Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling

by Lara S. Ormiston

It was a shock—there was no denying it was a shock, and the agitated young man with the glowing eyes and impassioned tones seemed like a stranger. He was a stranger, she realized all at once. She did not really know him at all. And she found she could not hate him; he had been so . . . so very frank, so very ardent, so very unlike the man she thought she knew.

It was not that she was suddenly blind to his faults but that she was newly aware of his merits.

Next to her, Miss Darcy was almost trembling with embarrassment on both her own and her guest’s behalf; seeing her tears, Elizabeth patted her hand and said in a low voice, “If you will excuse me, I have a small matter to take care of.” Before her courage could fail her, she rose and went deliberately to where the small knot of ladies sat. They fell silent and looked up at her approach. Lifting an amused eyebrow, Elizabeth fixed Miss Bingley with her bright eyes and said coolly, “Too true, Miss Bingley: My mother is the beauty, and I am the wit.” She then turned around and walked directly across the room to where Mr. Darcy stood talking with the gentlemen, and slipped her hand within his arm. Georgiana looked on after her, speechless with awe.

Oh, snap!