Mrs. Gardiner flicked the baton down. The strings started to play and I answered with chords. The beginning was the easiest (if anything by Rachmaninoff could be considered easy) and soon I found myself in a wonderful zone where I let my fingers do what I'd practiced them to do. They happily slid across the piano as I gave myself over to the music.

This was when I truly felt alive. No matter if I was answering the orchestra with runs or large bundles of notes or quietly building anticipation for the next variation, there was nowhere else I wanted to be but at Longbourn, on that stage, with this orchestra.

Nearly fifteen minutes into the piece, as I started in by myself on the eighteenth variation, the audience began to applaud. This section was my favorite, not just because it was featured in many romantic movies, but it was beautiful. When the orchestra joined in with me, I felt a lump in my throat.

As we finished that section, I took a deep breath. I needed every ounce of energy and concentration to get through the end.

As I began to tackle Rachmaninoff's challenging runs, a trickle of sweat began to make its way down the side of my face. I might not have even breathed for the last minute or so while I hammered away at the keyboard. Every note rang out and I leaned forward into the keys. It was a race to the finish, and after one last run and the crescendo of the orchestra, all fell silent as I played the last two chords.

I dropped my hands into my lap from exhaustion. The audience erupted in applause. I looked at Mrs. Gardiner and she motioned for me to stand up. As I did, she enveloped me in a huge hug. "Thank you, Elizabeth," she whispered in my ear. "That was wonderful!"

I nodded and went to shake the hands of the two first-chair violinists, Mary and Kitty, which was customary when playing with an orchestra.

I finally faced the audience and noticed they were on their feet. I bowed and motioned toward the orchestra, who then stood up.

For the first time, I surveyed the audience. I did notice that not everybody was standing; several students from my classes sat looking completely bored, but their parents seemed impressed.

And then in the third row, I saw my parents, both with tears streaming down their faces. I nearly started to sob, but the sight of Darcy, Georgiana, and their mom standing next to my parents shocked the tears from my system.

Thirty

THE RECEPTION WAS HELD IN FOUNDERS HALL, THE SAME place the mixer had been at the beginning of the semester. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and candles. I was having difficulty finding my parents; anytime I tried to locate them, someone would come up and congratulate me. Granted, the majority of people coming up to me were adults; even an inspiring performance of Rachmaninoff wasn't going to erase the scholarship stamp across my face.

After profusely thanking the headmistress for her kind words, I made a beeline for the food, as I knew that was where my dad would most likely be.

"There you are!" he exclaimed while holding a plate full of crudites.

Mom came rushing over and hugged me tightly. "Oh, Lizzie!" I felt my chin twitch as she held on to me. "You were wonderful. Your father and I are so proud of you."

Dad leaned over and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Amazing. I have no idea where you get any of your talent. It certainly isn't from either of us."

Mom hit him. "You promised you wouldn't embarrass her."

My parents were always overly sensitive about their behavior at Longbourn. They'd never monitored themselves when I had been at school back home, and they certainly didn't care about embarrassing me in front of my Hoboken friends, but I think the Longbourn parents made them even more uncomfortable than they made me.

"Lizzie!" Georgie ran up to me with a dozen red roses. "These are for you. From all of us."

"Thank you!" I smelled the flowers. "You shouldn't have."

"Nonsense." Claudia Reynolds came up to me and grabbed my hands. "It is customary for the soloist to be given roses. Especially after that performance. You were brilliant, my dear."

"Thank you. You have no idea how much that means coming from you." I still couldn't believe that Claudia Reynolds even knew who I was, but at that moment, there was only one person's review that I wanted to hear.

I turned hopefully to Darcy.

He came over and kissed me on the cheek. "Amazing."

"Thanks. I can't believe you guys came."

"Of course we would be here. We weren't going to miss it for anything." He smiled at me, and for a moment I sensed that Spring Break Darcy was back.

For the second time that evening, a sense of urgency overtook me. But this time it wasn't to perform, it was to come clean. I grabbed Darcy by the arm and started to lead him out of the room.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked.

"Uh, of course." He seemed surprised by my forwardness, but not nearly as shocked as I was.

We arrived outside Founders Hall, and he stood there with a puzzled look on his face.

"So ..." I tried to figure out what I wanted to say to him. For weeks I had wanted nothing more than to talk to him, but I figured that he would do the talking. I realized that for most of the time I knew him, he instigated our conversations. It had been my job to rudely reply back to him.

"I'm sorry, Darcy. I'm really sorry."

Darcy looked at me. "I keep telling you, there is nothing you have to apologize for."

"Yes I do. I'm sorry that I said all those horrible things about you to Wick, that I thought you were this stuck-up snob." His jaw clenched at hearing those words. "But the thing is, you weren't the snob. I was. You were right -- I did have a problem with people with money. I built this wall up around me -- I didn't want to get hurt. When I first met you, you seemed like every other person at Pemberley, and I refused, despite your efforts to get to know me better, to change my stubborn mind.

"Maybe we do have a lot more in common than I thought. You didn't want to trust any scholarship students. And I really don't blame you after what Wick did, and knowing how that affected you.... Even after that, you still could see past my circumstances and see me. I'm so horrified by my behavior. You tried to be nice to me and I just dismissed you. You didn't have to do any of those things -- giving me the coat and the tickets to see your mom, introducing me to your family, and helping with Lydia. In fact, I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again. But, the thing is, I'm ready to take down the wall, and I really hope that we can be ..."

I suddenly didn't know what to say next. I couldn't say friends, as I knew deep down that wasn't what I wanted from Darcy.

Darcy folded his arms. "Lizzie, does this have anything to do with the fact that prom is next weekend?"

"Prom? No, not at all."

He nodded slowly. "Good, because there is something you should know. I have no intention of asking you to prom."

Thirty-One

DARCY'S WORDS HUNG IN THE AIR FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE an eternity. Truth be told, there were only a couple seconds between that statement and what followed, but to me those two seconds were painful.

A person can think a lot of things in two seconds: how foolish she's been, how awful a person she's been, that maybe she's no better than Caroline Bingley, that maybe Longbourn has changed her for the worse.

I tried desperately to hide any emotion from Darcy. He had every reason not to want to go to prom with me. And I didn't really care about prom anyway.