Before we meet, Pride and Prejudice Fanfiction

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Before we meet

 

Chapter One – Before We Meet 

Netherfield Park may have been let at last, but the illustrious Charles Bingley of five thousand pounds per annum was not the only gent to join the neighborhood that autumn. Yet while Mr. Bingley was the talk of the town, the source of speculation, and the hopeful suitor of many homely daughters, Mr. Bradley slipped into Meryton with nary a twitter.

For this fact the gentleman was grateful. He had never been one for gossip or the grandiose; and in truth, he was old news. Had the matrons and maidens of Meryton been less occupied with ogling the prospects of young Mr. Bingley, Bradley might have been touted as Meryton’s returning son – not that many of the town’s inhabitants, however, could claim more than a passing acquaintance with the man. Yet returning he was.

Nearly three years had passed since he had last ridden down the dusty streets of Meryton. And on his arrival, Bradley would have been hard pressed to say that anything had changed. The apothecary’s shop, the group of young ladies milling about the Milliner’s window, gossipy Mrs. Hart peering out from behind her parlor curtains, the inn, the assembly rooms… Yes, it all looked the same.

But, oh, it felt different.

He had never felt at ease during his visits to Hertfordshire, despite his uncle’s best efforts. He had never been able to acquire a feel for the society, or any society for that matter, but it had always been harder in Hertfordshire. Bradley had never been able to decide whether it was the local mamas who were eager to match their daughters to the nephew and heir of the esteemed George Bradley, Q.C., or the fact that every time members of the neighborhood, particularly of the female persuasion, approached him he had felt like a tongue-tied tot in short pants.

As his mother often lamented, he was shy. Thankfully, though, his reserved nature had not affected him in his and his uncle’s chosen profession, and before he’d had to return home to his family in Somerset, he had made a decent name for himself as a junior barrister in London. But socially, he was piteously inept.

He had been content with his lot for the first four and twenty years of his life. He had managed on the rare occasions he had been thrust into London society; he had survived his uncle’s attempts to draw him out in Hertfordshire. Neither of these experiences, however, had prepared him for the past three years he had spent at his childhood home. That he had changed was inevitable.

Perhaps he was not quite so shy at the age of seven and twenty. Managing the family’s estate, securing their interests both financially and socially had succeeded where his uncle had failed. Never before had he carried or expected to carry such responsibility. It had been a harsh lesson – hard-won but enlightening. And while he was thankful for the experience and for the changes it had wrought, he had been pleased to pass the responsibility on to his elder brother.

He was pleased to return to Meryton, too. And though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he was frightened as well. He had spent three years thinking of little beyond this day. He had pinned his hopes, his whole future on this visit. But the outcome was beyond his control, and that was not something he had become accustomed to.

He had smiled at the greetings of the household staff, nodded during the fifteen minute meeting with the enthusiastic housekeeper, Mrs. Roseberry, and listened to his uncle’s secretary, whom he had decided to retain, prattle on about investments and local affairs for almost two hours. Mr. Leven had spoken eloquently on investments, business meetings, matters of the firm, but Bradley had been hard pressed not to compare him to a gossipy old maid or a matchmaking mama when the secretary had moved on to the neighborhood’s happenings.

As he retired to his uncle’s study, his new study, after a satisfying supper, Bradley had to hold back a snort of laughter as he recalled the usually reserved secretary’s visage transform into that of an exuberant fifteen year old maiden’s when he began to speak of Hertfordshire’s newest resident. Mr. Bingley certainly seemed to be the toast of Meryton – and very few had even met the man! His uncle would have been delighted to hear of the mamas’ hopes and the gossips’ news, even more so by what he had considered to be “the folly of his fellow man.”

Pouring himself a snifter of his uncle’s fine brandy, Bradley let his gaze sweep over the room. It was as he had always remembered it – the south wall lined floor to ceiling with books, and not just those pertaining to law; his uncle’s collection spanned a plethora of subjects and styles. It was almost as an afterthought that one could smell the rich leather of the bindings and the musky fragrance of vellum. In front of the shelves was a desk made of rich mahogany, elegant in its simplicity. Bradley was certain that the supple leather chair behind it still carried the scent of both his uncle’s pipe tobacco and wig powder. An impressive hearth dominated the north wall; and even though the day had been mild, the flames lapping against the stone were most welcome. Heavy drapes had already been pulled across the bank of windows that made up most of the east wall – Bradley could recall many nights that had bled into morning when he had been thankful that the thick material kept out the morning sun. Late night brandies with his uncle had often led to rather long, but pleasant, and often boisterous discussions.

Lowering himself gingerly into what had always been his favorite leather chair in front of the hearth, Bradley raised his glass, silently saluting the man who had been as dear to him as his own excellent father. He took a sip of the liquor, grimacing as it burned his throat – his uncle had always said that the best brandies did so. Bradley had to agree. At the moment, he only hoped that this brandy would be able to dull his overactive imagination.

Yet, two hours and four brandies later, the question still weighed heavily on his mind.

While his uncle had loved the local society, he had not been one to recount the local events in his frequent missives to his favorite nephew. George Bradley had simply felt that he could not do them justice. Perhaps thrice he had mentioned a friend or two, denoted a death, or lamented a dispute. And his nephew had been grateful – at first. He had longed to forget. Now, the unvoiced question reverberated through his mind, its effect amplified by the alcohol.

He had almost asked Mr. Leven, but he had not been able to bring himself to do so. Now he wished that he had, all the while thinking that the question might be best left unanswered.

With a dejected sigh, Bradley hurled the empty snifter into the dying flames and went to bed. 

Twice he had thought he had seen her as he peered out his parlor window sipping a cup of tea. He could never be certain, though – maybe if he had been able to hear her laugh? See her smile?

He often wondered, those first few days, if she was still at Longbourn. Three years was, after all, a substantial amount of time. They had come to no understanding; he had not formally courted her. Yet he had known, almost from the first moment of their short acquaintance, that the spark he felt was reciprocated. But could it have been sustained in his absence?

He had heard little talk of the Bennet daughters thus far – a comment made in passing by Mr. Leven denoting their exceptional beauty, save one, and Mrs. Roseberry mentioning that the youngest daughters were now out. He had refused to ponder the implications of that.

In the three days since his arrival, Bradley had yet to step beyond his uncle’s former threshold. The business of settling the estate had commanded most of his time. Discussions with his secretary and housekeeper, and maintaining contact through the post with his family in Somerset had filled the rest.

He had a few visitors though. A very few. Not surprisingly, Sir William Lucas was the first…

They exchanged pleasantries that afternoon over sherry, Sir William extending his sympathies, proclaiming Bradley’s uncle to have been, “the most amiable and honorable man of my acquaintance.”

With a nod and his thanks, Bradley asked after the local harvest and the new mill that had been constructed on the south side of the town.

Sir William was happy to expound on both subjects, but his mind soon turned back to the more social aspects of the community. “I can see that you are still in mourning, sir, and you do your uncle a great service in remaining so, but I think he, as the amiable man that he was, would have been saddened to see you devoting yourself so wholly to business.”

Before Bradley even had a chance to formulate a response to Lucas’ statement, the gentleman continued. “We are to have an assembly, nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual modest, monthly affair; I can assure you that the neighborhood would be delighted to receive you there.”

This time Bradley had his answer ready, but, again, Sir William was too quick. “I can recall you being a rather fine dancer, sir, when you participated in the local society.” The jovial man punctuated his statement with a good-natured smile.

“Sir,” Bradley responded after clearing his throat, “I cannot at this time say whether I will be able to attend. There are matters in London that require my personal attention, but you have my word that I shall consider the matter.”

“Capital! Capital!” Sir William replied, and Bradley bit back a smile at the gentleman’s customary enthusiasm. When Lucas wanted to continue on in a similar social vein, however, Bradley neatly turned the topic to the more mundane. The population of birds that would meet their demise in Hertfordshire that autumn was happily discussed until the visit came to an end.

When he was alone once again, ensconced in his study, Bradley had to shake his head at his cowardice. He could have had his answer; Sir William would have been pleased to supply it. His daughter’s close acquaintance with the sisters Bennet would have ensured Bradley of a thorough answer, even if not satisfactory.

He consoled himself that, as the saying went, ignorance was indeed bliss.

The next day brought yet another afternoon visitor, this time in the form of Mr. Phillips, a Meryton solicitor who had been on cordial if not professional terms with George Bradley, although the younger Bradley was fairly certain that their acquaintance had been superficial at best. While Sir William had been only too anxious to discuss the town’s next assembly, Mr. Phillips seemed more interested in ascertaining the latest gossip, most likely for later reporting to his wife, and implying that he wished to establish a business relationship with the Bradley nephew. When neither subject bore fruit, the man spent the rest of the visit repeating the gossip Mrs. Phillips had accumulated in regards to the famous Mr. Bingley.

Not even once was Bradley tempted to inquire after the man’s nieces.

The following morning, after yet another restless night, Bradley was pleased to receive a letter from his beloved mother with the morning post. As he sipped his coffee at the breakfast table, he eagerly broke the seal.

My dearest son, 

As you had hoped, we are all well. Henry is conducting the estate business as though he has done so all of his life. You, I am certain, can well imagine how much pleasure this transformation gives me. I was fortunate enough to receive a letter from Edward, only this morning. His leave is still planned for the month of November. I am positive that he will be pleased to accept your gracious invitation to Hertfordshire, and I will implore him to join me on the trip. 

Pray, son, do write soon as to the particulars of the journey. If I could, I would join you this very moment. While you seem to making progress with your business, I can tell from your letters that something is weighing on your mind. If I may relieve your burden, please allow me to do so…

The letter continued, detailing the neighborhood happenings – a marriage, a birth – and finished with his mother’s hopes that his uncle’s household was treating him well.

On two separate occasions, Bradley traveled to London and back, settling matters with his uncle’s junior partners, managing the final details with the solicitors that would allow him to assume control of the practice later that year. The first trip saw him leaving Meryton the morning after receiving his mother’s missive. As a dutiful son, he had already posted a reply, detailing the plans for her travel and other necessary information. He could not help but be anxious for her arrival.

Upon his return, three days hence, he found a short missive from his younger brother, Edward, declaring his intention to accompany their mother on the trip to Hertfordshire. Bradley was pleased that his mother would be traveling with family, but was unable to feel at ease with the prospect spending a long month in his flighty brother’s society.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a soft blue bonnet bobbing by and he was lost for the rest of the day.

The following afternoon he received the only other visit he had been expecting – from Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

Almost since the moment of his Uncle Bradley’s arrival in Meryton, some six years prior, upon his partial retirement from his firm, he had formed a friendship with the somewhat eccentric gentleman from Longbourn. That their senses of humor were similar had accelerated the process. During the younger Bradley’s frequent visits to Meryton, before the time of his father’s death, he had observed Mr. Bennet’s near-sedentary lifestyle. And while George Bradley had done little to change Mr. Bennet in essentials, the two did enjoy an occasional hunting venture, a game of billiards or backgammon at a party, and, more often than not, a social gathering in each other’s company.

Yet regardless of the gentleman’s close acquaintance with the uncle, Bradley had dreaded this visit. He would have his answer, yea or nay, and his future could, perhaps, be most grievously affected.

No sooner had the gentleman been shown into the study, and Bradley had begun pouring them each a glass of port, than he found himself voicing his first inquiry. “I trust, sir, that your family is well?”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied as he took the proffered seat in front of the fire, “they are all in excellent health. Although, son, Mrs. Bennet’s nerves have seen their better days.” The last was said with a sardonic grin, and Bradley had to fight back a smile. Yes, he had been treated to a dose or two of Mrs. Bennet’s nerves during his earlier visits.

“I can see that you are well, Mr. Bradley,” Mr. Bennet continued. “It seems that the business of running an estate has suited you well – you look quite the part of a gentleman landowner...”

“Yes, well,” Bradley said, handing his guest a glass of port, this time unable to restrain a small smile, “I am pleased to have handed over the responsibility to its rightful owner.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes fading away as he began to speak again. “You have my deepest condolences, son. Your uncle was a fine man, one whom I was proud to call my friend.”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Bradley responded. “I thank you, Mr. Bennet. I am sure you know, though, that my uncle valued your friendship quite highly.”

Mr. Bennet smiled sadly. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

After a long moment of silence, the elder gentleman cleared his throat. “Yes, now let us move on to happier topics.”

They spent nearly a quarter of an hour discussing Bradley’s options with regards to his uncle’s former home. That he was undecided in the matter was readily apparent. When the discussion moved on to Bradley’s previous visitors, Mr. Bennet seemed to reclaim his sardonic humor, readily laughing when Bradley mentioned Sir William’s invitation to the coming assembly.

Mr. Bennet did not inquire as to whether or not Bradley would attend, although he did say that he planned to accompany his family. “I dare say it will not be the same without your uncle, but I have promised my daughters that I would attend.”

Bradley’s chest tightened as he formulated his response. A few moments later, he said, “Mrs. Roseberry, I believe, mentioned that all of your daughters are now out. That must keep you rather occupied at the assemblies.”

Mr. Bennet laughed. “Oh, not nearly as occupied as Mrs. Bennet. Although, I will say that my youngest two are rather spirited. Perhaps Jane and Lizzy have spoiled me in regards to my other daughters.”

The information he desired not received, Bradley continued. “All your daughters are still at Longbourn, then?”

“Yes, to Mrs. Bennet’s consternation!” With a laugh from Mr. Bennet and an inward sigh from Bradley, the gentleman moved the discussion on to various other local matters.

Bradley’s second trip to Town saw him staying two days longer than he had planned. While he had gone by carriage, he returned on horseback, arriving only the afternoon of the assembly.

Business matters had kept him occupied during the day and most evenings, but at night he had little to do but ponder his dilemma. While he had received a satisfactory answer from Mr. Bennet, he still was not certain if it was wholly appropriate from him to attend the assembly. But that she would surely be there was quite an inducement.

He had wrestled with the matter for several sleepless nights. When he finally decided that he would attend, he was not sure if it was the prospect of seeing her that had finally overcome his doubts, or if he had just been worn down by the lack of sleep.

Mrs. Roseberry was pleased to see him return, and she scurried about, ordering servants to stoke the fires and for Bradley’s valet to ready a bath. She appeared to be rather pleased that he would be attending the evening’s festivities. No doubt she was eager to hear more of the elusive Mr. Bingley.

After he had washed away the dust from his ride, dressing carefully, he had eaten a light dinner as he discussed the London trip with Mr. Leven. Once the business had been concluded, the secretary was only too happy to fill his patron in on all he had missed, particularly in regards to the Bingley party. Bradley almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all – that one blue-coated man, and possibly seven gentlemen and twelve ladies, could create such a stir seemed beyond his comprehension.

When Mr. Leven had finish his recitation of recent Meryton events, Bradley retired to his study, nursing a brandy as he mentally prepared himself for the night to come.

It was but a short walk from Bradley’s new residence to the Meryton Assembly Room, and while his heart urged that man to make haste, his mind, in control of his legs, bade him to tarry. That he was nervous was given. More accurately, he was frightened.

In truth, the positive response he had received from Mr. Bennet signified naught. She had not married. She was still at home. But was she promised? Being courted by the dashing young man from across the lane? Did she care for him - had she ever? And if she did, even a little, would she be willing to begin anew?

It had been his duty to return to his family. That he did not doubt she would understand. But that he had stayed for so long? That he had left her with no understanding between them? Could she see that it had been beyond his control – that despite his every instinct commanding him to hare back to Hertfordshire and fall to his knees in supplication before her, he had been honor and duty bound to stay? His desires had not signified then, would they now?

So it was, with no little amount of trepidation, that Bradley entered the assembly hall and ascended the stairs. He was early; the entertainment had yet to commence, but the voices of those who had already gathered could be heard quite clearly as he approached the doorway at the end of the hall.

He had to hold back a smile as he overheard two matrons loudly discussing, of all topics, Mr. Bingley! The humor in the ladies’ discussion of the gentleman’s purported poultry as well as the relief that Bradley himself was not a source of speculation, suitably distracted the man, and before he knew it, he was crossing the room’s threshold.

The sight before him may have well been familiar – gossiping matrons, giggling misses, garrulous men bent on avoiding the generous ministrations of both – but the charge he felt from entering the room was wholly unknown. That she might be there, that he might observe her countenance and inhale her scent was enough to send his stomach on a hurling spiral that seemed to settle it somewhere near his knees. The sensation was so overwhelming that he closed his eyes against it, and when he opened them, he could do no more than study the floor.

The whole of their acquaintance had amounted to little more than three dances at two assemblies, a game of Whist, and half a dozen conversations. Yet, when Mr. Bradley had returned to Somerset, it had been as a man in love. Four and thirty months had done nothing to ease his tender regard; the saying, “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” was, indeed, quite applicable for the heartsick young man.

He had endured three long years of anguish and loss. Dreams that had come and gone – few born, many spent. Nights that he had lain awake, her vision silently settling at the center of his soul, finally, mercifully, lulling him to sleep. Days that had seemed as if they would never end. Indecision. Defeat.

And, now, at long last, as small as it was - hope.

So it was, with a sharp intake of breath, that he found the courage to lift his gaze from the floor and saw her standing across the assembly room; it was as if not a moment had passed. Three years fell away.

She stood precisely where he had left her that fateful night – a sister to her right, a friend to her left. Her head was tilted toward the former, listening, and if he strained his ears he could just make out the musical sound of her laughter.

She was the same, yet so different. Perhaps her figure had filled out some, not that it had ever been lacking, and maybe she had grown an inch or so, but her hair was still the same – sweet ringlets framing her face, chestnut locks tickling her neck in the most provocative manner – and her eyes, they were exactly as he had recalled – sparkling, lovely, shining with humor and warmth.

Elizabeth.

His Elizabeth.

She had graced his dreams night after endless night. Yet, in flesh, she was so much more.

He might have stood there for the entirety of the evening, simply drinking her in, had Sir William Lucas not obstructed his view. Serving as the host for the evening’s assembly, the man greeted Bradley enthusiastically. “Ah, Mr. Bradley!” the man exclaimed. “Welcome, welcome – I can not tell you how delighted I am that you chose to attend our little gathering.”

Bradley was capable of little more than a shallow bow of greeting. His head and heart were still filled with Elizabeth.

“Yes, yes, you sir, are all that is amiable. Returning this afternoon from Town, and yet still you are here! Yes, amiable indeed.”

That he flinched was not surprising. Sir William’s well-meant speech had managed to do what all the talk of the illustrious Mr. Bingley had shielded him from. Bradley gained the regard of the entire assembly. The man himself doubted that anyone could be easy under such scrutiny, and the silence that had prevailed, only to be broken by hushed whispers, did not make him any the more comfortable.

“Thank you, Sir William.” Were Bradley more easily amused, he might have found humor in the way the residents seemed to lean forward, training their ears for the rest of his response. In truth, his only concern was Elizabeth’s reaction to his presence, which, from his limited vantage point, did not look promising. “I can assure you that it is my pleasure to be in attendance.”

Sir William’s smile widened. The murmurs of the crowd increased in number and volume. Bradley simply fought to retain a pleasant countenance as he willed Elizabeth to lift her downcast gaze.

“Very amiable, sir!” Sir William exclaimed yet again. “I hope, sir, that you will allow me the honor with reacquainting you with some of our residents.”

Sir William’s visage left no doubt that the garrulous man expected Bradley to comply. He was left with little choice but to agree and nodded his head in assent. His reunion with Elizabeth, sadly, would have to wait.

He might have been easier if Mr. Bennet had been among the party; but Bradley was relieved that the observant father of his beloved was not. Misters Abingdon, Perth, and Harrington were pleasant men, but Bradley was not interested in conversation. And while Sir William seemed pleased to keep a dialogue flowing within the group, Bradley was genuinely thankful for the gentleman’s talkative nature. He could scarcely keep his attention from wandering to Elizabeth.

A quarter of hour had passed, and she had yet to meet his gaze.

While Bradley had little doubt that she was aware of his presence in Meryton – at the very least she would have received such information from her friend Miss Lucas or from her aunt, Mrs. Phillips – it seemed from her reaction that she had not expected him to attend the gathering. He could only hope that surprise explained her reticence.

Still ensconced between her sister and Miss Lucas, one or the other speaking softly to her, to which she would respond with the shake of her head, a whispered, but clearly curt reply, or, once, with a roll of her eyes. Through all of the ladies’ discourse a gentle blush stained her cheeks. Bradley knew not what to think. But that his re-entrance into her life was causing her discomfort, he could not doubt.

When the musicians began to tune their instruments in preparation of the evening’s first dance, it seemed clear to Bradley that the gentlemen had no intention of claiming partners for the first. He might then have withdrawn from the group and attempted to claim Elizabeth’s hand – had not Mr. Bennet chosen that moment to join the small party.

“Bradley,” the man said, offering his hand, “I see that I shall be able to avail myself of some intelligent conversation this evening after all.” The twinkle in his eyes clearly belied his serious tone.

With a small, wry smile, Bradley shook his head. He had been found out.

“Yes, well.” Mr. Bennet looked toward his second eldest before turning back to Bradley. “Perhaps not so intelligent. Do tell me, Bradley, why you are keeping company with such a simpering bunch when there is, hm, more agreeable conversation to be had elsewhere.”

If Bradley was surprised by such an open declaration, he did not let it show. He merely nodded and politely took his leave. He would waste no time now in seeking Elizabeth’s agreement for the first dance of the evening.

Making his way along the perimeter of the room, Bradley’s gaze was trained on Elizabeth. Had he been less affected by her presence, he might have noticed Miss Lucas squeeze Elizabeth’s hand before she moved to join Sir William for an introduction to Mr. Bingley. As it was, he was aware of little beyond the sweetness of her countenance and the subtle blushes that bloomed on her cheeks.

He was but ten feet away when she looked in his direction. Bradley knew not what to make of the expression in her eyes. That she might be confused he could understand. Embarrassed? Heaven forbid, repulsed?

Joyful, however, she was not.

Sternly, he reminded himself that such a reaction was to be expected – even if she did harbored some sort of regard for him. His presence had not been anticipated. His regard must certainly be suspect. There would be time to discover her feelings later, for the time being, however, he would have to content himself with making certain that his were known.

His eyes met Elizabeth’s as he stepped in front of the sisters. Her gaze faltered for a moment; his never waned. “Miss Bennet.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth.” Bradley could hear the plea in his voice as he said her name, and he cared not. He would disguise his wishes no longer. He bowed low after his last appellation, and when he lifted his eyes, watching her ascend from her curtsey and whisper a soft, “Mr. Bradley,” he could scarce catch his breath.

“You have our heartfelt condolences, sir,” Jane ventured. “Your uncle was an excellent man.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, “he was.”

“I thank you,” Bradley replied. His attention only wavered from Elizabeth when he continued, with a nod, “I thank you, both.”

“You are welcome, sir.” He thought it charming, how Elizabeth pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

“I can see that you are both in good health,” and with a nod toward the opposite end of the room, “as well as the rest of your family.”

It was Jane who replied. “Yes, we are, thank you, sir. And your family?”

“My mother and brothers are both in excellent health. I thank you.”

“Your uncle, Mr. Bradley,” Elizabeth ventured, her tone cautious as best, “had informed us of the loss of your father. Please, accept our sympathy.”

Bradley could not help but grimace as he nodded. “You are very kind. Thank you.”

Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed; Bradley watching Elizabeth, Jane regarding both the gentleman and her sister, while Elizabeth studied the floor. “How have you, sir,” Jane began, then, after a quick glance at her sister, “found Meryton upon your return?”

“More wonderful than I had recalled.” He hadn’t hesitated in making his response, his earnest regard still resting wholly on Elizabeth.

Her blush darkened, and he continued. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, taking a careful step forward, “might you honor me with the first?”

She glanced at her sister before meeting his gaze for a long moment, her indecision evident. When she looked away, however, it was with resignation. “Thank you, sir, but I cannot.”

Bradley need hear no more, yet she attempted to continue. “I have – ”

“Please, madam, do not trouble yourself. I thank you for your consideration.” He bowed, bid both of the ladies a good evening, and with nary a backwards glance, the gentleman walked away.

The initial stings of anger and humiliation quickly faded. And, save toward himself, Bradley was unable to feel resentment. By all rights, Elizabeth was correct in her rejection of him. That justification did not, however, ease the ache in his chest, and were it not for the remains of his pride, he would have fled the place at once.

Instead, he stalked to the opposite side of the room – dodging left and then right as dancers moved to line up in front of the musicians. Availing himself of a glass of wine at the refreshment table, his back turned to the crowd, Bradley could do no more than draw in deep, even breaths.

He could feel his skin burning. His fingers trembled. And, were he more cognizant of his actions, he might have tasted the iron of blood from the inside of his cheek. In one swallow, he dispensed with half of his wine. After another quick breath, he drained the remaining liquid.

That he was not alone prevented him from immediately obtaining another. The circumstances of his uncle’s business would keep him in Meryton for a fair period of time; it would not do to add to the gossip that was sure to be spread. Elizabeth did not deserve to be plagued by h...

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