New Plot Bunny

 First - I AM working on A Rose By Any Other Name, but as most of you know, I absolutely must - MUST - have more than one oar in the water... *sigh* It's how my brain works. Anyhoo, I had a delicious plot bunny hop into my brain the other day, and before I knew it, almost three chapters sprang to life. To give you a taste, I'm sharing the scene that prompted Thumper to invade my brain. This work is currently untitled.

“Come, Darcy, I must have you dance.”

“You must?”

“Absolutely. I cannot be the only gentleman from our party who escorts these ladies around the room in time to music.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome woman in the room.”

“Yes, she is a tasty bit of muslin.”

“Do not.”

“Do not, what?”

“Do not dally with these ladies. This is a small, backwater town, not the ballrooms of London.”

“I will be careful. I have no intention of getting caught in the parson’s trap. I mean to learn the business of estate management, find a good estate to purchase, and maybe also find an acceptable wife.”

“Netherfield is a good enough estate to learn the basics, but I caution you about your other two points. It is easy to get caught up in the allure of a beautiful woman, and your sister expects you to marry well. Her future is tied to your success.”

“My sister wishes for her future to be tied to you.”

“That will never happen. If you do not make it clear to her, I shall.”

“I will speak to her – again. Now, about dancing. I still insist you must dance.” Mr. Bingley gave a hasty glance at who was situated near them. “I say, there is a pleasant enough looking young lady sitting behind us. Shall I ask my partner to make our introductions?”

Mr. Darcy glanced over his shoulder, then faced forward again.

“Her? Your sense of humour is in fine form tonight, Bingley. She is barely tolerable for someone of my consequence and lineage. It would be a punishment to stand up with her – Ow!”

***

Elizabeth Bennet did not know who she was more disgusted by. Mr. Bingley, or Mr. Darcy. Finally, she had had enough. She stood and stalked toward the two men. As she passed by, she pretended to stumble and, grateful for the little wooden heel affixed to her slipper, stomped hard on Mr. Darcy’s dancing slipper.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. How clumsy of me,” she exclaimed, straightening her posture. “May I get you some ice for your foot?”

“No, thank you, Madam. I require nothing from you.”

“Then, I shall bid you and your friend a good evening.”

With that, Elizabeth crossed to the middle of the dance floor where her eldest sister still awaited her absent dance partner, Mr. Bingley. Snagging Jane’s hand in hers, she dragged her off the floor toward the lady’s retiring room, an upset Mrs. Bennet not too far behind.

“Elizabeth, why did you force your sister to abandon Mr. Bingley? He is not only handsome, but has an income of five thousand a year!”

“He may have five thousand pounds a year, but in value as a gentleman, his worth is not even two pence.”

“What are you talking about? Everyone says he is the most amiable man.”

“Do you recall Mr. Nolan’s message last Sunday about wolves in sheep’s clothing? His message may have been planned for parents of young ladies regarding the upcoming militia encampment this winter, but after listening to the conversation between the amiable Mr. Bingley and the dour Mr. Darcy, I believe our Lord intended us to hear this message about those who now reside at Netherfield Park.”

“What did you hear?” Jane asked.

“I do not wish to hurt you, but it is better you know the truth.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Mr. Bingley said you were a tasty bit of muslin; however, he has no intention of getting caught in the parson’s trap, because he needs to find an appropriate wife who will not only raise his status but also aid his sister in finding a suitable husband.”

Jane’s face paled as Mrs. Bennet’s colour rose.

“You are, at the very least, a gentleman’s daughter!” Mrs. Bennet huffed out. “I am of a mind to write your mother’s sister, and inform her how her tenants are behaving.”

“Mamma, we all agreed to keep our relations secret. Jane and I enjoy the anonymity that Meryton provides. Besides, once I reach my majority, the truth shall come out.”

“I still think I should write your aunt. As the Queen’s first lady-in-waiting, she could put a little outside pressure on these gentlemen to behave.”

“Aunt Florence has more important things on her calendar. She does not need to add, rescue my only nieces from a pair of scoundrels.”

Mamma laughed, just as Elizabeth had hoped.

“Elizabeth Marie Rose Bennet, there are times you sound so much like your own mother, it makes me realize that even after eighteen years, I miss her.”

“From what you and Papa have said, she was a good friend.”

“That she was, and she never turned her nose up at me for being a solicitor’s daughter.” Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips. “I still think something should be done. You and Jane are distant cousins of the Queen. If Her Majesty knew—”

“No, Mamma. I do not want our prestigious cousin informed. She has so much drama in her life, what with her husband’s ill health and her son’s questionable behaviour. We shall leave her alone and come Christmas, enjoy a pleasant tea with her and Aunt Florence.”

“You are too good, Lizzy.”

“I am not. I am a woman who wants to be loved for myself, as does Jane.”

“That is true,” Jane finally added to the conversation. “I will admit, I thought Mr. Bingley was an amiable gentleman, but now that I know the truth of it, I shall treat him as an indifferent acquaintance.”

Just then, Elizabeth grinned.

“What? Why do you smile so widely?” Jane asked.

“I was imagining what Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will do when, or if, they ever learn of our antecedents.”

“Do you think they will be upset that they had not courted the favour of some bona-fide royals in their midst?”

“I do, even if our maternal grandfather is monarch of a miniscule country.”

“I remember the first time your mother told me of her family. I was so scared; I physically shook in her presence. Your mother – God rest her soul – took my hand and squeezed, saying, Fanny, I put my stockings on one leg at a time. I have days when my hair is unmanageable and nothing goes my way. I am simply a woman who married for love.”

“I have no memories of her,” Elizabeth mused out loud.

“I have some, but they are vague and blurred by time,” Jane said quietly.

“That is why I speak openly of her,” Mamma soothed. “She was my friend, and when she knew she had so little time left before she passed, she encouraged your Papa and me to carefully consider marriage. Mainly because the two of you were so very young, and she knew I had great respect for your father. She was not wrong. Your dear mother was very wise.”