AN: The third paragraph has a description of an abusive relationship. It is marked with line breaks start and finish. You can skip it and not miss anything important
Elizabeth sat in the shade of her favorite tree and engaged in a bout of self-pity that she would not have thought herself capable of before her wedding four months ago. This moment was an indulgence of sorts on her part, as her husband was off attending some business in town meaning that she did not have to maintain the air of contentedness that he required. Well, perhaps 'required' was not the right word, it was just that when he picked up on her depression he insisted on spending more time with her to cheer her up, an action that, of course, had the opposite effect entirely.
Suffering his company during the day was more than she could bear. As it was, it was taking all her willpower to lie still endure nightly visits. He was distressingly attentive to his 'husbandly duty'. Despite her mother's assurances that such visits would flag quickly, he not only showed no indications of such but also rebuffed all the little tips and excuses her mother had provided to avoid her duties. Except on Sundays or when she was experiencing her courses, he would come to her, and take such liberties with her body as made her want to die of shame.
The first night she had tried to turn him away he had actually become violent, hitting her hard enough that she could not be seen in public for nearly a week. One more attempt at resistance prompted such a reaction from her husband that she concluded it was easier just to submit. Her next tactic was to retire early claiming a headache and a need to rest, but that did not deter him either. Waking up to her husband pounding into her was easily as traumatic as being struck for resisting.
The only consolation was that he retired to his own chamber afterwards, allowing her to cry herself to sleep, which was exactly how she ended nearly every night of her marriage.
Unconsciously, she drew her knees to her chest and began to rock slightly as she pondered exactly how much worse it was about to become. She had not had her courses last month and was beginning to notice differences in her body: she was more fatigued than usual, had little appetite in the morning, and her breasts had become almost painfully tender. Not only was she married to one of the stupidest brutes in England, but now she was going to have to have his life growing within her. It was enough to make her want to vomit. She hugged her knees tighter to her as she contemplated asking for a bath to be drawn for her tomorrow morning; she had just had a bath yesterday, and the servants might think the request odd, but she just felt so soiled.
A crunching of gravel nearby drew her attention back to the present, and she quickly arranged herself in a less objectionable position, smoothing the wrinkles of her gown, praying that it was not her husband returned early. She opened the book that she had brought out as a cover should she be discovered, and stared unseeing at the page in front of her.
"I thought I might find you here," came a kind voice.
She stifled a small gasp of surprise, and stood up quickly to greet her companion, "Mr. Darcy."
"Mrs. Collins," he had a hint of a smile on his lips when she looked up, but it died instantly as she staggered. He was at her side quickly, supporting her to a bench. "Are you unwell?" He knelt in front of her, peering intently at her face, "You have been crying!"
"It is nothing, Mr. Darcy, I just stood up too quickly. It has already passed." She hoped he would not notice that she only addressed his first statement.
He continued to stare at her, and she found his gaze somewhat disconcerting, but could not look away. As if in a trance, he brought his hands up and cupped her face, using his thumbs to gently wipe away the tears that had begun to trail down her cheeks. "I am so sorry," he said, and his tone was such that she could not but believe him. His eyes were so compassionate that the tears began to flow faster, and before she realized what she had done, her hands were on top of his, pressing his palms more firmly to her cheeks.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, sir."
"I do," Darcy insisted. "If I had not let my damned pride get in the way, I could have saved you this pain. You are not happy here, and you have no idea how it pains me to see it."
"You should not say such things, Mr. Darcy. How could you possibly have prevented this? Mr. Bingley left – breaking Jane's heart – and in the wake of such a loss, my mother's hysterics in regards to our future reached new heights, and even my father could not stand against her insistence that I accept my cousin's proposal. What exactly would you have done?"
"I would have shown you how much I loved you." Elizabeth caught her breath. This was not what she expected him to say. She knew she should stop him from saying more, but she could not. As her tears continued to fall, he opened his heart to her. "If I had not been in such a foul mood at the assembly, I would not have refused to dance; if I had not been so worried about the approbation of London society I would have paid you every attention you deserved; if I had not been afraid of losing myself so completely to you – as if I could prevent it – you would not have left Netherfield with your sister before I had proved how much you mean to me. It nearly kills me every time I see that—that oaf take your hand. I see how you shy away from his touches, and I see that the light behind your eyes has died. I want nothing more than to take you away from here, and keep you always by my side, and to see to it that you never have cause for tears again."
Agitated, Elizabeth stood, but Darcy caught her hands, keeping her in place. His eyes pled for her understanding, and she felt that she did understand him. She had heard enough of Mr. Wickham and Darcy from Lady Catherine (debts, refusing the living, more debts, trifling with the servants) to conclude that the former's story was a well-spun web of lies. Furthermore, over the last two weeks, she had learned much about Darcy. She understood that he was a good man, and that he was deeply in love with her. She also understood that he was the type of man with whom she would have been happy with in marriage, but she could not entertain thoughts of that kind – she could not bring shame down on her family. "Please, sir, we cannot – Mr. Collins will return soon and I must…"
"Elizabeth," with one word he begged her for everything she wanted to give him—everything she could not give him. She could have loved him, she could love him still, but for his own sake he must never know.
She shook her head violently, tugging on her hands. "I cannot. My family…"
"I will protect…"
"No! Please, do not ask again. I cannot." On sudden inspiration, she spoke the truth that she hoped would help him resign himself to his fate, "I am with child, Mr. Darcy."
This might not have stopped him, but it did shock him enough that he loosened his grip on her hands. She took a step away, heading towards the parsonage house when she saw Mr. Collins coming down the drive, returning from town.
It was too much. Elizabeth panicked and bolted away from both men and, seeing no other escape, headed towards the lane that led along the border of Rosings. Over the sound of her own sobs and the rushing of blood in her ears, she did not hear the approaching carriage until it was too late.
The last thing she heard over screaming of horses, and crash of the carriage was a voice, as if from a distance, calling "Elizabeth!"
"Elizabeth," the voice called again, still from far away.
Confused and in pain, Elizabeth tried to move, only to find herself unable to do so. This frightened her even more, and she cried out as she struggled.
"Shhh, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, calm down. It is alright. You are safe. Please calm down before you hurt yourself further. Shhh, Elizabeth, shhhh."
As the voice soothed her, she realized that her restraints consisted of a strong pair of arms wrapped firmly around her. Unconsciously, she relaxed into the embrace, settling her back against a very solid chest.
"That's right. Shhh." She was conscious enough now to recognize that the voice was male. A man was holding her, and she felt uncommonly safe. As she stopped struggling, the grip relaxed, and she felt the man's head come to rest against her own, his breath tickling her ear.
She tried to open her eyes, but the brightness of her surroundings was painful, and she shut them again moaning, and shrinking deeper into the man's arms. For right now, she decided, it would be best to remain still, as every passing moment she became conscious of a new ache or pain.
After a minute of silence, she thought she was master enough of herself to speak. "W-what," she coughed against the roughness in her throat, "what happened?"
The body behind her stiffened. "Elizabeth?" The voice was surprised, but almost painfully tinged with hope. "Elizabeth, are you really awake this time? Can you hear me?"
"Yes. What happened?" she asked again.
"There was a carriage accident." The voice was thick with emotion, "You were badly hurt, and have been unconscious for nearly a week. I was beginning to think you would never wake up." She felt him shudder and tighten his arms around her, "Will you not open your eyes?"
"Too bright," she responded, her voice still hoarse.
The man shifted, laying her down gently on a soft bed. She heard him moving about, and through her closed eyelids, she sensed the room darkening around her. A moment later the bed shifted as, she assumed, he sat down next to her. She felt herself lifted up to lean on him once again, and a glass was held to her lips. "Drink."
She was too thirsty to need to be directed twice. When she was finished, she cautiously opened her eyes and peered around the darkened room. "Where am I?"
"Your chamber at Pemberley," came the worried reply, and a hand gently turned her head until she found herself looking at her companion.
"Mr. Darcy!" she started, then winced at the sudden movement.
"Elizabeth, what is wrong? I shall call the doctor."
"I should not be here," she said, gazing wildly about the room. "What will my family do? What about the baby?"
That stopped Darcy in his tracks halfway to the door. "Baby?" Slowly he turned to her, his face a study of hope and fear, "Lizzy?"
"You should not address me so informally, Mr. Darcy." What an absurd thing to say, she thought as soon as she had said it. As if I should worry how he addresses me, when I am alone in a bedchamber with him.
"Lizzy," he was utterly focused on one thing, and returned to her side and grasped her hand, "tell me, are you with child?"
Elizabeth was confused, "I cannot be certain, but I told you that I suspected as much just before the carriage…" she trailed off, eyes losing their focus as she struggled to recall.
"Dearest, I was in London when your carriage overturned, and you certainly said nothing before I left. I would have postponed my business for such news."
This only increased her confusion, and Elizabeth began to feel distinctly lightheaded as she tried to make sense of the situation.
"Lizzy?" Mr. Darcy's voice was decidedly anxious now, and she heard him run to the door and call for the doctor.
Shortly, the door opened to admit another man. "Mr. Darcy?"
"She is awake but very confused." Darcy's voice was thick with suppressed tension. "She said something about being with child. Is it possible? Was the child harmed in the accident?"
"I saw nothing to make me think that she was with child." The new voice was now at her side, and she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder. "Are you awake, madam?"
She opened her eyes to look up at the newcomer. Her confusion must have shown, because his first words to her were "Do you recognize me?"
"No."
The man's forehead creased in concern. "I am Doctor Phillips. You do not remember meeting me?"
"No, sir."
"But you do remember that man over there."
"Of course. That is Mr. Darcy."
"And what is your name?"
"Why are you asking me so many questions?" Elizabeth was becoming annoyed. She wanted answers, not questions.
"You sustained a head injury in the accident, and I am worried that you have suffered some memory loss. Now, please tell me your full name, if you would be so kind."
"Mrs. Elizabeth Marie Collins."
"What!" Darcy started forward, but Dr. Phillips held up a hand to stay his progress.
"And what is the last thing you remember Mrs. Collins?"
Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to piece together the broken memories. "I was at Hunsford and speaking with Mr. Darcy." She brought her hands up to cover her face, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Mr. Collins came home and I—I did not want to face him, so I ran…I ran and…and there was a carriage…" Images swirled in her head, competing for attention and making her dizzy, "But I remember being inside the carriage. That cannot be right. How could I be inside a carriage that I ran in front of? I—I do not—I c-cannot remember. I…Oh!" The vertigo peaked, bringing with it a searing pain that seemed to shoot from her eyes straight through the back of her head.
"Elizabeth?"
A hand was frantically patting her face.
"Elizabeth? Lizzy? Wake up. Please, wake up."
She blinked, "William?" She blinked again and her vision focused. Darcy was staring at her, and even in the darkened room his pallor was obvious. She saw him gasp before he sagged against the bed, his forehead against her shoulder.
"Sir?" Elizabeth turned to the other man in the room for an explanation. She remembered him introducing himself, "Mr. Phillips?"
"You have given us all quite a fright," said the older man, who indeed looked much relieved, though she could not think why. Nothing had changed from before she fainted, had it? "I will be just outside if you have need of me."
"Mr. Darcy?"
He did not raise his head, and his voice was muffled by her shoulder, but she could just make out "Yes, Mrs. Darcy?"
"Mrs. Darcy?" Elizabeth closed her eyes. That name felt so right. Certainly it was preferable to 'Mrs. Collins.' "Mrs. Darcy," she said again, still hesitant, but with slightly more certainty. Feeling Darcy's gaze upon her, she opened her eyes to study his face, and she found herself reaching over to wipe the tears from his cheeks.
She blinked as a memory presented itself to her, "Why are you not in London?"
Elizabeth had no time to wonder what had prompted that thought, as she found her lips caught in a deep, passionate kiss. Equally surprising was that she felt herself responding, and not at all hesitantly. When did she learn such wanton behavior?
Mr. Collins's kisses were never this pleasant, or this…um…thorough. What? When did I ever kiss Mr. Collins? Oh dear!
Suddenly everything from the accident, to the dream, and the farce that was the last fifteen minutes fell into place, and despite the very ardent kiss she was participating in, she laughed.
Darcy pulled away, "Is there something amusing in this situation? I must admit, I fail to find any humor in it at all."
"How can you not find humor in me declaring myself to be Mrs. Collins," she gasped out between bursts of laughter. "And bearing his child, too." God, but laughing hurt; quickly, she got herself under control, and directed a bright smile at her husband.
Her husband. Mr. Darcy. Her William.
Her husband who was still staring at her, looking rather put out.
"Come, William. You must admit that it was rather an absurd thing for my mind to dream up, my love."
He harrumphed, torn between irritation and profound relief. "As long as you continue to find it absurd, I suppose I can see some humor. I hope that a very little will suffice."
She held her hand out to him, and he took it, kissing each fingertip, every knuckle, her palm, and the inside of her wrist before he met her eyes once more. It was a look full of love, the look that stole Elizabeth's breath every time she saw it.
"Do not ever, ever scare me like that again, Lizzy," the affectionate tone rather ruined the scolding, as did him drawing her into his loving embrace and settling them both down against the pillows.
"I will do my very best, love."
Content and safe, Elizabeth fell asleep in her husband's arms.