"That's a great Snow White costume Jane, but please tell me Charles is not dressing as Prince Charming."

"He is," said Jane, giggling.

"I'm going to gag!" said Elizabeth. "At least tell me he won't be wearing tights."

Jane giggled again, and Elizabeth made retching sounds as she turned into the driveway of the Netherfield Country Club. She left her car with the valet parking attendant and followed Jane - er - Snow White up the steps to the ballroom where the Halloween masquerade was being held. Charles was waiting at the door and Elizabeth had to withhold her giggles as she looked at his legs, thinly covered by purple spandex.

"Have fun, you two," she called over her shoulder as she entered the crowded room scanning for a certain someone. She had to admit it. She had a bit of a crush on the new guy in town, George Wickham. He'd told her that he was going to dress up as a musketeer. She hoped there weren't too many - it was difficult to recognise anyone in their costumes, except maybe for Wilbur Collins who appeared to be dressed as Kermit the Frog. A glance back at Jane and Charles showed them gazing starrily into each other's eyes. She needed to find someone else to hang out with - if not George, then at least Charlotte. She had just recognised her friend dressed as a milkmaid on the far side of the room when she noticed a hat with a curling ostrich plume, and as a group of Jedi warriors moved out of the way, she saw the person underneath the hat. Talk about men in tights! He was a musketeer if she ever saw one. And the sight of his legs encased tightly in green didn't make her feel like giggling at all - far from it.

'I never knew he had such a good body,' Elizabeth thought to herself. She was about to wave and call out to him when he looked over at her - and just kept looking. He was masked, and wearing a fake moustache, but he was the only musketeer in the ballroom, so she made her way though the crowd towards him. He kept his eyes on her continually and by the time she was at his side she was blushing and slightly out of breath. Luckily her face makeup - a pattern of fallen leaves - hid the blush.

"Great costume," she said appreciatively.

"Ah - ze wood nymph, she speaks."

"Nice accent!"

"Well, I am French, am I not?" And he winked perceptibly behind his black mask. Then he doffed his hat and bowed. "Athos at your service, mademoiselle."

"Where did you get that moustache? It almost looks real."

"It is real," he said with dignity. "It took me ze better part of three weeks to grow zis."

"Three weeks? Last time I saw you, you were clean shaven."

"As I said, mademoiselle."

They both regarded each other, their slightly confused expressions at odds with their costumes. Elizabeth recovered first and laughed. "I love it how you keep in character. I can't do it at all."

"Au contraire, mademoiselle," he said. "It is just that you are always ze wood nymph. It comes to you as easily as breathing."

"Give the man a plumed hat and he becomes an accomplished flirt."

"But me, I am not flirting," he said softly.

Elizabeth twiddled with the draping gauze that hung from her sleeves. George was different tonight, not that she minded. If she'd thought that he was hot before . . .

"Would you like something to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"French champagne, of course - would you like to try it?"

"I'm sorry - I don't drink champagne."

"But this champagne tastes - how you say - very soft." He drew out the last word meaningfully.

She took the glass he offered and sniffed it tentatively, and then took a little sip. "It's soft cider," she said accusingly.

"But of course," he said. "Me, I know what ze mademoiselle likes. Shall I get you one of your own or shall we romantically share ze same glass all evening?"

"At the risk of offending you, I'd have to say I'd like one all my own."

"Your wish," he said, but did not bother to complete the phrase. Instead he hailed a passing waiter and Elizabeth soon found a chilled glass of cider in her hands.

Elizabeth gazed around the room. The costumes gave a magical feel to the evening. There were the typical Halloween fare, spirits freshly risen from crypts, ghosts, werewolves howling at the moon, and an assortment of witches, along with characters from fairy tales and sci fi movies. Speaking of witches, the woman dressed in what looked like a replica of one of Cher's costumes from her farewell tour had to be Charles' sister, Caroline. Elizabeth remembered back three weeks ago to when she and Jane had stayed the weekend at their plush home. Caroline and Charles' friend, Darcy, had looked down their noses at her and Jane during the whole visit. One morning she'd overheard Caro putting them down for running a little picture shop on the east side. Darcy had said, "What did you expect, Carrie? A five star gallery with internationally acclaimed artists?" Caroline had laughed and Elizabeth hadn't bothered sticking around to hear any more insults.

As if he could hear her thoughts, George - er - Athos, spoke at her shoulder. "I went to see your gallery last week."

"I know - I was there."

"Are you sure? I didn't think . . . I didn't see you, mademoiselle."

"Right - you didn't see a wood nymph and I didn't see a musketeer."

"You are adept at stating the obvious, cherie."

She smiled.

"It is an eclectic collection. I found some of ze paintings quite inspiring."

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. That's not what he'd said at the time. Maybe there was more to him than just his attractive appearance and smooth talk.

"I like it when you do ze eyebrow thing, ma petite."

"If you don't watch out I'll pull your moustache off," she threatened, raising her hand towards his face.

He grabbed it swiftly and held it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the fingers. "I have a better idea. Let's dance." He led her out onto the dance floor and put his arms around her for the slow dance.

Elizabeth leaned her head upon his shoulder. He was taller than she remembered. He smelled good - tangy - like ginger. They danced in circles about the floor, and when the next song came on they stayed in each others' arms, dancing slowly like that, though the song was much more up-tempo. They talked about her gallery, the art and the artists, and of books, and movies, and music. Elizabeth was surprised by the depth of his knowledge and the tastes that they shared. Finally they found themselves out on the balcony, under a dazzling array of stars. They leaned against the railing and looked up at the display.

"I'm having a good time tonight," said Elizabeth.

"So am I."

"We've never talked this way before - I like it."

"I've wanted to," he said. "For a long time now." He was silent for a moment, just looking into her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you have ze most beautiful leaves, cherie?"

"Never."

"Perhaps it is ze canvas they are painted on that appeals to me so," he whispered and he lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was warm and deliberate and it set Elizabeth's pulses racing. When he raised his head up to look at her face, she pulled him down for another one, and returned his kiss with more feeling than she had expected. They were both breathing heavily when they broke apart.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

Inconsequentially, she thought that the glue he was using for that fake moustache was very strong stuff. It hadn't budged a centimetre.

He held her so close that his heart pounded in her ear. In the distance bells were ringing - midnight.

"Oh my gosh!" he suddenly cried out. "I forgot to call my sister. Would you . . . could you wait for me for a few minutes - this outfit didn't come with a cell phone." He smiled ruefully, kissed her forehead, and ran through the French doors and back into the building.

Elizabeth sighed and leaned against a pillar. What a time to . . . sister? I didn't even know George has a sister. Actually there's a lot I didn't know about him. She smiled, remembering their conversation, and the kisses, and the way his voice had just sounded different without the French accent he had been affecting all night.

She heard quick footsteps and then a funny shaped head was silhouetted in the doorway.

"So that's where you've been hiding."

A tremor went up Elizabeth's spine - it was George's voice, but . . . that wasn't what he'd been wearing. Why had he changed? In fact, how had he changed so quickly? When he got closer she realised that he was wearing jeans, a checked shirt with a name tag that said Frankie, and Mickey Mouse ears. At the same time it appeared that he'd noticed her costume too.

"When I told you I was dressing up as a Mouseketeer, I'd sorta hoped you'd come as Annette," he said.

Elizabeth backed away. If this was George then who had she been with all evening? Who had she just been kissing?

Charles suddenly appeared behind George.

"Elizabeth," he called. "Where did Darcy go?"

"Darcy?" she croaked.

"Yeah - the Frenchie you've been hanging out with all night."

Elizabeth choked. Darcy? She had kissed Darcy? He was the guy she'd been having such a good time with? Her thoughts were in turmoil. It was all she could do to answer Charles. "He went to phone his sister."

"Thanks. When he comes back, tell him I'm looking for him."

Elizabeth nodded dumbly.

As soon as Charles was gone, George came up close beside her. His expression was petulant. "All the time I was looking for you, you were with Darcy? I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I thought so too," she whispered, though not really to George - she was saying it to herself. And I thought he couldn't stand me, either. What was that kiss all about?

"I hope he wasn't telling you any lies about me," said George.

"We didn't talk about you at all," said Elizabeth, her mind going back over what they had talked about. How could she have thought he was George?

"Then your evening must have been incredibly boring."

George flashed the grin that she had always found so appealing, but it didn't affect her at all this time. He put his arms around her and whispered in her ear, "You're with a real man now." He tightened his grip and brought his lips down hard upon hers.

Elizabeth didn't resist - even though kissing two different men in one night wasn't the kind of thing she made a habit of doing. Instead she dispassionately analysed his kiss and the way it made her feel in an attempt to understand why she had been so moved by that other kiss she had received earlier in the evening. There was no comparison. Her reaction was to push him back and turn her head away.

"C'mon honey, we're just getting started," he said as he nuzzled at her neck.

She felt a moment of panic that dissipated when she looked at his Mickey Mouse ears bobbing in front of her eyes and she almost burst into a fit of giggles. The idea of getting ravished by a Mouseketeer was preposterous.

"George," she said. "Stop. I don't really . . ."

Beyond the ears she saw a tall figure standing in the doorway, plumed hat silhouetted against the light from the ballroom. She felt all the colour leave her face and she gave George a harder shove.

Instead of letting her go, George tried to find her lips again. She could smell alcohol on his breath. "You know you want it," he said huskily.

"I think ze lady wants you to desist."

George spun around to find a rapier blade levelled at his chest. "What the?" he yelled and took a quick step backwards.

"I believe you were just leaving," said the Musketeer. The rapier did not waver.

"Is that thing real?" squeaked George.

"Would you care to find out?"

Elizabeth stood still, unable to move. She was aware of the blood running through her veins, a breeze rustling the leaves of a tree somewhere in the dark behind her, the cold that was creeping up her ankles. She barely noticed as George backed away into the darkness. His echoing footsteps as he hurried off didn't register. All that she could think of was that she was alone on the balcony with Darcy.

"Are you all right?" he said as he sheathed the sword.

"Yes."

"Then I'll go."

"Don't." She raised her arm towards him and then let it fall.

He stood, unmoving, and simply looked at her, his face expressionless in the moonlight.

"I can explain."

"Explain what? Why you were kissing George or why you kissed me?"

"I thought you were George."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," said Darcy, turning away and leaning on the balustrade. He stared up at the sky. "It's funny - those are the same stars we were looking at before but they've lost their sparkle."

Elizabeth came closer and put her hand on his arm tentatively. "I thought you were George, but the person I was having such a good time with was actually you. This is difficult for me to say - I never really liked you . . . and I thought you felt the same way about me. I - I'm a bit confused here."

"You're confused?" Darcy took a step away from her and then leaned against one of the pillars. "Why would you think I didn't like you?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "That first time we met, Charles was trying to convince you to dance with me and you said I wasn't your type."

"You heard that?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"I was wrong."

Elizabeth hesitated and then continued. "You always look at me so critically."

"Not critically - admiringly."

Elizabeth felt her cheeks tingle. She sat on the railing and stared at her hands.

"Why don't you like me?" He said it carefully, attempting to put no feeling at all into the words.

Elizabeth took a long time to answer. She could not look at Darcy - instead she looked at the line of white the moon trailed along the fishpond on the patio below.

"I guess partly because I was offended that first day, and partly because of your distant attitude, and the way you look down on everybody, and partly because of what George told me about you."

"It always comes back to George."

"He's had to struggle a lot because of you."

"So he says."

"Are you telling me he lied?"

"It's up to you to decide which one of us to believe."

"I don't know what to believe and I don't know what to think," Elizabeth snapped back. "You are acting all offended and that's not helping one bit. Look - I'm being perfectly open and honest with you. I thought you were George. I had a great time with you. You kissed me and I kissed you back because it made me feel . . . it made me want to kiss you. You. The person I was with - the person who was funny and interesting and just plain . . . sexy. And then you left and George came and Charles told me you were you and then George kissed me and it was not the same at all and I didn't know what to think because I thought we didn't like each other and . . . and . . ."

"And zen I pulled my sword on him." Darcy was suddenly close to her and there was amusement in his eyes. "And he slunk away like ze cowardly dog zat he is."

"Yes. And since he left there is only one thing I've wanted, but instead we've been standing here arguing like two idiots."

"Not arguing - explaining," he said softly. "It needed to be done. But now it's time for this."

He put his arms around her and she raised her face to his. The kiss was longer and slower this time, and the plumed hat slipped from Darcy's head and onto his foot. He kicked it away casually, without any loss of attention to Elizabeth. When they finally stopped to take a breath, Elizabeth took her index finger and stroked it across his upper lip.

"It is real," she said.

"As I said before," laughed Darcy. "Ze work of three weeks."

"I think I've just fallen in love with a musketeer."

"I've been in love with a wood nymph since almost the first moment I saw her."

When Charles came looking for Darcy again, he decided that whatever it was he had to say to him wasn't important enough to interrupt the entwined couple. Instead he went back to Jane to tell her the good news, and to show her just how charming of a prince he could be.

~*Finis*~