His Beautiful Reward (Sweet Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Prologue

Young Fitzwilliam Darcy stalked the perimeter of the ballroom.

Occasionally engaging in conversation with friends, or managing a pinched smile at their comments and jests, he did not remain still for any length of time.

Doing so meant being pressed into dancing.

Keeping his eyes trained over the heads of the throng, his head whipped around when a hand clamped down hard onto his shoulder.

Ready with a sharp rebuke, Darcy instead huffed at the sight of a former Cambridge schoolfellow. “Barlow,” he said, his tone wry.

“Darcy, my good man, will you not dance this evening?” James Barlow grinned at him, “The ladies cannot dance alone, you know. You had much better ask one to dance, that scowl of yours only scares them away.”

“I do not feel like dancing this evening, Barlow.” Darcy rolled his eyes and straightened his shoulders, shaking off Barlow’s hand, “Do you not grow weary of these events? We see the same society each and every time. After a while they seem to blend into one long, boring ordeal,” Darcy brushed an imaginary speck of lint off his sleeve.

“Perhaps you might enjoy these events more, if you made an effort at conversation,” Barlow waggled his eyebrows.

“Conversation, you call it? Tittering and agreeing with everything I say is tedium, not conversation. I could proclaim the moon was made of cheese, and they would merely flutter their lashes at me and say, ‘so true, Mr Darcy’.”

“’Tis true some ladies seek our approbation quite zealously, but us bachelors must sift through the coal, to find the diamond, eh?” Barlow nudged Darcy with his elbow.

Darcy turned to look down his nose at Barlow and responded with icy hauteur. “Coal is filthy stuff, and I would not wish to dirty my attire. There is not one lady here tolerable enough to tempt me to make the effort, and I am in no mood to exert myself.”

“Your pride is as legendary as ever, Darcy.” His friend guffawed, slapped him on his back again and walked away, shaking his head.

Darcy turned in the opposite direction and resumed his stalking.

Unbeknownst to him, his parents, Mr George and Lady Anne Darcy, had entered the ballroom and made to join him. They had reached him in time to hear his last proclamation.

The couple exchanged a look of consternation, shocked at this hitherto unknown illustration into their son’s character. With a look of silent communication, they sought out the hosts to extend both their greetings and excuses.

Silence filled the interior of the carriage during the ride home. After shedding their outerwear, and bidding Leeson, the Darcy’s butler, a good night, they retired to the privacy of their rooms.

Once inside with the door closed Lady Anne turned to her husband– “George, something must be done about our son’s abominable behaviour!”