Warnings: This story was written completely on a whim so this is an OOC, unedited mess with a lot of randomness heaped on top. Yes, it's one of those what-the-heck-are-you-doing-Angela fics.

Note: This story is entirely random, and written more towards the Victorian era than the Regency one. Honestly, this story was inspired (somehow) by The Abominable Bride episode of Sherlock.

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Love language

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It was a truth universally acknowledged that balls were the perfect place to find a husband, and with an opportune occurrence at the grand estate of Netherfield, Mrs. Bennet was assured that her daughters would find their matches, one way or the other!

"At least try to look a little less uninterested, Lizzy." Well. Perhaps, except for her second oldest.

"But I am terribly uninterested."

With a huff, Mrs. Bennet lamented, "You vex me."

"I try," she said with a wink.

Elizabeth Bennet, her mother thought, was as stubborn as they came. Even with the theme of a masked ball, she wouldn't pretend, even for a moment that she was not who she was.

Mrs. Bennet was sure if Elizabeth put in the effort, her daughter could convince anyone fall in love with her. Alas, as a girl, Elizabeth had decided she wouldn't marry for anything, not when she wanted to take up medicine of all things. Her hypothetical husband would surely never allow it; and her own reception in society, once she made it clear where her interests lay, did not endear her.

No lady wanted her Lizzy's influence on their daughters, and no gentleman wanted a wife who thought themselves cleverer than they.

"Then pretend," she begged and bargained, "at least for me, at least for tonight."

"Mama."

"I mean it, Lizzy!" Looking over her shoulder and bringing her closer, Mrs. Bennet hissed, "Mr. Darcy is here, dear girl, and between you and me, I think he rather fancies you."

"Mama," she repeated exasperated. "He called me barely tolerable, I don't know how that translates to him fancying me, and even then, I'm not a particular admirer of his."

"Oh hush, if that were the case you wouldn't still begrudge him of that remark," Mrs. Bennet said, lightly swatting her arm. "He said that of you months ago, and has he not been trying to make it up to you?"

She huffed, unimpressed, but her mother would not be perturbed; "Surely you can pretend that you'd be open to the idea of marriage? There's no need to be so jaded at the prospect of it."

"You know I'm not," she retorted. "I simply don't have a reason to risk it. You said so yourself, Mama, no man would want to marry a woman that wants to become a physician, least of all a pathologist. I highly doubt Mr. Darcy is any different."

Even if he was the only one willing to debate with her on the topic, or discuss it at any length, essays recently published on the process of human decay. Elizabeth allowed that his loaning of his medical books, while solicitous, was purely due to their shared interest in the subject and frankly, she thought he only did it so he could tell her that the evidence was "right there, in your hands".

The few times he invited her to help him with various interesting experiments he conducted in Netherfield, she allowed, was thoughtful of him, but even he admitted that it was because he was rubbish at offering anything else to encourage affection. Elizabeth was sure he was only saying it to be kind.

"Try, Lizzy," her mother encouraged still, "what if there is such a gentleman, would you not want to meet him at least?"

"Would there be such a man?" Yes, Mr. Darcy. Wait no! She shook her head. No, not him!

"You won't know if you don't look, dear."

Nodding along, if only to get her mother to relent, Elizabeth waited until the woman turned her attention to her other charges before ascending the staircase to one of the many balconies overlooking the floor.

"I was told parties are meant for socializing," a stranger informed as he joined her a few minutes after, standing beside her against the railing of the balcony with little care to whether she wanted his company or not.

He wouldn't stay long, Elizabeth knew. "I don't think you want to socialize with me."

"Oh?"

She raised her glass to them in gesture, the dancing couples and the simpering ladies that littered the floor with their equally insipid chaperones for the evening. "I'm social poison, you know."

"What did you do?"

Elizabeth laughed. "What didn't I do?" She took a sip of her wine. "I turned down a proposal, perhaps my only one, and then I decided I wanted to study, and not even something ladylike or feminine; I was shunned and ever since I've made it a habit to be as boring as possible so I don't have to go through that whole thing again."

He chuckled lowly. "Here I thought you were standing here alone to look dull and uninteresting."

"Aren't I?"

"No, indeed," he murmured, his voice deep, warm, and smooth. "I find you fascinating."

"Why is that?"

"Because here you are; the most beautiful woman in the room, and you are alone."

"Beautiful, sir?" She couldn't ignore the flush of colour upon her cheeks if she tried. "I can barely get anyone to look at me, and when they do, all they want is the pretty face and nothing else attached to it. I'm barely tolerable, you see."

"Only a fool would think that," he was quick to say.

"Then I'm surrounded by them," she informed in a low whisper, getting him to lean slightly closer to hear her.

He was taller, his shoulders broad, and his clothes were perfectly tailored in charcoal, stretching across his chest with every movement of his hands. She noted that he tended to gesture when he spoke and that he wore a solid black ring on his left ring finger which contrasted sharply with his white skin, drawing attention to the largeness of his palms and the length of his fingers.

"I can promise to persuade at least one to take it back."

She placed her glass on the railing beside her and turned to look at him properly. He was handsome, even with the top half of his face hidden from her. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw; he would not be in want of company if he asked for it which begged the question as to what he was doing with her. "I assume you're talking about yourself because you're still sitting next to me."

"That's not necessarily all I want from you."

Elizabeth felt an incessant, strange pull at her belly as she swallowed. "Then what is it that you want?"

He paused, a slight smile curling the corner of his lips, a dimple pressing into his cheek. "Will you dance with me?"

"No."

She expected him to falter, grow angry, but he only tilted his head in vague confusion before he asked, half relieved, half concerned, "Does the company not suit you?"

"I think, sir, the company suits me fine," Elizabeth soothed. "Only that one dance could lead to an expectation you see, of courtship and marriage, such is the speed that the minds of our peers move, and I would hate to disappoint anyone."

"A lady's mind is very rapid," he agreed, "from admiration to love and then to marriage. Do you think it odd?"

She shrugged. "Terribly, but then, it just means all people in love get married."

"So you would not be surprised if I were to propose to you after a dance? After all, I ask because I admire you."

Elizabeth chuckled, patting his arm. "You do not know me, sir. Such a feat would be impossible."

"And yet, you would hate to disappoint anyone," he reminded.

"I'm talking about you, sir," she said, peering at him thoughtfully. "I have no intention to marry, and if I did, it would have to be for the deepest, purest love."

And that was when he moved away from their bumping shoulders for she knew he would, though she could not help but be disappointed.

The emotion melted to confusion as he offered his hand, and curious, she accepted. Once turned to face one another directly, he reached for the mask still affixed upon her features.

Still bewildered, she did not stop him, though he only brushed his bare hand against her cheek and down to rest beneath her chin. "Then, I think, Miss Elizabeth," he began, "I must tell you how you have bewitched me because in vain, I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Her eyes widened to exponential proportions as realization dawned on her. "M…Mr. Darcy?"

The dimple bit into his cheek as his smile dipped, and he appeared nervous. "Would…would this be better if I take my mask off?"

"Sir, I…I cannot begin to understand you," she admitted. "How…what?"

"Was I…not clear in my pursuit of you?"

"Pursuit," she repeated, baffled, "of me?"

"The books, the discussions, the experiments," he offered, and he went rather pink. "Were they not...right?"

Right?

She devoured the articles, she craved the discussions, and the experiments were perhaps the only time she ever felt like she could accomplish her dreams of completing her medical certificate, and one day practice! Surely, he must have known!

"I…"

He was wrong in reading her silence as he bowed quickly. "I'm terribly sorry for this, Miss Elizabeth; I didn't mean to put you in an awkward position. I know of your stance not to marry, and I would never do you the dishonor of thinking I could change your mind. Only, that I couldn't bear the thought of you never knowing that someone sees you for who you are and I -"

Without a second thought, damn propriety and decorum et al, Elizabeth reached up to kiss him.

Even if Mr. Darcy hadn't realized that she was silent for completely the opposite reason, he certainly knew now that his suit was successful; she only had to speak in a language he understood.

A/n: So yes, I experimented a bit in writing Lizzy as a social outcast (as Darcy was while at Hertfordshire) and I took Darcy in a different direction regarding his shy/awkwardness.

I was originally going to post a lemon, but I could not for the life of me wrap my head around it so maybe some other time?

Anyway, happy Valentine's Day everyone! Please do leave your comments for me below.

(And kindly also note that this story is complete)