I think I'll judge the chapter competition at the end as there don't appear to be many entries :)

Arriving at the withdrawing room, Darcy perceived Bingley's sisters, Louisa and Caroline, setting up the card table. As he hesitated in the doorway, Hurst pushed past him to join them. Perhaps, thought Darcy, relaxing slightly, Miss Elizabeth has returned to her sister's side?

The French doors were open and, heaving a sigh of relief, Darcy proceeded to the terrace for fresh air. Upon reaching the threshold he was dismayed to discover that Miss Elizabeth was leaning on the balcony, but his momentum did not permit a polite retreat. She turned her head back over her shoulder when she heard his footsteps and gave him a wan smile.

He approached the balustrade to stand beside her, but kept a good three feet between them. When Mr Hurst's damnable comments about Miss Elizabeth's décolletage slid unbidden into his mind, Darcy determinedly focused his eyes on the moonlit lawns of Netherfield. After what seemed an eon, a conversational gambit finally entered his head.

"Miss Elizabeth, you already seem to know your way around Netherfield," he remarked.

She looked quizzical for a moment at this apparent non-sequitur. "Oh, the back door!" she laughed. "Yes, I often played here as a child when the Yardleys were still in residence."

"Ah! the owners," said Darcy in comprehension, glad to have his pathetic attempt at a conversation taken up. "Did they depart so long ago?"

"It's been eight years since they left for London," she replied.

"I suppose that's consistent with the degree of neglect I have encountered," mused Darcy honestly before realising he might have offended her.

"Yes, their agent is not very active," agreed Elizabeth.

Darcy sighed inwardly in relief—she had not been offended. "Live-in stewards are always preferable for vacant properties," he observed.

"It is hard to keep one when Mr Yardley is not willing to spend money on the upkeep," said Elizabeth. "They get frustrated and leave."

At this point Caroline joined them on the terrace.

"Have you taken up astronomy, Mr Darcy?" she joked, casting a cold eye on Miss Elizabeth. "We had hoped you would join us at cards."

"I needed some fresh air after Hurst's cigar," replied Darcy.

Stepping closer, Caroline could smell the smoke on Darcy's clothes. She laid her hand on his upper arm in a conciliatory way. "Please accept my sincere apologies. I shall talk to Louisa," she cooed at him.

Feeling uncomfortable at her proximity and proprietary manner, Darcy would have liked to have taken a step by backwards but restrained himself out of civility to his hostess.

Miss Bingley then turned to Elizabeth with a false smile. "Miss Eliza, perhaps I could interest you in a book?" she said as she herded them both back inside.

Darcy was quite pleased with himself when he managed to politely evade the card table, encouraging Bingley to make up the quartet playing whist instead. His first games with the Bingleys at Netherfield had been enjoyable novelties—he did not play cards often. But he had soon tired of the mild diversion of the game and the vacuous conversation, and now longed for the more intellectual stimulation of a book. He was interested to see that Miss Elizabeth had already sat down in front of the fire with a volume of poetry. Darcy picked up Southey's first volume of "Life of Nelson", which he had recently purchased at Hatchard's for his edification but not yet started, and sat down opposite her.

They read in silent communion for almost half an hour, with the snap of cards and occasional accompanying exclamations from the direction of the card table, the only noise. To his supreme frustration, Darcy's book could not at all hold his attention. His eyes seem to slide over the words without properly comprehending them; at the end of each page they were drawn to Miss Elizabeth's face like iron attracted to a lodestone. She did not look up but he watched a range of expressions play over her visage as she read, before forcing his eyes down to the next meaningless page of the text in his hands. Darcy knew the poet laureate, and indeed, Nelson, deserved better attention than he was affording them.

As the clock began to strike ten, Miss Elizabeth stood up, curtsied, and excused herself to tend to her sister. With a sigh of relief, Darcy returned his attention to his book. But by the end of the next chapter, he acknowledged to himself that he felt bereft—deprived of her silent companionship—and began to anticipate her return.

When she had not reappeared an hour later, a disappointed Darcy excused himself also, claiming fatigue, which was not so preposterous—the evening had suddenly become boring. But upon leaving the saloon with his book in hand, he encountered Miss Elizabeth descending the stairs with a teapot, carrying the large reticule she had arrived with.

He stood aside to let her pass with a gracious gesture. "Miss Elizabeth, are you having trouble rousing the servants?"

"A tisane for Jane," she explained, acknowledging his gesture with a smile, but not stopping. "I prefer to prepare them myself."

Then she was off towards the kitchens without further ado, leaving Darcy to retire to his bedchamber.

Repose, however, seemed far away. After lying in the darkness for half an hour, he lit a candle and began to reread Nelson's biography from the beginning, determined to do the thing properly. Darcy had got through the first five chapters when he heard Bingley bid Hurst goodnight in the corridor before his door closed softly across the hall. But it was sometime later before he heard Hurst retire to his own room next-door and thought himself safe from further disruption, Snuffing the candle, Darcy tried again to seek repose. But peace was not to be had. When Hurst's headboard began to bang against the other side of the wall, Darcy put his pillow over his head and wondered why the man could not tend to his wife in her own room.

After Darcy finally fell asleep that night, he dreamt of standing on the terrace with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, explaining constellations to her. He had bent down to bring himself to her eye height as he pointed out the stars when, turning towards her, his eyes became fixed on the deep V formed by the ligaments in her slender neck. Moving closer, he stuck out his tongue and licked her from her jaw to her cheekbone.

Then he woke up in a cold sweat, thinking he had perhaps been spending too much time with Bingley's dog.