author's note: Just for fun, a piece of silliness originating from a chat with Danielle. You may recognise the first few paragraphs as the words of our esteemed Jane.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her -

"Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

"Oh," said she, " I heard you before; but could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say "Yes" that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always take delight in overthrowing these kinds of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all - and now despise me if you dare."

"Indeed I do not dare."

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.

"Perhaps a less lively tune would offer you more encouragement?" he enquired. As Elizabeth continued to regard him in surprise Darcy raised one arm and snapped his fingers in the direction of the pianoforte. Instantly the tempo changed as if Miss Bingley had been watching and waiting for just such a signal from the man.

Now the slow strains of a waltz began to filter through the room. Before Elizabeth knew what was happening she felt Darcy's hand take hers and she was led away from the instrument to the open floor where he wrapped an arm securely about her waist and proceeded to lead her in the dance.

Elizabeth had never danced a waltz before. It was something new, something from the continent and not at all the thing one would be seen doing in the country! Elizabeth made a small attempt at showing her disapproval of his choice but his grip was too strong and any greater attempt on her part would make her look extremely foolish. As well, one glance at Miss Bingley was enough to convince her that when that young lady realised to what end her talents were being used she would not sit idly by, watching.

Elizabeth glanced up. The smile on Darcy's face was certainly smug; his eyes met hers challengingly. This was not something that Elizabeth could ignore. A challenge of this nature set the blood racing through her veins. With a dignified tilt of her head, and a curiously raised eyebrow, she said in a painfully polite tone -

"You dance a superb waltz, Mr. Darcy. Is it commonplace for you to practice it at a small country gathering or do you prefer to utilize your talents more effectively in Town?"

His smile softened slightly with amusement. "Oh, country gatherings surely offer the better venue to impress with my 'talents', Miss Bennet. I must confess that in Town I am merely another member of the ton."

A well sought after one, I'm sure, Elizabeth mused with a bitter reminder of her mother's own words: Ten thousand a year!

Aloud she said, "Surely you do not expect me to believe that you, sir, with all your charm and appeal, are lost in the crowd at Almacks?"

Darcy acknowledged her hit with a sparkle in his eye. "Only with great effort on my part," he confided.

Elizabeth could not prevent the escape of a brief laugh and Miss Bingley's eyes were suddenly upon her. With a deliberate misstep, she found herself falling against Darcy's shoulder, bringing his body around so that he now had his back to Miss Bingley. From here, Elizabeth could raise a triumphant eyebrow toward the pianist while her partner struggled to restore them to a more dignified position.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," Elizabeth quietly said with an affected embarrassment. "I fear you have now found my weakness."

Momentarily confused, Darcy drew his brows together in thought. "Ah!" he finally replied. "The inferiority of your country partners has impaired your skill at the dance. It is only to be expected."

"You are most understanding," Elizabeth murmured with a glance in Miss Bingley's direction. The music faltered momentarily, enough for Darcy to cast a enquiring look over his shoulder. The young lady quickly brought her attention to bear on the sheets before her, Mrs. Hurst coming to her side to assist in the turning of the pages.

For several minutes the couple was left to dance uninterrupted by musical aberrations or feet with ideas of their own. Mr. Bingley sat on the sofa, pleasantly engaged in thoughtful musings while his eyes apparently followed the movements of his friend and the lady. Mr. Hurst continued to snore on the settee near the fire while his wife formulated some plans of her own.

"I believe we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth ventured after enduring the silence long enough.

"Indeed," he replied. "Of what would you suggest we debate, for debate I am sure you have in your mind." His smile once again issued a challenge to his partner.

Elizabeth was about to formulate a reply when she felt something hit her shoulder. The words paused on her lips as she opened her mouth to speak and Darcy's eyes widened in anticipation. Shrugging off the distraction, Elizabeth collected her thoughts and continued.

"Why, sir, what sort of opinion you must have of me! Have I led you to believe that I prefer nothing so much as pursuing an argument?" she teased.

"I -," Darcy began when his attention was arrested by a small white object that suddenly appeared in his partner's hair. Distracted by this mysterious materialisation he forgot what he was about to say.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth prompted curiously.

He shook his head lightly and regained his smile. "Forgive me, my mind seemed to have wandered for a moment. Terribly impolite of me."

Elizabeth's eyebrow rose in query but she was too well brought up to voice her interest in what may well prove to be her own undoing. What thoughts might lurk in the gentleman's mind were certainly none of her concern, especially if he chose not to utter them aloud.

"Now, of what were we speaking?" Darcy appeared composed once more.

"I believe," Elizabeth whispered conspiratorially, "that you were about to explain the vast pleasure that I receive from entering into arguments."

Darcy's expression was one of feigned horror. "Not I, certainly! How could I be so callous as to suggest such a thing! Mayhap you misunderstood my comment. I recollect that debating was the method that I put forward, not arguing."

"Now that you mention it," the lady conceded, "that does prompt a recollection of my own. Indeed, you had suggested that debate was my preferred entertainment but I beg to differ, for debate requires two opposing viewpoints and each substantiating a claim that his or hers is the correct one. I was not aware of any difference of opinion at the time of your enquiring and thus there could be no debate."

"Ah, but there you are definitely mistaken," stated Darcy assuredly. "Not only had we already expressed opposing viewpoints but I had taken the liberty of demonstrating my own in a most forward manner." Elizabeth furrowed her brow as she tried to follow this convoluted explanation. Darcy smiled as he explained. "You see, you had disdained to dance a reel with me but a few moments ago, Miss Bennet, and I.... I then took it upon myself to have the reel replaced with another, more acceptable, style of music. This allowed me to instantly illustrate the inaccuracy of your position that I should despise you for desiring to dance. Whether it be a reel or a waltz, I dare not despise you, as I believe I stated at the outset."

"You, sir, have twisted my words around so that I hardly recognise them for my own anymore!" she laughed. Just at that moment another small white object bounced off of Elizabeth's cheek. She felt it quite clearly but Darcy was laughing and hadn't noticed.Elizabeth's eyes darted around as she vainly attempted to locate the stray object and determine what it was and where it had come from. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see that it was only Mr. Hurst rearranging his recumbent form on the settee.

"I hope," Darcy was saying, "that my presumption hasn't entirely spoiled your evening, Miss Bennett. Unless I am mistaken, you did seem to be rather enjoying the dance, contrary to your professed refusal of the initial opportunity."

Elizabeth arched one eyebrow in the gentleman's direction. "If by that you mean that I may have been prevaricating, sir, I assure you that I -." She stopped suddenly at the unmistakable sting of something impacting against her bare shoulder. Darcy, too, was looking surprised as if he wasn't sure of what he had seen.

Their eyes met and Elizabeth's questioned his silently. He had no answers, unfortunately, and almost immediately another assault was felt. This time the object didn't stray very far and Darcy watched in abject fascination as a tiny round ball rolled slowly along the lady's collarbone and came to a halt at the base of her throat. There it quivered on the verge of falling into the recesses of her gown and it took all of his strength of will to tear his eyes from the volatile object and meet Elizabeth's gaze once more.

"What is it?"

At first he didn't know what to answer, then realising that she had merely meant the question as a polite enquiry, entirely unaware of the presence of the tiny distraction warring with Darcy's attention, he attempted to form a reply. What emerged from his lips was a pallid observation in apparent contrast to what was uppermost in his thoughts.

"I was merely following the particular movement of this ... er... selection of Miss Bingley's."

The lady appeared to be satisfied with his response, although in reality she was as distracted as the gentleman, and struggled to focus on the notes issuing forth from the instrument. It was a wasted effort, however, for no sooner did Elizabeth feel that she recognised the author of the piece than her attention was arrested by an odd movement from Mrs. Hurst who was standing just behind her sister at the keys. Almost immediately there was another stinging sensation felt on her bare arm and Elizabeth looked down in surprise as a small white ball slowly rolled down her forearm and stopped, stuck to her wrist.

What....? she thought, a puzzled frown beginning to form across her brow. Suddenly recollecting the presence of Darcy, Elizabeth glanced up to see the same confused expression on his face. His gaze, however, was not on her wrist.

"Is that snow?" The sound of Bingley's voice startled everyone in the room with the exception of Mr. Hurst who was still soundly snoring away.

"I beg your pardon?" Darcy asked, wondering how his friend could see the tiny white balls from that distance, let alone think it would be snow inside the house.

Bingley turned to look in their direction, an innocent smile writ large on his face. "Snow!" he repeated, pointing to the window. "Isn't it a bit early in the season for snow, Miss Bennet?"

"Well... er.. yes," she responded, just as bewildered as her dance partner. She met Darcy's gaze and a silent communication passed between them. Slowly, they manoeuvred their way across the room through the steps of the dance. For several minutes no sound but the delicate notes of the
music filled the air; Bingley had gone back to sitting and staring into the fire, lost in contemplation of his ill houseguest, Miss Jane Bennet.

A few more minutes in Darcy's arms and Elizabeth had nearly forgotten the odd events that had just transpired. She looked up once again into his face. Darcy smiled down at her, his own memory of the strange occurrences fading.

With a loud cough, an even louder snort and a muttered oath, Mr. Hurst rose from the settee like a spectre from the grave, one hand to his mouth as he coughed and spluttered.

Bingley looked over in alarm, half out of his chair to assist his brother-in-law. Then he cast a searching look toward his sisters, one of whom was steadfastly keeping her eyes on the keys while the other was just as earnestly keeping her turned from her brother. Bingley strode across the room.

"You've been at it again, haven't you?" he demanded. Grasping Mrs. Hurst's hand he turned it over and emptied the concealed contents into a pile on the top of the piano. Bingley shook his head in disgust and sighed. "How many times have I warned you about this, Louisa? One of these days you are going to go too far and I won't be able to recoup your reputation." He scooped up the tiny pieces of ammunition in one hand and held out the other. "I'm waiting," he said.

Miss Bingley's fingers continued to move over the keys but were now beginning to falter as her attention was drawn to the confrontation at her side. She saw her sister raise a hand and pass a small, slender object into their brother's grasp.

"Really, Louisa," Bingley muttered, pocketing the offending materials while his siblings lowered their heads in shame. "One would think you were well past the age of spitballs."

The End