AN: I never thought I'd ever write something like this. But I did. It's been pretty enjoyable, actually. Originally titled What Could Be. Enjoy!
Mrs. Elizabeth Collins strolled the lane that separated Huntsford from Rosings Parks. The lane, shaded by a variety of trees, offered the grandest view of Rosings that Elizabeth could find. The way the leaves seemed to part just for the grandeur of the estate, the way the lawn seemed to grow specifically for this spot, the way the house seemed to be watching everything; it was all beyond comparison. Of course, the view would only have been complete if Lady Catherine had been driving by in her phaeton, but the Collins's were not often honored with such a visit, so the picturesque scene remained a measure below perfect.
Mrs. Collins was walking to Rosings for her daily pianoforte practice in the housekeeper's room, where she would be bothering nobody there. Her fingers began to pantomime playing a scale while they hung by her side. (Even when she did not have an available instrument, the ever-resourceful Elizabeth Collins still found ways to practice, for no greatness could be achieved without constant practice.) She stifled a laugh at how ridiculous she must seem, playing a non-existent piano as she ambled through the lush green gardens of her husband's patroness. Lady Catherine would certainly not approve of her wandering fingers moving in such an unladylike manner, unattended and idle. They belonged folded behind her back, where she promptly put them.
I never know when the esteemed patroness may come riding by. I must be careful, lest she find me in an unreserved state. It would be even worse if Mr. Darcy were to find me here. How embarrassing!
Over the Easter holidays, it was customary for the Darcy's to take a month-long stay at Rosings. After Anne de Bourg's unfortunate and untimely death, Lady Catherine often asked her nephew to visit for the companionship.
Of course, that is very inconvenient for him. This works to our advantage, though, because Mr. Collins and I never mind being called upon to dine with her. We are much closer, but of course not nearly as interesting. She is so kind to allow us over so often. I hope we don't impose a nuisance on her.
Elizabeth may have been walking in the gardens surrounded by trees and other plant life, but her mind wandered inside its many halls and corridors, wondering if its occupants would be bothered by her company.
Lady Caroline Darcy, though a charming young woman of both class and fashion, had never been particularly kind to Elizabeth, even when they first met some five years ago. Though her marriage had softened her somewhat, both women knew that their social circles did not mingle and thus they were limited in conversation. Surely, Mrs. Collins had moved up in rank with her connections to Lady Catherine, but nothing could compare to Caroline's alliance with Mr. Darcy. One woman wished to converse of the latest fashions in London (where corsets were tied so tightly, elegant females were skilled in learning to breathe in them, and some might even say that they were suffocated) while the other fancied talk of music and the fine rugs (300 pounds alone!) at Rosings. Living in completely different worlds that were not meant to mix, Elizabeth could only hope that she or one of her descendants might end up in such fine circumstances as Mrs. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy was always a disagreeable man, and being married to Caroline did no good to his character. He became even less sociable, allowing his wife (to her great pleasure) to make all conversation for him. As a married man, his manners towards Elizabeth were less extreme, but the constant feeling of immense displeasure followed his entry into the room. She did not care, as he, regardless of manners, was Lady Catherine's nephew, and any relation of her husband's esteemed patroness had to be honored.
How odd he used to act in my company. There was one instance in my first year of marriage...
And her flashback began.
The grandeur of Rosings was still new and fresh, and Elizabeth's lively behavior had not yet worn off into the calm creature she now existed as. It was early April, and rain fell in a slow drizzle, confining everyone inside. Lady Catherine insisted upon Mrs. Collins entertaining them with music from the piano. Daily practice in the housekeeper's closet had perfected her skills at a particular concerto, and she was happy to share her newfound talent with her husband and company. While music filled their ears, a sense of pride saturated the air, as Mr. Darcy (unmarried at this point) and his sister were visiting. The two carried a sense of pompous propriety any sensible person could detect.
Elizabeth (who still answered to Lizzy, though this habit became short lived) looked up from her playing to find Mr. Darcy's gaze fixed intently on her, eyes asking numerous unreadable and unanswerable questions. Her fingers faltered at the intensity of his stare; he smiled. Blushing furiously at her mistake, she ducked her head to avoid him in the most convenient and possible way. She hummed the tune she played, as if her own quiet noise could block out his existence.
Throughout the entire course of the evening, Lizzy felt as though she were being examined like a scientific specimen under a critical eye. Both Darcy and Lady Catherine kept their eyes on her, watching her every movement. If she confessed too much about her poor family and their pitiable state; if she laughed too hard and let her eyes shine with liveliness; if she started to make a quick remark, she could lose it all. To embarrass herself and Mr. Collins in front of such company would be a nightmare, so good behavior became her first priority.
And the whole time, Mr. Darcy's eyes never left her for even a moment.
Of course, he could never get away with such a show of impropriety now. I'm surprised it wasn't mentioned when it happened. Surely, a man of his stature could never survive the accusation of staring at another man's wife. Ah, well. It is the past, and is only a trivial matter now.
If Caroline and her husband would not approve of her company, then perhaps Georgiana Bingley would. Accompanying her brother on their holiday visits to their aunt's, she and Charles were much more agreeable than their siblings.
Georgiana Darcy had a very different temper than her brother, contrary to what she had once been told by Mr. Wickham years ago. The young lady, though somewhat naive and proud on occasion, enjoyed laughter almost as much as one of the Bennet sisters and delighted in music and ridiculous ideas. Indeed, she resembled the old unmarried Elizabeth Bennet.
Bingley had always been of a cheerful disposition, ever since Elizabeth first encountered him at the Meryton Assembly. He never minded talking with her or laughing at her witty comments, though those were becoming less frequent with each passing day. He never shied away from a dance, though as Mrs. Collins, she dreaded the idea of dancing, as he husband was the most embarrassing buffoon ever seen when the music started to play.
Bingley. And to think there was a time when Jane would have been destined for him. All those nights the two sisters had stayed awake, imagining a fantasy world in which Jane Bingley ran Netherfield as her own home, doing as she pleased. Occasionally, Elizabeth Wickham would visit with her three children Anne, George, and Jane. Those dreams were short lived.
Now it was Jane who was married to George Wickham after having been deceived into falling in love. Both parties were left unsatisfied, the lady seeing the error of her ways when it was too late, the man not getting the fortune he desired. But their foolish actions had them trapped in the bonds of marriage that, in any other circumstance, would be called sacred.
Mrs. Collins finally reached her destination, and with no more time for flashbacks and memories, prepared for her daily practice. Perhaps tonight Mr. Collins would grant her the privilege of a kiss....
Mrs. Darcy's eyes snapped open, arms clutching her husband in the shock that comes with waking from the most terrifying nightmare. Her breathing came in ragged intervals, soon waking Mr. Darcy.
"What is it, love?" he enquired.
"Nothing of importance, my dear."
"Are you sure? You look absolutely frightened."
"I had a bad dream. As I said, nothing of importance."
"Really? I did as well. Would you mind telling me about it?" His arm wrapped around her sides, forcing her to face him.
"I... I was married to Mr. Collins. You were with Caroline, and Georgiana was married to Charles. Everything was inversed. The terrifying factor is how normal it seemed!"
"That is indeed a nightmare. I could make it better," he added suggestively.
Lizzy smiled sweetly, perfectly content with what her husband wanted. She didn't even bother to ask what his dream had been about, and he failed to mention that his had been near identical to hers. Starting with a simple kiss, the Darcy's actions made up for their terrible dreams, showing what could have been; what could be.