I have already posted this over at AHA, but I miss my readers from this site! As always, the canon characters do not belong to me.
CHAPTER 1
Elizabeth Bennet sat alone and very much beside herself on a quiet bench on one of the many lanes wandering through Rosings Park. In one hand she clutched Mr. Darcy's letter, with the other she massaged the bridge of her nose in an effort to ward off an impending headache.
This time the headache was no ruse designed to avoid company. After Mr. Darcy's hasty exit from the parsonage the night before, Elizabeth had fled to her room. She was furious. How dare he profess his love for her and his condemnation of her family in the same breath! And what of her beloved Jane? Jane, who had all the goodness, sweetness, and kindness that anyone could wish for and who was now robbed of her spirit. After their altercation, she had paced the floor of her chamber in an uproar trying to make sense of her thoughts. All these months she had been carefully cultivating her disapprobation of Mr. Darcy and was utterly convinced he felt the same. What a shock to discover he fancied himself ardently in love. Her family was beneath him, he proudly separated Jane and Bingley, he made no apologies for destroying Mr. Wickham's future, and yet he clearly had not thought to be rejected. The arrogance! When at last she heard Mr. and Mrs. Collins return home with Maria, Elizabeth had quieted herself only from a desperate need to avoid any conversation. The morning brought no improvement to her unsettled thoughts. Coming down to breakfast, she found Charlotte, Mr. Collins and Maria already at table.
"Lizzy, you look pale. Are you well?" Charlotte inquired politely of her friend.
"I am quite well, Charlotte. Thank you. Just a little tired." Elizabeth took only toast and tea from the sideboard before taking her place at the table.
Mr. Collins spoke between great mouthfuls of food, "My dear cousin Elizabeth, Lady Catherine was quite vexed when you did not join us last evening. She is not used to such disrespect from those of a lower rank." He swallowed noisily and made great grunting sounds as he ate.
"You may relay my apologies to Lady Catherine, Mr. Collins; I shall be certain to pay her every civility when next we meet." Elizabeth's voice conveyed a congeniality she did not feel.
"See that you do, cousin. You are very fortunate that a lady of her station takes an interest in you. Lady Catherine was saying that she should be happy to see you extend your stay as you might benefit from her excellent counsel. She also provided my dear Charlotte with a headache remedy for your use given to her by her own apothecary; of course such condescension is in her nature."
It was all Elizabeth could do to maintain her countenance at the parson's comment. While she normally could look on Lady Catherine with some amusement, this morning she was in no humour to indulge either her obsequious cousin or the second-hand strictures of his patroness. Both put her too much in mind of the latter's obnoxiously presumptuous nephew and his insulting offer.
She refrained from commenting and instead remained at breakfast just long enough to be civil and then took her leave, "Pray excuse me, I find fresh air to be an excellent remedy for a sleepless night and I believe I shall take a short walk." As the others were still eating, no one cared to join Elizabeth on her outing and she was able to escape the parsonage alone. Remembering Mr. Darcy's gift for finding her on her morning wanderings, Elizabeth deliberately set out along a different path in hopes of avoiding that gentleman.
Her efforts were in vain. He had not found her, but in her preoccupation with her own thoughts her feet directed themselves to their usual route. She then became careless and walked directly into his broad-shouldered back. Caught unaware, she stumbled and would have fallen had the gentleman not had his wits about him. Turning on the spot, Mr. Darcy caught her elbow and steadied her.
"Mr. Darcy!" "Miss Bennet!" They spoke at the same time.
His hand lingered on her elbow just a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, but not so long as to stretch the bounds of propriety. In that brief moment, his eyes were unguarded and what she glimpsed there surprised her. She saw not censure but, could it be? Warmth? Concern? Apology? Perhaps even regard? Before the thought could fully form, each took a full step back from the other.
Elizabeth curtsied and spoke first. "Mr. Darcy, I apologize. I was woolgathering and lost my footing. Please do not think I came this way to seek you out." Whatever had been in his eyes before vanished and they resumed their usual cool and distant appearance. If the eyes were truly the window to the soul, she had just watched the shutters over his snap shut. Without understanding why, Elizabeth found herself saddened by the idea that she could be the cause of such a thing.
Mr. Darcy bowed his greeting and replied, "Of course not madam. In fact I have been waiting here all this morning in hopes of placing this letter in your hand. Please do me the courtesy of reading it at your earliest convenience. I," he hesitated and once again Elizabeth thought she glimpsed a shadow of something in his eyes, "I ask nothing more of you." With that he turned and walked quickly away. Elizabeth could not name the thing she felt in her heart as his tall figure retreated from her view.
Hateful, hateful man! She stared down at the letter in her hand, at once both curious as to its contents and determined not to read it. Surely no good could come from reading the thing. After walking on a bit more she finally allowed that such a man as Mr. Darcy would not exert himself to seek her out after her brutal rejection the night before if he did not have something of significance to impart. Upon first perusal, she could not bring herself to read more than half the letter and wished not to credit even that. The pain of seeing her family through another's eyes was unwelcome. She recollected the night of the Netherfield ball with perfect and humiliating clarity. Lydia and Kitty, both foolish, wild, and uncontrolled as they chased after officers; her mother loudly bragging to all and sundry of Jane's presumed match with a man of large fortune; Mary, so anxious to perform and have her share of notice and attention; and, in the end, her father simply laughing at them all. She thought of her dearest Jane and remembered Charlotte's warning that Jane ought to show more affection so as not to leave the object of it in doubt. Her thoughts were in such turmoil over these things that she walked for a number of minutes before settling on the bench where she now found herself.
Taking a deep breath she read the remainder of the letter.
With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.
Of course you can, Mr. Darcy. Who would dare dispute the Master of Pemberley?
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge, most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities- the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain- to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character- it adds even another motive.
Elizabeth's thoughts tumbled over one another. Why would Mr. Darcy be suspicious of her sentiments to Mr. Wickham? Why would anyone? Surely her manners must be at fault for one gentleman to be so badly deceived regarding not only her affections for himself, but also her feelings toward another. But even so, Mr. Wickham? Vicious? He was so amiable! No. No, this could not be. Mr. Darcy must be guilty of the grossest falsehood! Even as Elizabeth's mind shouted in protest against Mr. Darcy, her heart whispered he would not lower himself to such a deception. She forced herself to continue reading.
My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow- and if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the [preferment], by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere- but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the business was therefore soon settled- he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds.
Elizabeth could not fathom such a sum. How could this be? Surely no one could squander so vast a sum in such a short time. Her mind still struggled against Mr. Darcy's account. She could not reconcile the handsome, charming, and amiable George Wickham of her memory against the villainous scoundrel of Darcy's tale.
All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question- of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances- and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.
I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he has imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at, ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either. Detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavor to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth let the pages fall from her hand. Her mind and heart had come to an accord; it must all be true. There was no reason for Mr. Darcy to expose himself or his sister in such a terrible manner otherwise. If she gave credit to his account of Wickham, then she must also accept as truth he did not believe Jane to be attached to Mr. Bingley. He may well have been presumptuous, even arrogant in guiding his friend but she could see that his actions were not meant to be malicious. The ache that had begun to form unheeded in her heart when Mr. Darcy left her that morning in the woods threatened to grow into overwhelming despair as she began to comprehend how little she knew herself, how badly she had misjudged him, and just what that judgment may have cost her. Mr. Darcy's remark at the assembly had struck where she was most vulnerable. Elizabeth could not remember a time when she did not hear her mother's voice saying, "You will never be as pretty as Jane" or "You are nothing to Jane." So when the handsome gentleman from Derbyshire had pronounced her merely tolerable, the arrow found its mark with alarming accuracy and despite all her efforts to laugh, she had in fact been truly wounded. Mr. Wickham could not have chosen better ears for his half-truths and sad tales, so ready was she to believe that Mr. Darcy must be of insufficient character. She had allowed her senseless, injured vanity to color her perception of both gentlemen. Still, Elizabeth told herself that even if she had known the truth about Mr. Wickham, she could not have accepted Mr. Darcy's proposal. He had shown a decided disdain for her family and had made it perfectly clear he felt himself to be in every way superior to her. She was determined to at least find mutual respect in her marriage partner and was convinced it would not be so with Mr. Darcy. Even as Elizabeth dwelled on this, she thought again of her harsh words the night before and was deeply ashamed. She wondered if Mr. Darcy could ever forgive the slight to his character, or if she had lost his good opinion forever. She wondered when his good opinion had become of any consequence to her at all. Charlotte's words from the Netherfield ball echoed in her mind, "Do not be a simpleton Elizabeth. It would not do to let your feelings for Mr. Wickham cause you to slight a gentleman of ten times his consequence." Charlotte could not have known then that Mr. Darcy's worth far exceeded his income. Elizabeth remained on the bench for several more minutes before gathering her resolve and returning to the parsonage with the letter tucked safely inside the pages of her book.
CHAPTER 2
After leaving Elizabeth on the path, Darcy hastened first to the parsonage where he thought to await her return. However, when the house came in sight he found he could not bear the idea of seeing scorn in her eyes. Feeling himself to be an utter coward, he returned to the lanes and wandered some time before finally returning to Rosings Park. He had no doubt Lady Catherine would have long since noticed his absence and he did not think even his excellent valet could hold her off indefinitely.
Elizabeth's rousing condemnation of the night before still rang in his ears. "…if you had behaved in a more gentleman like manner…" He wondered if she could possibly know how deeply her words had wounded him. He knew her to often voice opinions that were not her own merely for the sport of debate. The Miss Elizabeth he knew could be outspoken, lively, and even, on occasion, a trifle acerbic; but he did not believe her capable of deliberate cruelty. Nay, her words, even spoken in pique, were not intended to harm. Of that he felt he could be assured, just as he was assured he had never held her approbation. Why should he care for her good opinion? What did it matter? He knew himself to be a gentleman after all, and he was not going to see the likes of Elizabeth Bennet again. He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the feeling of terrible dread and panic that rose in his heart at the thought of never again seeing the sparkle of amusement in her eyes or the sunlight as it caught her hair. No, he thought, best not to dwell on what would never be. Damn it all! What could he have been thinking in giving her that letter? He was taking a terrible risk in trusting her; and this time he was risking more than his heart, or even his pride. This time, in deciding to trust a woman, he was risking his sister's future.
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
At three and twenty Fitzwilliam Darcy was in love. He had given his heart without reserve to a most deserving young lady of the ton and in doing so would make an eligible match for his family. He felt himself fortunate to have made a love match with the eldest daughter of an earl. Smiling, he looked across the room and found his betrothed, Lady Arabella Barlow, among a small group of ladies. Lady Arabella, daughter of Lord and Lady Rawlins, was eighteen, graceful, charming, elegant, and demure. He thought her the loveliest of creatures and he very much admired her accomplishments at the pianoforte, drawing, as well as several modern languages. Though her mind was not turned toward more serious or complicated matters, he did not worry. He had his cousin Richard, his school friend Charles Bingley, and others of his acquaintance for verbal sparring and debate. In his wife he would find solace and comfort in her pretty smiles and gentle touch. Marriage to her would also bring excellent connections to the Darcy family and would surely raise his worth in his father's eyes.
"Darcy you look as though you could best old Bony himself tonight." Richard Fitzwilliam joined his cousin at the upstairs banister overlooking the ballroom of an elegant London home belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Addison. Mr. Addison was a long-time associate of Darcy's father, his son Phillip had been in Darcy's class at Cambridge, and both were frequent visitors to Pemberley. The ball was celebrating the recent engagement of Phillip to one Miss Clara Stanhope of some twenty thousand pounds and a respected family. "You are actually smiling. What secret do you hide, cousin?"
Darcy turned to Richard, his smile broadening to encompass his entire face. "Lady Arabella has consented to be my wife. The contracts will be drawn up this week and we will be married from Pemberley in two months' time."
"That is cause for celebration indeed! Your father must be pleased. You have finished Cambridge and found a wife all in the same year! What more could he wish of his son?" Richard clapped his cousin soundly on the shoulder.
Darcy's countenance darkened briefly at Richard's words. "What he always wishes. He will wish that I were George Wickham." Darcy fairly spat the name.
Richard leaned on the banister, "You still have not told him of Wickham's proclivities? What in hell are you waiting for Darcy? Wickham's antics are going to land him in gaol. The blackguard will not stop until he is arrested, or killed by an angry father or husband. Surely your father cannot still believe in Wickham's innocence?"
"My father sees only what Wickham wishes him to see. George Wickham is all affability and charm when he is at Pemberley. He has been careful not to meddle with the servant girls, he uses the household credit so there are no debts, and he abstains from gaming while in the neighborhood. Anything I say sounds like a whinging, neglected school-boy desperate for attention." Darcy took a deep breath, sighed and turned to his favourite cousin, "Enough! I will not have Wickham's shadow cast a pall over this evening. Come, let us return to the ball. I find myself in want of a certain lady's companionship." With that, the two men rejoined the larger company.
Finding his lady with her friends, Mr. Darcy took her hand, bowed slightly and introduced his cousin. "Lady Arabella, may I present my cousin, Major Richard Fitzwilliam. Major Fitzwilliam, the lovely Lady Arabella."
Arabella curtsied and said, "Major Fitzwilliam, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My dear Mr. Darcy speaks very highly of you." Though her tone was perfectly civil and her manners engaging, Richard could not help but feel that something was amiss. Her smile held more flirtation than delight and did not quite reach her eyes.
Making his bow, the Major replied, "Lady Arabella, the pleasure is mine. I was sure my cousin was destined to live out his days a single man. You must be extraordinary indeed to have captured his affections."
"You compliment me, sir. Mr. Darcy tells me you have recently returned from France. What a fascinating life you must lead. Tell me, have you had many…adventures on the continent? Do you protect all the ladies with your sword?" The major was astonished to hear such vulgar speech from a young lady in a ballroom. The brazen chit actually batted her lashes at him! Deuces! Darcy was standing right next to him, and the man's intended was flirting! Her betrothed seemed not to notice, but Richard was appalled.
"A soldier's life is not so very fascinating and only those who have never seen battle would call it an adventure. I daresay you will find life with your betrothed will offer much more entertainment." Richard placed a slight but biting emphasis on the word betrothed. "Begging your pardon, but I must find my partner. The supper set is next." The Major bowed curtly and took his leave.
"Your cousin is all politeness, Mr. Darcy. We must invite him to Pemberley for Christmas." She gave him her best smile and placed her hand on his arm.
"Whatever you like, my dearest." He took her small hand in his, and lightly brushed the knuckles against his lips. "I believe we are engaged for this set?"
"We are, kind sir." She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor and noted carefully the envy in the eyes of her peers. She, Lady Arabella, in only her first season out, had captured the heir of Pemberley. The small smile that curved her lips was part triumph and part glee. Now she had only to convince him that they could not wait two months. No, two months would not do at all.
Later that night, Arabella spied Darcy alone on an outside balcony. Seeing her opportunity, she immediately made her way to his side. Stepping close to him she said, "The night air is quite refreshing, is it not, my love?"
Being a man of strict principles and keenly aware of watching eyes, Darcy was somewhat shocked when Arabella appeared by his side with no chaperone in sight. He glanced quickly around. "Indeed it is, but, Bella, we should not be out here alone. What if we are discovered? Come, let us return to the ball." He was thinking of their reputations and of the scandal to the Darcy, Barlow, and Fitzwilliam families if the two of them were found in company on the balcony alone. Darcy could hear his father's voice as clearly as if the man stood before him, "You are first and always a Darcy of Pemberley. Never forget that." His father would never forgive him if he brought shame to their family. He would not take the risk, not even for her.
"Oh, la, Fitz, surely we will not be in so very much trouble? After all, we are soon to be married." She stepped closer to him and placed her small gloved hand on his chest.
Darcy's heart raced with desire as he placed his large hand over hers and looked at her a long moment. He wanted to kiss her right there on the balcony with the moon shining down and the sounds of the orchestra drifting into the night. He could smell the faint hint of rosewater and her skin glowed in the candlelight. He raised his hand to her face and then stepped back with a great effort. "Bella we must not! Indeed, it is because we wish to be married that we cannot be seen in this manner. Nothing has been made public, we are not officially recognized. We must go inside this instant." Darcy was determined that he and his betrothed would not be compromised even by suggestion. He did not wish to marry under a cloud of scandal and would not dishonor his family for a moment's pleasure. Darcy grasped Arabella by the arm and turned to walk back through the doors. Arabella resisted at first, but seeing that he would not relent, she finally acceded to his wish and followed him into the ballroom. Arabella rolled her eyes at Darcy's back. This would never do, and if Darcy would not cooperate, Arabella would find someone more amenable.
As the evening wore on, Arabella's efforts to compromise herself with Darcy grew increasingly bold. Darcy was baffled by her behavior. "Lady Arabella. Bella, sweetheart, please. I am as anxious as you are, but we must not." He was fending her off once again. This time she had followed him into the library and it seemed her hands were everywhere at once. He was not immune to her many charms, and in fact was near the breaking point. She would, after all, be his wife in a few months' time. They would not be the first couple to dabble. But, dammit, he would not disgrace Pemberley or the Darcy name. He would do this one thing to make his father proud.
Arabella pressed herself along the length of his body and snaked one arm around his neck, wrapping her fingers in the curls at its base. "Fitz, my darling" she whispered into his neck, "I cannot wait. I love you. Please."
Darcy shuddered with desire and bent his mouth to hers. Their kiss was at first tender, then passionate. But before passion could be fulfilled, Darcy brought his hand to her arms and set Arabella away from himself. "No. No, Bella. I shall not. I will fetch you some punch." He did not see or hear the crystal vase that flew across the room and shattered against the door that closed behind him.
"Damn your honor, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and damn you." Arabella sank into the nearest chair and wept.
Also as always, this story and its contents are the sole property of the author. Any duplication for publication in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.
