Netherfield had descended into a warzone as the visit by the Bennet siblings continued.

Charles was too oblivious to notice the sneers and discomfort his sisters created by their constant disrespect to their guests. Even dinner time was no longer without discomfort, and that was without even considering the hours after dinner spent in the drawing-room.

Mr Bennet had been upstairs with his sister for the larger part of the day and was occasionally joined by Charles and his sisters. But the man had now once more shown his face to the rest of the party.

Fitzwilliam had been trying to write a letter to Georgina while Miss Bingley tried to capture his attention by constant reminders to tell his sister about herself. Around the time his temper had almost risen and he had lashed out at Miss Bingley, had Mr Bennet walked into the drawing room before picking up the book where he had left it last night to continue reading.

None of Fitzwilliam's dismissals nor plain ignoring could stop Miss Bingley from commenting on his writing, the evenness of his lines, or the length of his letter. All in a perpetual manner that could not be discouraged by anything, but plain rudeness.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

Her hand was resting on his shoulder in a familiar way he did not appreciate.

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

He shook off the hand making it fall to her side.

"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!"

It did absolutely nothing to discourage her and she blazingly placed her hand now on his right arm.

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."

How could anyone make conversation about writing letters to loved ones without tiring?

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

No, he would not tire Georgie too with her endless laments about the unfairness of her life.

"I have already told her so once, by your desire."

And once was more than enough for a lifetime.

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."

She tried to grab his pen but had to reach too far for where he was using it, almost protecting it with his body.

"Thank you—but I always mend my own."

The pen had been with him for many years and he wouldn't trust her with delivering a letter to the gardener, let alone this pen.

"How can you contrive to write so even?"

Fitzwilliam was silent.

"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."

A vague memory of a soiree in London where he had been introduced to the lady in question was not enough stimulus to wield Miss Bingley's will.

"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice."

If she really cared that much about Georgie's opinion she would write his sister herself.

"Oh! It is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write with such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?"

With no small malice did he remember Georgina's refusal for correspondence after the only time Charles took his sisters with him to Pemberly.

"They are generally long; but whether they are always charming, it is not for me to determine."

It would not do for a man of his statue to be prideful about his writing qualities.

"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill."

His pen halted and a quick glance to Charles told him his friend would not let him continue in peace.

"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline, because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do you not, Darcy?"

Oh, if only he could return to his room and live in peace and silence.

"My style of writing is very different from yours."

His was correct, forgive him for being prideful.

"Oh! Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."

Never would Fitzwilliam admit to agreeing with anything Miss Bingley had said, but in this regard he had to agree with her colourful description.

"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time enough to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."

Vividly did he remember the invitation to join Charles and family for a dinner during the season. He had arrived at the wrong date at the wrong time together with several aunts and uncles who too had already grown accustomed to Charles' writing.

"Your humility, Mr Bingley, must disarm reproof."

The one person in the room that Fitzwilliam valiantly had tried to ignore for the past half an hour, could no longer hold their tongue.

"Nothing is more deceitful, than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."

No, of course he would feel the need to join this useless discussion about his writing style.

"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"

Charles' delight at the new turn was almost palpable and only the years of upbringing in high society stopped Fitzwilliam from letting his head land on the writing table.

"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting."

They were in fact not, only annoying.

"The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the processor, and often without much attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?"

He might be slightly biassed, as he himself was rather slow and meticulous than fast and sloppy.

"Nay, this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies."

Charles may be a bit muddleheaded, but he was most certainly that way in the most endearing way imaginable.

"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month."

That would be the reason he was indulging the man this much.

"You have only proved by this that Mr Bingley did not do juctice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself."

Unfortunately not everyone in the drawing room was as endearing as his friend.

"I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think better of me, if under such circumstances I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could."

Fitzwilliam had most certainly not intended it that way.

"Would Mr Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"

Mr Darcy would most certainly not reconsider his decisions.

"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself."

He would not speak for himself as he wanted to finish his letter in silence.

"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Mr Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety."

Of course Fitzwilliam would speak out to defend his honour.

"To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you."

Never had he held his tongue in his or others' defence.

"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."

And he would most certainly not start now at twenty-seven for Mr Eleazar Frederick Bennet.

"You appear to me, Mr Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requestor would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstances occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great importance, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"

Fitzwilliam held his tongue, only staring in mild disgust in the general direction of Mr Bennet and Charles.

"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?"

Charles would never let go of this argument nor would Mr Bennet, they were enjoying hia discomfort far too much to let go.

"By all means, let us hear the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Mr Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of such a saturday evening, when he had nothing to do."

He smiled as he was reminded of better times where he was not disturbed in the evenings by ceasless bikkering.

"I see your design, Bingley, you dislike an argument, and want to silence this."

Though his memory disregarded the last decade and a half, it was still a good memory.

"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Mr Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me."

If that had been on Charles' mind the entire time, Fitzwilliam would have enjoyed his evening far more if he had taken action sooner.

"What you ask is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr Darcy had much better finish his letter."

He did so promptly.

As soon as that business was over did he apply to the ladies for an indulgence of some music. Why he would go out of his way to torture himself no one would know, least of all Fitzwilliam himself, but he wanted the attention on someone that wasn't him.

Mrs Hurst sang with her sister, but neither could hold his attention no matter how valiant he tried. His gaze was pulled to Mr Bennet who was looking through some music books displayed on the pianoforte.

He had to stop looking, he had to.

After several Italian songs did Miss Bingley vary the repertoire by playing a lively Scottish air. It did nothing to distract Fitzwilliam only accentuating how badly he wanted to step towards Mr Bennet and ask for his hand in a reel or two.

Without really thinking his feet had moved closer to where Mr Bennet was minding his own business, till they were standing eye to eye and Fitzwilliam had no clue what he should do now.

"Sir?"

Mr Bennet clearly didn't know what was happening, but neither did Fitzwilliam. So in a last effort to reclaim his pride he pulled forward his haughtiest airs and simply exited the room without acknowledging the object of his desires.

If it had not been for the inferiority of the man's connections he should be in some danger. For behold, never before had he ever been this bewitched by another's presence before.

Fitzwilliam had tried for his infatuation to stay hidden, and though Miss Bingley couldn't prove anything, she suspected enough to be of danger and quite jealous of her guests. This resulted in her often trying to provoke him by talking badly about their guests in an effort to try him to openly dislike them.

This too was the occasion the next day when they were walking together in the shrubbery.

"I do hope you have not found our guests too tiresome, Mr Darcy. I know how much you enjoy your peace and quiet and having more people around won't help that."

Disregarding her speaking so, that she was the biggest threat to the peace and quiet in Netherfield.

She continued in much the same fashion, finishing with: "but above all, for sure they won't stay much longer and go home quickly; it is not as if dear Jane is even that sick anyway."

At that precise moment they were met from another walk by Mrs Hurst and Mr Bennet himself.

"I did not know that you intended to walk."

Miss Bingley's face flushed bright red in surprise at almost being overheard.

"You used us abominably ill, running away without telling us that you were coming out."

The admonishment by Mrs Hurst did little to stifle the surprise at meeting Mr Bennet again so soon after storming out of the drawing room.

"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."

The whole experience was highly uncomfortable; and became even more so when she took Fitzwilliam's other arm leaving Mr Bennet to walk all alone.

"No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Goodbye."

It did nothing for Mr Bennet who happily left them alone to look around the grounds alone. In a heartbeat he was gone leaving Fitzwilliam alone with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst who were more than happy to entertain him for the time being; regardless of his own wishes of the matter.