As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever;
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caused her discontent,
She sighed not that They stayed, but that She went.
POPE
If Elizabeth had ever been of the disposition which believed happiness to come without a price the past year had done everything in its power to eradicate it. Her own happiness, her sisters' happiness; her parents' and her friend's happiness, all had been compromised, either through their own or someone else's ambition.
It therefore should have surprised her not that she now found herself wallowing in a state of self-reproach and folly, arising chiefly from the fact that, for one glorious summer's morning she had found herself completely and unabashedly happy. This happiness had sprung from the knowledge that she, Elizabeth Bennet, was the object of unconditional admiration and could only be strengthened by the knowledge that she was herself very much inclined to return the admiration.
But oh! with feelings of admiration she could cope: feelings of admiration would have been Fate's way of doing her a kindness. She felt something for sure, but it was not admiration. It was a deep, burning ache in her chest, which she could only suppose, was her body's own means of telling her heart how very foolish and silly it had been for allowing its mistress to be happy, and was now seeking to punish it by filling it with the most passionate and cordial love imaginable. Typical .
Being a sensible young woman she had tried to reason this feeling away; it was the mountains she would miss, the rocks she would mourn: the rough and untamed beauty of the North which she knew she could not possibly find in the South. And of course, being s sensible young woman she knew all this to be metaphors and poppycock. She would miss the strong, stern, harsh North dearly, but nature's landscape was not quite in the forefront of her mind, which is a pity really because, as she lay in her own bed for the first time since what seemed like an age, the harsh, untamed beauty of the North had saddled his horse and was riding, with no undue haste, down the road, to London.
It had taken only one look for Darcy to know what he had to do, which is odd because this look was not a look at all. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had hid her face in hands, desperately trying to conceal her tears and stifle her sobs. Her aspect presented a queer image, one of indomitable strength tinged with utter hopelessness: Athena in torment.
The love of one, and utter hatred of the other, meant that, even before Athena had dried her tears, his will was set; a will so considerable, all the hordes of Hades could not stop him.
If it had not been for the slight issue of etiquette Darcy would have set off for London the moment he set foot out of The Royal Oak inn. As it was he had one sister, one friend, a household of staff and three hangers-on to attend to, in that exact order. Chivalry would have to be put aside for now in exchange for manners. Other than this the only trouble Darcy could cite was how much of the truth about what had passed he was reasonably in a position to disclose, and to whom. He could not be sure it was only his mind's ear, or the near by pig market, but he was certain he could hear Caroline Bingley's squeal of delight at the thought of such blatant indecorum on the Bennet family's behalf. Louisa Hurst was likely to welcome the news with as much tact as her younger sister, and as Darcy had long been of the opinion Mr. Hurst's mind took leave of his body the day he agreed to marry the older Miss Bingley he did not trouble his own, well situated one, as to how to break the news to the lethargic walrus or the shrew he had married. That left only Bingley and Georgina.
Bingley knew nothing of the exact history between Darcy and Wickham, and neither would he understand why his friend took it upon himself to resort the name of a family he so obviously had so little time for. (Fortunately for Darcy he was not of a self-pitying nature, if he had been, he reasoned, he would probably now be looking for some open grave to lie in: as it was he satisfied himself with a few mental kicks every so often.) On the other hand, Bingley would very likely summon up some borrowed courage and offer to assist Darcy in nobly tracking down the villain and bringing him to justice. Quite how long he would be able to keep a hold of this courage before he felt the need to return it was another matter, especially if events took the nasty turn Darcy himself was expecting, and fully prepared to meet if they did. Bingley was brave, but he was no Achilles: he would have to tell Georgina.
Darcy let out an audible groan at the thought of this, which would have prompted a confused look from the stable groom, if the gentleman had not insisted on stabling his horse himself, (as it was this was the groom's first day so that order had in itself prompted a confused look). The five mile ride from Lambton to Pemberley had not been quite long enough for him to summon up the resolve he knew he would need to tell his sister the truth, although, in his defence, he could have ridden from Dundee to Land's End and still be in no better position. He left himself one option, the brutal truth: it would be quick and painless.
Locating Georgina was not hard, even for a man not really trying. She was sat at her pianoforte, gently tapping the keys so that they produced an unmistakably French tune. She was humming the words, fretful lest any of the house guests should hear her. Oddly enough it was this fact and not their ill-bred, obnoxious attitudes which made Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst most unpopular with the multitudes of household staff at Pemberley: Miss Darcy had a beautiful singing voice, and any cause of deprivation from it was to be universally shunned. (That pretty, country lass Miss Bennet had managed to get Miss Darcy to sing, but as she was accompanied by an uncle who worked in trade, a reoccurrence of this feat was not likely.)
Although not one to put much stock in fate, Darcy could not help but think this idyllic scene was another trail sent to test him by the bored, pubescent schoolboy in the sky. Therefore he did what any right-minded young man would so when trying to convey bad news, without actually having to go through that odious task of speaking, he cleared his throat, loudly.
As this counted as something of an idiolect for Mr. Darcy, Georgiana spun round on her piano stool with a beaming smile, ready to greet her brother.
Quick and painless.
"Georgiana," Darcy began with the ease of a man whom words never failed. "I'm afraid I must leave for London, immediately. There is some, urgent business I need to attend to."
"Oh. – What business is it?"
"It is only a small, irritable matter really: one I should have set right long ago."
It was a truth, of sorts – an economical truth.
Georgina looked puzzled, it was not like her brother to be complacent. Fortunately though Darcy mistook this look of puzzlement for upset, lest he fancied himself caught out.
"Don't fret, I shall not be gone longer than a fortnight, and if you feel the need to rid yourself of any guest, you may want to suggest they take a walk trough the Northern woods."
"But the paths in the Northern woods were washed away in the spring rain. They have not been properly replaced yet. Someone could get lost, or fall down a ditch or – or –" Georgina smiled at her own folly. "Oh."
"Oh indeed." Darcy smiled back and, kissing the top of his sister's head said, "Take care."
"You too! – Oh, wait! What should I tell Miss Bennet?"
"Miss Bennet?"
"She and Mr and Mrs Gardiner are to dine with us today."
"Miss Bennet – Miss Bennet I'm afraid has had to return home on – urgent business, along with Mr and Mrs Gardiner. I saw her this morning in Lambton – It appears one of her family members has suffered a sudden batch of dementia."
Georgina now looked miserable indeed; she would now not only lose her brother, but a woman whose friendship she felt she could value most highly. She sat down again at her piano, her song this time sombre. Darcy heard it not: he had gone in search of Mrs. Reynolds.
A/N: This is just something I've been experimenting with. In a nut shell it's the story of Lydia's 'elopment' but focusing on Darcy's side of the tale, not Lizzy's. If you like it please review and I'll write more, but I'm warning you all, no reviews no Chapter II. I'm a bossy little so-and-so.
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I have Lizzy's family, and I definatley have her name but alas, I own nothing.