I know I am not the first to explore this particular scenario, but I hope this short one-shot is enjoyable nonetheless. This is based on the proposal from the 2005 movie. I'm trying to get back into writing, so feedback is welcome.
I do not own Pride and Prejudice or any of the film adaptations.
"From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."
It feels as if the rain has begun falling all the more violently as the distance closes between us. I half expect the rain drops to turn to steam as they touch my skin. My blood must be boiling, for I have never felt this strongly about anything. I hate Mr. Darcy. I hate his haughty attitude and his prideful stares. I hate his sense of self-importance. I hate what he did to Jane. And Wickham. I hate his handsome face and broad shoulders—for certainly such fine features were wasted on such a dreadful man.
Looking at him now, I would not be surprised if the water froze upon contact with Mr. Darcy's face. As much as I burn with passionate anger, surely his icy heart is incapable of feeling.
And yet, his eyes. They are not unmoved. His posture is guarded, and his jaw is set in a disapproving scowl. He doesn't lower his shoulders, and he stands steady as an unmovable tree. But his eyes give him away.
He is trying to hide it, but the hurt is written in his eyes. My words injured the frozen, unfeeling Mr. Darcy. The Mr. Darcy who insults strangers in ballrooms and interferes with his friend's affairs for the sake of appearances. The Mr. Darcy who considers my family beneath him in every possible way. The Mr. Darcy who enjoys poetry and is willing to debate all manner of topics with a woman. The Mr. Darcy with the most expressive brown eyes I've ever seen… maybe…
No. It serves him right. He deserves it. For all the pain he has caused me and those around him. He deserves the small sting of rejection. The nerve of this man! To propose and expect an acceptance with such a speech! But yet, why? Why do these eyes reveal a man broken over my rejection, when all this time he has despised me? When he looks at me only to find fault?
That's because she's shy… My sister hardly shows her true feelings to me.
My own words echo in my mind. What if… what if I have it wrong? What if I've had everything wrong? I thought I had Mr. Darcy's character properly sketched. But these expressive eyes, filled with hurt and passion, don't belong on the image I've constructed.
What if Mr. Darcy is not cold and unfeeling, but has been hiding behind an icy façade? Our eyes remain locked, and the fire in his gaze threatens to consume me. There is nothing cold about this man.
"Forgive me…."
"Mr. Darcy, no. Forgive me. I…" My left hand is on his shoulder, though I'm not sure why. I am lost for words. This is not the man I thought I knew. But I want to know him.
My gloved hand reaches to touch his cheek. I can't recall having ever touched the face of a man outside of my family. I can't recall every having wanted to do so.
His stare blazes warmer still, and his left-hand rests gently at my waist. My right arm instinctively reaches for his shoulder, and I feel his warm lips meet my own. The kiss—my first kiss- is cautious and delicate, lasting only a moment. He pulls away quickly and diverts his eyes, as if he expects a reprimand. And why shouldn't he? I pull him back, meeting his gaze.
I was correct earlier, when I thought I had never felt so strongly about anything. But if I am honest with myself, the core of my feeling was never anger. It was the man. Mr. Darcy ignites a fire in my very being. I close the distance, crashing my lips into his as a clap of thunder echoes through the sky. As if we are the lightning. He pulls me tighter, his right hand caresses my cheek, his left firm on my waist. This time, his kisses are fierce and full of passionate. This is certainly not a man incapable of feeling. I rise to the challenge, eagerly meeting his fervent kisses with my own.
Of course, at some point we must breathe. Our eyes meet again. He is searching for words.
"Miss Elizabeth, I apologize, please… Please forgive me for… for taking liberties," he backs away, and I silently mourn the loss of his touch. "After your clear rejection of my hand, you must add 'rake' to your list of words used to describe me." His voice is broken and light, he looks toward the ground and begins to turn from me.
"Mr. Darcy. I… I believe I have spent our acquaintance misjudging you. Please sir, if anything you said before was true, if your feelings have been what you claim, I ask that you forgive my harsh words and allow me the opportunity to get to know you."
Mr. Darcy turns to face me once again, his lips gently curling at the corners. He looks away as if to compose himself and meets my eyes once again after a moment. "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the curtesy of allowing me to begin this conversation again?"
"I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't."
"Very well then. Miss Elizabeth, you look lovely today as always." I look down at my dripping wet gown and glance back at him, brows raised. "Yes Miss Elizabeth, even now. The rain suits you every bit as much as the sun."
Mr. Darcy looks down and clears his throat. Could the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley be nervous? I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "It wasn't long after I first saw you that I considered you the most beautiful woman in all of England. Upon further acquaintance, I have come to find your character, intelligence, and whit to be far above any other woman I have ever known. Would you allow me to call on you? And—with your father's permission of course—would you do me the honor of entering into a courtship with me? My intentions are honorable, I assure you."
"Mr. Darcy, I would be honored," I step forward, our faces mere inches from one another, once again, "I am most eager to know you better."
