*I do not own any of the wonderful characters, as they belong to Jane Austen's imagination

The new luxurious and finely crafted carriage belonging to Lord Darcy's estate turned the bend onto the only main street that the small town of Meryton could lay claim to, and headed for the Assembly Hall which stood at the center of the town square as the clock in the tiny tower at the top of the Hall was slowly striking seven times.

It was still light outside, but the sun would be setting within the next hour or so. A good portion of the earlier day had been rainy, producing the end results of children who were jumping off the wooden plank sidewalks splashing into the puddles that collected along the edges of the street with shrieks of laughter.

The dogs followed suit in the excitement as they chased carriages rolling, curious to the noisy gathering in the normally quiet town, as most of the local stores closed early in anticipation of the dance that evening.

Lord Darcy looked out the window and saw a small, quaint market town, much like many others that they had stopped at on their way to this section of the county, some 50 miles south of London. He could also feel the excitement in the air, but only in an abstract manner, wishing that he could share in its sentiment. Darcy signed. He had always longed to feel comfortable among people he did not know intimately, but knew that he not have the talent which some possessed of conversing easily with complete strangers. He'd always marveled at his friend Charles Bingley's talent to do so, and he quietly shook his head and sighed again in resignation of the evening ahead. He glanced at Bingley, and gave a weak smile.

The carriage slowed down, finally coming to a halt right in front of the Hall as Mr. Zachary, Lord Darcy's private coach driver, quickly jumped down from his perch seat from above the carriage and opened the coaches' double doors, smiling, as he announced that they had arrived at their appointed destination. "The Assembly Hall, M'Lord."

"Thank You, Mr. Zachary." Lord Darcy said as he stood and paused in the door frame of the carriage before stepping down in front of the open doors of the Assembly Hall of Meryton. He quickly examined the only inn that it seemed that the small country town of Meryton had. It wasn't too bad really, but it certainly had seen its better days there was no doubt. Nothing escaped his attention. The peeling white paint, a windowpane of broken glass on the second floor, a shutter or two slightly unhinged and allowed to hang at an angle, things that most people wouldn't even notice. Of course, front and center, hanging above the double doored entrance to the inn, was a sign made out of roughly hued wood that was making it was clear that the town eagerly looked forward to meeting the new renters of Netherfield Park with open arms. On the wooden sign were big crooked words, painted in bright red, 'Welcome Charles Dingley and Guests.' Lord Darcy rolled his eyes in wry amusement.

Jumping down from the carriage, his boots hit the mud, as he worked the tension induced kink out of his neck with a sharp popping twist, while at the same time straightening his shoulders, flexing his fingers while he adjusted the cuffs from beneath his dark silk topcoat and then pulled down on his embroidered black on black silk brocade vest. He would not normally had worn something so fine to a country gathering, a simple yet elegant and understated manner of dress, tailored and perfectly fitted was more to his taste, and would have rather chosen a light wool coat matched with a plain vest, but as his Jamaican man-servant, Tattoo had so rightly reminded him, he had to make a good impression for the sake of his friend who might end up calling the small town of Meryton his home. Tattoo had been in Lord Darcy's service for 15 years, and through the years had slowly earned his respect in regards to expressing his thoughts on the gentleman's selection of clothing, as well as giving his opinion on everyday matters. Looking down at his choice for the evening he was thankful that at least he wasn't over-dressed as if ready for a fancy soiree in the city held by one of The Ton. He didn't think that he'd ever get used to the newest overly ornate fashion of the gentlemen's suit from the jacket, to the waistcoat, pants and even caveat being bold check, color or brocade, and sometimes all three at once. Head to toe pattern... it was totally un-necessary, too showy, and certainly too ostentatious. Preening peacocks were the words that came to his mind when he saw gentlemen in such selections. Thank God his good friend, had not followed in the latest style and was sedately dressed. Unfortunately, the ladies of society seemed to be following the garish trends as well… such as Charles' younger sister Miss Caroline Bingley who shared the carriage with them, along with their older sister, Mrs Hurst and her boring husband Mr. Hurst, who also appeared to have put on every piece of adornment that they could find, wither it was the clothes, the jewelry, silk, satin and lace handkerchiefs, the turbans with three foot long ostrich feathers for the women or even the god-awful trend of curling the men's hair. He found it embarrassing. "Watch your step DINGLEY." said Lord Darcy with a dry wit as he moved aside to allow his friend to exit the carriage.

"DINGLEY?... Dingley...? What?..." Questioned Charles as he stood in the doorway of the carriage, and then grinned and laughed when he saw the mis-spelling of his name on the welcome sign. He always had good humor about everything. Forgetting Lord Darcy's warning to 'watch his step', Bingley jumped down to the ground with the excitement of a child on his birthday, his dancing slippers squelching in the mud, almost causing him to slip to his backside had Lord Darcy not quickly reached out, grabbing onto his friends arm to help keep him upright. Bingley's sudden look of surprise, then total panic was quickly replaced by that of a quick sideways glance and smile of thankful gratitude that he gave his friend who simply nodded in silent response. Reaching into the inside pocket of his vest, Lord Darcy handed Bingley his plain cotton pocket hanky and motioned for him to wipe the mud off his fancy slippers. In truth, Lord Darcy found dancing slippers for men to be ridiculous, all shiny with little satin bows or rosettes. He certainly wasn't wearing such slippers himself, as he had no intention of dancing at the assembly. Actually, dancing or not, he would never have worn those types of shoes, he found them too feminine, no matter what the fashion at the moment dictated. Tattoo worked hard to turn his master into a fashionable 'dandy' of the day, but Lord Darcy would have none of it. In a moment that could only account to sheer madness, his faithful man-servant had even had the audacity to buy a pair of dancing slippers and had snuck them in the luggage in hopeful anticipation of their use, but that was one line that Lord Darcy was unwilling to cross over. He then slammed his feet down one at a time on the sidewalk, forcing the mud off of his smartly polished, but well worn black leather boots, as if to put an exclamation point onto his very thoughts. He then scraped the mud off of the bottoms of the souls in an upwards motion against the edge of the wooden planked sidewalk. Lord Darcy was a boot man through and through. He'd live and he'd die with his leather riding boots on if he had any say in the matter, and he had the intention to have every say in the matter.

The sidewalks and streets were crowded with townspeople talking and laughing as they walked in and out of the Assembly Hall, initially glancing in curiosity and then nodding hospitably with smiles at the strangers in their small market town. The Hall's entrance's double doors, and various windows were flung wide open, hopefully to allow some cross ventilation of fresh air into the packed room to make it more accommodating, if not more comfortable. The earlier rain had cooled things down as it brought a small breeze and everyone hoped that it would carry on throughout the night.

Rowdy sounds of conversation and laughter emanated from inside the hall, bringing with it the sounds of poorly played tinny sounding music that sliced through the peacefulness of the early evening. It was lively music to be sure, but obviously it was not a professional band that was playing, as their instruments had not been properly tuned in quite a while... if ever... causing an ear splitting pitch from time to time that could melt the enamel off your teeth. No. London this was not.

Lord Darcy called to Zachary to retrieve a stable blanket from the back hatch of the carriage to be put on top of the mud to protect the lady's fine shoes and dress. While Bingley could simply wipe the mud off of his shoes with good humor, Miss Caroline, Lord Darcy knew, would not. She had already complained about going to the small country dance, and spent the last three days pouting and telling Bingley at every opportunity that she had no wish to go. While Lord Darcy silently agreed with her, he didn't want to give her any more sharp arrows to aim at her brother tonight, nor give her any opportunity to feel that they were of the same mind. He shuddered at the thought. Lord Darcy was going because he knew how important it was to his friend, while in reality Caroline biting at the bit to go because she wanted the opportunity to show off all of her finery in front of the county simpletons (as she called them) and for no other reason, it certainly wasn't for the sake of her brother, to whom she owed everything, took more, and gave nothing in return. Laying the blanket down over the mud, Lord Darcy glanced at Bingley then nodded his head as he backed away allowing his friend stepped up, reaching into the carriage to escort his younger sister out. It was a silent agreement between the gentlemen after Miss Caroline had, on several occasions in the past, virtually flung herself into Lord Darcy's arms, making a spectacle of her and Lord Darcy, expecting him to carry her to the building on rainy days, saying, with a pout, that she couldn't possibly get her shoes wet. The fact that Miss Caroline never wasted an opportunity to figuratively... and literally... throw herself at Lord Darcy had caused an embarrassment to both men. This was not the act of a true lady.

Exiting the carriage, Miss Caroline looked around with such an expression of utter distaste. Lord Darcy's eyes went back to his friend's face, which was all smiles and politeness, bursting with cheerful curiosity and hopeful exuberance, as he was already shaking hands and introducing himself to the various people on the sidewalk.

Miss Caroline sneered as she looked up at the Welcome sign. She, of course, did not see any humor in it at all. Caroline felt that the humiliation was devastating! She just couldn't believe it! Really! I mean, really! They were the BINGLEY'S, for God's sakes, The BINGLEY'S. Everybody who was anybody knew who the Bingley Family of London were, or so her egotistical mind imagined. She pouted. "Oh Charles, surely you can't be serious about staying in a place like this. These backwater people know nothing of Society, and can't even manage to spell properly."

"And so it begins… or to be more precise… continues." Lord Darcy thought as he wearily shook his head and looked over the crowd, and down the road. One of the advantages of being tall, he could always see head and shoulders above the crowd. He was silently wishing he were somewhere else, anywhere that didn't include Miss Caroline. He hated it when she pouted. While other men found it charming, Miss Caroline assumed that Lord Darcy did too, when in reality it grated on his nerves. It seemed as though she spent half of her life pouting… or stomping her feet. Not for the first time he wondered with quiet amazement if perhaps Caroline actually had been found under a cabbage leaf and adopted... or at least that was the amusing story that old Charles Bingley Sr. had told on many occasions to account for the differences in attitudes between his only son and youngest daughter, who were as different as night and day in temperament.

"Dingley - Bingley - does it really matter, Caroline. They're bidding us 'Welcome'. They'll get to know us well enough in time,'' her brother said smiling broadly and laughed.

"Yes, but do WE really want to know THEM. They're so primitive as to still be savages in animal skins judging by their poor failed attempts at fashion. The ladies are still wearing muslin skirts, Charles, muslin, when silk has been the fashion for well over a year." Miss Caroline said with distain while giving superior looks to the passersby. Hoping to find Lord Darcy in agreement, she batted her eyes and tried to catch his attention, "Would you not agree, Lord Darcy?" she said. She was disappointed to find that he was simply looking passed her, up and down the streets of the small town in curiosity. One of the advantages of being tall, he could always see head and shoulders above the crowd. In actuality, while he was indeed curious about the town, he did hear her question but was totally ignoring her, as there was no way he was going to allow himself to be dragged into the ongoing debate between brother and sister.

"Is that necessary, Caro?" Bingley whispered in frustration, calling his sister by the family childhood nick name that she hated so much, reminding her, "Remember that you and I are but one generation removed from these very types of people. After all, Father started out in trade in a small country store selling sundries in a town very much like this."

Miss Caroline's head instantly snapped towards her brother with eyes flaming with rage. "Don't call me Caro!" She hissed through tight lips, her face twisting with anger that left her looking far less attractive, before shooting her eyes back to Lord Darcy to see if he'd heard. She was furious that her brother should mention their father's humble beginnings in front of Lord Darcy. It was not to be born! It was bad enough that he had shortened her name in public. Miss Caroline felt to do so was common, undignified and below her station in life. Or at least the rank and station that she aspired to attain... Lady Darcy... she smiled at that thought. Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife Lady Caroline Darcy. She'd played the name in her head a million times before. Then she frowned again glaring back at her brother. To bring up their families humble beginnings was totally unforgiveable. It was something she never acknowledged.

"I'm sure they'll be lovely," Bingley continued, nodding to everyone passing them by, as he spoke with a smile on his face while trying to quiet his sister a little. "There's no reason to be insulting the townspeople. We haven't even so much as walked in the front door, yet. Remember, they do have feelings, and are people just like us."

"Charles," Miss Caroline scowled as she put her hands on her hips impatiently, her face twisting again into an ugly scowl. "Sometimes you live in a simpleton's world. An assembly such as this is for a gathering of the common man. WE are anything but common; THEY will never be like US. It's like comparing a majestic eagle to a lowly chicken!"

That a slack jawed hound walked by at just that moment, howling balefully, before stopping to shake off, allowing puddle water to fly everywhere, sending Miss Caroline shrieking in terror and the townspeople laughing in good humor. The fact that the water had missed them by a mile mattered not, as it only seemed to illustrate Miss Caroline's belief.

"I do think Charles that dog makes my point adequately. We are the pure breeds of Society. We are the Great Danes, and these people are just like that cross breed flea bitten mutt!" Miss Caroline smirked, as she continued to scowl at the townspeople.

"Actually, Miss Caroline, this is a Blood Hound, not a mutt." Lord Darcy replied, bending down and giving the dog a two handed scratch behind each floppy ear. "They're amazing dogs really. They have a keen sense of smell that can track animal and human scents over great distances, even across the water. I was reading about them in a newspaper article recently and could even imagine that someday Blood Hounds will be used by the Constables, Bedels and Night Watchman who patrol the city keeping us safe. I even brought a book or two about them with me on this trip, if you'd care to borrow one. I find Blood Hounds amazing, absolutely amazing. I was acquiring into getting one for myself just before we left. So, you're wrong, Miss Caroline, quite wrong, Blood Hound's might not be the most beautiful of dogs, but they are indeed a noble breed unto themselves, right up there WITH the Great Danes."

Miss Caroline rolled her eyes as she'd forgotten that Lord Darcy was an avid reader who faithfully scoured several newspapers every morning on a daily basis. And books? Reading? She couldn't be bothered and tittered, but hide her amusement behind her fan and covered up her laughter with discreet coughs. She, for one, was not impressed, but she smiled and simpered. "Really, Lord Darcy, it's YOU who are amazing, is there anything that you don't know about? You make everything sound so fascinating." Borrowing a book to read about mutts… reading a book period… Miss Caroline rolled her eyes. That would not be happening. But then again, if she used the pretense of reading one of the books to spend more time with Lord Darcy. Yes! Miss Caroline smiled. " I think I shall borrow your wonderful book Lord Darcy, so that we can read it together."

Lord Darcy cringed at her words. He knew that any words spoken from Miss Caroline would only compliment or agree with his. He wondered if he had ever truly heard her honest opinion on anything in the last ten years. Lord Darcy had no doubt that if a man with more than his 50,000 pounds per year were to suddenly show up, Miss Caroline would be espousing a new set of opinions that matched those of the new gentlemen. My God, how he wished that would happen. Someone to take Miss Caroline off of his hands. He gave a deep sigh. But that obviously wasn't going to happen tonight.

Miss Caroline continued looking down her nose, and making fun of everything as she glanced around with a practiced look of utter contempt and boredom with anything by the most exclusive of entertainment. She wanted only the finer things in life. The fact that she'd never had to personally worked for it, but simply felt that she deserved it, because it was her due, mattered not. Nothing short of the grand parties, dinners, balls and soirees of The Ton would satisfy. The very same functions that Lord Darcy, as a member of high society was expected to attend while in London, but rarely did.

Not for the first time, Caroline wondered how Lord Darcy and her brother ever became and remained friends all these years. It was simply beyond her.

"Who cares?" she thought as she shrugged her shoulders. Lord Darcy was within her grasp, she was sure of it, and that was all that mattered. Once she became Lady Darcy, if her husband chose to sit at home with his nose behind a book, she would attend the parties and dinners on her own. She'd also already resolved that once she was the Mistress of Pemberley, Darcy Manor and the other varies estates flung all over the world that she'd see to it that her brother was slowly cut out of their lives altogether, as he was just too much of an embarrassment, the way he simply accepting anybody who came down his path, without regard to their rank or position in life was unacceptable, and embarrassing. But Charles was useful for now just as Lord Darcy would be useful to her in the future. The fact was, she could never figure their friendship out, as they were such total opposites.

Yes, it was true that Lord Darcy was withdrawn, reserved, cautious, quiet, while Bingley was exactly the other side of the coin, open, friendly, spontaneous and boisterous. Lord Darcy tended to hold everyone, politely at a distance while Bingley made friends with anyone within seconds of meeting them. Of course, that wasn't always the case. There once was a time, in the very beginning, some ten years earlier that Bingley had no friends at all and it was Lord Darcy, a complete stranger, who had first held out his hand in friendship, surprising them both. Standing there outside the Assembly Hall , Lord Darcy's thoughts traveled back to the first time he met a young Charles Bingley.

It had been about ten years earlier at the young gentleman's private club, 'Trudeau's' in Up -Town, London. It was a popular gathering spot for the boys, and soon to be young men of high society attending Cambridge, as it was within walking distance of their school. Normally, it wasn't the kind of place that 17 year old Lord Darcy would have gone, too loud, too many people, too much drinking, but he'd been up far too late the night before studying for a Latin exam, and had rushed out the door, not having time to eat the breakfast that Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, had ordered to be prepared for him every morning. So, by 2 o'clock, after his last class of Advanced Economics, he'd been quite famished and decided to stop off at the club for a little lunch, and had chosen a curtained booth for privacy so he wouldn't be interrupted while continuing to study for his exit exams. Nothing short of finishing at the top of his class would satisfy him. Afterwards, his plan was to stop off a few blocks away at 'Monsieur Monti's Confections' and pick up some sweet treats for his little sister, two year old Georgiana who was residing with him in their London residence of Darcy Manor until he finished school. Lady Ann, their mother had died giving birth to Georgiana, and their father soon thereafter of what everyone assumed was a broken heart, heaving a 15 years old Darcy head of his particular branch of the family.

While at 'Trudeau's' Lord Darcy could not help but overhear a conversation of several loud boys from the school, a group of ner-do-well rich kids who had been sitting at an open table near his curtained booth. Apparently, Randolph Morehouse, one of his classmates, and the leader of this particular rowdy group, announced to everybody in the large room that a new boy from school would be joining them, a younger boy, a lower classmate, 14 year old Charles Bingley, who would be arriving soon for an invitation to lunch. They proceeded to make fun of the way Charles talked, the way he dressed, the fact that his father was in trade, therefore his lack of blue-blood, aristocratic family connections. He was 'new money,' from trade... and amongst The Ton, 'new money' was the same as no money. Having a father whose current income was from trade should have been an embarrassment for Charles, the only thing was, he was so proud of his father's hard work and accomplishments, it just became another thing the boys made fun of, but mostly they made fun of how innocent and naive he was. They didn't really invite him there out of friendship, oh no, the plan was to have a barmaid, at Morehouse's signal, bring to their table a whiskey bottle and ten glasses on a platter. Five whiskey shots would already be poured. The pre-poured drinks were for Morehouse, and the set of five empty glasses, intended for young Charles. With the help of his four friends, Morehouse would then challenge the boy to a drinking contest, as the others egged the unsuspecting boy on to accept the challenge.

However, Morehouse revealed amongst loud hoots from the room, he and his friends had poured out half the whisky in the bottle and had each taken turns replacing it with... their own urine. From behind the curtain Lord Darcy grimaced and shook his head in disbelief as howls of ruthless laughter could be heard throughout the establishment. He didn't know Charles Bingley personally, as he was only a sophomore, and Lord Darcy, a senior, but this wasn't right. Bingley's family were several circles below his, so they didn't exactly belong in the same league, and he had to admit, he hadn't paid much attention to him, yet what little he did know of Bingley around school was he was a nice enough kid, a little too trusting maybe, certainly not like a lot of boys from Cambridge, such as these very louts, who came from more privileged backgrounds, constantly getting into trouble knowing that in the end they would be shielded from responsibility by their families. A practical joke was one thing, but this was something beyond the pale. This was deliberate cruelty.

Shaking his head in disgust, Lord Darcy had pushed the full plate of food in front of him away and closed the book he'd been reading. He just didn't understand this kind of moronic mentality. While he tended to stay to himself and not socialize with people in general, he'd never been cruel to anyone. Lord Darcy got up, opened the curtain and quietly left the room, walking down the stairs to leave 'Trudeau's', and the unpleasant business that would soon take place, and in doing so, passed a smiling, and hopeful, young Charles Bingley walking up the stairs, unaware of the trap that lay ahead of him. It hadn't been an easy time for Charles since starting at the exclusive school three months prior, right in the middle of the school year, being made fun of all the time, so he was happy to finally be making some friends... or so he thought. It had been a very lonely time for young Charles Bingley.

Lord Darcy had an uneasy, sick feeling as he approached his private carriage that was waiting just outside. His private driver Mr. Joshua was teaching his young grandson, Zachary to take his place, and the older man nudged the boy to jump down from his perch, to open the carriage door. Lord Darcy put his foot on the coach rung, stepping up and into the carriage as Zachary shut the door and climbed back to the top to sit beside his grandfather as they slowly started on their way back to the grand residence of Darcy Manor.

"That kid doesn't deserve what those imbeciles are going to do to him", Lord Darcy thought. He would be branded a fool. A sordid story like this would make the gossip circuit rather quickly, and with no deeply rooted and monied family ties to publicly support him during his humiliation... and humiliated he would be there was no doubt... he'd never be able to live it down, all because some snot nosed brats wanted to have some 'fun'. Knowing this crowd, they'd made up some horrendous nickname to refer to this day, and hang it around young boys' neck like an albatross. No matter how old he got, no matter what he made of himself, Charles Bingley would always be remembered, and referred to as the idiot who drank... Ugghh!... it was too disgusting to even think about, and Lord Darcy grimaced again. His head hung with guilt and he sighed deeply, suddenly tapping on the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick to signal his driver to stop as he jumped out of the carriage and quickly walked the half block back to 'Trudeau's. As he entered the room that was becoming more crowded with gawkers by the minute, the barmaid was just putting down the tray with the glasses and bottle of tainted whiskey at Morehouse's table. Lord Darcy stood there for a moment, looking around, hoping that someone else would do something to stop this, but the reality was that nobody was going to, as all eyes in the room were drawn the table in gleeful anticipation. Lord Darcy couldn't believe what he was about to do, but he just knew he simply couldn't walk away and allow it to happen. Those boys really needed to be taught a lesson. And the lesson had to be more than just stopping the kid drinking from that bottle! He winced again at the thought, then his face became hard with anger at what was about to happen. Morehouse and his little gang had been allowed to run unchecked long enough. But today, Lord Darcy thought, it was going to stop, d*mn it. For good! He walked through the crowd and up to the table as he pasted a smile on his face.

"Charles Bingley, you incorrigible pup, why didn't you tell me you'd be at 'Trudeau's' today, we could have sat down for lunch together." Lord Darcy exclaimed loudly as he slapped the younger boy on his back, surprised at how frail and gangly the kid seemed to be under his school jacket. Charles looked up at the tall, formidable older boy towering above him with his hand on his shoulder, not quite recognizing him. His expression, while one of surprise, could not be matched by the stunned expressions of the onlookers, and certainly not by the horrified looks on the faces of the other boys sitting around the table. Suddenly the room grew very quite.

They all, of course, knew who Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy was, but that apparently (oh my god!) this young boob was a friend of his? Surely not? How could that be? This wasn't going to sit well with their plans. No, not at all.

"A drinking game? Are we playing a drinking game, boys?" Lord Darcy said as innocently as he could while he pulled up a chair beside Bingley without asking anyone's permission to join them. "Good God, I think it's been months since I've played a drinking game." He took off his hat and placed it along with his walking cane on top of a nearby table.

If true be told, the only drinking game that Lord Darcy had ever participated in, was just a month prior, during a visit to his aunt, Lady Catherine's, with his cousin Richard, who had just joined The King's Army and was getting ready to be shipped out. It had been a painful lesson. The boys discovered that while Lord Darcy could certainly hold his liquor very well, Richard, a year older, and bigger, was able to easily outnumber him two to one, and still remain upright, a family trait they both realized that fateful day, Lord Darcy he had not inherited. At 10 shots, he was sloppy drunk. While Richard had thought it hysterical, their Aunt Catherine had not been pleased.

"Do be a gent and let me take your place... you don't mind, do you, kid?" Lord Darcy said in his most authorative and forceful voice, letting it be known that he wasn't exactly asking for consent.

"Thank You!" He said enthusiastically, not waiting for a reply.

"I'll just take the glasses intended for my young friend." Lord Darcy said as he picked up the 'tainted' bottle and poured out the dark amber liquid into the five empty glasses that sat in front of him, just opposite the pre-filled glasses on the round tray intended for Morehouse.

"No!" Came a cry, as all five boys stood up, glancing back and forth between each other each with terrified looks.

"No?" Said Lord Darcy, with a tone that said he dared not be defied.

"He means, your Lordship, sir, let's get you your own set of glasses, and a fresh bottle," stammered one of the frightened boys, quickly calling for the barmaid to return with a new, unopened, untainted bottle.

The terrified barmaid quickly brought the new glasses and bottle. "That won't be necessary... it's quite alright. No troubles boys, no troubles. The pup's glasses are already here, as is the bottle of whiskey." Lord Darcy said glancing at the nervous barmaid as he dismissed her. "That won't be necessary, madam."

Charles Bingley looked around, rather confused, but saying nothing with his large brown eyes watching in curiosity.

Lord Darcy looked from Charles Bingley to the group of boys around the table. "A drinking game. Excellent, excellent. What do you say about us making this a wager? Ten shillings if the shot goes down smoothly? Come on gentlemen, pony-up... or didn't your mommies give you any pen money this week?" A shocked murmur ran through the room at Lord Darcy's implication that these boys were anything less than real men. The hooligans went from being frightened to being angry. Before anyone could blink an eye, 60 shillings of cold hard cash sat on the table. What did they have to be frightened off, right? They knew which drinks were pure. No one but them knew their secret, right?

Lord Darcy he placed his middle finger on the outer ridge of the round serving tray and ever so gently let the tray slide from left to right, left to right like the pendulum of a clock as if he were already bored with the game. Then he said. "I've got an idea, while we're at it...let's make this really exciting!" Suddenly, without warning, Lord Darcy spun the tray around allowing it to spin so quickly in circles, that the glasses on the tray became a blur, catching the boys, and everyone else off guard. Never taking his eyes off Randolph, Lord Darcy suddenly put his hand out as he stopped the tray. Not a drop had been spilt. Timing the spin of the tray was everything. If he got the wrong set of glasses, this whole thing would backfire on him... rather quickly, very publicly, and without mercy. He hoped he'd gotten it right, as there was no backing out now. Looking the gang leader square in the face, Lord Darcy gave a small smile that never reached his eyes.

Knowing he was backed into a corner, Morehouse looked around, silently, desperately, pleading for help from his friends, or anyone else in the room, and receiving none. He reached out with a shaking hand to take the glass that now sat waiting in front of him, as Lord Darcy took a glass from the opposite side of the tray. The room was deathly silent as everyone held their breath with each man looking into the others eyes from across the table.

"Now!" Lord Darcy said forcefully, saying a silent prayer.

Quickly downing the shots simultaneously, each immediately knowing which drink they had chosen. Morehouse turned red and began sputtering, gagging and coughing, his throat burning, eyes bulging as tears sprang out. Lord Darcy slowly sat back in his chair, with the smallest of silent smiles on his face. Normally, a fragrant sherry was his liqueur of choice, but that afternoon he didn't think that whisky could have ever tasted so sweet. Before the whole thing was over, even more boys had gathered around the table, when word of mouth spread like wildfire of the challenge, as one by one Lord Darcy challenged the remaining four boys, again calculating the spin of the tray, while never taking his eyes off each boys face. With each quick whirl of the tray, Lord Darcy came out victorious. Soon laughter was peeling through the room, as all five boys were forced to 'have a taste of his own medicine'. Finally, all of the snot nosed brats sat silently, but for the sounds of soft moans and groans, with alternate shades of deathly white and pale green upon their faces.

Suddenly Morehouse shot out of his chair, stumbling wildly through the crowd of onlookers, searching for somewhere to... to... to... "rugghhhhh", came a horrifyingly, gut wrenching guttural noise that filled the club's main room... followed by a gasp from the horde of well heeled boys, a sure sign that Morehouse had not made it to the water closet in time. The other boys sat there holding their hands to their mouths, gagging, praying a merciful god that they wouldn't meet the same fate.

"Good Lord. I imagine that's going to be an awful mess to clean up," said Lord Darcy, as he saw the throng of people spring back, allowing the ill man ample breathing room. Sliding his chair back, Lord Darcy stood up, picking up all the money sitting on the table, and stuffed it into young Charles's front jacket pocket. Towering over the other boys in an intimidating manner, Lord Darcy then put his hands flat on the table, leaning over, loudly giving the remaining boys, and everyone else in the room a thinly veiled word of warning, "Next time anyone wants to play games with my good friend Charles Bingley, I suggest you think of a better one than this. I find it to be just a little..." he paused dramatically as he looked around the crowd. "... p*ss poor, don't you think, boys?"

The young men sank further down in their chairs as fresh laughter erupted and filled the crowded room.

Lord Darcy put his hat back on and tapped the side of it with his walking cane, "Gentlemen." he said as he gently took the younger boy's arm and ushered the bewildered boy off of his seat, down the stairs and out the front doors of 'Trudeau's', guiding him into the Darcy private carriage that was once again waiting patiently right outside the front door. He instructed his driver, "Home please, Mr. Joshua. I think this afternoon deserves a little celebration lunch." Zachary shut the door once the two gentlemen were seated, and once again jumped up onto his perch above the carriage beside his grandfather and proceeded to drive slowly away and to Lord Darcy Manor.

Lord Darcy sat in the darkened coach, his head leaning against the back of the thickly cushioned seat, eyes closed, with a feeling of complete satisfaction.

Charles Bingley sat quietly for a moment, looking at the older boy sitting in front of him, a little confused at everything that had just happened so quickly. He silently turned around and looked behind him through the rear carriage window at 'Troudeau's and then back again to find that the stranger he was sitting in the carriage with was now looking directly at him, with intense blue eyes. The younger boy blinked, and hesitated nervously. The younger boy gave a small, but nervous smile, and when he finally did speak up, his words cracked with a voice that said that he was in the middle of a young man's 'change' of life to young adulthood. He was plainly and simply an innocent, 14 year old boy, in the middle of adolescence.

"D-D-Do I know you, s-s- s-sir?" Charles stuttered, his voice going up several octaves before breaking into an awkward screech.

This time when 17 year old Lord Darcy smiled, it truly reached his eyes, and lit up his face.

"Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service, sir," came the reply, in a deep baritone voice that he'd had since he was twelve years old.

"My name's Charles B-B-B- Bingley, sir… but my friends call me Bingley." Suddenly realizing that he'd been too presumptuous, to assume they were friends, Charles became embarrassed. " I m-m-m- mean… " His stutter became even more pronounced when he found himself frustrated or excited. He shook his head in exasperation. " I didn't m-m-m- mean we w-w-w-were… I just m-m-m-meant…"

Lord Darcy stared at the younger boy for a moment, then, surprising himself, he extended his hand out in friendship, "Then I hope I can call you Bingley. And you can simply call me Darcy."

"Darcy... I say, Darcy...!" Hearing his name quickly brought Lord Darcy back to the present time, standing in front of the Meryton Inn, ten years later.

"Where's your mind been Darce, you looked a m-m-m-million miles away? It's time to go inside," implored an excited and smiling Charles Bingley, as he gently nudged Darcy in the ribs, rubbing his hands together gleefully, making no efforts to hide his delight and anticipation for the coming evening. Lord Darcy smiled back at Bingley, no longer the small fragile boy of the past, but a man full grown, though in so many ways, still an innocent. His friend. His best friend.

Lord Darcy nodded his head as he took a deep breath and walked through the double doors, across the threshold, stepping into a loud, large crowded room, and what awaited him at Meryton's Assembly Hall. He had hoped that they would not make a grand entry, but suddenly, the room went silent, as the music, dancing and all conversation stopped and the whole crowd turned to look at the new residents of Netherfield Park. Unlike the crowds of so called High Society, these quaint people had not learned the art of acting unimpressed. Miss Caroline was thrilled to be the focus and reason for the quiet commotion, while she practiced her best, 'I could not care less' expression that she had seen so many of the Upper Circles do. Lord Darcy was horrified, although he appeared as stoic as always in appearance. All eyes were turned upon them. The center of everyone's attention, and apparently, the main attraction. He felt as though the circus had come to town to walk down the main street for everyone to gawk at. Exactly the position he spent his entire life trying to avoid. He'd wanted to arrive at the Assembly quietly, and blend in discreetly, but it was clear that would not be happening. Lord Darcy leaned forward slightly, slapped his friend Bingley gently on the back, and whispered. "It's your show, Ringmaster. Lead the way, DINGLEY, lead the way."