When Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy dance at the Netherfield ball, held by Mr Bingley, sparks fly. This is my version of what happened. (note: the first chapter is an extract from the book pide...
The current dance was over, and her dance began. They stood for sometime withought speaking a word. Her nerves increased the longer his hand toughed hers, his closeness, his smell; it made her surprisingly uneasy, which she tried to ease by talking. A slight observation of the dance was made by her, a brief reply on his part. Talking ceased, drawn out by the lack of possible topics. Her nervousness grew, her heart pounded. What does this mean? she thought. She looked up into his eyes to acquire an answer.
And everything changed
Her world narrowed; Charlotte, Jane, even Mr Wickham left her mind. Her only thoughts were of Mr Darcy, everyone else were of no comparison.
They fitted perfectly together whilst they glided across the floor, an extension of one another, one mind. One Soul. Social status mattered nothing to her, of rich and poor - merely two individuals blending together. Admirers looked on. The feeling in her heart began to build, corrupting her very being. It shattered her senses until the dance was her sole concentration, nothing mattered but Mr Darcy.
Then suddenly it disappeared, the dance finished, the moment gone. Lost forever. Disappointment seeped out her skin, a sense of loss overpowered her, half of her soul ripped away. She felt breathless, her gaze transfixed on Mr Darcy, her mind blurred.
Hands clapped. A bow. And he was gone, the slap of boots on the hard floor, unaware of the pain he caused. Her senses rejoined her, people were seen: the laughter and gossip filtered through her ears once more.
Her mind raced - what just happened? Her legs felt like jelly, yet she walked away. What was that feeling? What does this mean? She pondered these questions, afraid of an answer. Someone was talking - Charlotte Lucas, her mind told her. I must be myself again; she thought, and consequently composed herself. She was again Lizzy Bennet who was delighted with anything ridiculous and having a lively, playful disposition, and the precious memory was stored In the back of her mind, as a ball, she recalled, was not a time to reflect and ponder.