It was a beautiful day. Golden fields ready for harvest were bathed in warm sunlight. Rolling hills on the horizon were cloaked in groves of oak and beech and stands of pine. The nearby promontory of Oakham Mount framed the picturesque village of Meryton at its foot. Darcy was not inclined to waste such glorious weather indoors. He began his campaign at the breakfast table, and it took little effort to convince Charles Bingley to abandon the estate ledgers in favour of a ride to the neighbouring estate of Longbourn to visit the lovely Miss Jane Bennet and her equally lovely sister, Elizabeth.

The ladies had recently been guests at Netherfield Park – Miss Bennet had fallen ill while visiting the Bingley sisters and Miss Elizabeth had come to nurse her back to health. They had returned to their father's estate only yesterday, but it would not be at all improper to inquire as to Miss Bennet's health, and really, any excuse would do for a visit.

Before the morning was far advanced, Darcy and Bingley were astride their horses and cantering toward Meryton: once through the village, it would be only a few minutes further to Longbourn. Both were in high good humour, anticipating seeing their particular Bennet ladies, for each of them had developed a fixed interest in one of the elder Bennet sisters. Luckily for their future friendship, their fancies had turned each to a different sister.

Bingley, an uncomplicated fellow, was cheerfully contemplating the prospect of a walk in the gardens of Longbourn with Miss Jane Bennet on his arm. Darcy, at once more complex than his friend and less sanguine of his lady's affections, hoped for the chance to be teased by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, preferably out of sight of her mother.

He was reflecting on the bewitching way her eyes sparkled as she decided to provoke him into debate, when he realised that Bingley had slowed his mount to approach a group standing in the Meryton high street. Reluctantly abandoning his imaginings, and bringing his focus back to the scene in front of him, Darcy was pleased to see that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were among the group. There were some of their younger sisters and several gentlemen with them. Darcy hated meeting new people, but he would put up with much to be in Miss Elizabeth's company. He joined his friend in dismounting and approaching the group.

Bingley addressed Miss Bennet and inquired as to her health. Darcy rolled his eyes – if the lady were still ill, she would hardly be strolling the streets of a village more than a mile from her home. He looked to Miss Elizabeth to see if she shared his amusement at Bingley's poor conversational gambit. Barely had his eyes met hers, however, when he recognised the man standing next to her: that damned benighted deceiver, that despoiler of innocents, that blaggard and cheat, George Wickham!

The greeting he had been about to offer died unspoken, as a flush of anger overtook his visage. He knew if he opened his mouth, he would regret it. He prized his self-control: as a gentleman, he tried diligently to refrain from public displays of emotion. His gaze implacably fixed on Wickham's face, Darcy sought to convey his disgust and outrage to that scoundrel without the need for words. He took some small satisfaction in seeing his old adversary pale and take a half step backward in the face of his rage.

From the edge of his vision, Darcy could not help noticing the confusion and unease evident on Miss Elizabeth's face. She watched the interaction between the two men with close attention, and moved to increase the distance between herself and Wickham. Unhappily for Darcy's peace of mind, her movement took her an equal distance from him. He could not know whether her action indicated a distrust of Wickham alone, or of both of them.

He could say nothing to reassure her: the presence of ladies made it even more important than usual that he maintain his silence. There was nothing he could say to or of that man that was fit for maidenly ears. Darcy swallowed the curses that were boiling in his heart, and simply offered a curt bow to the Bennet ladies before turning away. He had every intention of taking himself from the scene before his manners slipped any further.

As he led his horse a few steps away to find space to mount, he heard Wickham, his voice all insolence and self-assurance: "You must forgive my old friend, Darcy. His manners always were a little lacking." Darcy froze: to leave Miss Elizabeth in the presence of such a cad, knowing he would fill her ears with poison against Darcy and paint himself the better gentleman, went against every instinct. The necessity burned a hole in his gut. Nevertheless, he knew he must depart if he was to retain any semblance of proper conduct. With a supreme effort of will, he raised his arm and placed his hand on the pommel, ready to mount, but found it impossible to continue. It was intolerable to cede the field to George Wickham! He stood uncertainly, one hand grasping the saddle with a fierce grip and the other on his horse's back. Yet he would not look back. He dared not.

"What's the problem, Darcy? Forgotten how to mount a horse, old chap?" Wickham was clearly gloating at seeing off his adversary so quickly. Their whole life, Wickham had relied on Darcy's innate sense of propriety and honour to protect him from public retaliation, no matter how great the provocation. Wickham had worried that his recent near abduction of Georgiana might have pushed Fitzwilliam Darcy beyond his famous self-control, but even then, stuffy old Darcy had just given him a tongue-lashing and sent him on his way with a warning. No, Wickham could rely on Darcy to paint himself in the worst light by proudly stalking away from any confrontation, leaving Wickham to charm the ladies and win them to his side of the battle. For a battle it was.

Seeing Darcy still standing mute, neither mounting his horse nor returning to the fray, Wickham could not resist needling him again: "Come, old friend, will you not acknowledge your father's god son? Or are you too proud to greet the son of your father's steward?"

How dare that man invoke Darcy's beloved father, or the elder Mr Wickham? Those two men had been as beacons to the young Darcy, demonstrating how true men of honour conducted their lives. Neither had understood the base nature of Wickham's son – both had gone to their graves ignorant of his debauchery. Wickham had wasted not a moment before betraying their faith in him. For that ingrate to now pretend that Darcy owed him any consideration on account of their fathers was the height of disrespect to the dead!

Before Darcy could master his temper enough to decide whether to confront Wickham or simply depart, an unknown gentleman rushed from the group to bow so low as to nearly prostrate himself before Darcy. "Mr Darcy, sir, please excuse me for not introducing myself sooner. I had not realised in whose august presence I was! That I should meet with a man of such superior birth in a place such as this … you must imagine my astonishment!" The man was almost breathless with excitement, and in his distracted state Darcy could do nothing but stare incredulously at this remarkable object as it executed a second extravagant bow.

If he hoped for a pause in his interlocutor's speech, however, he was to be disappointed. No sooner was the toady fellow's greasy head raised from his obeisance than he hurried to introduce himself as one William Collins, who claimed the apparently unparalleled honour of holding the living of Hunsford in Kent, at the gift of none other than Darcy's overbearing aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh! With whatever forbearance this odd coincidence might have been borne by Darcy at any other time, we shall never know. In the present circumstances he could not conceal his impatience at the absurd display. Here he was, in the main street of the village, being baited by George Wickham in front of the most fascinating young lady he had ever met. How could he be expected to muster a civil response to a sycophantic fool who had the audacity to address him without an introduction and to convey news about the health of his aunt and cousin as though he were an intimate of the family? It was more than anyone should be asked to endure! Luckily he was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that he was unable to determine which to act on: Darcy stood paralysed in mixed anger, outrage, anxiety, shock and distaste, but at least his indecision meant he neither struck Wickham nor poured scorn on Collins.

Wickham watched Collins' address and Darcy's reaction with undisguised delight. How wonderful to see that prig Darcy struggle with the most basic expectations of civility. What an opportunity to display his own superior manners. He honed his words carefully, and was ready to strike as soon as the ridiculous parson drew breath: "Why Mr Collins, I had not realised you were acquainted with Lady Catherine. You will find in her nephew a gentleman of equal pride and condescension to that great lady, although perhaps not so well mannered."

He saw the way in which Darcy stiffened, congratulating himself on delivering an insult unknown to anyone but himself and his target: none who knew Lady Catherine, with the apparent exception of Collins, could mistake the meaning of his reference to that lady's appalling manners, but the rest of the party would think the comparison intended as a compliment. That Darcy only grew angrier would confuse the observers and throw his own happy manners into sharp contrast.

Wickham thought Darcy's unhappiness entirely to the credit of his own wit and cunning. He could not know that only two days earlier, Miss Elizabeth Bennet had revealed to Darcy that she had thought him arrogant and rude. Darcy was determined to redeem himself in her opinion, but far from confident that he would succeed in doing so. Now, at their first meeting since Miss Elizabeth had left Netherfield Park, a man who claimed an association going back to childhood accused him of pride and condescension, of poor manners, of disdaining his father's godson because of inferior birth. It could only revive that lady's first impressions, and Darcy could not defend himself without further confirming his lack of gentlemanly restraint.

His initial anger at Wickham had burned itself out, replaced by a paralysing anxiety. His thoughts were entirely on how to avoid confirming all Miss Elizabeth's worst expectations. To leave silently would only seem to prove Wickham's accusations. To remain was equally impossible. But at least he could take his leave properly. Donning as neutral an expression as he could manage, he nodded shortly to Collins and, turning back to the rest of the group, bowed to the Bennet sisters, extending his best wishes for Miss Bennet's good health. He determinedly avoided looking at Wickham and excused himself with tolerable politeness before turning again towards his horse. But his tormentor was not finished. Wickham's venomous spite was evident to Darcy, if not to the others, when he called out, "Still refusing to acknowledge your childhood friend, I see. I am sorry for you, Darcy. Such a proud and resentful spirit must be difficult to reconcile with your Christian duty."

Darcy refused to rise to the bait, but once again was frozen in place before mounting his horse – this time by the unmistakable tones of Miss Elizabeth Bennet: "You, sir, are no gentleman!" Darcy's head fell in shame as he imagined Miss Elizabeth's fiery gaze directed at a point somewhere between his shoulder blades. She had believed Wickham, then. Darcy had once more proved himself ill-mannered. He felt a deep sorrow steal out from his heart, and was steeling himself to the necessity of leaving without looking back, when she continued: "How dare you come amongst us and insult an honourable gentleman in such a way? How dare you importune us with your slanders, as if we have any reason to trust your word? You are a stranger here, Mr Wickham, and as far as I am concerned, you will remain a stranger to me and my family!"

Darcy could scarce credit his ears. Miss Elizabeth was defending his honour! She had not been beguiled by Wickham's charms as his father and sister had been. She recognised the impropriety of Wickham's words – something that most were willing to overlook on account of his charming manner and gentlemanly appearance. Darcy's back straightened, and he longed to turn round and give Elizabeth Bennet a hearty cheer. He knew better, however, and kept to his purpose. There would be a chance later to speak to the lady, without either Wickham or his aunt's creature, Collins, as an audience. It would not do for either to gain a suspicion of how strongly he felt about Miss Elizabeth.

For a third time, he went to mount his horse, only to again be stilled by words from behind him. Wickham, stung by Elizabeth's harsh words, snapped back: "You speak as if I should care! What a fool you are, Miss Bennet, to think I would have any interest in knowing a drab little piece like you! Save your charms for the next cowherd you let under your skirts. I have better taste."

Darcy's self-control fled in a moment. A blinding rage overwhelmed him: he spun on his heel and took the two steps to bring him nose to nose with Wickham before the last word had left the blaggard's sneering lips. A sharp punch to Wickham's jaw knocked the scum to the ground. Darcy loomed over him, fists clenched in righteous anger. "Shut your filthy mouth, Wickham! Not one more word! You are a disgrace!"

It was remarkably satisfying to watch Wickham scramble away from him. A sudden sharp aroma revealed that the wretch had pissed himself. The fear written on his face was that of the habitual bully who finally found the tables turned. Darcy relished his enemy's humiliation, and threw a warning after him, "Take your sorry carcass out of my sight, Wickham. Leave Hertfordshire before the end of the day or I shall set the law on you for unpaid debts. I hold enough of them to have you in the poorhouse for the rest of your life. You have crossed me once too often, old friend. I will not give you another chance."

He was so focussed on Wickham – who had now scuttled far enough away to rise to his feet and beat a hasty retreat – that he jumped in shock when someone touched his arm. It took a moment before he recovered himself sufficiently to realise it was the gentle touch of a lady's glove. His gaze rose from the delicate hand on his forearm to see that Elizabeth Bennet had left her sisters to place a restraining hand on his arm. He flushed with shame. What must she think of him, to have behaved like a roughhouse hooligan? He assaulted a man right in front of her, and Lord knows, he had wanted to keep on beating Wickham until his face was a bloody pulp. Surely his savagery had horrified Miss Elizabeth.

Oh, why did the fates bring him face to face with Wickham when Elizabeth Bennet was present?

Wanting to know the worst, he looked to her face, expecting to see disgust or at the least disappointment. He found he could not read her expression: he would have guessed she was looking at him with gentle compassion, if he did not know how little he deserved such grace. He could not hold her gaze, and dropped his eyes to his shoes, waiting mutely for her judgement.

"I do not pretend to understand what is between you and Mr Wickham, sir, but I thank you for your defence of my virtue."

His gaze leapt back to her face. He was confused. Was she thanking him? Did she forgive him for his beastly conduct? Perhaps, but surely now she would not wish to spend time in his company. She would want to distance herself from both the men who had made a spectacle of themselves today. His uncertainty was writ plain on his face for a moment before he mustered an impassive mask to hide his inner turmoil.

"Miss Elizabeth, I apologise. You and your sisters should never have been subjected to such a scene. I ought to have kept my temper. I understand that you will no longer welcome my company, I will leave you now."

"Indeed you should have kept your temper, sir!" interrupted an outraged Mr Collins. "I will thank you to unhand my cousin and take your leave. I have never seen such a display of disgraceful behaviour. Why, the good book enjoins us to conduct ourselves with Christian charity and to turn the other cheek. There can be no excuse for striking another man, and in front of ladies, too. I am sure Lady Catherine will be most seriously displeased when I inform her of it. I must take my fair cousins home immediately so that I can write to Her Ladyship without delay." All trace of servility was now gone, and the greasy little man actually physically removed Miss Elizabeth's hand from Darcy's arm as though he had the right to touch her, and then herded his cousins away much like a farmwife herding a flock of chickens. Like those birds, the younger girls tried to escape his guard and return to the footpath, but he was determined, and without any chance of further comment, Miss Elizabeth and her sisters were on their way home.

Darcy was left standing in the middle of the High Street, with the sobering reflection that he had just been quite properly chastised by the most foolish man he had ever met.

Damn and blast! Were the fates conspiring to prevent him from showing Miss Elizabeth his better nature? How could he have made such a cake of things?

She had said it herself: "I do not pretend to understand what is between you and Mr Wickham…" Of course she didn't. How could she? All she knew was that he had stormed up to a stranger in the street and assaulted him! Damn Wickham! That cad had an uncanny ability to know just what to say to turn Darcy from a restrained gentleman into a street brawler. And Darcy had walked right into his trap.

He should have left as soon as he saw Wickham. He had meant to do so. He should not have allowed that reprobate to turn him from his path. Yet he had waited, and listened, and taken the bait. Yes, Wickham's words were the excuse, but it was his own ill discipline that was really to blame. Would she ever give him another chance? He certainly didn't deserve one.

Darcy stood, his eyes closed and look of despair on his face, his shoulders slumped and arms hanging uselessly by his side.

Bingley, who had observed the whole altercation with wide eyes, watched the lovely Miss Bennet until she was herded out of view by her overly officious cousin, and turned back to his friend. "Well, Darcy, that was unexpected!"

Darcy huffed, and drew his tattered dignity together. "I apologise, Bingley. I don't know what came over me. I am most heartily ashamed."

"Stuff and nonsense! I don't know who that bastard was, but his insults against you and Miss Elizabeth were appalling. Your response was entirely justified. If you had not moved so quickly, I would have taken him to task myself. No gentleman could stand by and allow a lady to be so abused. I am proud of you, man."

Darcy smiled wanly. "I do not deserve your friendship, Bingley. You are truly the best of men. Would you join me for a drink?" With that, the two repaired to the Red Lion for a pint, their intended visit to Longbourn forgotten for the moment. Darcy was further embarrassed when he was congratulated by the barman, who assured him that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a respected young lady and that the whole town appreciated Darcy's defence of her. The blaggart who had spoken against her had been given no welcome when he sought to drown his sorrows at the inn, and instead had been shown to the edge of town by several of the local lads. "We don't need bastards like that in Meryton, if you'll excuse my language, sirs." Darcy simply nodded and accepted his pint of ale, retreating to a table in the corner with Bingley.

"I'm sorry, Charles, but I suppose that puts the kibosh on our plan to visit the Bennets. We have already seen for ourselves that Miss Bennet is recovered, and we could hardly make an innocuous morning call after that little contretemps! Perhaps tomorrow?"

Bingley scowled. He had set his heart on a walk with Jane Bennet and was not happy to have the chance stolen by that bumbling parson who had hurried them home. "Why shouldn't we go? You have done nothing to be ashamed of, but the longer we stay away the longer that Collins fellow will have to bend Mr and Mrs Bennet's ears with his nonsense. No, it is better that I have a chance to tell the true story before the well is poisoned with his spite."

Darcy was uneasy with the idea of arriving in the Bennet household so soon after such an ignominious display, but Bingley's argument did make sense. His mind was made up when Bingley pointed out that Mr Collins had been showing a marked interest in Miss Elizabeth and had seemed particularly upset with her for approaching Mr Darcy. Darcy's head shot up at this news. His focus had been so strongly on Wickham that he had not even noticed Collins until his absurd little speech about Lady Catherine, and he had not looked at him again until he had had the audacity to tell Darcy off. "What do you mean, a marked interest?" he asked sharply.

"He was standing a little too close to her and, if I don't miss my guess, looking a little too directly at her décolletage. Then when you started glaring at Wickham, he moved even closer to her. You should have seen his face, though, when she went and touched your arm. He was just as angry with her as he was with you. Horrible little man."

"Perhaps we should visit Longbourn. Just to reassure the ladies that Wickham has left town." Darcy drained the last of his pint and looked on impatiently as Bingley more slowly followed suit.

When the gentlemen were ushered into the front parlour at Longbourn a half hour later, they found all the Bennet ladies assembled. The room was silent, although there was the distinct feeling that it had been anything but, only moments before they were announced. Miss Bennet was the first to recall her manners, and she rose quickly to welcome the gentlemen and offer refreshments. A servant was dispatched for tea, and Bingley and Darcy sat down – Bingley next to Jane Bennet and Darcy in the only remaining available place, between Miss Lydia and Miss Mary.

Lydia had no patience with polite conversation, and now that two witnesses of the most exciting events of the day were present, including one of the main protagonists, she could not miss the chance to revisit that most interesting topic. Indeed, it had been all she could speak of since the sisters and their cousin arrived home, ten minutes before Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy arrived. "La, what fun we had in Meryton today, Mr Darcy! I have never been more surprised than I was when you knocked that Mr Wickham down in the street. You are usually such a dry, boring fellow. I did not think you had it in you! You must be a jolly good boxer!"

Elizabeth attempted to silence her sister and divert the conversation to safer ground, but she might as well have been trying to hold back the tide. Her mother and Miss Catherine were as eager as Miss Lydia to discuss what they insisted on viewing as an act of chivalry by Darcy in defence of their sister. Darcy became increasingly discomfited by such foolish approbation of actions he could not but feel merited shame and regret. When Lydia pressed, with a prurient curiosity, for details about Wickham and why he was so rude to Darcy, Darcy stood and walked to the window, where he stood stiffly, one hand held behind his back, and said "I will not speak of that man. His actions are not fit for the ears of young ladies. Suffice it to say that he is not the sort of person anyone should trust either with their credit or their daughters." He then turned and gazed out the window, hoping to put an end to this most distressing conversation.

To his immense relief, Bingley chose that moment to propose a stroll in the garden, and both Jane and Elizabeth eagerly endorsed the suggestion. Mrs Bennet, no doubt with an eye to allowing Bingley time alone with Jane, found she needed the younger girls to help her with some matter or other, so it was only the eldest two sisters who stepped out to walk with the gentlemen. They quickly paired off into one couple who were simply enchanted with each other's company and another who were bursting with things they wanted to say while out of earshot of anyone else.

Darcy found strolling with Elizabeth's hand once more resting on his forearm remarkably calming. No matter the many things he knew he needed to say, he could not help but relish a few moments of silence with the gentle balm of her affectionate touch creating the wonderful illusion that she had forgiven him for his conduct. But Darcy was no fool. He would only have a short opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth in private, and he should not waste it.

"Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to tell you how deeply sorry I am for my conduct in Meryton today. I have only the deepest respect and regard for you, and would not for the world have subjected you to such a scene. A gentleman should protect ladies from violence, not bring it to them. I cannot think upon my actions with anything other than abhorrence. I have no excuse for such violence. You must think me the lowest sort of hoodlum. I came to Longbourn only to assure myself that you had not suffered any lasting distress, and to offer my apology. Now that I have done so, I am sure it will be to your greater comfort for me to remove myself from the neighbourhood. I assure you I will do so promptly.

She raised her left eyebrow. It mesmerised him. Despite his words, he made no move to depart. Instead, he waited for her verdict, certain his whole future depended on it.

"I will be sorry if you do, Mr Darcy. You have proved yourself a true friend today. There is nothing – nothing – for you to apologise for. I am honoured that you would go so far in defence of my reputation. It is now my turn to ask, are you well, sir? Please assure me that this unpleasantness has not distressed you."

Distressed him? She was worried about him? What a remarkable woman she was! His eyes lit up and a relieved smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You are too good," he said quietly. "I have behaved abominably, and you should be castigating me for ungentlemanly behaviour."

"Perhaps so, Mr Darcy, but something tells me you have already castigated yourself far more than the affair merits. If there were flaws in your conduct, then you have amply apologised for them, and it would be churlish of me not to forgive you. I am more inclined to think on the very great pleasure I find in the recollection that you were my champion when need arose."

Darcy lifted a hand to rub his nose, attempting to hide his embarrassment at the lady's praise. In doing so, he brought his reddened knuckles into view, and Elizabeth gasped in distress. "You are hurt!" she cried.

"It is nothing," he quickly assured her. "I have suffered worse herding cattle." Indeed, the last time he had sported bruises was when he was bowled over by a troublesome cow the day he assisted one of his tenant farmers to recover his herd after a drywall had been breached. It was simply the first example that sprang to mind, and he could not understand the look of shock on Elizabeth's face. Before he could puzzle it out, her shock was replaced with mirth and she broke into helpless laughter. Still clasping his arm, but now for support, she laughed until tears came to her eyes.

Darcy could not fathom it, but was happy to accept the gift that it was. Surely she could not be laughing so if she was distressed with him? As she gradually recovered command of her countenance, Darcy asked what had given rise to her laughter. She coloured and looked away, avoiding his inquisitive gaze. He was ready to let the matter drop, but she straightened her shoulders and looked up at him, saying, "I have recently been alerted to the possible interest of cowherds in getting under my skirts, sir. I had thought myself safe, as I do not generally spend time in the company of cowherds. Or so I thought. Imagine my surprise to discover that the very gentleman standing before me is in fact a cowherd!" She smiled to see that gentleman's total shock at the image she had evoked. "How could I not find the coincidence amusing, Mr Darcy? I realise that my humour was indecorous in the circumstances, but it was, I assure you, beyond my capacity to control. Perhaps it is the stress of the day, but I found the chance to laugh irresistible."

Darcy did not know where to look. He tried manfully to keep his eyes on her face. There was much to see there: her eyes were sparkling with mirth, her cheeks glowing with a delightful embarrassed blush, and her lips were slightly pursed in challenge. But her words had brought to mind quite another part of her anatomy, and his traitorous eyes kept slipping to the edge of her skirt, imagining what might hide beneath. He cleared his throat and turned away in mortification. First he had acted the savage by striking Wickham, and now his unruly body was trying to reveal quite how much the savage he really was!

Elizabeth's voice came from behind him, low and uncertain, "I am sorry, Mr Darcy. I should not have spoken so. It was uncalled for. Please excuse my words. I am so grateful to you for today. I do not want to spoil our new friendship. I know it was improper to laugh at such a thing …" She was babbling, clearly anxious about his sudden withdrawal. Her nervousness killed his untimely ardour as quickly as her jest had aroused it: he could not but respond to her need for reassurance, and that imperative dissipated the physical arousal that had caused him to turn his back.

Darcy swung around to face her again, crying "No!" with a vigour that made her start in surprise. "No," he repeated, more gently, "do not apologise. You are everything proper and delightful. I would not change a thing about you. Your mischievous sense of humour is one of the many things I admire about you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and you have not offended me. Far from it! My difficulty was only in being too delighted by your whimsy. I would be honoured to be your cowherd, Miss Elizabeth, but needed to remind myself that I must wait until such a role is sanctioned by your father and the church. If I ever convince you to accept my hand, that is." And he winked. Actually winked. It is difficult to say who was more surprised by that – Darcy or Elizabeth.

Elizabeth knew not what to think. Still recovering from her distress at the thought of losing his regard, she was now facing a man who confessed to ardent desire and spoke of marriage. Was he joking? She didn't think so. Surely he would not joke about such a thing. Yet he had winked at her! Oh, confusing man!

Elizabeth Bennet was not one to be confounded for long. Her courage rose, and she determined that she would discover Mr Darcy's true meaning. If he was merely joking, she would be ready to laugh at his whimsy. If he was more serious … well, if he was at all serious, she would not be at all unhappy to know it. Looking at the gentleman who stood before her with a glint of humour still in his eye, she replied cheekily: "You can have no hope of sanction by my father or the church, sir, without first undertaking that quaint old custom of a proposal. I can't imagine how you might convince me to accept your hand when it has not been offered." She kept her tone light, so that neither of them should be mortified by the conversation should it turn out that Mr Darcy had no intention of offering for her.

She grew nervous when all trace of humour disappeared from that gentleman's face, and he looked most earnestly at her. "Miss Elizabeth, only the day before yesterday you agreed to begin our acquaintance afresh. I hoped to show you a better side of myself than you had seen heretofore. Instead, I have displayed my ungovernable temper. If I thought you might agree, I would offer for you in an instant, but I respect you too much to seek your hand on the basis of any misplaced sense of obligation for my actions today."

"Mr Darcy, I hope you know me well enough to be certain I would never marry without real affection. I honour your forbearance: it must be a novel experience for a man of your wealth and standing to be uncertain of your reception. I must tell you that my opinion of you is now quite different from that I expressed at Netherfield Park. I have had time to reflect on my earlier prejudices, and to reconsider all our interactions in light of my better understanding of your character, and I find myself heartily ashamed of what I thought then. But I assure you that I do not speak out of guilt for my earlier mistakes, nor out of obligation for your gallantry today, when I say that I already think you among the best men of my acquaintance."

Darcy stood before her in amazement. She offered him so much hope that his heart overflowed and, for the third time that day, he found it difficult to behave as a gentleman. He quivered with the effort of not reaching out to caress her cheek. Instead, with a supreme effort of self-control, he bowed deeply and placed a reverent kiss on the back of her hand. Without speaking, he placed her hand back on his arm and recommenced strolling about the garden. He did not deserve such happiness. It was too much. And yet, this wonderful woman who walked at his side no longer disdained him. Instead of prejudicing those who Darcy loved, Wickham's spite had, for once, wrought no harm.

The sound of a dinner bell recalled the wandering couples to the house, and to a boisterous conversation of lace and gowns and local news which the lady of the house seemed capable of maintaining single-handedly, with occasional assistance from her youngest daughters, oblivious to the distraction of her eldest two and their beaux. After dinner the ladies repaired to the parlour while Mr Bennet and his guests lingered over a glass of port.

Mr Bennet had barely finished pouring before Mr Collins began an angry recitation of the events in Meryton that afternoon. He had hoped to tell his host the story before now, but writing to his patroness took precedence, and then Mr Bennet had declined a private audience before dinner. He was not inclined to wait a moment longer, and he would not be deterred by the presence of the gentlemen from Netherfield Park. Those gentlemen nursed their glasses and waited to see how Mr Collins would tell the tale.

"I regret that I must inform you of the most unfortunate events this afternoon, Mr Bennet," he began, his voice rather betraying relish than regret. "I accompanied your daughters on a walk to the village, where Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine displayed a distinct lack of propriety in their hurry to talk to some members of the militia who were promenading in the street. Despite this irregular means of introduction, however, the officers turned out to have the bearing and address of true gentlemen. Your daughters and I were making the acquaintance of a new member of the militia when we were joined by Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy.

"It grieves me to own it, for I never would have imagined that a nephew of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourg could behave so, but your daughters were then subjected to the most outrageous, appalling, ungentlemanly display. I barely know how to tell you, sir, for it will shock you to know what your innocent daughters have been exposed to, and it must distress you to think of what scandal and speculation they will be subject to, for all of Meryton must know the details by now. Indeed, to be associated with such public embarrassment must sully their reputations throughout the community." Here the verbose parson paused to contemplate whether he should alter his own marital intentions in light of his cousins' besmirched reputations.

Mr Bennet seized the opportunity to interrupt, "You have as yet told me nothing more shocking than that my youngest daughters had the audacity to approach gentlemen of their acquaintance in a public place, while in the company of their cousin, a man of the cloth. They might be a little lacking in the finer social graces, Mr Collins, but I think you need not fear the total loss of their reputations from such a lapse. The good people of Meryton are well used to Kitty and Lydia."

"You misunderstand me, Mr Bennet. It was not your daughters who brought on the scorn that must descend on the Bennet name, but Mr Darcy. One of the officers your daughters introduced me to, a Lieutenant Wickham, had only just joined the regiment. He was most gentlemanly in his manner and address, and paid pretty compliments to all the ladies. He even spoke with appropriate reverence of Lady Catherine de Bourg, who he knew through a long association with Mr Darcy's family. Indeed, he was most genteel.

"When Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy encountered our party, Mr Darcy behaved like a ruffian. I am astounded that Lady Catherine would think of connecting her own daughter to such a man. He must hide his true character well when in her presence, or she could not allow his betrothal to his cousin." At this juncture, Darcy fell into a coughing fit, having choked on his port. Bingley pounded his back and offered his sympathy, leaving Collins free to carry on with his circuitous narration.

"Without any provocation, Mr Darcy glared at poor Mr Wickham, near frightening him from our company. Although that might have passed unnoticed – for who can understand the ways of the very rich – Mr Darcy returned a moment later and punched Mr Wickham full on the nose. He offered no excuse for his violence, but spewed insults and threats at an innocent man. It was a shocking scene, sir, and your innocent daughters must forever be associated with it. As a man of the cloth, I cannot condone such violence. I hurried to bring my cousins home, but I fear that the damage to their reputations is already done.

"I feel obliged to inform you of these events, not only because you will need to take steps to repair the damage – perhaps your daughters ought be sent to Hunsford for some months, where my supervision, with the invaluable guidance of Lady Catherine, might restore them to some respectability – but I could not allow you to welcome such a viper in your nest" – this said while glancing nervously at the gentleman from Derbyshire – "not knowing his true nature."

Darcy made to speak, but Mr Bennet held up a hand to silence him. "Thank you, Mr Collins, for your colourful tale. I find myself amazed at such events. I have known Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy for only a short time, and this Lieutenant Wickham not at all. However I suspect that there is more to this tale than you have told me. Perhaps you might share your perspective with me, Mr Bingley?"

Bingley looked anxiously to Darcy, who was clearly unhappy not to be able to put his side of the story. Darcy nodded at his friend, indicating he should comply with Mr Bennet's request. His narrative was a little more collected than Mr Collins', and included mention of Wickham's rudeness. When he came to the point where Wickham had insulted Miss Elizabeth, he blushed and could not find any polite way to describe that man's words. Mr Collins was happy to take up the tale again, however, astounding all three listeners with his idiocy: "Mr Wickham said something about a cowherd getting into Miss Elizabeth's skirts. I can only imagine he was referring to the fact that her hems were six inches deep in mud – she really is a careless walker, something I will endeavour to cure her of in future. In any case, it was a harmless enough remark, and in no way accounts for Mr Darcy's vile behaviour."

Mr Bennet had risen from his seat, and now leant across the table glaring at Mr Collins, his face an interesting shade of red. "Do I understand you rightly, sir? A complete stranger accused Lizzy of letting a cowherd under her skirts?"

Mr Collins was oblivious to his host's anger. "Yes. And then out of the blue, Mr Darcy struck him in the face!"

Mr Bennet turned to Darcy and offered him a hearty handshake. "I thank you sir! You did exactly as I would have done were I present. I am grateful you were there to defend my Lizzy's honour. I must have a word with Colonel Forster about this Wickham. He should be run out of town, not enlisted in service of the Crown!"

"No need for that, sir. It seems the good people of Meryton have already taken care of George Wickham. He will not be seen in these parts again, I expect. Your daughter is highly thought of by the villagers, and they were quick to take offence on her behalf." Darcy drew a deep breath before continuing: "I apologise for losing my temper in front of your daughters, sir. As you might suspect, I have something of a history with Wickham. Despite his easy manners, he is no gentleman, and has ruined many young ladies in his time. Meryton is well rid of him, but it was his hatred of me, and not any particular animosity for Miss Elizabeth, that motivated his insults. If I had left as soon as I realised he was present, he would never have impugned your daughter. Her distress was entirely my fault, and I am sorry I failed to show greater restraint. In that regard, at least, Mr Collins is correct to upbraid me."

Mr Bennet snorted. "It will be a cold day in hell before that fool is correct about anything! I will persist in thanking you, Mr Darcy. If you had walked away, you would have left my daughters in the company of a rake, with only my idiot cousin for protection! No, that would not have done at all."

Mr Collins bridled at this poor appraisal of his intellect. He still had no idea why anyone was speaking of insults to Miss Elizabeth: it was hardly an insult to draw attention to her dirty skirts! He had taken the very best care of his fair cousins, separating them from the thuggish conduct of Mr Darcy. He did not deserve such ridicule from their father, and it was even more humiliating for Mr Bennet to share his disdain with Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, as though they deserved more consideration than his own cousin and heir! He stood with exaggerated dignity, bowed ostentatiously and left the room without another word.

"I never thought the buffoon would shut up!" exclaimed Mr Bennet as the door closed behind his offended cousin. "Now, shall we join the ladies?"

"A moment, Mr Bennet, if you please," said Darcy. "There is one more thing I wish to discuss with you if you will indulge me for another minute or two."

"I am all curiosity, sir," said Bennet, resuming his seat and leaning back comfortably. A naturally indolent man, his burst of anger had passed quickly, replaced by humour at Mr Collins' absurdity. He now quietly relished the way his distinguished guest moved nervously in his seat. Whatever could such a proud man have to be nervous about?

"Mr Bennet, during her recent stay at Netherfield Park, I have come to greatly admire Miss Elizabeth. I am aware that she has not thought as well of me as I do of her, but she has generously agreed to accept my apologies for my past offences, and to begin our acquaintance anew. I wish to assure you, sir, that my intentions are entirely honourable. If I can win your daughter's affection, I will immediately apply to you for permission to propose. However I do not wish to force her into anything she does not freely embrace. Therefore at this stage I ask your consent for a courtship between myself and Miss Elizabeth."

Bingley looked on, all wide-eyed amazement. His austere friend, notorious for remaining untouched by sentimental attachment, and for caution in all things, was declaring his intentions to Mr Bennet while Bingley, by far the more impulsive of the two, had not yet even spoken of his hopes to the angelic Miss Bennet. How could the world have gone so topsy-turvy?

Mr Bennet was far from ready to discuss parting with his favourite daughter. However after Darcy's actions that day in her defence, he felt that if anyone could deserve such a prize, it might just be the gentleman sitting before him. Still, it was not in his nature to miss an opportunity to tease: "Well, I am surprised, sir. The last I heard, you thought her not handsome enough to tempt you."

Darcy coloured most satisfyingly. "That absurd comment is one of the offences I have apologised to Miss Elizabeth for, sir, and she has been gracious enough to forgive me. I can only assure you that it is some time now that I have thought her the handsomest woman of my acquaintance."

Mr Bennet had mercy on the earnest young man: "You have my blessing, lad. If you can win Lizzy's approval for a courtship, then you have mine. She will not be easy to convince, but she is certainly worth the effort. You might want to consider an informal understanding first, though. If a courtship is announced to the family, then Mrs Bennet will tell the whole neighbourhood that marriage is a certainty. You will find yourself trapped long before you come to the point of actually proposing."

"I would have no objection to that, Mr Bennet. I am certain of my aim: I am determined to win Miss Elizabeth's hand in the end. But I realise that she would not appreciate having that choice taken away from her. I am content to wait until she is ready for a formal announcement. I can only hope that it will not take too long."

After this conversation, the three men finished their port and joined the ladies in the parlour. Mr Collins was not with them, and Mr Bennet later learned from his butler, Hill, that Collins had left for the Meryton Inn, leaving instructions for his trunks to be packed and sent after him. He would not stay another minute in a house where he was so little respected. His absence was little noticed, and regretted not at all.

As twilight drew in, Darcy and Bingley rode home to Netherfield Park. After such a tumultuous day, Darcy was once again lost in thoughts of wooing the lovely Miss Elizabeth, while his friend was forming a new resolution to emulate Darcy's decisiveness in matters of the heart: tomorrow he would declare himself to Miss Bennet. The two contented friends delivered their horses to the stables and entered the house with nary a word spoken between them. Each retired to dream of their Bennet sister.

George Wickham would have been sorely disappointed had he known that Darcy's dreams were undisturbed by the slightest recollection of his old nemesis.

oooOOOooo

Author's Note:

These are the first two chapters in a longer novel published as Words Spoken in Anger by Margaret Gale. I think these two chapters stand alone, but if you would like to read more, it is available as an ebook from Kobo and Amazon.