Jump to new as of January 13, 2005
Chapter 1 ~ Uncertainty
Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced across the carriage at his cousin with a half-rueful smile. "Well, Darcy, ready for a month of the General's company?" he teased, referring to their aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh with the nickname they'd given her years ago.
Darcy couldn't help an involuntary grimace before smiling slightly at his cousin's humor. "Can one be prepared for boredom?" he responded rhetorically as the carriage slowed to a stop before Rosings' front entrance.
The cousins exchanged glances of silent sympathy as the imperious tones of their aunt reached their ears from the door.
"Are those my nephews? Show them in."
The querulous authority of Lady Catherine's voice scraped across Darcy's nerves and for a fleeting moment he thought longingly of sparkling dark eyes and a lilting pleasant voice filled with wit and intelligence. Then he shook his head slightly to clear it of all such futile thoughts. No, he had decided to forget his ill-advised attraction to Miss Bennet. He had forgotten...
Moreover, he couldn't be constantly comparing Lady Catherine to the most charming woman of his acquaintance; that way lay madness and a distraction he could ill afford when in Lady Catherine's company.
He greeted Lady Catherine politely, glancing over at Anne, noting she looked even more wan and spiritless than she had the last year, if possible.
"You're both late. I expected you long before now," Lady Catherine was saying with some displeasure.
Darcy quickly stifled the urge to make a sarcastic comment about the inability of his carriage to fly and explained patiently instead that an urgent meeting with his man of affairs in London had delayed their departure. He steadfastly refrained from glancing at Fitzwilliam who he knew would be giving him a look of amused disbelief at his diplomatic falsehood. The meeting had ended promptly and they had left London even slightly before their planned time and, all in all, made very good time in their journey. But then Lady Catherine was never satisfied and always managed to convey the impression that she could have accomplished the journey in half the time. He'd become accustomed to the necessity of some placating falsehood to foster the illusion that they were, indeed, somehow at fault.
His wandering train of thought was abruptly recalled by Lady Catherine's voice saying a name he had been trying to forget.
"...and her friend, Mr. Collins' cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They have been at Hunsford some weeks already and I have invited them here quite a few times already." Her tone strongly suggested that she regarded these invitations as examples of her unmatched generosity and hospitality.
Darcy stiffened, hearing Fitzwilliam make some sort of meaningless, noncommittal comment in response, before he found his voice to ask, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire?"
Lady Catherine frowned; she detested repetitious questions that seemed to imply a lack of attention to her words. "Indeed. Mrs. Collins mentioned that they were acquainted with you from this past fall."
Darcy's thoughts, which had begun wandering at the knowledge that Miss Bennet, the same Miss Bennet whose image he'd only just succeeded in somewhat banishing from his memory, was there, not a mile away, returned to the present sharply, as he replied to Lady Catherine's unspoken question, "Yes, I accompanied my friend Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire where he has acquired an estate, this fall."
He listened with only half an ear to Lady Catherine's ensuing words trying to assimilate this new knowledge in his mind.
Miss Bennet was there. She had met Lady Catherine, had been in company with her quite a few times. Miss Bennet, who he'd previously been dismissing as miles away in Hertfordshire, was actually just a lane away from Rosings at this minute.
Never before had Darcy been so thankful that Lady Catherine's conversation seldom required a response as then and it was with even more than usual relief that he and Fitzwilliam were finally shown to their rooms.
"Well, Darcy, what are these ladies over at the Parsonage like? Can I look forward to some pleasant conversation?" Fitzwilliam asked as they walked.
"Mrs. Collins seems very sensible and practical. Her sister, Miss Lucas, I hardly recall except that she seemed quite young." He paused. What could he say of Miss Bennet? Say without revealing his own unwilling attraction, the effort he'd had to expend to forget her... "Miss Bennet is, ah, handsome and very lively, if I recall correctly," he added, trying to make it seem as if he couldn't see Miss Bennet clearly in his mind whenever he closed his eyes, as if his memories of her from Hertfordshire weren't almost stamped on his memory.
Fitzwilliam smiled. "Good. I look forward to meeting this Miss Bennet; she sounds charming."
She is. He bit his lip to keep from speaking his thought aloud, knowing Fitzwilliam would become suspicious if he actually described a young lady as charming.
"What is this Collins fellow like?" Fitzwilliam then asked. "He must be either a fool or have the patience of a saint to put up with having Lady Catherine as a patroness." He paused, a smile tugging one corner of his lips upward as he looked at Darcy. "Well, which is he?"
Darcy thought of Collins and couldn't help an answering smile. "A fool, without a doubt."
Fitzwilliam grinned. "I begin to doubt the sense of Mrs. Collins if her husband is as you say."
"One cannot always marry the most agreeable person in one's acquaintance," Darcy only said in neutral tones.
"That is unfortunately true," Fitzwilliam conceded with a slight sigh and Darcy knew he was thinking of his own situation.
They had reached their rooms and Fitzwilliam gave him a half-mocking salute. "I shall see you at supper, then, cousin," before disappearing into his room.
Darcy continued down the hallway the few steps to his own room, closing the door behind him with some relief. Ah, peace... He glanced out the window at the green expanse of Rosings park and his thoughts returned again to Miss Bennet in Hunsford Parsonage, just on the other side of Rosings.
How to act when he saw her again... And how did she feel as to their meeting again? Indifferent? Displeased? (He could hardly believe that.) Pleased? (He didn't know if he hoped that was the case.)
~*~*~
Mr. Darcy was still nowhere near restored to his usual calm composure the next morning when Mr. Collins was announced. He had spent a rather restless night, thinking of his time in Hertfordshire, replaying every moment since his acquaintance with Miss Bennet had begun, wondering if his memories could really be completely faithful. Could any young woman be so uniformly attractive to him, despite his initial opinion of her as hardly worth admiring and certainly nowhere near as handsome as her older sister? Thinking about it now, he had come to distrust his memories. Surely he had exaggerated her qualities, overlooked some flaws somewhere...
Mr. Collins was as sycophantic as ever, taking about five times the normal amount of words to convey his purpose of having come over to pay his respects to "the gentlemen" as he said, with a low bow in Darcy's as well as Fitzwilliam's directions.
He could see that Fitzwilliam's initial amusement at Mr. Collins' fawning was rather quickly giving way to some exasperation.
Darcy was struck, not for the first time, at the difference between the eldest Miss Bennets and the rest of their family. How those two ladies could be so sensible and conscious of the proprieties while every other member of their family that he'd met until this moment could be so... opposite to that, with the possible exception of Mr. Bennet, although even Mr. Bennet displayed a lack of propriety at times. It was puzzling.
He was recalled to the present when he realized that Mr. Collins was beginning to take his leave, with many words and nearly as many bows and he found himself speaking even before he had consciously decided to do so.
"Mr. Collins, is Mrs. Collins at home at present? I should like to pay my respects to her."
He hadn't consciously decided to call at the Parsonage but the words spoken, the idea suddenly struck him as eminently proper. Mrs. Collins was a new bride, after all, and he was enough acquainted with both her and her guests to make it only right.
He refused to put words to his other, less noble, motive of desiring to be freed of Lady Catherine's admittedly overbearing company, and also steadfastly refused to acknowledge that rarely had the demands of propriety been accompanied by such a feeling of alacrity.
Lady Catherine looked less than pleased but assented with an ungracious, "Very well."
He heard Fitzwilliam, also, affirm his desire to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Collins and her guests.
And so it was that Mr. Darcy found himself walking along beside Mr. Collins in the space of a few minutes, listening to Mr. Collins' effusions.
Mr. Collins spent the short way seeming unsure of whether to be more gratified by the "kind condescension" both Darcy and Fitzwilliam were apparently showing than by the "honor" they were doing to his "humble abode." That, along with his need to constantly reassure them that Mrs. Collins would be only too flattered to receive them, gave Mr. Collins more to say than could reasonably be expected to be said by any one person in the short time the walk over took.
Fitzwilliam, after making a few polite, noncommittal noises in response, soon lost patience with the man's verbosity and walked ahead, while Darcy listened with only half an ear and tried to explain away his sudden nervous anticipation.
He had quite gotten over his infatuation with Miss Bennet, he reasoned. He was merely uneasy at the prospect of paying a call on the new Mrs. Collins.
He was also more certain than ever that his memories of Miss Bennet were not completely true. She wasn't really so lively that she drew his attention and his eyes no matter what she did. Her eyes couldn't sparkle as much as he seemed to recall, nor be so expressive. He had, no doubt, heightened her charms in his mind, from a lack of other equally attractive ladies to compare her to in the neighborhood...
And then he entered the parlor and realized he had done his memories an injustice. His gaze and his attention were immediately drawn to Miss Bennet and he only just had the presence of mind to greet Mrs. Collins and her sister properly before turning his attention to Miss Bennet. She looked much the same as he remembered, the same indefinable air about her that beckoned to him, the same smile, the same sparkle in her eyes that seemed to speak of some secret amusement and made him suddenly, irrationally, wish that he could be the one to know all about her-- know what amused her, what she liked and disliked, her thoughts, her habits, her dreams...
The thought brought him up short. He was getting quite ridiculously fanciful in his musings. What was Miss Bennet to him? Miss Bennet was no one of any consequence, simply a young lady of his acquaintance, just like any other. She merely didn't possess the glaringly irritating flaws of some other ladies; Caroline Bingley came to mind.
He forcibly pulled his thoughts to order and addressed Mrs. Collins with the first thing that came to mind. "You have a very pleasant home, Mrs. Collins, and quite a charming garden."
She looked slightly surprised but answered politely enough. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine was kind enough to advise Mr. Collins quite a bit on the decorations and refurbishment after he arrived at Hunsford."
Her tone contained not the slightest hint of irony at Lady Catherine's generosity with advice and he could only approve of her discretion. He had apparently given the former Miss Lucas less credit for sense than she deserved, although she had also demonstrated some prudence in accepting Mr. Collins.
Mr. Collins hastened to add on to his wife's statement. "Oh yes, indeed, sir. Your aunt is the very soul of kind condescension and she deigned to suggest many improvements to my humble abode..."
The sound of Fitzwilliam's laugh drew his attention to where he was conversing easily with Miss Bennet. Fitzwilliam, at least, appeared to be thoroughly pleased with his company, Darcy thought rather irritably, leaving not a thought of sympathy for himself, with Mr. and Mrs. Collins and the very silent Miss Lucas as his companions.
He awaited a pause in Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet's conversation to address her himself. Fitzwilliam should not have all of Miss Bennet's attention to himself. "I hope your family is in good health." Brilliant, Darcy, that should impress her with your wit and creativity for sure, he thought, his annoyance this time directed at himself. Something about the sparkle in Miss Bennet's dark eyes seemed to rob his brain of coherent thought until only the most trite platitudes emerged. He really must get a hold of his senses.
"Perfectly well, thank you, Mr. Darcy." Her tone was courteous but there was an archness to her glance that seemed to hint of some private amusement although he couldn't for the life of him imagine what she found amusing. "My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?" There was a definite hint of something he couldn't quite place in both her voice and her eyes as she asked this.
He frowned ever so slightly. She couldn't know about his role in keeping Bingley away, could she? "Ah, no, I'm afraid I have not had that pleasure," he managed to say in a tolerably disengaged tone. He stifled the odd feeling of guilty unease he felt at saying the words. It wasn't a falsehood; he hadn't seen Miss Jane Bennet in town. He had only been aware that she was in town, thanks to Miss Bingley's unflagging interference.
Fitzwilliam drew Miss Bennet's attention away again with the inquiry, "Do you have relatives in town then, Miss Bennet?"
Darcy walked to look out the window overlooking the front garden of Hunsford, trying to gather his scattered thoughts before he could return to the Collinses with the appearance of his usual composure.
Really, this infatuation with Miss Bennet was decidedly demoralizing at times; there was something so disarmingly distracting about her manner and her words. And yet she was always attractive to him, he acknowledged with something less than pleasure at the thought of his own susceptibility.
Darcy spent the remaining time of the visit only half listening to Mr. Collins' endless speeches, mostly centering on himself with a good addition of Lady Catherine besides.
He was thankful when Fitzwilliam stood up, indicating his readiness to leave. Being in Miss Bennet's company again unsettled him especially since he was so uncertain as to the state of his own feelings concerning her. And if there was one thing Fitzwilliam Darcy disliked, it was feeling uncertain...
Chapter 2, Part 1 ~ A Dream is a Wish
The vision slipped into his consciousness with all the subtlety of a master thief but no thief had ever brought something so- heavenly...
He could feel himself walking through the hallways at Pemberley, holding hands with Elizabeth, his wife. Could see her smile at him, hear her voice. See the warmth in her eyes, the soft glow in them, as she called him "My dear"... He could taste the tea he drank, watching with pleasure as she and Georgiana spoke and laughed. Georgiana's face was brighter than he'd seen it in more than a year, since before Wickham... And for once, his own contentment was so deep that not even the thought of Wickham could disturb the depths of it. His wife, his sister... The two dearest people in the world to him, he thought, a smile in his eyes as he watched Elizabeth gently tease Georgiana and heard Georgiana's laughing reply... He could smell the fragrance of Elizabeth's hair, feel the warmth of her body next to him as he drifted off to sleep beside her... And he smiled again at the thought that she would be the first person he saw when he awoke in the morning- and every morning for the rest of his life...
Darcy awoke, reaching out to touch-nothing. He opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented. Why wasn't he in his own bed at Pemberley? Where was Elizabeth?
It was another moment before he realized-he was at Rosings for his annual visit to his aunt and it had all only been a dream...
But such a dream... he couldn't recall the last time a dream had felt so real... Even now, he could hardly believe it really hadn't happened, fancied he could still smell the scent of roses from Elizabeth's hair lingering in the air...
Elizabeth...
He sat up sharply, his mind fully alert now to the disturbing ramifications of his dream.
He had dreamed of Elizabeth- of Miss Bennet that is, he corrected himself quickly- as his wife. He had dreamed of her in that same position his mother had once filled, as mistress of Pemberley. He had dreamed of a life with Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy, as his wife...
And the dream had been the happiest of his life.
Never in his life had he dreamed of any other person filling the position his mother had filled. Never had he dreamed of any young lady as his wife.
Only Elizabeth- he couldn't think of her as Miss Bennet anymore. He had thought he only admired her, had been insisting to himself that he could, that he must overcome this ill-advised attraction.
But he had been deceiving himself.
His sub-conscious had apparently realized the truth.
He didn't only admire Elizabeth. It wasn't only attraction. It was-Love. He was in love with Elizabeth. For the first time in his life, he had fallen in love...
But what to do about it...
He had fallen in love, yes, but with someone entirely unsuitable.
He closed his eyes, cringing slightly at the memory of the Bennets, the loud vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the complete disregard for propriety of the younger Miss Bennets... And they would become his family...
He suddenly thought of something Miss Bingley had said in one of her irritating displays of jealous teasing. "You will have a charming mother-in-law indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you." It had been meaningless prattle then but he remembered it now with something like dread.
Could he live with the Bennets as his in-laws, his family? An uncle in trade who lived in Cheapside? His mind formed the image of an uncouth mercenary businessman and he winced.
But even as he thought the questions, amazingly, the answer formed in his mind. Yes.
He was in love with Elizabeth and somehow he was certain that he would never be able to imagine anyone else as his wife. There was only Elizabeth for him.
Despite her family, her low connections, despite the protests his rational mind was making even now... He loved Elizabeth, wanted her for his wife.
And besides, a small voice in his mind added, Hertfordshire wasn't very close to Derbyshire. He wouldn't need to see his in-laws too often...
~*~
Mr. Darcy was accustomed to being decisive. Indeed he had always been blessed with the confidence of his own decisions. And so he was unpleasantly surprised to find that his conviction of that morning faded in the common light of common day.
Then, still influenced by the lingering longing for the bliss of his dream, the attractions of Elizabeth and his own feelings for her had outweighed any other considerations.
But in the company of his aunt, he found his conviction wavering.
He positively shuddered to imagine Lady Catherine's reaction to an announcement of his reaction to Elizabeth, could easily picture her fury and her disdain for Elizabeth. Admittedly he knew that Lady Catherine would be furious at his marrying anybody other than Anne whom he pitied and cared for as a cousin but who he could never, in his wildest dreams, have married. Of course, it wasn't Lady Catherine's disapproval that particularly gave him pause; Lady Catherine had never been one to approve of much that wasn't her own particular will and he had never been inclined to bend his own will to hers, a flaw which Lady Catherine chose to overlook out of her own eagerness to have him as a son-in-law, something he knew quite well and had always disliked.
If he could only decide once and for all what to do about his troubling feelings for Elizabeth, Lady Catherine's disapproval would matter not a whit. The trouble was that he couldn't decide...
On the one hand, he knew he loved Elizabeth with a sincerity, a passion he had hardly dared to hope he could feel for his future wife...
But then his prudence, rationality- all conspired to make him doubt the wisdom of asking Elizabeth to marry him.
His sense of duty to his family, instilled in him from his birth, protested the idea vehemently.
To ally his family with one such as the Bennets who could add no respectability, no fortune, and indeed, nearly guaranteed disgrace... Could he do such a thing? Was Elizabeth worth it?
Indeed, the only connection of Elizabeth's which he did not fear was Miss Jane Bennet but even there, he was uncertain because of Miss Bennet's relationship to Bingley. Bingley, who was by no means recovered from his attachment to Miss Bennet, would again be thrown into company with her if he married Elizabeth...
He wasn't unaware of the irony of detaching Bingley from Elizabeth's sister while even now seriously thinking about proposing to Elizabeth- but what else could he have done? He, of all people, knew how swiftly Bingley fell in love, the dizzying heights to which Bingley's spirits could climb and then the depths to which he would fall when he found that his "angel" was very human and nothing like what he had fondly believed her to be. Or the despair he would feel if his "angel" didn't return his feelings, not to mention the probable disgrace the Bennets would have brought to him... It was his duty as Bingley's best friend to advise him against foolish inclinations...
And then there was Georgiana. He had no doubts of Elizabeth. But what of Elizabeth's younger sisters whom Georgiana would have to meet? He grimaced at the thought of exposing Georgiana to the vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the ill-mannered wildness of Miss Lydia Bennet and Miss Kitty Bennet.
Very well, then the only thing he wasn't uncertain of was Miss Elizabeth herself. She was a true lady and he had no doubt that she would be a wonderful influence on Georgiana, the softening influence she needed that he couldn't provide. Elizabeth was quick-witted, lively, sensible, kind, and-
He broke off his train of thought abruptly, realizing he was doing it again. Every thought seemed to lead to a litany of all of Elizabeth's wonderful qualities, just as he couldn't help but picture her face with its sparkling, expressive eyes and beautiful smile, whenever he closed his eyes.
Darcy sighed at this point in his musings, pacing restlessly in the library of Rosings, one of the few havens from Lady Catherine the house provided. He hadn't seen Elizabeth for several days- had forcibly kept himself from calling on her while he was in such a state of uncharacteristic indecision- until that morning at church, and his heart had leaped involuntarily at the sight of her. He hadn't had such difficulty attending to a sermon since he had been a little boy in short pants. Elizabeth, sitting across the aisle in the Parsonage's pew, irresistibly drew his eyes and his thoughts.
Mr. Collins' long, prosy sermon only aided his inattentiveness. He had been far more interested in the play of expression he could just see crossing Elizabeth's face even with her face in profile. And he had found himself wishing, again, that he could be the one to know the thoughts behind the expressions that came and went over her face...
Chapter 2, Part 1 ~ A Dream is a Wish
The vision slipped into his consciousness with all the subtlety of a master thief but no thief had ever brought something so- heavenly...
He could feel himself walking through the hallways at Pemberley, holding hands with Elizabeth, his wife. Could see her smile at him, hear her voice. See the warmth in her eyes, the soft glow in them, as she called him "My dear"... He could taste the tea he drank, watching with pleasure as she and Georgiana spoke and laughed. Georgiana's face was brighter than he'd seen it in more than a year, since before Wickham... And for once, his own contentment was so deep that not even the thought of Wickham could disturb the depths of it. His wife, his sister... The two dearest people in the world to him, he thought, a smile in his eyes as he watched Elizabeth gently tease Georgiana and heard Georgiana's laughing reply... He could smell the fragrance of Elizabeth's hair, feel the warmth of her body next to him as he drifted off to sleep beside her... And he smiled again at the thought that she would be the first person he saw when he awoke in the morning- and every morning for the rest of his life...
Darcy awoke, reaching out to touch-nothing. He opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented. Why wasn't he in his own bed at Pemberley? Where was Elizabeth?
It was another moment before he realized-he was at Rosings for his annual visit to his aunt and it had all only been a dream...
But such a dream... he couldn't recall the last time a dream had felt so real... Even now, he could hardly believe it really hadn't happened, fancied he could still smell the scent of roses from Elizabeth's hair lingering in the air...
Elizabeth...
He sat up sharply, his mind fully alert now to the disturbing ramifications of his dream.
He had dreamed of Elizabeth- of Miss Bennet that is, he corrected himself quickly- as his wife. He had dreamed of her in that same position his mother had once filled, as mistress of Pemberley. He had dreamed of a life with Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy, as his wife...
And the dream had been the happiest of his life.
Never in his life had he dreamed of any other person filling the position his mother had filled. Never had he dreamed of any young lady as his wife.
Only Elizabeth- he couldn't think of her as Miss Bennet anymore. He had thought he only admired her, had been insisting to himself that he could, that he must overcome this ill-advised attraction.
But he had been deceiving himself.
His sub-conscious had apparently realized the truth.
He didn't only admire Elizabeth. It wasn't only attraction. It was-Love. He was in love with Elizabeth. For the first time in his life, he had fallen in love...
But what to do about it...
He had fallen in love, yes, but with someone entirely unsuitable.
He closed his eyes, cringing slightly at the memory of the Bennets, the loud vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the complete disregard for propriety of the younger Miss Bennets... And they would become his family...
He suddenly thought of something Miss Bingley had said in one of her irritating displays of jealous teasing. "You will have a charming mother-in-law indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you." It had been meaningless prattle then but he remembered it now with something like dread.
Could he live with the Bennets as his in-laws, his family? An uncle in trade who lived in Cheapside? His mind formed the image of an uncouth mercenary businessman and he winced.
But even as he thought the questions, amazingly, the answer formed in his mind. Yes.
He was in love with Elizabeth and somehow he was certain that he would never be able to imagine anyone else as his wife. There was only Elizabeth for him.
Despite her family, her low connections, despite the protests his rational mind was making even now... He loved Elizabeth, wanted her for his wife.
And besides, a small voice in his mind added, Hertfordshire wasn't very close to Derbyshire. He wouldn't need to see his in-laws too often...
~*~
Mr. Darcy was accustomed to being decisive. Indeed he had always been blessed with the confidence of his own decisions. And so he was unpleasantly surprised to find that his conviction of that morning faded in the common light of common day.
Then, still influenced by the lingering longing for the bliss of his dream, the attractions of Elizabeth and his own feelings for her had outweighed any other considerations.
But in the company of his aunt, he found his conviction wavering.
He positively shuddered to imagine Lady Catherine's reaction to an announcement of his reaction to Elizabeth, could easily picture her fury and her disdain for Elizabeth. Admittedly he knew that Lady Catherine would be furious at his marrying anybody other than Anne whom he pitied and cared for as a cousin but who he could never, in his wildest dreams, have married. Of course, it wasn't Lady Catherine's disapproval that particularly gave him pause; Lady Catherine had never been one to approve of much that wasn't her own particular will and he had never been inclined to bend his own will to hers, a flaw which Lady Catherine chose to overlook out of her own eagerness to have him as a son-in-law, something he knew quite well and had always disliked.
If he could only decide once and for all what to do about his troubling feelings for Elizabeth, Lady Catherine's disapproval would matter not a whit. The trouble was that he couldn't decide...
On the one hand, he knew he loved Elizabeth with a sincerity, a passion he had hardly dared to hope he could feel for his future wife...
But then his prudence, rationality- all conspired to make him doubt the wisdom of asking Elizabeth to marry him.
His sense of duty to his family, instilled in him from his birth, protested the idea vehemently.
To ally his family with one such as the Bennets who could add no respectability, no fortune, and indeed, nearly guaranteed disgrace... Could he do such a thing? Was Elizabeth worth it?
Indeed, the only connection of Elizabeth's which he did not fear was Miss Jane Bennet but even there, he was uncertain because of Miss Bennet's relationship to Bingley. Bingley, who was by no means recovered from his attachment to Miss Bennet, would again be thrown into company with her if he married Elizabeth...
He wasn't unaware of the irony of detaching Bingley from Elizabeth's sister while even now seriously thinking about proposing to Elizabeth- but what else could he have done? He, of all people, knew how swiftly Bingley fell in love, the dizzying heights to which Bingley's spirits could climb and then the depths to which he would fall when he found that his "angel" was very human and nothing like what he had fondly believed her to be. Or the despair he would feel if his "angel" didn't return his feelings, not to mention the probable disgrace the Bennets would have brought to him... It was his duty as Bingley's best friend to advise him against foolish inclinations...
And then there was Georgiana. He had no doubts of Elizabeth. But what of Elizabeth's younger sisters whom Georgiana would have to meet? He grimaced at the thought of exposing Georgiana to the vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the ill-mannered wildness of Miss Lydia Bennet and Miss Kitty Bennet.
Very well, then the only thing he wasn't uncertain of was Miss Elizabeth herself. She was a true lady and he had no doubt that she would be a wonderful influence on Georgiana, the softening influence she needed that he couldn't provide. Elizabeth was quick-witted, lively, sensible, kind, and-
He broke off his train of thought abruptly, realizing he was doing it again. Every thought seemed to lead to a litany of all of Elizabeth's wonderful qualities, just as he couldn't help but picture her face with its sparkling, expressive eyes and beautiful smile, whenever he closed his eyes.
Darcy sighed at this point in his musings, pacing restlessly in the library of Rosings, one of the few havens from Lady Catherine the house provided. He hadn't seen Elizabeth for several days- had forcibly kept himself from calling on her while he was in such a state of uncharacteristic indecision- until that morning at church, and his heart had leaped involuntarily at the sight of her. He hadn't had such difficulty attending to a sermon since he had been a little boy in short pants. Elizabeth, sitting across the aisle in the Parsonage's pew, irresistibly drew his eyes and his thoughts.
Mr. Collins' long, prosy sermon only aided his inattentiveness. He had been far more interested in the play of expression he could just see crossing Elizabeth's face even with her face in profile. And he had found himself wishing, again, that he could be the one to know the thoughts behind the expressions that came and went over her face...
Chapter 2, Part 1 ~ A Dream is a Wish
The vision slipped into his consciousness with all the subtlety of a master thief but no thief had ever brought something so- heavenly...
He could feel himself walking through the hallways at Pemberley, holding hands with Elizabeth, his wife. Could see her smile at him, hear her voice. See the warmth in her eyes, the soft glow in them, as she called him "My dear"... He could taste the tea he drank, watching with pleasure as she and Georgiana spoke and laughed. Georgiana's face was brighter than he'd seen it in more than a year, since before Wickham... And for once, his own contentment was so deep that not even the thought of Wickham could disturb the depths of it. His wife, his sister... The two dearest people in the world to him, he thought, a smile in his eyes as he watched Elizabeth gently tease Georgiana and heard Georgiana's laughing reply... He could smell the fragrance of Elizabeth's hair, feel the warmth of her body next to him as he drifted off to sleep beside her... And he smiled again at the thought that she would be the first person he saw when he awoke in the morning- and every morning for the rest of his life...
Darcy awoke, reaching out to touch-nothing. He opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented. Why wasn't he in his own bed at Pemberley? Where was Elizabeth?
It was another moment before he realized-he was at Rosings for his annual visit to his aunt and it had all only been a dream...
But such a dream... he couldn't recall the last time a dream had felt so real... Even now, he could hardly believe it really hadn't happened, fancied he could still smell the scent of roses from Elizabeth's hair lingering in the air...
Elizabeth...
He sat up sharply, his mind fully alert now to the disturbing ramifications of his dream.
He had dreamed of Elizabeth- of Miss Bennet that is, he corrected himself quickly- as his wife. He had dreamed of her in that same position his mother had once filled, as mistress of Pemberley. He had dreamed of a life with Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy, as his wife...
And the dream had been the happiest of his life.
Never in his life had he dreamed of any other person filling the position his mother had filled. Never had he dreamed of any young lady as his wife.
Only Elizabeth- he couldn't think of her as Miss Bennet anymore. He had thought he only admired her, had been insisting to himself that he could, that he must overcome this ill-advised attraction.
But he had been deceiving himself.
His sub-conscious had apparently realized the truth.
He didn't only admire Elizabeth. It wasn't only attraction. It was-Love. He was in love with Elizabeth. For the first time in his life, he had fallen in love...
But what to do about it...
He had fallen in love, yes, but with someone entirely unsuitable.
He closed his eyes, cringing slightly at the memory of the Bennets, the loud vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the complete disregard for propriety of the younger Miss Bennets... And they would become his family...
He suddenly thought of something Miss Bingley had said in one of her irritating displays of jealous teasing. "You will have a charming mother-in-law indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you." It had been meaningless prattle then but he remembered it now with something like dread.
Could he live with the Bennets as his in-laws, his family? An uncle in trade who lived in Cheapside? His mind formed the image of an uncouth mercenary businessman and he winced.
But even as he thought the questions, amazingly, the answer formed in his mind. Yes.
He was in love with Elizabeth and somehow he was certain that he would never be able to imagine anyone else as his wife. There was only Elizabeth for him.
Despite her family, her low connections, despite the protests his rational mind was making even now... He loved Elizabeth, wanted her for his wife.
And besides, a small voice in his mind added, Hertfordshire wasn't very close to Derbyshire. He wouldn't need to see his in-laws too often...
~*~
Mr. Darcy was accustomed to being decisive. Indeed he had always been blessed with the confidence of his own decisions. And so he was unpleasantly surprised to find that his conviction of that morning faded in the common light of common day.
Then, still influenced by the lingering longing for the bliss of his dream, the attractions of Elizabeth and his own feelings for her had outweighed any other considerations.
But in the company of his aunt, he found his conviction wavering.
He positively shuddered to imagine Lady Catherine's reaction to an announcement of his reaction to Elizabeth, could easily picture her fury and her disdain for Elizabeth. Admittedly he knew that Lady Catherine would be furious at his marrying anybody other than Anne whom he pitied and cared for as a cousin but who he could never, in his wildest dreams, have married. Of course, it wasn't Lady Catherine's disapproval that particularly gave him pause; Lady Catherine had never been one to approve of much that wasn't her own particular will and he had never been inclined to bend his own will to hers, a flaw which Lady Catherine chose to overlook out of her own eagerness to have him as a son-in-law, something he knew quite well and had always disliked.
If he could only decide once and for all what to do about his troubling feelings for Elizabeth, Lady Catherine's disapproval would matter not a whit. The trouble was that he couldn't decide...
On the one hand, he knew he loved Elizabeth with a sincerity, a passion he had hardly dared to hope he could feel for his future wife...
But then his prudence, rationality- all conspired to make him doubt the wisdom of asking Elizabeth to marry him.
His sense of duty to his family, instilled in him from his birth, protested the idea vehemently.
To ally his family with one such as the Bennets who could add no respectability, no fortune, and indeed, nearly guaranteed disgrace... Could he do such a thing? Was Elizabeth worth it?
Indeed, the only connection of Elizabeth's which he did not fear was Miss Jane Bennet but even there, he was uncertain because of Miss Bennet's relationship to Bingley. Bingley, who was by no means recovered from his attachment to Miss Bennet, would again be thrown into company with her if he married Elizabeth...
He wasn't unaware of the irony of detaching Bingley from Elizabeth's sister while even now seriously thinking about proposing to Elizabeth- but what else could he have done? He, of all people, knew how swiftly Bingley fell in love, the dizzying heights to which Bingley's spirits could climb and then the depths to which he would fall when he found that his "angel" was very human and nothing like what he had fondly believed her to be. Or the despair he would feel if his "angel" didn't return his feelings, not to mention the probable disgrace the Bennets would have brought to him... It was his duty as Bingley's best friend to advise him against foolish inclinations...
And then there was Georgiana. He had no doubts of Elizabeth. But what of Elizabeth's younger sisters whom Georgiana would have to meet? He grimaced at the thought of exposing Georgiana to the vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the ill-mannered wildness of Miss Lydia Bennet and Miss Kitty Bennet.
Very well, then the only thing he wasn't uncertain of was Miss Elizabeth herself. She was a true lady and he had no doubt that she would be a wonderful influence on Georgiana, the softening influence she needed that he couldn't provide. Elizabeth was quick-witted, lively, sensible, kind, and-
He broke off his train of thought abruptly, realizing he was doing it again. Every thought seemed to lead to a litany of all of Elizabeth's wonderful qualities, just as he couldn't help but picture her face with its sparkling, expressive eyes and beautiful smile, whenever he closed his eyes.
Darcy sighed at this point in his musings, pacing restlessly in the library of Rosings, one of the few havens from Lady Catherine the house provided. He hadn't seen Elizabeth for several days- had forcibly kept himself from calling on her while he was in such a state of uncharacteristic indecision- until that morning at church, and his heart had leaped involuntarily at the sight of her. He hadn't had such difficulty attending to a sermon since he had been a little boy in short pants. Elizabeth, sitting across the aisle in the Parsonage's pew, irresistibly drew his eyes and his thoughts.
Mr. Collins' long, prosy sermon only aided his inattentiveness. He had been far more interested in the play of expression he could just see crossing Elizabeth's face even with her face in profile. And he had found himself wishing, again, that he could be the one to know the thoughts behind the expressions that came and went over her face...
Chapter 2, Part 2 ~ Conversations and Civility
A knock on the door put a halt to Darcy's circular musings as well as his pacing. He resumed his seat, hurriedly opening the book he had taken from the shelves earlier, before saying, "Come in."
The door opened to reveal Fitzwilliam, a teasing grin on his face. "I thought this was where you'd be hiding out, Darcy. Come along, no more skulking around in the library today. The General is getting quite impatient wondering where you are, and besides, you haven't forgotten that the party from the Parsonage was invited to come?"
Forgotten that Elizabeth was going to be coming? Not likely. He only wished he could forget...
"No, I haven't forgotten," he answered automatically, thankful to hear that he sounded calm, putting his unread book down and standing up. Another evening of listening to Lady Catherine...
Something of his reluctance must have shown in his face because Fitzwilliam chuckled a little, adding lightly, "Cheer up, cousin; at least we can look forward to the lively presence of Miss Bennet."
He stiffened involuntarily at the mention of Elizabeth. Little did Fitzwilliam know...
"Incidentally, Miss Bennet really is quite the most delightful young lady I've met in quite some time," Fitzwilliam added conversationally as they headed away from the library.
"Yes," was all Darcy could trust himself to say.
"I don't suppose she has any fortune to speak of?" Fitzwilliam asked, his tone sounding casual enough.
Darcy glanced at his cousin sharply. He could not be serious... There was still something of a smile lingering on Fitzwilliam's mouth that seemed to say he wasn't, and yet... "No, she doesn't" he finally said, and never had he been so thankful for the fact. "Mr. Bennet's estate is entailed upon Mr. Collins; there is very little to settle upon each of the Miss Bennets." He paused and then couldn't help adding, his voice more sharp than he'd intended, "You cannot surely be intending to pursue Miss Bennet." He tried to sound confident but there was a questioning note in the statement nonetheless.
"No, I am not. I am hardly in any hurry to marry, Darcy, certainly not when I am still enlisted." Fitzwilliam paused, then added lightly, "I am quite heart-whole, and I assure you, Miss Bennet will remain so as well."
He let out a small breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, trying to tell himself that the sudden surge of protest he'd felt at the very idea of Fitzwilliam pursuing Elizabeth had only been for Fitzwilliam's sake. It would be the height of foolishness for his cousin to marry now, especially to a young woman of no fortune. It was only his prudence that had so disliked the idea... Never mind that his first thought on hearing it had been, Not Elizabeth, not my Elizabeth...
Darcy grimaced mentally. He had always detested deception, especially of one's self, but it seemed as if this was yet another aspect of his life which meeting Elizabeth had changed. Trying to hide from unpleasant truths... But, he couldn't lie to himself; he had been- jealous. There was no other word for it.
"Darcy, there you are! Where have you been all day?" Lady Catherine demanded once they entered the drawing-room.
"I was in the library, Aunt," he replied, bracing himself mentally for a series of questions.
Lady Catherine stayed true to form, hardly waiting for his admittedly brief responses before moving on. Why had he been in the library? What had he been reading? Why did he feel the need to read a history? Had he never thought that perhaps Anne might desire his company? And on and on it went.
All in all, Darcy had never been so eager to hear the sound of arriving guests.
Mr. Collins entered, practically beginning his bows and speech of gratitude for the kind invitation to Lady Catherine before he set foot inside the drawing-room. He was followed much more quietly by Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas, and Elizabeth.
He watched carefully as Elizabeth greeted Lady Catherine and Lady Catherine's brief response, not quite ungracious but certainly not particularly warm. (That is, not warm by Lady Catherine's standards; Lady Catherine never greeted anyone whom she viewed as beneath her with anything which could be considered a warm manner by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, Darcy couldn't help but wince inwardly at Lady Catherine's cold manner in greeting people who were, after all, her invited guests, no matter what their wealth or rank might be.)
Fitzwilliam, he noticed, only greeted the Collinses and Miss Lucas with a bow and a few conventional words of greeting, saving much more of his usual geniality for Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine's voice drew his attention away from Elizabeth. "Darcy, did I ever tell you of Lady Stanton calling the other day to inform me that the housemaid whom I recommended to her, one of Mrs. Wilson's nieces, is quite the best housemaid she has ever hired?"
Darcy tried and failed to remember who this Lady Stanton was. "I don't believe you did, Lady Catherine."
"Well, she did, not a fortnight ago, thanking me for the recommendation. I am excessively careful," she added to Mrs. Collins, "about the girls whom I recommend for service. I do hope your housemaid is efficient, Mrs. Collins. It is so hard to find good help these days."
Mrs. Collins opened her mouth to speak but was pre-empted by Mr. Collins who leaned forward eagerly to assure her, "Your ladyship is too kind to care about such things; I am sure that Mrs. Collins will follow all of your suggestions about hiring any new help. We would certainly-"
"Yes, yes," Lady Catherine interrupted him impatiently to turn to Darcy again. "Darcy, did you hear that Miss Carteret is to be married to Lord Fenton? I received a letter from Lady Fenton telling me of her son's engagement just a month ago. You were acquainted with Lord Fenton at Cambridge, were you not?"
"Yes, certainly," Darcy began but was cut off by Lady Catherine continuing on.
"I'm sure you mentioned him; he was several years below you, I believe. Miss Carteret is certainly a fortunate girl, but then with her fortune of 30,000 pounds, Lord Fenton is hardly to be pitied either."
"I wish them very well," Darcy responded neutrally, wondering where his aunt's conversation would proceed from here. It was difficult to predict; she took an interest in everyone's lives. Nothing was too small or too insignificant to merit her opinion, which, naturally, she never failed to express.
"I only met Miss Carteret once several years ago. She didn't seem particularly handsome or accomplished. I am sure that, if Anne's health had not prevented it, Anne would have far outshone Miss Carteret in any Society gathering."
Lady Catherine paused, and Darcy replied, as he knew he was expected to, "As you say, Lady Catherine." He refrained from glancing at Anne, wondering, as he always did at such moments, how it must feel for Anne to constantly be talked about as if she wasn't present, even if it was for such flattery.
"There is no doubt that Miss de Bourgh would shine as the brightest ornament to any civilized Society gathering. Indeed, she-" Mr. Collins interjected to be again silenced, this time by the lifting of one imperious hand.
Lady Catherine moved on to another topic, what it was Darcy hardly heard. His attention, never very engrossed by Lady Catherine's monologues, had been drawn to the other side of the room where Fitzwilliam sat apparently in pleasant conversation with Elizabeth. He frowned slightly as Elizabeth laughed at something Fitzwilliam said, before replying with one of her familiar arch smiles.
Really, Fitzwilliam was too much, monopolizing Elizabeth's attention and conversation that way, pitilessly abandoning him to Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins for his entertainment.
He heard his name to realize that Lady Catherine had addressed yet another question to him, a question which he had no idea as to what it was about. But then with Lady Catherine, it was usually safe to simply agree. "Of course, Lady Catherine," he said hastily, waiting as Lady Catherine nodded slightly before continuing her discourse.
His gaze returned to Elizabeth. She was beautiful... He noticed with displeasure that Elizabeth looked to be thoroughly enjoying her banter with Fitzwilliam. Certainly they never seemed to run out of topics of mutual interest. What could they be talking about? He strained to hear the words but the distance and Lady Catherine's voice prevented him and he settled back with frustration and a feeling of petulance that startled him. It seemed there was really no end to the unfamiliar and uncharacteristic feelings which being in Elizabeth's company subjected him to.
He forcibly tore his gaze away from Elizabeth and endeavored to concentrate on what Lady Catherine was saying but immediately regretted it as he realized that Lady Catherine was again praising Anne, this time her ability to be the proper mistress of a grand household, with a less than subtle look in his direction. Anne, the mistress of Pemberley? Anne, his wife? Impossible. He made a mental note resolving to find some way of disabusing Lady Catherine of her obsession with the notion of his marrying Anne soon.
Lady Catherine paused, before turning to look in the direction which he had just resolved not to look in, and called out to Fitzwilliam, "What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."
He saw a frown begin to appear in his cousin's eyes at the utter lack of compunction with which their aunt demanded his attention, interrupting a conversation. But Fitzwilliam quickly restrained himself and answered evenly, "We are speaking of music, Madam."
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music."
Darcy refrained from rolling his eyes with an effort. What subject did Lady Catherine ever not want a share in a conversation about?
Lady Catherine continued, oblivious as usual to the resigned look in Fitzwilliam's eyes. "There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient."
Darcy studiously avoided looking at his cousin knowing if he did, he would not be able to keep from smiling. Lady Catherine's persistent belief that she could have been a "great proficient" in everything she tried was something of a running joke between them, after so many years of listening to Lady Catherine either implying or stating directly that she could have done better.
Lady Catherine's speech was not over yet, as she added, this time more obviously addressing her words to Darcy, "And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"
The mention of Georgiana brought the first real feeling of pleasure he'd felt in what seemed like hours, and a smile to his lips, as he answered, "She has improved greatly; she is truly a delight to listen to."
"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said Lady Catherine. "and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal."
Naturally, Lady Catherine would add on a piece of advice to any praise. "I assure you, Madam, that she does not need such advice," he hastened to say in Georgiana's defense. "She practices very constantly."
Indeed, he rather thought Georgiana practiced too much... She rarely did anything else nowadays, no longer taking as much pleasure in the outdoors or in anyone's company, as she had before last summer... He felt a pang of guilt and sorrow at the thought of how quiet and withdrawn Georgiana had gotten after the incident at Ramsgate, seeming to find solace only in her music. She needed a friend, a sister... She needed Elizabeth, he thought, glancing at her.
The sound of Elizabeth's name called his attention back to Lady Catherine again. "I have told Miss Bennet several times," Lady Catherine was saying, "that she will never play really well, unless she practices more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Darcy bit his lip to keep from contradicting Lady Catherine flatly, frowning at his aunt's bluntness. There really were no limits to her officiousness, were there? Certainly she never bothered to think that such things as good breeding and common courtesy applied to her...
The entrance of Cuthbert, Lady Catherine's long-suffering butler, a man whom both he and Fitzwilliam had long ago agreed should be canonized, to announce the coffee, was a welcome relief to Mr. Darcy.
It gave Mr. Collins the opportunity to begin to expound on the fine-ness of Lady Catherine's china, to which Lady Catherine listened with a willingness that made Darcy long to roll his eyes. Although given everything, perhaps he should instead only be thankful that Mr. Collins hadn't yet stooped to admiring the quality of the coffee served at Rosings, he reflected rather sardonically.
It was after the coffee had been removed that he heard Fitzwilliam address Elizabeth, "Miss Bennet, I have not forgotten your promise to play for us and I hope you will not renege upon your word now."
Elizabeth smiled, "I am perfectly willing to fulfill my obligation, if you will promise not to expect too much of my poor skills."
"I am sure you are too modest, Miss Bennet," Fitzwilliam answered as he led Elizabeth to the pianoforte.
Darcy watched her go, part of his mind admiring the grace of her movements even as another part of him wished that he could be the one walking beside Elizabeth.
The sound of Elizabeth's playing soon filled the room and he closed his eyes briefly to savor it. There was such an easy naturalness to Elizabeth's playing manner; it only served to enhance the pleasure of listening to her playing. He only wished the pianoforte was placed so he could look at Elizabeth as well as listen. As it was, he could only see Elizabeth by turning his head in such a way as would make him nearly turn his back on Lady Catherine, which was obviously not practicable.
Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins were silent for a few minutes thankfully, until Lady Catherine's attention, never very engaged when it didn't involve her or Anne's interest, wandered, and she addressed him, "Darcy, did I mention that Lady Sefton called a month ago to tell me that her daughter's performance on the pianoforte has improved tremendously and to thank me for recommending Miss Gordon?"
Again Darcy tried and failed to remember who this Lady Sefton was but responded calmly. "No you didn't, but I am very glad to hear it."
"She did, indeed, and she could not thank me enough for the gift of Miss Gordon, who she said, has had a wonderful effect on her daughter." Lady Catherine allowed herself one of her usual thin smiles at the pleasure of the idea of her influence having such a great impact on others.
"It is a pity, then, that Miss Sefton is such a plain girl, as I recall," Lady Catherine continued. "She has not Anne's pale complexion and, indeed, looks almost coarse in comparison."
"Indeed, who could compare with Miss de Bourgh, whose charm would be an ornament to the finest Society gathering?" Mr. Collins hastened to interject.
Lady Catherine only nodded at Mr. Collins' words before addressing Darcy again. "I have heard that young Lord Marbury is engaged to be married. Do you know his intended bride?"
Darcy thought for a moment. "I believe I heard that she is a Miss Penman of the Oxfordshire Penmans."
"Indeed. I was surprised to hear of it as Lord Marbury is not yet three and twenty. I do not approve of men marrying so early in life as I am convinced that such youthful matches never end well."
"I believe that they will be very happy together," Darcy said in a neutral tone, wondering not for the first time how it was that Lady Catherine always seemed to find something to find fault with, no matter what the circumstance or the persons involved. "Excuse me," he said, more out of automatic courtesy than any particular meaning, as he stood and walked away, heading to stand in front of the pianoforte where he could look at Elizabeth without any obstructions.
He caught Fitzwilliam's glance of amused understanding at escaping Lady Catherine's conversation and returned it with a slight nod of acknowledgement.
Elizabeth paused momentarily in her playing to smile archly at him and his heart seemed to stop before resuming its beating albeit at a slightly increased pace. "You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me?" she said lightly. For a moment Darcy was distracted from her words by the sparkle in her eyes as she continued. "But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
Darcy smiled, his heart soaring at Elizabeth's teasing, as he responded in kind. "I shall not say that you are mistaken because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own." It was part of the liveliness of her wit that he admired and enjoyed so much.
Elizabeth laughed and he had the sudden feeling that here was the person who could truly understand him, whether he spoke in jest or not, in any mood... But she addressed herself to Fitzwilliam. "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world, where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit." Darcy smiled at this pleasantry - as if there was anything he knew of her character which would not reflect on her favorably. "Indeed, Mr. Darcy," she continued, "it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire - and give me leave to say, very impolitic too - for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear."
Their eyes met and Darcy reveled in their shared amusement.
"I am not afraid of you," he responded.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," Fitzwilliam interjected with a laughing glance at him. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."
Elizabeth smiled as she resumed playing. "You shall hear then - but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball - and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances! I am sorry to pain you - but so it was. He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
Was she referring to his initial dismissal of her? He stifled the urge to grimace at his foolishness that evening, even as he couldn't help but be glad that they had been able to move beyond that less than promising beginning, that she'd forgiven him for his snub to be able to tease him of it, albeit obliquely. "I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party," he said. He added in thought, if I had truly known you then, Elizabeth, you know I would have claimed your hand at once.
"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball room," Elizabeth answered, something like sarcasm in her tone. He hardly heard her as she turned to Fitzwilliam to ask what she should play next. Surely she wasn't truly mocking him... He couldn't recall the last time anyone had been sarcastic to him, certainly never a young lady... But then Elizabeth was different...
"Perhaps," he began, addressing Elizabeth, "I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction, but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers." Perhaps? No, he knew he would have enjoyed that evening much more if he had known Elizabeth then as he did now. If he could have truly made her acquaintance that night, he would surely have recognized the unique spirit of hers that he so loved... And yet, he knew he couldn't have done any differently. He had always felt most uncomfortable in ball rooms especially when he knew few people there. He intensely disliked the feeling of being stared at and discussed in hushed whispers that he usually received on first entering any ball room for the first time and that translated into an extreme unwillingness to converse with anybody...
Elizabeth's response was not to him but addressed to Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this? Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"
It really was odd, the effect a few words from Elizabeth's lips could have on him. Hearing her call him a "man of sense and education", while hardly qualifying as praise due to its very general nature, somehow warmed his heart.
Fitzwilliam threw him a teasing glance as he answered Elizabeth, "I can answer your question without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble."
How often had he heard Fitzwilliam say something similar, when leaving some social function in London, he wondered, even as he spoke. "I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done." Unlike Bingley and Fitzwilliam, he thought, glancing at his cousin before his gaze returned inevitably to rest on Elizabeth. I would much prefer to talk to you, Elizabeth, for I know you would understand me...
Elizabeth smiled slightly as she retorted amicably, "My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault - because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."
He had to smile at the quickness of her wit as well as the undeniable truth in her words even as he mentally disagreed with her low opinion of her playing. "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you, can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers," he added, finding a strange delight in being able to speak of them together as "we".
Truly, falling in love with Elizabeth had made him ridiculously sentimental, he thought. He really must get a hold of himself. He was bordering on the ludicrous... Who would have thought that he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, could be reduced to this?
It was almost with a sense of relief that he heard Lady Catherine's imperious question, "What are you talking of, Darcy?"
He turned to face his aunt, hearing Elizabeth begin to play again. "We are speaking of performing, madam," he answered, choosing not to mention that they had in fact been speaking of themselves.
Lady Catherine, he could see, was less than satisfied at this answer and approached the pianoforte. He only had time to exchange a resigned look with Fitzwilliam before she was there. Again, she only deigned to listen for a few minutes before she spoke, as usual addressing him. "Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn," characteristically ending with an unfavorable comparison to Anne.
He felt Fitzwilliam glance at him with some sympathy at Lady Catherine's rather obvious attempt at recommending Anne to him.
He steadfastly refrained from any visible reaction to Lady Catherine's praise of Anne, knowing that Lady Catherine would be watching for any sign of feeling and interpreting the least change of expression as she wished to.
"Won't you favor us with another song, Miss Bennet? That was wonderful," Fitzwilliam smiled at Elizabeth, smoothly ignoring Lady Catherine's indirect snub. "You misrepresent the extent of your talent."
Elizabeth laughed slightly and shook her head. "You are too kind but believe me, I know my own ability too well not to recognize your praise for what it is: flattery."
"Indeed it is not flattery," Fitzwilliam defended himself with mock offense. "I spoke only the truth. Come, Darcy, did I not?"
He addressed Elizabeth in his response. "My cousin, whatever his faults, is an excellent judge of music. I am sure we would all appreciate another song, Miss Bennet," he said, deliberately avoiding mentioning his own personal feelings. He had no wish to arouse Lady Catherine's suspicions in his feelings toward Elizabeth. He knew all too well what sort of disagreeableness toward Elizabeth would result from it and silently promised himself that, whatever his ultimate decision about what to do about his feelings for Elizabeth, he must conceal them while in company. Until he could present Elizabeth to Lady Catherine as his intended bride, until he had an official claim to protect and defend her from any insults, he would spare her the mortification of enduring what he knew would be Lady Catherine's deliberate unkindness toward any suspected rival of Anne's.
"Very well, then," Elizabeth conceded with a smile.
She had only played for another minute before Lady Catherine interjected, "This passage should be played with more feeling. Do you not think, Darcy?"
"Miss Bennet plays charmingly," he replied, evading the question.
Mentally he thanked heaven for the years of training in concealing his real thoughts. There were times when Lady Catherine's blatant incivility in the guise of "kind condescension" to quote Mr. Collins, amazed even him, despite his years of witnessing it. He allowed his gaze to rest on Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, watching as her slim fingers moved over the pianoforte's keys. She was so much a lady, in the truest sense of the word...
He watched Elizabeth accept all of Lady Catherine's blunt comments that amounted to criticisms with composure and not the slightest lapse in courtesy, and thought again what he'd already accepted- he really did love this woman... In spite of her family, her position, and his own sense of prudence...
Chapter 4 ~ The Proposal
So this was where it ended, all the indecision and all the mental arguments.
Darcy paused just before he rang the bell at the Parsonage, taking a breath and closing his eyes briefly. For all his internal debates, all his arguments against proposing to Elizabeth- everything had been defeated in one moment. He wondered briefly what Mr. Collins would say to know that he had been the one to end all that. It was ironic that all his weeks of indecision could have been ended so easily, simply with hearing Mr. Collins enter the drawing room apologizing profusely for Elizabeth's absence because Elizabeth was indisposed. Which Mrs. Collins quickly confirmed by averring that Elizabeth had truly looked unwell and had particularly begged pardon for any inconvenience to Lady Catherine. Just hearing the words that Elizabeth was indisposed had sent a shaft of cold fear and worry through his chest- and he'd known. After all his indecision and for all the reasons- sound reasons- for not marrying into such a family as the Bennets, it came down to one thing: loving Elizabeth and wanting to make her happy and keep her happy. He wanted to do that and so he needed to marry her.
Darcy forcibly tried to shut off the small nagging voice of his prudent mind telling him proposing to Elizabeth would lead to disgrace in society and rang the bell firmly.
Elizabeth stood up when he arrived and he felt a pang of concern at her pallor, although he was comforted to see that other than being rather pale, she looked as lovely as usual.
"I beg your pardon for intruding. I hope you are feeling better," he said by way of greeting, wishing he could simply take her into his arms.
"I am, thank you," Elizabeth responded, looking slightly nonplussed.
Think of her family, the disgrace her younger sisters and her mother will bring to the Darcy name when you must introduce them as your in-laws. Think of Georgiana, can you countenance the almost certain mortification which knowing them will cause? the persistent voice of his prudent mind continued.
But I love Elizabeth and I want her in my life. She is as true a lady as any I've met and Georgiana needs a sister like her, his heart protested.
He sighed, standing up again and agitatedly running a hand through his hair. This constant internal debate was driving him mad! He'd made up his mind to ask Elizabeth to marry him so that was it.
He turned to face her, finally enjoying the freedom of being able to tell Elizabeth all his thoughts. "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth colored and stared at him, surprise in her expression. God, she was beautiful; how could he not have seen it from the first?
He took a breath and continued on, all his thoughts now spilling out of him. "In declaring myself thus, I am aware that I am acting against the wishes of my family, my friends and, I hardly need add, my own better judgment. The relative situations of our families must make any alliance between us a reprehensible connection. Indeed, as a rational man, I cannot but regard it as such myself, but it cannot be helped. Almost from the first moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a-" he paused suddenly realizing he was finally saying words to Elizabeth he'd never said or even thought of saying to anyone else, only to her... He continued on with feeling, silencing the inner voice of his prudent side with his own words, "passionate admiration and regard, which despite all my efforts, have overcome all my reservations. And so I beg you, most fervently, to put an end to my suffering and consent to be my wife."
He stopped, looking at her, his eyes roaming over her familiar and so-beloved face and figure, loving the fact that he would be able to see her every day for the rest of his life...
She had been looking down but after a moment she looked up, coloring becomingly, and opened her lips to speak. He held his breath for the words, which would truly make him the happiest man on earth...
"In such cases as this," she began slowly but with growing strength, "it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned."
He felt her words like a physical blow and could only stare at her, the visions of his happy life with her as his wife crumbling to pieces as she continued.
"It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot-I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
She was-refusing him? For a moment, his mind simply didn't- couldn't- comprehend what he was hearing. He hadn't even realized until then how very certain he'd been... The force of her words hit him with all the force of a physical blow and for one fleeting moment, he was thankful he had the support of the mantelpiece. Otherwise, he somehow thought he would tumble to the ground in dismayed shock and confusion. She was-she was refusing him and refusing him in no uncertain terms, in a way that bordered on arrant rudeness.
Was this cold woman speaking words that were only marginally civil by any stretch of the definition, the Elizabeth he had thought he'd known, the Elizabeth he'd loved? His Elizabeth had been always charming, always courteous... He didn't know this Elizabeth, now pale with suppressed feeling, her eyes flashing defiant sparks...
He felt anger, hurt- a wave of sheer emotion- rising within him and forcibly swallowed it back. He would not lose control. He was a Darcy and he would not lose his equanimity over a woman. He took a few deep breaths and finally managed to speak, in as calm a voice as he could manage, hating how tense he sounded, "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."
He had been deceived, that was all.
But she had not finished yet, had risen in her own agitation and part of him couldn't help but be glad to see that she had lost her composure as well.
"I might as well enquire why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?"
If she was uncivil! By no definition of any rational person could her response have been termed civil!
"But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
Her sister. He felt himself flush involuntarily at the mention of his interference; he still wasn't completely comfortable with what he'd had to do. Damn Bingley and his infatuations, anyway! But he had been right to separate him from Miss Bennet; he knew it. What kind of friend would permit a friend to be hurt if he could help it?
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She was defending her sister on the grounds of her sister's "disappointed hopes"? Yes, her sister's hopes, so mercenary, must have been very disappointed indeed to lose the opportunity to catch someone of Bingley's wealth, he thought sardonically. He forced an incredulous smile at Elizabeth's intemperate words.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" Elizabeth finished in a challenging tone.
"I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than toward myself," he muttered more to himself than to her.
Elizabeth did not look at all appeased, in truth only looked more incensed as she continued, "But it is not merely this affair on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham..."
Wickham! His entire body stiffened at the sound of that name. Wickham. He almost instinctively clenched one fist in fury at the sound of the hated name. Damn the bloody unscrupulous bastard- he seemed to be everywhere, trying (and succeeding too well) to ruin Darcy's life. Oh the pleasure he would take in being able to smash his fist into Wickham's face, Darcy thought with a sudden, rather uncharacteristic flare of violence, as his mind registered what Elizabeth was saying.
"On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?"
He, impose? And Elizabeth attacked on Wickham's behalf with such fervor! "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," he finally bit out, striving to sound calm.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" Darcy spat with disdain. "Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed," he added with biting contempt. The "misfortune" of failing in his plan to use Georgie as an instrument of revenge as well as gaining her dowry, no doubt...
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth now. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule."
He began to pace quickly, no longer able to stand still, feeling his anger rising at seeing the energy with which Elizabeth defended Wickham. "And this is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!" He stopped pacing, turning to fix Elizabeth with a hard stare instead as his anger overtook his reason. "But perhaps these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design," he began in a coldly scathing tone. "These bitter accusations might have been suppressed had I with greater policy concealed my struggles and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just." He continued on heatedly, as the last remnants of his judgment evaporated from the force of his disappointment and his resentment. "Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Aha, now he could see that he'd upset her and she attempted to sound coolly composed as she said, "You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."
He started involuntarily at that accusation. Never in all his years of life had anyone accused him of ungentlemanly behavior! He rather prided himself on being a gentleman by nature as well as by birth.
"You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."
Dear God, she was serious! She hated him so much... He felt his anger begin to ebb only to be replaced with hurt. He loved her as he had never loved anyone and she- she detested him...
"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever by prevailed on to marry."
Again, her words hit him with the force of physical blows to the heart. While he'd been falling in love with her, she'd come to truly hate him. He was the last man in the world whom she could ever marry... The last man... Now the pain he felt shocked him with its intensity, after the past moments where any hurt he may have felt was completely superseded by his fury at Elizabeth's misguided and mistaken accusations.
He forced himself to sound as composed as he could. "You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."
The sight of her that had been used to fill him with happiness and unwilling desire now only brought pain and he left the room and the house with a haste that bordered on running, suddenly needing to put distance between himself and the scene of this emotional battering.
Chapter 6 ~ The Morning After
Mr. Darcy was accustomed to sleeping the sleep of the just.
On this particular morning, he jerked awake in the unusual situation of having a pounding headache and feeling completely un-rested.
He hadn't slept much and when he did, his dreams were uneasy, filled with the sound of Elizabeth's laughter as she drifted away from him as he stood helplessly and watched her go. Elizabeth... So beautiful, so elusive. Unattainable.
He dressed mechanically for once thankful that Fields, his valet, wasn't there to disturb him with his solicitude.
Once he stepped outside into the crisp morning air, he took a deep breath, glancing at the clear blue of the sky before returning his brooding gaze to the ground as he walked. Normally the sight of such a lovely day would invigorate him and lighten his mood involuntarily. Today his dark mood remained unchanged.
Today would be his last day at Rosings; he had no reason to stay. And while he was always glad to leave Rosings, every visit which ended without his officially declaring for Anne only strengthened Lady Catherine's determination. He knew, therefore, that he could expect to be summoned to speak to Lady Catherine to explain why he hadn't yet proposed to Anne and when he planned to marry. Summoned, that is, ostensibly to explain himself but really to listen to Lady Catherine pontificate at length about his duty to her as his aunt and his filial obligation to abide by his mother's wishes. He had long ago realized that trying to disagree or even question her words was futile and a waste of breath. She simply refused to listen; from a disdain of brangling over what was, essentially, a moot point as he had never intended to marry Anne and couldn't be physically forced to do so, as well as a sincere respect for Lady Catherine as his aunt no matter her faults, he never responded. He merely listened with the appearance of agreement. It only made every last day of his visits a trial. Added to his dread of it was the new factor of Elizabeth and the emotional upheaval which she had caused. The pleasure he'd felt at the sight of her, the happiness of being with her, the unfamiliar and unwelcome sting of jealousy at Fitzwilliam, the anger, frustration and resentment of hearing Elizabeth's unjust accusations... And the burgeoning hurt that the woman he loved hated him...
He forcibly stopped his mind from dwelling on his own foolishness in loving Elizabeth. He didn't love her any longer. He wouldn't love her any longer. He couldn't love her any longer. Not now that he knew how unjust and misguided she could be...
He would merely give her the letter so that she could know the extent of her errors and then he would put her out of his mind, his heart and his life.
He tensed as he heard a footstep behind him. It was her. He knew it before he turned around, knew it beyond a doubt. He knew it because of the way his senses reacted, instantly attuned to her presence as they'd always been and still were, no matter that there was no longer any chance of her remaining a part of his life.
She had already turned and was hurrying away but he stopped her with two words. "Miss Bennet."
She turned, waiting for him to approach, wary tension on her face.
He fastened his gaze at a point just above her head and spoke with cool civility. He was not the one in the wrong; she was. It was not for him to be conciliatory. "I have been walking the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?"
She accepted the letter with a look of unconcealed surprise he noticed in the fleeting glance at her face which he permitted himself before he bowed shortly and strode away.
A line from his letter echoed through his mind: Every connection between us seemed now dissolved...
He thought it again as the carriage rolled out of the Rosings drive passing by the Parsonage. And so ended the ill-advised misjudgment that was his relationship with Elizabeth Bennet, he thought, trying to feel relieved.
Across from him Fitzwilliam chuckled and he glanced at his cousin. "What is it?"
Fitzwilliam nodded at something outside the window, still grinning.
He glanced out in the direction of Fitzwilliam's gaze and saw Mr. Collins - or rather Mr. Collins' head and his shoulders as Mr. Collins was bowing low to the carriage.
"I'm beginning to feel like some sort of higher being with the way Mr. Collins treats us," Fitzwilliam joked.
"Mm," he made a noncommittal noise in response, his gaze fastened upon one of the upper windows of the Parsonage where he almost fancied he could see Elizabeth's face.
The thought-and the sudden longing which accompanied it-brought him up short.
He was hoping it was Elizabeth, even though he knew intellectually that even if she was in that particular room, he very likely wouldn't be able to see her. He wanted to see Elizabeth. Even now when he knew it would very likely never happen again... Even now when he knew she probably still disliked him... Even now when his mind told him he should resent her for the way in which she'd refused his hand... Even now, he realized with a clarity he hadn't known for the past day and half since she'd refused him, he wanted to see Elizabeth, if only one last time.
He hadn't really looked at her when he gave her the letter. He'd told himself he was very glad and very relieved that she'd been out when he and Fitzwilliam paid their final call on the Parsonage later that day. He'd insisted to himself that he was grateful to Lady Catherine's habit of dining en famille their last evening at Rosings.
Now, when it was too late, he realized he'd been lying to himself. He did want to see Elizabeth again.
Because she had the most pleasing face and form of any woman he'd ever known. But more importantly because-he acknowledged with a sigh-he loved her still.
That admission brought him to yet another one. He wasn't angry at Elizabeth anymore. No, the anger had died and in its place all there was left was the knowledge of his love-and the heartache of knowing the woman he loved was as far from returning his feelings as possible.
He stared out the window at the passing greenery, not seeing the grass or the trees or the fields, but seeing, instead, Elizabeth.
He saw her as she had been at the Meryton assembly when he'd been in such a state of displeasure at the numerous whispers about "ten thousand a year", "largest estate in Derbyshire" and "handsomest man I've ever seen" that he'd dismissed her as well as the rest of the company as beneath his notice. Only to be caught and held by the sparkle, as if from some secret amusement, in her eyes when she passed him later that evening.
He could picture Elizabeth as she'd looked at the Netherfield Ball - a vision, not the most classically beautiful woman present but so alive, so vital, she made every other lady fade into the background. He had been unable to keep his eyes off her, marveled at her grace and patient civility with the awkwardness of Mr. Collins. And then their dance-their only dance together and their last dance, he realized and felt a pang of loss at the thought of the dances which they would never dance together. He remembered her words, saw again the challenging sparkle in her eyes... He had thought it was flirtatious... He grimaced, suddenly filled with self-disgust at the sheer magnitude of his error, the willfulness of his self-deception. He had thought she'd led him on to believe she returned his feelings; that had been part of his anger at her. Now, he suddenly realized she'd been completely forthright; he had been deluding himself, "myself creating what I saw."
He had been a fool.
~*~*~
Colonel Fitzwilliam was not by nature the most patient of men but years in the military had cultivated a modicum of that virtue in him. He was also accustomed to being with a silent Darcy but as he heard his cousin sigh and watched him glower out the window, his curiosity was aroused. He waited until the third sigh before his patience lost the battle to his curiosity.
"Whatever it is, I don't think it has very long to live," he quipped lightly.
Darcy visibly started, as if he'd completely forgotten that he wasn't alone. "What?"
Fitzwilliam favored Darcy with a questioning, searching glance before replying. "Whatever it is you've been glaring at for the past quarter-hour and more, I hope it can run very fast." He paused before asking carefully, "Is everything all right?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Darcy answered shortly, returning his gaze to the window.
Fitzwilliam frowned at his cousin, surprised not by his taciturnity but by the tacit admission that there was something wrong. He knew Darcy, probably better than anyone else except for Georgiana, and Darcy usually tended to flat-out deny the existence of problems to anyone else. It was part of his protective instinct with Georgiana; he didn't want to worry her. And this instinct just extended to others automatically, making him extremely unwilling to admit problems aloud, especially given that Darcy generally possessed a firm belief, albeit a justifiable one, that he could solve most problems on his own.
His cousin's behavior was uncharacteristic and decidedly odd. Really, his behavior during most of this visit to Rosings had been rather odd...
Which just begged the question of what had caused Darcy's change of behavior.
Miss Bennet. The answer came immediately on the heels of his mental question. She was the only plausible cause as she was the main reason for this visit having been so different from the others.
Admittedly, Miss Lucas and Mrs. Collins were also new to Rosings but he dismissed them with hardly a thought. To think that Darcy would be so affected by either of them was ludicrous.
But Miss Bennet, on the other hand, was different, really quite unique among any of the ladies Fitzwilliam knew, with her lively wit and ready humor which, combined with her handsomeness, made her a true pleasure to be in company with.
Very well, it was Miss Bennet but what about her? With any other gentleman, Fitzwilliam would unhesitatingly have decided they must be in love but with Darcy, he couldn't be sure.
Darcy really falling in love was a foreign concept. Not because he doubted his cousin's heart or his ability to love; he knew better than most just how deep and strong his cousin's little-expressed emotions could run. It was simply that Darcy's emotions had, until now, been generally reserved for family. They were as controlled as any emotions could be.
"I was sorry not to be able to say goodbye to Miss Bennet," he began casually, observing his cousin carefully.
Darcy started and for a fleeting moment, some emotion he couldn't remember ever seeing on Darcy's face, passed over it. But he answered noncommittally enough, "Yes."
"I would be very sorry if this were the end of our acquaintance. She is easily one of the most agreeable ladies I've ever been in company with."
Again, that same indefinable emotion passed over Darcy's face. "Yes, she is," was all he said but Fitzwilliam detected some suppressed feeling behind the words.
So, Darcy did feel something for Miss Bennet...
Fitzwilliam accepted his discovery as fact and then frowned inwardly as he gave up the attempt to probe deeper. Darcy was essentially a private man. He would reveal what he wished when he wished to.
He settled back against the cushions of the carriage, resigning himself, and his curiosity, to waiting until that time.
~*~*~
Fitzwilliam's casual words echoed in Darcy's thoughts and took on a significance Fitzwilliam probably never intended. I would be very sorry if this were the end of our acquaintance...
Darcy sighed. He knew his acquaintance with Miss Bennet was ended. Not just ended, but dead. He had killed the acquaintance with his proposal and his letter. She would certainly never want to see him again; any such meeting was bound to be mortifying. And he mourned the death of the relationship, the death of his hopes, with a sharp sense of loss he couldn't recall having felt since his father had died.
He still wished to see Elizabeth, to listen to her words and her laughter, to see her smile... Even now, knowing as he did her true opinion of him, he could hardly imagine his future without her, so much had his dreams of her as his wife become entwined with his every thought. She had invaded his every plan for his future; it was difficult to imagine he'd ever been able to think of the future without it involving Elizabeth. In the short months he'd known her, she'd somehow become a part of him, the embodiment of what he wanted in his life...
He sighed again, forcibly stopping his train of thought. This was madness! To be brooding so over a woman who had rejected him in such a way. To be regretting so intensely the loss of a woman who had proven herself to be prejudiced, foolish, and capable of the most open rudeness he'd ever been subjected to.
His mind knew it, but his heart refused to accept it. Still clung to its image of Elizabeth...
And God help him, but his heart was stronger than his mind, at least where Elizabeth was concerned. He did love Elizabeth still, had forgiven her, her words and her errors, and only remembered the charms... Remembered the way her eyes flashed when she spoke her mind, remembered the affection in her care for her sister when Miss Bennet had been ill at Netherfield, remembered the prudence and propriety of her behavior, remembered the unfailing courtesy she'd shown to Lady Catherine, even at her most imperious... And even found himself remembering the spirit, the passion, with which she'd defended Wickham, however unfounded her belief in his veracity... Remembered the depth of feeling, of compassion, for her sister in her accusation of his having separated Miss Bennet from Miss Bingley... He remembered it all and could only think of all it revealed to him of the sort of person Elizabeth was. To have that sort of loyalty, that sense of justice, that brand of compassion... It was all he could wish for in any woman, especially his wife...
But that dream was over now, brutally destroyed by her cutting words and his own resentment.
It was over and it was time to get on with his life. Meeting Elizabeth had made him sharply aware of the emptiness of his life, the void not even his love for Georgiana and his affection and loyalty to his family and small circle of friends could fill, the void that would be filled by his wife, a true family of his own. He would not have Elizabeth as his wife but she was not the only available lady. He would forget her, would find another lady who suited him just as well, who would be more aware of the honor being his wife would entail...
It would simply take time... Time to put Elizabeth out of his heart and time to find another woman he'd want to marry...
But he was nothing if not patient. And he was determined. He was still Fitzwilliam Darcy; he could get over a rejection no matter how hurt he was. He would get over this...