AN: Some of the words may seem familiar – and in truth I've borrowed (hints of) some lines and scenarios from both Jane Austen and Deborah Moggach (screenplay author of Joe Wright's P&P 2005); simply because I think they worded certain statements/situations best. A bit of a tribute to their genius. My sincerest apologies.
I've written this with Matthew Macfadyen's Darcy and Keira Knightley's Lizzy in mind; suffice it to say all the other characters around them – are those from the 2005 film (though there are a few 'passing' new ones). My Darcy has blue eyes, and Charles Bingley, along with Caroline, has red hair, and there is no Mr. & Mrs. Hurst here.
This started from a scene I had in my head (that I couldn't get rid of) and I've always loved writing so… to make it short… fifteen – 15! – chapters later here I am. This is a piece of contemporary fanfiction; set in England, with a few changes here and there but basically pretty much essentially, still our beloved love story. I hope you enjoy reading this. My deepest thanks to MrsG (who corrected quite a bit, and basically saved my story) and Eli, my lovely, generous betas who have been so supportive and encouraging. This wouldn't have been finished without your help. No copyright infringement intended.
A Series of Misunderstandings
Chapter 1
William Darcy's Office
July 6th
Friday 4.50pm
"I'm sorry Miss Bennet, but he's still in a meeting. Is he expecting you?"
"Well, no, not this afternoon," Lizzy said, for lack of a better answer. She didn't think it would bode well for her to tell the truth and answer with a 'no, not at all'. She watched the older woman peer up at her, scrutinizing her through thick, heavily-rimmed eyeglasses.
"He might be another half-hour in there or more, but I'll show you into his office lounge. I'm his assistant, Ellen Smithson."
Surprised at how easy that had been, Lizzy managed a meek "thank you" before following the woman into the next room. A dark leather sofa and matching leather armchairs flanked the waiting area, a polished mahogany coffee table separating them. Mrs. Smithson waved her towards the chairs, placing a tray of tea and cookies before her. Lizzy smiled appreciatively at William's assistant as she left the room, even as she thought her actions needless – she was far too nervous to sit down or eat anything. Now all she had to do was wait.
It had been a week since she had received the lengthy email from her Aunt Gardiner, detailing the truth behind her youngest sister Lydia's fateful incident. Lizzy's uncle Edward Gardiner, her mother's younger brother, lived in London with his wife Emma, and they had graciously hosted Lydia for a month of arts classes. Lizzy had initially disputed the entire proposal with her father, drawing attention to her sister's irresponsibility and lack of discipline; adding that a certain George Wickham's involvement in the course was most likely her primary reason for the sudden desire to take up sculpture.
George Wickham was a young man who had stayed in their hometown of Meryton for winter to the first weeks of spring, facilitating painting and sketching lessons at the community center during the five months he was there. Handsome, charming and well-mannered, he was favorably received by the town's residents; and the friendly and easygoing young artist was even more popular with the young crowd – particularly with the young ladies. He seemed the ideal man: he exuded an artist's sensitivity, was always pleasant, and always got on well with everyone. The fact that he was also remarkably attractive - hazel eyes, long blond hair, a wide, easy smile that seemed permanently affixed to his face - was a definite advantage; something not considered essential but obviously appreciated.
Within the first two months of his stay, the female population in his classes doubled. A majority consisted of teenage girls who, while not so skilled at painting or the like, displayed an eager fascination with the arts. The remaining female students were those who had heard rumors of the new art instructor's good looks and charisma and simply wanted to find out for themselves whether those rumors had any foundation – after all, the fees for the lessons were practically negligible. Lydia, Lizzy's youngest sister – who had just turned sixteen - had been one of the latter group.
Lydia's participation in his class guaranteed a closer relationship than he maintained with her older sisters – though all had found him interesting and likable enough – and she held that distinction with pride. She especially liked to brag about this to Lizzy, the only sister that George paid more attention to than she would have thought necessary. Lydia's only consolation was that her older sister was, more often than not, too occupied with her greenhouse experiments to spend entire weekends with the young man; weekends that Lydia made sure were kept completely free for her own benefit.
On his last week of teaching at the center, George received word that his application for a series of art classes in a foundation affiliated with the Chelsea College of Arts & Design had been approved. It was a step forward for his career, and though his students were deeply saddened that he was leaving them very soon, Lizzy only expressed the sincerest desire that he would be successful. She was well-aware this could be the opportunity he was waiting for – the chance to shine as a talented artist; on his own merit, with nothing but hard work and determination to sustain him. What would the great William Darcy say to his wealthy, art-devoted peers once he found out that the newest talent making the rounds of London was someone he had once denied an arts scholarship to? George had declared it the perfect way to settle the score with his former patron. He had been very confident that he would make his old friend regret his past actions, and though Lizzy had thought he might have voiced too vicious a thought, she had brushed it off, reassuring herself that had she been in George Wickham's place, she would have felt the same way about the rich, snobby young man.
In the end Lydia had triumphed, wearing down Mr. Bennet with her daily wheedling and whining, until he finally lost patience and all but pushed his youngest daughter into leaving in hopes of once again gaining peace and quiet. Mrs. Bennet, who obviously favored Lydia over her other four daughters, was delighted with her husband's last-minute verdict. It was only Lizzy who showed dissent and frustration at her father for the decision; and he attempted to appease her by guaranteeing that she could not do much under the Gardiners' watchful eyes, as their aunt and uncle had, in the past, always proved capable guardians.
Midway through Lydia's stay, Aunt Gardiner had noticed that she began to keep odd hours, coming in very late in the evenings. Lydia had shrugged off all inquires, claiming that she and a few classmates would often remain long after the lessons were officially over, working on their pieces – being the slaves to inspiration they were. She'd taken no particular notice of the schedule her niece kept, after all, if Lydia, notorious for jumping into something with both feet then bailing herself out halfway once she tired of it – was finally learning to finish what she had started – then the lessons might be exactly what she needed all along. When she didn't come home one night, Mrs. Gardiner naturally assumed she'd spent it with a classmate who'd stayed over a couple of times, a Ruth Hayes, who husband and wife had liked well enough. That one night turned into two – then an entire weekend. Though Mrs. Gardiner had begun to worry, she knew better than to alert her brother and sister-in-law then; Lydia was the most daring of her nieces to be sure, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd 'in all the fun, forgotten to call'. She didn't want to raise unnecessary concern over a weekend of extended revelry. Their prudent aunt made calls to a few hospitals – just in case – and when that turned up nothing, she and their uncle decided to pay a visit to the arts center, this time hoping that Lydia had just, well, been once again, careless, thoughtless Lydia. Being a Sunday, there were few people at the arts center – and hardly any students at all. Lydia's instructor was fortunately in attendance, holding his weekly meeting with the foundation's chief patron. The Gardiners, after much hesitation, were ushered into the office with the benefactor still present – though sitting quietly in a far corner of the room, paging through some files. They were briefly introduced, and it was at this point in her letter that her aunt brought everything to light.
'After hearing your stories, I was wondering if the handsome young man before me was the same William Darcy you were acquainted with. His manners were polite and sincere, and I saw none of the arrogance you spoke of. He opted to give us a few minutes privacy, and your uncle insisted that he stay, already conscious that it was us who were asking for a favor in the meeting and promised our call would be a brief one. Lydia's professor then informed us of her absences, remarking that he'd noticed her spending more time with George Wickham than attending to her work; and that both had been absent for the past few days of sessions, somehow alluding there was something more to their relationship that just being classmates. Then he told us that there was no Ruth Hayes in their class. We might have found ourselves feeling embarrassed with Mr. Darcy in earshot of all that he'd said, but to be honest at that point our minds were in chaos, I suppose we were too shocked to even react. How could your sister be so foolish; and how could we have been so lenient? I had underestimated her lack of discipline.
Mr. Darcy brought us back to the conversation by breaking the silence, apologizing for his 'rudeness' as he did, then proceeded to ask us questions about her possible whereabouts – any places in the city she liked to go to regularly, or even those that she'd mentioned in passing. Your uncle and I could not remember anything, and I would have thought he would blame us for such negligence, instead he very nicely asked if we could wait in the establishment's café while he had a few words with your sister's instructor.
He did not keep us waiting for long, it seems Mr. Darcy is very well-connected: in less than an hour he'd located George Wickham's temporary place of residence here in London, and somehow managed to gain access to it as well. We found ourselves in his vehicle and moving swiftly towards possibly, one of the seediest parts of London – this, your uncle and I realized in alarm, for our driver did not say much during the ride. It was a bit strange how I felt Mr. Darcy shared our tension; though I made no mention of it. I am certain now that at that point, he had no definite knowledge that we would find Lydia there, only hope it would lead us to her. At last we pulled up to an old, sad-looking building, and made our way to the second floor with the middle-aged landlady leading us. To our utter horror, the door opened to Lydia lying on the floor, pale, unconscious and running a fever. She was alone in the flat. In that moment I was most grateful for the young man's presence, as he hurriedly picked her up – something your uncle would have had trouble attempting – and within minutes we were at the hospital. Mr. Darcy phoned his doctors and had them come in to supervise her recovery. With suspicion that she may have used certain recreational drugs, tests were performed and the doctors were glad to tell us that other than being extremely exhausted and dehydrated – because we had gotten to her in time and with the help of her youth, she was out of danger and there was nothing else the matter with her. Upon hearing this I almost collapsed in relief; I would not have been able to bear it had her condition been revealed serious. And to think she had been entrusted to us by your family!
Once she'd regained consciousness we were called in to see her, and sensing Mr. Darcy's anxiety at the situation, I asked him to join us. He stayed behind Edward for the most part, and though your sister saw him enter with us, I did not think she would remember afterwards, groggy and dazed as she still was – add to that he did not say a word while in the room. Which made his next request easier to accept: that none of your family be told of his part in Lydia's recovery. Though we found it strange, he'd done significantly more than what was needed, and if this was the only thing he asked for in return, your uncle and I could not refuse him. We called your father that evening, and told him what had happened, claiming credit that wasn't rightfully ours. The next morning, I arrived at the hospital to find Mr. Darcy standing guard over a still asleep Lydia. He informed me that she'd been cleared to go home, insisting that his chauffeur take us in his car, obviously intent on keeping up pretenses. I couldn't let him go without a proper thank-you, so I used my seniority to advantage and persuaded him to come over for dinner, once Lydia had safely returned to Hertfordshire.
I would have kept my word, Lizzy, had Lydia not told you she'd remembered seeing him in the hospital (I must say that all she knows to this day is that he helped to find her), and had you not called me for a clearer account of events. Now you understand why a simple phone call would not suffice – I am glad for the glories of technology, as posting this through regular mail would have taken far too long and I know you would have found it too difficult to wait – you would have been on the next train to London.
I realize that I should have been more suspicious of Mr. Darcy's overwhelming concern for Lydia during the crisis, after all, your uncle and I had just met him and your sister was an acquaintance at the most, but my mind was too preoccupied to think of it then.
It was during our dinner the next week that I began to slowly understand his reasons. He hardly spoke, like you'd always said – yet I couldn't see the haughty manner you described so acutely. He sat, relaxed through the meal, seemingly content to listen to our stories about you and your sisters; and though he never said a word I wonder if he was aware how he paid closer attention when we spoke about you in particular. It was most entertaining to see him listen to your recent dealings with the cultivation of Longbourn's woodland strawberries, expression rapt. Even your uncle thought he found your horticultural activities far too interesting, for you know with my dear Edward, when it comes to fruits his only concern is whether there is double cream to have with it nearby.
I believe, Lizzy, even with your extraordinary ability to recognize most people's character in so little time, you may have misunderstood the man. His actions in a time of crisis revealed more of his character than I think any of us would have seen even after spending weeks in his company as you had. Perhaps now that I allow myself to dwell on it I realize that he may have had someone else in mind as he orchestrated your sister's rescue. I leave you to ponder on that, my dear niece.'
Lizzy remembered taking that letter with her everywhere since then, a multitude of emotions washing over her whenever she would read it again. The guilt and shame kept her awake at night; and she knew not just an apology was necessary but also acknowledgment of his exceptional deed. If her family was never to know about it, at least she wanted him to know what she thought of it… of him.
And so seven days later, she found herself, at the end of office hours, alone in his vast office – thank goodness his assistant had let her in, else she would have probably lost her nerve. The dim lighting in the office afforded her a great view of London at night – not that she was surprised his office had a great view. Had she really expected anything less? A passing glance at his desk showed folders and documents in neat piles, confirming what she already knew of the man who always looked so polished and put-together. She glanced at her watch – 5 minutes – then ran her hands down her coat a third time. This was getting ridiculous. She was becoming ridiculous. Why should he affect her so? She was here to serve as an ambassador to the Bennet family. No one else but the Gardiners would ever know what he had done for Lydia, therefore no one in her family besides her would have the opportunity to properly thank him. If he saw her tonight and dismissed her outright, she would not blame him. She could only pray he would listen to and accept her apology.