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The humble estate of Longbourn fell silent as most of its inhabitants went off to their beds. A one Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however, stayed in the parlor to read. She looked around the especially dimly lit room to make sure no one would watch in her act of masochistic torture as she forced herself to read once again that which caused her so much pain. She got up, slowly crossed the room, and picked up a seemingly random book. She opened it only to reveal an envelope which she quickly grabbed and went back to where she was seated.
An abnormally large tear ran unhurriedly down the striking face of Miss Elizabeth. Though she did not cry immensely on the outside, the very depths of her soul were wailing. His beautiful handwriting now had several spots that were blurred due to the repetition of her tears on that letter as she often cried when she read it. "Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you" she read, for the umpteenth time since she initially received the letter. Oh how she wished he would repeat those sentiments until the day she died! Surely then she should die but the happiest of women.
Had she not been trying to be quiet, she would have slapped herself most thoroughly at these thoughts. She knew, after their encounter two weeks ago, he would never in fact return the deep love she now was forced to endure. No, from now on he would look at her with a feeling of contempt due to the horrible words she had said to him at his proposal. She wept again, this time openly and bitterly. How had she been so ridiculous?
Upon first reading said letter, she had realized just how deeply she cared for Mr. Darcy. Fitzwilliam. He had only been trying to do right by his friend! She could see now that Jane was not always one to show her innermost emotions. She could not fault him for believing Jane to be indifferent to Mr. Bingley. She herself believed it at first. Oh, and then her accusations involving the charming Mr. Wickham, how had she been so foolish as to believe his web of lies? Now she could see Mr. Darcy was not the monster she had once believed him to be. He was a kind, genteel man, and he had loved her. Now, only in the aftermath of this disaster, did she realize, she loved him too. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty is it not?" she asked herself sullenly.
Mr. Darcy, she thought, was probably sleeping comfortably in his estate known as Pemberly. Elizabeth had never seen it but had heard of its splendor. She thought of him, slumbering peacefully, not a clue in the world that Miss Elizabeth Bennet existed. He had probably already found another woman upon which to bestow his affections. Elizabeth was snapped out of these thoughts at the salty taste of warm blood in her mouth. She had bit her tongue lost in these thoughts.
She finally retired to her room, knowing it would be another restless night. She knew she would never sleep well again unless it was in the arms of one Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. If only she could tell him how she felt, she would do anything. He would probably never speak to her, but then at least she would know. She wouldn't have to deal with the uncertainty of knowing not whether or not to hope.
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At Pemberly, one Mr. Darcy pitched a vase against the wall. He was further than drunk; wallowing in the rejection he had felt for the past three weeks. Perhaps Miss Bennet had been accurate in her depiction of him. He was proud and uncivilized, but mostly, he was a fool. No one as marvelous as Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, would ever want someone like Fitzwilliam Darcy. He poured himself another glass of brandy as he saw Ms. Reynolds coming up to clean up the mess the vase had made. She had become accustomed to it in the past few weeks, though no one knew what had gotten into Pemberly's normally tranquil master.
He only wished he would have shown his true character before the despicable Mr. Wickham had tainted her opinion. Then there was the case of his interference in the love lives of Mr. Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet. Oh how he regretted that now! He had been a perfect ogre. He would strive to fix that error as soon as humanly possible, perhaps by suggesting Mr. Bingley to make an offer of marriage to Miss Jane Bennet. He looked over at the freshly stirred fire, and he could have sworn it was laughing at him. Its brightness mocking the darkness he felt.
Eliz-- Miss Bennet he corrected himself would simply have to be avoided until such a time he was sure he could deal with his feelings. How did this one woman have such influence on him? He knew. It was her. Everything. She didn't treat him as most women treated him. She wasn't afraid to affront him because of his assets, his social standing, or his monetary value. She acknowledged him as the swine he was, and he cherished it. He cherished her even though she had proven she would never cherish him at her obvious disgust less than a fortnight ago.
He thought of her, at Longbourn, asleep, in a bed. He had long given up any attempt at propriety in his own private thoughts of Miss Bennet. She was beautiful when she was awake, he could not imagine how stunning she looked in the peacefulness of sleep, her beautiful hair would no longer be restrained, and it would be wild and flowing. Her lips… oh those lips! They would be all his, and he would kiss her everyday. However, she would never kiss him back.
Remembering this thought, he was snapped back into reality. He resigned himself to another sleepless night in his bed that now seemed too big for one person. He knew he would never sleep well unless he held in his arms the woman of his dreams, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. If only he could convince her how earnestly he needed her, how much he was willing to change. He would do anything. He feared, however he would never get the chance. Little did he know…
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That's the first of many chapters hopefully! Please Rate and Review!