Author's note
This story may very well be blasphemous, I've always thought that Pride and Prejudice, and Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, were not for ordinary mortals to make free with. And now I've done it myself.
I did write a fan fiction on a Jane Austen novel before, Redemption, an alternative ending to Mansfield Park. But Mansfield Park is not perfect, Jane Austen seems to have had some dislike for Henry and Mary Crawford, and since I rather liked them I thought they deserved a chance to redeem themselves.
Pride and Prejudice however is perfect, it doesn't need an alternative ending, it's great as it is. Elizabeth is the perfect heroine, smart, witty, and human. And Mr Darcy is every woman's ideal of the perfect man, so why write a fan fiction?
I never seriously considered doing it, I have great fun writing my own stories, with characters of my own, who live their own lives, sometimes exciting, and usually rather quiet. My stories are an amalgam of romantic fiction and fantasy, exploring people's emotions and relations rather than describing life-changing events. And hardly anybody reads them.
Whereas Redemption is read quite well, I think because people manage to find it despite the abundance of stories available on the internet, due to its connection to Jane Austen.
Then when I re-read Pride and Prejudice, again, and wondered, again, what poor Mr Darcy was feeling, really feeling, after having been rejected so forcibly by the woman he had been aching for for months, I decided to see whether I could write that down. He is human after all, he must have been devastated all this time, until she finally did accept him, exactly the thing I like to put into words.
And this is the result. If you think it's blasphemous to write about these characters, I totally agree. I've done even worse, for though the action fits with the book nearly exactly, Darcy feels much more intense than any Austen character ever would. And he has some naughty thoughts as well, which people probably did have in that time, but Jane Austen certainly didn't write about. As the story progresses he becomes ever more human, which cannot be helped when delving into someone's feelings.
And Darcy's sister somehow develops some character, which she doesn't in Pride and Prejudice, and she starts to have some influence on her brother's life, which Jane Austen most likely would not approve of, but which does make an interesting tale in my opinion.
So this is it, my version of Mr Darcy's story. I await your verdict with apprehension.
Chapter 1
Darcy carefully closes the door behind him, he has been humiliated enough, he is not going to add to his shame by slamming the door with the anger he feels. For anger is the feeling foremost on his mind, as he legs it through the little garden of the parsonage, across the road, into the park.
Doesn't he have every right to be angry? Hasn't he been made a total fool of by a very young lady who is very much beneath him? She has been playing with his feelings for months, flirting shamelessly, whipping up the flame of his ardour with her witty remarks to his friends and his cousin, and her veiled allusions to himself.
'This is one of my favourite haunts, Mr Darcy', her very words, weren't they an invitation to meet her in the park, one he took her up on like she wanted him to, nearly sick with love and anticipation each time? Didn't he meet her there as often as he dared, keeping himself from going every day with utmost discipline, afraid of her forming expectations of him before he was ready to commit himself, his reason still so much at discord with his feelings?
How dared she encourage him if she didn't want him, despised him, actually?
At the pace he's keeping, he will be at the house in minutes, but he's not ready to face anyone right now, let alone his aunt. He takes a left turn, into the very park where Miss Elizabeth Bennet invited him to walk with her, as cunningly as any city-bred lady.
Except that is not like her at all.
A tiny part of his enraged mind reminds him that she is not cunning, quite the opposite, she is frank and outspoken, the main reason he couldn't forget her, however much he tried. He remembers his devastating realisation almost five months ago now, that the woman who finally made him feel the exultation of love and the fever of passion was not a highly schooled, beautiful and accomplished noble lady from his own sophisticated class, but a country girl of very minor nobility, nearly ten years his junior, not even really beautiful but merely very pretty, and without formal education, just naturally gifted with supreme intelligence and an irresistible authentic charm. Within a few meetings, this audacious slip of a girl made his entire female acquaintance seem pretentious and overbearing. Yet a connection to her and her family would make his friends, family and acquaintance look at him and talk of him with pity and veiled scorn.
And what would he brave the ridicule of his friends and family for? Of course he wants an heir, children in general, and someone to finally share his baser needs with. But that was not what made the thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet slowly take over his waking hours, to finally start invading his dreams.
It was her mind. Her breathtaking intelligence, her sharp wit, her loving attachment to her sister. His deepest wish has ever been to have an equal partner in life, someone he can really talk to, someone who will understand everything he says, who can relate to his innermost thoughts and feelings, whom he can discuss his ideas and opinions with. And the only woman he has met, in ten years of adulthood, to ever stir his feelings like that turned out to be decidedly beneath him.
He knew from the first there would not be another like her, but still his sense of right objected to a permanent association with her. What about his obligations to his name, to his family, could he put them aside to indulge in the selfish pursuit of finally finding personal happiness? Could he lower himself to be with the woman of his dreams? It took him months to realise that the answer was a decided 'yes', and this very evening he worked up his courage to throw away family-honour and decency and embrace for the first time the woman who he was certain loved him already, had been encouraging him steadily whenever chance threw them together.
For despite his conviction of her superior mind, still he underestimated her, judged her as if she was one of those other women, out to get his approval, his attention. He seriously thought her encouraging towards him, aiming for his addresses.
But as it turned out she was not flirting with him when she told him that the park, the very place where he sits on a little bench right now, was a favourite spot of hers. She meant that as a deterrent, a warning to stay away from her. And all those witty remarks during their interactions, those clever, rather impertinent observations about him wanting to hate everyone, or not taking the trouble to get acquainted to anyone. She meant those, too. He thought them stimulating, encouraging even, and all this time she really meant to insult him, thought him overly proud, even arrogant.
Has any man ever been more thoroughly humiliated by the woman he loves? No, she hasn't humiliated him, he has managed to do that all by himself, he realises now that she always made her dislike of him very clear, but the idea of his growing yearning for her not being mutual never even entered his mind.
As his anger fades slowly, reasoned away by the hard facts his mind forces him to accept, shame and despair start to fight for dominance. Better choose despair for now, shame can be faced in company, but he will not show his disappointed hopes in front of his aunt and his cousin Anne.
As he allows himself to truly feel the pain of his rejection, remembers her beautiful face expressing her anger, her biting accusations, her harsh judgement on his person, a heartfelt moan does escape his lips, and he sits gasping for breath for a few moments. Why?
Why must he love a woman who hates him? He has waited for ten years to finally find someone whom he can be happy with, and she hates him. Hates him even worse for what happened tonight.
To think he went to the little parsonage in the conviction that she would likely allow him to kiss her for the very first time, to hold her against him for a few moments, that she would be honoured and thankful to be able to improve herself and her family, overjoyed that she would be the wife of one of the most desirable and respected gentlemen in the country.
He expected to return to his room torn between the knowledge of being the happiest man in England, and apprehension at having to face the world with what he had done.
And now he sits here in this little park with his heart broken, trampled by a cold, uncaring young woman, his first and only chance at ever finding an equal partner in life come to nothing. His arms will not stay empty forever, but his heart will, the chances of him ever meeting another woman he can truly love are practically non-existent.
Another shiver of feeling comes over him, and he allows it to rack his body, clenching his fists with the pain of it, but holding back another outcry.
Gripping the wooden seat of the bench, he forces his emotion back down, enough of despair, enough humiliation, time to gather his dignity and move on! He decides to allow himself six months of mourning for his lost hopes, and then he will find himself a beautiful girl of impeccable breeding, with a good temper and hopefully some sense, marry her and raise a family of his own. Let Miss Elizabeth Bennet moon over George Wickham, see what that gets her, let her feel humiliation and heartbreak like he is feeling now. It will serve her right for believing such abject lies about him, as if he has ever treated even the lowliest servant with less than careful consideration.
His anger rises up once more, taking the pain away for a few blessed moments. Imagine any woman rejecting him in favour of George Wickham, the most worthless man alive. It's enough to make his blood boil, the thought of Wickham always is, but now, the image of Miss Elizabeth vehemently defending him, it cannot be borne. She must know the truth. Not only to save her from him, but also to clear his own name, he will avoid meeting her from now on of course, and she hates him like poison, but still he cannot bear the idea of her thinking that Fitzwilliam Darcy would ever stoop to robbing anyone of their legal inheritance, not even George Wickham.
It is bad enough he let himself quarrel with her as if they were both spoiled children. How quickly she got him to lose his temper, maybe that only proves it's better this way, separated from her forever. The difference in connections between them is clearly too huge to ever be conquered, if she cannot understand his motives to try his utmost to resist her attraction, how could they be together?
How will he ever face her to tell her the truth about Wickham? She hates him and will never hear him out. And even if she will agree to listen to him, she'll never believe him, Wickham has told her a bunch of lies no doubt, and with Darcy's own reserved manners and Miss Elizabeth's prejudice against him, how can he avoid making things worse, getting hurt even worse? Facing her is out of the question, it would be a punishment to her, and torture to himself.
Ask cousin Fitzwilliam? Miss Elizabeth likes his cousin, would listen to him, and Darcy realises he will tell Fitzwilliam about his blighted hopes anyway, even now his grief is already too large a burden to keep to himself altogether, it will gnaw at his insides until he will not be able to lead his life in any semblance of sanity anymore. But to let his cousin do his own dirty work, that's just shameful.
Thinking of Fitzwilliam, he decides to pay him a visit straight away, maybe he knows how to cure a broken heart. In total silence Darcy finds his way into the house and to his cousin's door. As he knocks on the door, Fitzwilliam's voice calls to come in, and Darcy opens the door and enters.
Taking a single look at him, the Colonel says: 'Something's up, Darcy, I can tell by your very look. Not Georgiana I hope?'
Shaking his head, momentarily unable to speak, Darcy sits down on the first available chair, face in his hands. 'Will you trust me with what happened, Darcy?' Fitzwilliam asks feelingly. They are good friends, and he has never seen Darcy look this distraught.
'That is exactly what I hoped you'd ask, Fitzwilliam, or I wouldn't disturb you at this time of night. I need to tell someone or go mad slowly.' Darcy finds it very difficult to speak of the humiliating scene: 'Tonight, I went to the parsonage and asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to accept my hand in marriage.'
After he's gotten that out, he falls silent once more.
Colonel Fitzwilliam nods in acknowledgement and observes: 'I can't say I'm surprised, Darcy, to hear you say you admire Miss Eliza. You did behave a bit peculiarly around her these last two weeks. But from the look on your face I'd say you met with great lack of success, or you would be smiling and demanding my congratulations instead of sitting there all curled up like a whipped dog.
I'm sorry to see you in so much pain. Will you tell me what happened? It might bring a little relief.'
And Darcy gives his cousin a full and honest account of everything that was said and done, and the Colonel shakes his head incredulously in places, and nods in sympathy in others. For Darcy is as scrupulously honest to his cousin on the subject of his pride and his shame towards his family as he was to Miss Elizabeth, and Colonel Fitzwilliam has real trouble hiding his incomprehension from his sympathetic but in matters of love obviously rather misguided cousin: why would he tell the woman he loved things like that? How would it make her want to marry him?
It is clear Darcy truly loves Miss Eliza, has in fact even determined she is the only possible wife for him, and Fitzwilliam has never seen him in love before, so in Darcy's case this may very well be true. He totally agrees with Darcy's choice, Miss Eliza is very desirable to himself as well, had he been as independent as his cousin he would not have hardened his heart against her from the start, and he would have very likely allowed himself to fall in love with her. But he would have proposed to her as a gentleman should, and before that he would have wooed her with loving attention and growing tenderness.
For how could Darcy fancy himself loved by Miss Eliza, how could he not have noticed her dislike of him? It was so obvious to the Colonel, that he actually thought his cousin Darcy's pensiveness in Miss Eliza's presence was caused by his regret at having someone for whom he nursed a distinct fancy, talk to him with such animosity and such willingness to hurt him.
To the Colonel it was pretty obvious Darcy looked at Miss Eliza with interest, but to her it must have come as a total surprise, Darcy expressed his ardour so subtly that only someone who knows him really well, like himself, could have seen it. To her, his proposal must have caught her totally off guard.
Colonel Fitzwilliam decides not to pain his cousin further with elaborations on the unsuitability of his manners towards Miss Eliza, Darcy needs to find that out for himself, or he'll never learn and get angry at him into the bargain.
So, the only thing he can do for Darcy is to try to comfort him as best he can, which is not very much, for it is clear the poor chap is feeling his loss badly, and is coping by retreating even further into his own world, gathering his dignity and pride around him instead of trying to find the reason for his rejection at least partly within himself.
Having quite a fancy for Miss Eliza himself, Colonel Fitzwilliam knows what Darcy must be feeling, she is a superior creature and he commends his cousin's exquisite taste in women. He is also well-able to imagine Darcy's disappointment at losing every chance of winning her and learning of her ill-opinion.
In fact, as Fitzwilliam has contemplated ever since noticing his cousin's preference, Darcy and Miss Eliza would make a very good couple indeed, but if Darcy's behaviour to Miss Eliza as he has observed it the last few weeks is an indication of his behaviour to her throughout their acquaintance, so reserved, so haughty, the Colonel doesn't wonder at her dislike of him.
And with the added offence of his arrogance and his insults towards her family during his proposal, and the knowledge of Darcy's betrayal of her sister, which Miss Eliza unfortunately heard from the Colonel himself, there is no way that she will ever give Darcy the chance to show her that he is actually a very kind and generous man, just reserved towards strangers, and apparently even more so to a woman he has grown to love but doesn't know how to talk to with any spontaneity.
The Colonel actually feels sorry for him, Darcy has been alone for such a long time, always having women chase him for his fortune, eager to find approval in his behaviour towards them, seeking his favour with determination, small wonder he finally gave his heart to the one woman who challenged him, and piqued him. If Miss Eliza only knew the real Mr Darcy, she might very well be able to love him, but as matters are now that will never be.
An idea takes shape in the Colonel's mind: what if he convinces Darcy to write a letter to explain himself, tell the truth about Wickham, maybe make an excuse about Miss Eliza's sister, and name his cousin Fitzwilliam as his proof he's not lying? Then the Colonel will visit her himself before they leave, tell her what Darcy is really like as opposed to the man she has seen so far, and try to convince her to at least allow Darcy to show her that he is not the arrogant, disdainful man she thinks he is?
Colonel Fitzwilliam dares flatter himself that he must have some influence with Miss Eliza, they have grown quite close in the last few weeks, he knows he can convince her that Darcy is truly worth knowing, that he actually is a very generous man with the potential for strong feelings. That is the thing to do, get him to write a letter, then when she has read it, talk to her himself and beg her to reconsider his cousin.
And with that resolution he suppresses a flash of envy, he knows Miss Eliza likes him, might even be convinced to marry him, the Colonel wouldn't care in the least about any lack of connections or want of sense of her family if he truly loved a woman, but without an independent income he can only marry a woman with a fortune of her own. So he will ignore his own wishes, and exert himself for his cousin, try to make up a little for his blunder of accidentally telling her about Darcy's interference between her sister and Mr Bingley.
Darcy is quite willing to let his cousin convince him to write an explanatory letter to Miss Elizabeth, first thing tomorrow, when his current anger has had some time to cool off. 'You do not want to rile her up even more, remember. I can imagine the two of you will never meet again, but you want her to hate you less nonetheless. You're a good man, Darcy, never doubt that. And talk to me when you're in pain, I know what you've lost.'
His cousin's words do not make Darcy's pain any less, but somehow it is easier to bear, knowing someone close to him is aware of what has happened. And maybe even a little more: 'You sound as if you truly understand, Fitzwilliam.'
'I do, Darcy,' his cousin replies, 'if I had your independence, we would have been competitors from the moment I met Miss Eliza. As it is, I feel a similar regret, only I was aware from the very start she was not for me. You know I cannot marry without attention to money.'
'And you've only known her for two weeks. But was it just money stopping you?'
The Colonel laughs, and says: 'For a woman like her I'd drop all my friends and family. I don't value birth as much as you do, Darcy. You tell me, what did you ever do to earn your position in life? You just happened to be born in the right family, and without an older brother. It's all just coincidence, her lower stature does not make her less valuable as a person. I'd marry her in a second, but as it is I guarded my heart well, so as not to suffer disappointment.'
Darcy has never seen it that way, and is actually a bit offended at the suggestion that he doesn't do anything to deserve his respectability in life. 'I work hard to make sure everyone on my estate is happy and well cared-for,' he retorts, but his cousin will not have that: 'I know you do, and I commend you for it. It is why I am sorry Miss Eliza never got to see the real Darcy, but only a very reserved, disdainful shade of you. But you are a noble by birth, not by merit, and the same goes for your grounds and fortune: you take good care of them and use them well, but you would have had them no matter, for the sole reason that you were heir to them from the day you were born.'
That is true, and something that bears thinking about.
Ignoring the fact that his cousin just tells him that he would have married the woman Darcy loves to distraction without any second thoughts on her connections or family, if only he had the money, Darcy asks: 'You think she never saw who I really am? You think she doesn't hate me, but someone she thinks I am?'
'I do, Darcy,' the Colonel replies, 'you were a totally different man in her company, and at the risk of me being rude, not a nice man. Very reserved, and rather haughty. I know it's not who you really are, but it appears that way, and if you then proceed to tell her you love her against your will, against your reason, what do you expect her to say?
'Don't worry about insulting me and everyone I love, Mr Darcy, I'll try to find love for you anyway?''
Darcy can only come up with a meagre: 'I just didn't know what to say most of the time.'
Even as he says this, Darcy knows it is not true. He did feel superior, and didn't want to talk to her as familiarly as his cousin did for fear of creating expectations in her. And now she hates him, and everything is lost. Better sleep on it, then write that letter, and hope the pain will go away eventually.
He thanks his cousin and retreats to his own room quietly, where he manages to find some oblivion in sleep, but wakes the next morning to the same thoughts as the night before, and still with quite a bit of anger.
