AN:

Finally! I figured out how to make some slight changes here and there, and yet our internet connection is still just a bad...

Thanks for reading!

Mr. Bingley, in all his natural friendliness and concern for any relation of his angel, had made Lizzie promise to get some rest, for she had hardly left her sister's side, and he was beginning to worry that she would grow ill as well from tiring herself out.

Unfortunately, this was not to be had. Lizzie simply could not sleep. Lord knew she had tried, but no matter how many times she rolled over, or rearranged her pillows, she could not slip into a peaceful slumber. She would be too warm, and subsequently throw off the covers, then become chilled by the drafty room, and cocoon herself under the quilts again. There was not enough of the fire still burning for it to even be called a fire, and Lizzie did not think it right to wake any of the servants to relight it.

She figured that her state of unrest came from already missing home. Though Mr. Bingley had made her more than welcome, the rest of the party had treated her with the exact opposite reaction. That such tiresome company could prevent her from feeling tired, she thought, was very ironic indeed. Sitting up, Lizzie swung her legs over the side of the bed, and ran her fingers through her thick, brown hair. She certainly would not be sleeping tonight, so she might as well see what Netherfield's meager book collection offered.

After slipping on a robe, Lizzie made her way towards her bedroom door, and tiptoed down the hall. Quickly, but ever so quietly, she padded down the stairs, careful to skip the step that always squeaked. Once downstairs, there was less of a need to be quiet, as everyone was sleeping upstairs. Nevertheless, she was cautious. Lizzie wrapped her fingers around the handle to the library door, and slowly creaked it open. She stepped over the threshold and eased the door shut behind her. The room smelled of leather, parchment paper, and the remaining embers of a fire. A smile graced Lizzie's face. It almost reminded her of home. The books, though few, made her feel like she belonged, contrary to the scathing remarks from Miss Bingley and the condescending looks from Mr. Darcy. Here, she could forget about the burdens of life for a time and busy herself within the world of literature.

Using the withering firelight to see, she found a collection of Shakespeare's works. Lizzie pulled A Midsummer Night's Dream from its place on the shelf, but as she did so, she noticed something dark green on the other side. She removed The Taming of the Shrew to see a little better, and almost dropped the book out of surprise. There, in the armchair by the hearth, wearing a dark green waistcoat, was a sleeping Mr. Darcy.

From the angle at which she saw him, Lizzie could tell that he was not slumbering peacefully. His hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair, and he was murmuring something unintelligible. The orange glow from the fireplace reflected off beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. The pine-colored waistcoat was unbuttoned, and had she not been afraid of waking him, Lizzie might have laughed at the usually fastidious Mr. Darcy's disheveled appearance. She thought it wiser that she should leave instead, but never got the chance to even stand, for it was then that the dragon roused. All in the same moment, his eyelids flew open, he sat bolt upright in the chair, and he gasped her name.

"Elizabeth!"

For a moment, Lizzie was afraid he must have seen her, but the feeling soon vanished when she noticed that he was staring, wide-eyed into space. He was panting quick and shallow breaths and looked even more panic-stricken than before. He must have had a nightmare! Lizzie thought. But what was I doing in it? Perhaps he knows of another Elizabeth?

He must have realized that he was safe in the reality of the library, for he slumped back into the seat, and, though his breath was still labored, appeared to be more relaxed. Lizzie was about to make her presence known to Mr. Darcy when he spoke out-loud to himself.

"How will I ever get her out of my head if she's there even in my dreams?"

Lizzie was astounded. Could he possibly mean herself? She clung onto the idea that there was someone else that he was acquainted with, but it was shocking all the same to hear that he was enamored by someone of the fairer sex at all. Mr. Darcy, who never looks at a woman but to see a blemish, as her father would say. He stood and began pacing, with his eyebrows furrowed together and a frown on his face – not so different from his usual brooding mien, she noted.

"She is absolutely unsuitable," he continued. "And yet..." He paused and stared into the flames with an absent-minded look on his face. Lizzie was yet again shocked to see the depth of emotion displayed on his features. He looked torn between joy and pain.

"… She is everything I have been searching for, but never found. Words simply cannot describe her."

He released a huge sigh. He spoke his next words slowly, and in an almost wistful way, as though he were in great pain.

"I can do nothing about Miss Elizabeth Bennet though, except watch her from afar."

Lizzie stifled a gasp. Any astonishment she had felt before was completely eclipsed by what she felt now. What had he just said? Had she heard right? Was he in his right mind? She could and would have sworn that he saw nothing but fault with her; that the few times he had bothered to gaze upon her were to critique her many imperfections! Why then did it seem that he held a tendre for her?

He turned and leaned his head against the wall with a loud thump and began running his fingers through his mussed hair.

"I have not fallen in love with her." He choked out. "I will not let myself." His voice was barely a whisper as he pulled at his already undone cravat, his forehead still pressing the wall. Lizzie had to strain her ears to hear him.

"If only she were not so bloody bewitching."

A small eternity passed by, until he left the library and headed upstairs to his chambers. When she felt it was safe, Lizzie quickly escaped back to her own rooms, were she would be free to meditate on what she had just learned.