A/N: As of 7/1/13, this story has been revised and updated. I am revising most of my shorter stories today, so please feel free to read the others as well!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Elizabeth Bennet detested clichés. She was of the belief, that if there was a stereotypical romantic scene, the cliché in question was insufferable. So as Elizabeth and her fiancé, Fitzwilliam Darcy, were walking down the road to Meryton, her hand in the crook of his arm, the sun setting beautifully in the distance, birds chirping, and the flowers fresh and lovely, Elizabeth was in torture. In fact, if it wasn't for the dashingly handsome gentleman next to her, she would bolt for Longbourn immediately. However, as Elizabeth was afraid that Mr. Darcy enjoyed romantic moments such as these, she stayed, as she didn't wish to ruin it for him.
Mr. Darcy was oblivious to his beloved's discomfort, as his thoughts were, for once, hardly centered upon Elizabeth at all. Fitzwilliam Darcy despised clichés. He was of the belief, that if there was a stereotypical occurrence at all, the cliché in question was irritable. With all the flowers and a picturesque scene that appeared to be from a fairytale, Darcy was in torture. In fact, if it wasn't for the astoundingly beautiful lady beside him, he would sprint towards Netherfield immediately. However, as Darcy was afraid that Elizabeth enjoyed romantic moments such as these, he stayed, for he would do anything rather than ruin it for her.
The couple had been walking for over three quarters of an hour, not saying much apart from the occasional comment on their love, how fine a day it was, or which tablecloths would be used for their wedding. The unspoken discomfort between both was supreme, for the two lovers didn't wish to bring up what was bothering them. Elizabeth was afraid to tell Darcy how little she was enjoying herself apart from the feel of him next to her, and Darcy was nervous to acquaint Elizabeth with the knowledge that if it wasn't for her soft hand on his arm, he would be completely miserable.
Darcy felt like he was being ridiculous. When he and Elizabeth would be joined in holy matrimony, he would expect a trustworthy relationship, and that would be without foundation if he couldn't even relate this little pet peeve of his to her. Darcy knew he was being a coward, and tried to convince himself to just tell her he wanted to do something else, but could not bring himself to do it. He sighed slightly, bringing about the notice of Elizabeth, who squeezed his arm and asked, "Is something wrong, Fitzwilliam?"
He hesitated slightly, not sure whether to tell her the truth when he was given the perfect opportunity, but decided against it and said, "No Elizabeth, I was just admiring the beautiful scene before me. Nothing is the matter." She nodded in acceptance and the couple walked on in silence, Darcy mentally cursing himself for his cowardice, and Elizabeth wondering how she could possibly suggest another activity when he was clearly enjoying himself so much.
They finally reached the top of Oakham Mount, and as they stood on the top of the hill, it was Elizabeth's turn to sigh.
"Darling, what is the matter?" A concerned Darcy inquired.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I was simply thinking about how cliché this is." She responded.
Darcy felt an urge of panic. She was clearly having a marvelous time just enjoying the scenery, and he would be a fool indeed to provoke the woman he loved by commenting on how he disliked the very thing she so much enjoyed.
Elizabeth was also irritated. She wished that they could just leave, or have some jovial conversation as they had the last three weeks of their wonderful engagement. The whole of their relationship had been so entirely without cliché that Elizabeth didn't even think of it, but now that the inevitable was occurring, she recalled just how much she hated the concept. She would just have to voice her thoughts out loud.
Darcy would just have to voice his thoughts out loud.
"Elizabeth I need to confess-"
"Fitzwilliam I'm afraid to say-"
They both looked at each other before laughing.
"Please continue," Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth swallowed her irrational fears and said, "Fitzwilliam, as you are aware, this is a very cliché scene." After she paused, clearly waiting for an answer, he replied, "Yes, you commented on that earlier."
She paused, then continued hesitantly. "I'm afraid to disappoint you."
Before she could continue, Darcy put a hand on her cheek and smiled softly saying, "My dearest Elizabeth, you could never disappoint me."
She felt her heart race as was the norm whenever he was in a fifty feet radius of her, even more so when he touched her. But Elizabeth was on a mission, and was not to be distracted.
"Yes, but I am afraid this will disappoint you. I believe that you are enjoying yourself, but I am afraid that I am not. I have never desired a romance like this, and I am sorry to say that I just do not like it."
He stared at her for a moment, and Elizabeth was saddened to see disappointment, confusion, and sadness on his face.
Darcy dropped his hand from her cheek. Of course it was too good to be true. The past few weeks he had felt like a dream he hoped to never awaken from. But it was useless. Despite all his efforts, Elizabeth still didn't love him. How could she? She was everything he was not, and so much more. Darcy was a fool to think that she could really care for him.
He took a step back and replied stiffly, "I completely comprehend your feelings madam, and have only left to regret what my own have been. Please forgive me for taking up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness." Darcy turned and walked down the hill, all the while repeating to himself, Gentlemen do not cry. Gentlemen do not cry. Gentlemen do not-
"Mr. Darcy, wait! Can we not talk this through?" Elizabeth was distressed. Was Darcy breaking off the engagement? That was certainly how it appeared to her. She could not bear to lose him! There was no one or nothing in the world that she cared for more. Oh why did I have to mention the cliché?
Darcy turned back, a look of sadness on his face. "Madam, I'm afraid that there is nothing left to say, or talk through."
"But Fitzwilliam, you, you cannot! I'm sorry, I truly am! I- I will put up with the romantic clichés if it's that important to you. I should not have said anything, and I apologize, but please do not break the engagement! I will not lose you after all we have worked through to get here!"
Darcy was baffled. Clichés? Breaking the engagement? But wasn't she…
"Elizabeth, I thought that you were breaking off our engagement!" He exclaimed. It was now Elizabeth's turn to be confused. Where did he get that idea? She thought back to her wording, I have never desired a romance like this, and I am afraid that I just do not like it. Oh dear. That could easily be misinterpreted.
"Darling, no I wasn't. There is nothing in the whole world I desire more than to be your wife. I dearly wish you would realize that it is the truth! I was simply referring to the whole cliché idea of the sunny hillside, walking together in the sunset scenario. That is all that displeases me, not you." He still looked unsure, and she felt a pang of guilt. Darcy was very insecure about her affections for him, as he still constantly thought about the first disastrous proposal and her harsh rejection of his suit. Elizabeth spent all of their time together trying to convince him that she loved him deeply, and he seemed to finally come into a state of happy acceptance. Until now.
Elizabeth crossed the space between them and gently put her hand in his.
"Fitzwilliam, I need you to listen to me very carefully. I love you dearly. Don't let your thoughts linger upon what I have said in the past, think about what I am saying now, which is that I love you." She then kissed him softly on the cheek, and Darcy's eyebrows raised in surprise. They had shared small kisses before, but she had never been the one to initiate them. Eventually Elizabeth pulled back and said, "There, better?"
Darcy smiled and took her other hand in his . "Better than ever, my love. And I'm afraid I have something to tell you." She cocked her head to the side inquisitively.
"Elizabeth, I must say that I detest clichés."
She grinned and feigned an innocent expression. "But sir, this whole scenario is cliché! I'm afraid you just won't be able to kiss me anymore, as the concept of a cliché is so despicable to you."
Darcy scowled and then lightly kissed both of her hands. "No indeed madam. I could learn to find clichés very agreeable."
Elizabeth smiled and said, "Darcy, I believe that I have already come to appreciate clichés more."
Darcy heartily agreed, and rest assured, the ending to this story was very cliché.