows of some of the guests, he led her to the dance set.

"How is Longbourn doing, madam?" he asked as the music started.

"Longbourn has not changed much since you were in Hertfordshire."

"Are your parents still there?"

"My father is. My mother died five years ago."

"I am sorry to hear it."

Not wanting to appear indelicate, Darcy changed the subject. They talked very pleasantly about the ball and about steam engines, but they never got near the subject of her sister again.