Posted on Thursday, 21 September 2000, at 5 : 49 p.m.

The first rays of the early morning sun had barely penetrated the clumsily covered windows when the inhabitant of the chamber stirred, obviously awakened from his deep slumber. The beams fell directly on his face and he opened his eyes, slowly but surely accustoming them to the sudden light. He recognized the beams as belonging to an early hour of the day, but he did not shy away from the fact; instead, he welcomed it for being able to witness the miracle of the morning, the aftermath of the sunrise. He sat up, groggily, a victim of another sleepless night. As he dragged himself to his feet and ambled towards the window, he pondered the pattern his nights had taken. He had laid awake many a night, his mind wandering inevitably to the one elusive subject his heart could never resist. The problem was not how to forget, but how to tame the passions of his undisciplined heart and till he found the solution to that particular problem, it was very likely that sleep would evade him.

He peered through his window and found, very much to his expectation, that very little was astir in town. It was rather dark still and the lights of the sun had not yet claimed dominance over the dismal streets. The sky was of an orange color, adorned by a yellowish tinge rendering the onset of the day inevitable; and yet the pale moon could still be seen in the far horizon, unwilling to fade away. He saw the dead stillness around him and could not help but be unsettled by its resemblance to his own life - dead, still, forever devoid of happiness. It was his own fault, he could see now, but alas, its remedy was far beyond his reach. His spirits declined with every succeeding thought reminding him of his own folly. He wondered, with gloom, to what extent he would allow a single mistake to dominate his heart and eclipse his life. Not expecting to find the answers that he sought, he sighed, thus beginning another day.

The knocking on the door signaled the arrival of his valet. The elderly man entered with an air of dignity and underlying concern. He observed his master for a moment before greeting him with, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

"Good morning, Morris," Darcy returned the greeting, though with little enthusiasm.

"I heard you awake, sir and took the liberty to see if I was needed," Morris said, concealing his growing concern for the young master. He was aware of how little the master slept at night ever since his return from Rosings. He had discussed it in great detail with Mrs. Hummidge and had even intimated the cause for the master's sleeplessness. Mrs. Hummidge had rejected his theories, however, and Morris had said no more on the subject, though in his mind, he continued to hold the opinion that his master's condition was affected by a certain lady.

"Thank you, Morris," Darcy smiled. "I would have rung for you in a short while. I did not wish to awake you just yet. It is early still."

"Yes, indeed, sir," replied the old man. "But I was awake myself."

Darcy nodded and instructed Morris to draw his bath and lay out his clothes and once the instructions were complete, he stationed himself, once again, near the window, his private window to the outside world. He saw but did not see, his mind several miles away, traveling back to the moment that had decided his future. You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry. How those words had tortured him, plagued him, tormented him in his every waking hour and in his nightly dreams. A greater punishment she could not have burdened him with than the weight of her hurtful words. He had reviewed that incident countless times, again and again, analyzing every sentence, every expression, every turn of her countenance, almost reveling in the pain it evoked. Every time he remembered it, the memory cast a fresh wound on his heart; and yet he continued to remember since it was the only instrument that had the power to bring him closer to her, painful as it might well be.

"Sir?"

Morris' voice tore him away from his memories and he turned around. "Yes?"

"Your bath is ready," Morris informed him. He was silent for a moment, then said. "Pardon my presumption, sir, but is anything the matter?" Morris studied his master's face and noticed the change in his countenance.

Darcy looked at Morris. "No, nothing."

Morris bowed and said nothing further. Darcy was pensive as he was disposed to be of late and barely spoke a word as he bathed and dressed. He was to breakfast with Bingley, hence he ordered for his carriage. As he ascended the carriage, he noticed, with some measure of approval, that there was activity in the streets. Any such distractions to protect himself from his own inner torments were always welcome. Darcy attempted to lose himself in his surroundings, but failed as he was prone to do in that end, unable to blind himself to the obvious state of his mind. He arrived at Bingley's, somber and not a little discomfited by his own obduracy. Something unquestionably had to be done.

Darcy was announced and ushered in, resoundingly greeted by Bingley. "Good morning Darce! I trust you slept well."

"Yes Bingley," Darcy lied. "I thank you. And yourself?"

"Never slept better," beamed Bingley. "I resolved to be content and you witness the result of that resolution yourself. I owe you much, Darce, for opening my eyes with your sound advice. You are a true friend."

Darcy felt a twinge of guilt. You have been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister. Darcy shuddered at the recollection of those angry words and forced himself to divert his attention towards Bingley, acutely aware of the danger of that train of thought leading him to immerse himself in doubt and misery. "I did what I deemed to be best, Bingley. You need not thank me for that." Indeed, refrain from referring to it, my friend. You know not how it tortures me.

Bingley smiled. "You cannot deny the great misery you rescued me from."

Can you deny you have done this? Darcy hastily replied, "It was not all my doing..."

"Oh, but it was," Bingley remarked. "You, alone, can claim my heartfelt gratitude."

Darcy murmured his thanks and assured his friend of his continuing vigilance on his behalf. This response seemed to satisfy Bingley for he jumped to various other topics of discussion, not the least of which were his plans to purchase a new horse. Darcy could not help, however, in observing that the jaunty manner in which Bingley delivered his remarks seemed forced, unnatural, unreal even. Darcy was puzzled, having never observed anything similar to this before. Could it be that Bingley's professed happiness and contentment was a sham, meant to hide his true feelings from the rest of the world? Darcy did not, could not, know.

"Mr. Darcy! I am so delighted to see you." At that moment, Miss Caroline Bingley entered the breakfast parlor.

"Likewise, Miss Bingley," replied Darcy. "I was not aware that you had returned to town." Else I would have delayed this visit.

"I returned yesterday," smiled Miss Bingley. "As I was remarking to Charles earlier, it is so fortunate that I did return, else I might have been denied the pleasure of your company."

And I might have been spared the pain of yours. Aloud, Darcy said, "Indeed, it must be fate."

Miss Bingley was delighted by his response. "Oh, yes, indeed!" She paused. "Will you be attending Lady Markham's ball tonight?"

Darcy replied vaguely, "I am not yet certain."

"Oh," said the lady. "And how is dear Georgiana?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Is she still at Pemberley?"

Darcy sighed inwardly. "Yes, she is, but she will be in town shortly."

Miss Bingley cooed. "Oh, how wonderful! I shall have the opportunity to see her again."

"That you certainly shall," remarked Darcy with a roll of his eyes, pitying his poor sister. Indeed, no one deserved such torture, certainly not Georgiana.

"Darce," began Bingley who had hitherto been silent. "I have been thinking...since I do not plan to return to Netherfield, perhaps it will be best for all parties concerned if I gave it up entirely."

Darcy looked at him in surprise, but before he could reply, Miss Bingley squealed. "Oh, Charles, that is a marvelous thought, wouldn't you say, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy remarked, "It seems like a hasty decision, Bingley."

"On the contrary," said the other. "I have been pondering it for sometime."

"I should be the last to dissuade you, Bingley," said Darcy. "But I would recommend that you ponder the idea some more."

"Was it not you that convinced me to abandon Netherfield?" Bingley commented.

Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner... Darcy ignored the words that reverberated in his head. "Yes, maybe so, but I still maintain that you should give it some more thought."

Bingley looked at his friend curiously. "All right, if you say so, Darce."

Miss Bingley began to express her displeasure but one look at Darcy silenced her. And thus, the subject was closed. Darcy stayed with the Bingleys for a half hour, skillfully avoiding Miss Bingley's prying questions. As he left the house, he still pondered Bingley's sudden announcement. Your arrogance, your conceit, your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. Darcy heard those words again and again as he entered his carriage. Could he have been mistaken? He could not deny that Bingley had been deeply unhappy the past few months, not recovering as he had with previous frivolous matters of the heart. Had he been responsible for a gross misjudgment of the situation? Darcy felt unfamiliar pangs of guilt and uncertainty.

"Where to, sir?" the coachman asked him.

Without any thought, Darcy said, "Hertfordshire."

Darcy ignored the coachman's quizzical look and hurriedly gave him exact directions, lest he should change his mind. The words had come to his mouth, Darcy observed, without conscious thought. He had directed his carriage in a whim, his subconscious directing him to the place his heart had often haunted. If he had allowed himself to think, for even a second, he would have asked himself what he hoped to accomplish and would have reproached his own impetuosity. But Darcy was well aware that a prying mind was unwelcome and he purposefully closed his mind to annoying questions. An unsettling excitement built within his breast, an incomprehensible school-boyish excitement that he had experienced when breaking a rule. He was breaking an unwritten rule, he supposed, a rule that he himself had imposed on himself, a rule that forbade him from entering the premises occupied by her.

It was the thought of seeing her that had a strange, almost tangible effect on him. He felt himself become visibly nervous, a trait personified by the constant twisting of his ring. He would see her, but he could not allow her to see him. It would unbearable to be an object of her scorn and hatred once again. No, he would satisfy himself with observing her from afar. It served no purpose, he was aware, but when did love ever serve a purpose other than gratification of one's own fancies? Darcy knew his problems would only increase in intensity if he allowed himself to see her; her face, her smile, her musical laughter, her hair, her beautiful eyes. It was a solution to some of his problems and the cause for uncountable more. But he did not care anymore. This idea had seized him with alarming suddenness and every passing moment convinced him of its complete idiocy and brilliance. He was not entering uncharted territory without a plan, however. He had a plan, an excellent one, one that constituted leaving without being discovered by anyone, let alone her.

Darcy watched the scenery change from the bustle of the town to the more rural settings of the villages beyond. As he progressed, his thoughts increasingly tended towards the desperation his actions reflected. At many points he nearly asked the coachman to stop and turn the carriage around. But he did not. The command would not cross his lips, he was held back by something more powerful than he. His heart, his conscience, his soul, his very being, everything he had gravitated him towards her. If he could never gain her affections, he could at least be near her. Darcy pictured her stand in front of him, a slight frown on her forehead, her eyes sparkling with mischief and her expression one of challenge and defiance; it was just the way she used to be on her long walks in the Rosings woods, when he purposefully rode to find her and on finding her, instantly rode the other way, cursing his foolishness. Darcy would give anything to turn time and find himself in Rosings again with a fresh opportunity to make things right.

As the carriage neared Meryton, Darcy glanced out of the window with apprehension and anxiety. Now that he was there, he realized his vulnerable position. There were scores of inquisitive neighbors who might see him and the gossip would surely spread like wildfire. Not for the first time since he embarked on the trip did Darcy question the soundness of his actions. It was too late for regrets, however, and as the carriage neared the meadows near Meryton, he bid the coachman to stop the carriage and wait for him while he explored the region on foot. The coachman watched the master leave, wondering what had suddenly overcome him, certain that he was gravely ill. He resolved to speak of the matter with Mr. Morris.

Darcy knew that the hopes of catching a glimpse of Elizabeth was what prevailed on him to stop the carriage where he did. Knowing Elizabeth, she would utilize any opportunity to take one of her extended walks. Darcy walked for several miles towards the region he knew she frequented. He had to be careful, however, not to be discovered. His caution seemed unnecessary as there was not a person in sight for several miles. As he neared Oakham Mount, Darcy paused. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Instinctively, Darcy hid himself behind some trees, in kind of a clearing, and peered. His instincts served him well once again, for in that moment, the vision that he had been most eager to see had appeared.

She was running down the gentle slopes of the hill, her unruly hair blowing in the breeze. Darcy was too distant to be able to see any of her features, but he knew she was smiling. He could tell from the way her body moved and the way she tossed her head. Darcy wondered what could be so funny and regretted that he could not never be a part of it. His lament only increased when she began to walk in the other direction. The few moments of pleasure that her sight had afforded him faded away and he was alone yet again. Had she even been real or but a figment of his imagination, Darcy did not know. He would not be surprised, however, if it had not been real for his delusions had made the fine distinction between dreams and reality increasingly difficult.

"I see you have found my alcove, Mr. Darcy."

The voice startled Darcy. He turned around and his surprise only increased. "Miss Bennet!"

Jane smiled faintly. "Hello, Mr. Darcy. I seem to have surprised you."

Darcy recovered his wits. "That you certainly have. But it is a most pleasant surprise."

Jane looked at him. "When did you plan to let your presence be known?"

"Never, if it were up to me," Darcy replied gravely.

"I dare say my sister would not be entirely displeased to see you," Jane said with a small smile. Darcy seemed surprised and Jane added, "Do not worry, I know, Mr. Darcy and I am sorry."

"Sorry? Why?" Darcy was puzzled.

Jane shrugged. "Elizabeth can be a little...harsh?"

Darcy sighed. As I am well aware. "Perhaps so, but I should be the last person to criticize her."

"Mr. Darcy," Jane said. "A lot of things may be said when one is angry but those words need not always be carved in stone. Many things change."

Darcy looked at Jane. "I am afraid some things always remain the same."

"If left to their devices, perhaps," said Jane.

"I do not follow you, Miss Bennet..." Darcy was more puzzled than ever.

Jane said, "Elizabeth is leaving to tour the northern district with my aunt and uncle in three days. She shall be in Derbyshire for sometime, in Lambton to be exact. I just thought perhaps you would like to know."

Darcy's face shone suddenly with understanding. "I...ah...thank you, Miss Bennet."

"You are quite welcome," said Jane, smiling slyly. "Of course, you did not receive any information from me."

"Of course," nodded Darcy. "I cannot thank you enough."

Jane smiled. She looked down for a moment, then said, "Um...I hope you left Mr. Bingley in good health."

Darcy replied, "Yes, thank you. He is very well."

"Oh." Uttered Jane. "I am glad," she added hastily. She looked at Darcy for a moment, then said, "Well, good day, Mr. Darcy. I must return home."

Darcy nodded, "Good day, Miss Bennet. And thank you."

He watched her retreat and sighed in frustration. His complete and utter misunderstanding of the situation befuddled him. He knew not how he could have been blind to what he witnessed today; that is, the blind devotion in the eyes of Jane Bennet when she spoke of Bingley. Darcy knew that he would have to remedy the situation, the sooner the better. He hurried back to the carriage with even greater plans in mind, plans that would take him back to Pemberley, plans that if well implemented would alter his life forever. Darcy gave the coachman directions and as the Oakham Mount receded from view, Darcy's heart soared. There was still hope.