This story was inspired by The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Hope you like it! I might continue it... it depends on what you all think, so please review :)
Fitzwilliam halted in his tracks on the second floor. Richard would've finished counting by now, but where to hide? William pushed at a door handle of his parent's sitting room and walked in. Empty. And a wardrobe; how convenient. It looked perfectly William-sized. Taking a quick look behind him, he shut the door behind him and walked over to the wardrobe, tugging the door open with all of his eleven-year-old strength. He was flung backwards, off his feet, as the door opened, but since when did falling deter an eleven-year-old? He jumped back up and kicked the ice-skates out of the way, concealing his upper body in the coats. William did not want to close the door, for it would be dark. Of course, he was not afraid of the dark... no, of course not... but better not to close it. He leant back into the coats, but there appeared to be no end; just more coats. William turned around and walked through the coats when he suddenly felt a burst of cold air rush into him. How strange! He pushed the last coat out of the way. His big eyes widened as he let out a loud gasp at the sight before him.
The beautiful smell of pine overtook William's sense; it was so beautiful, covered with a thin sprinkling of bright white snow. The layer of snow was not even close to as thick as it was in Pemberley, and the woods looked rather unfamiliar. There appeared to be a little footpath running through the woods, and Pemberley most certainly did not have one of those, for who would want to ruin the unrestricted wild beauty of Derbyshire? It couldn't possibly be his home, but where was he? And more so, why had his parents not told him that their wardrobe led into the woods. Or at least, something like that. They could have at least mentioned it, William thought, shivering as another gust of cold air slammed into him. He began to walk back towards the wardrobe when he heard a squeal of laughter coming from behind him.
"Daddy, please do not tickle me!" A high-pitched voice exclaimed.
He turned just in time to see a little girl, perhaps of about nine years, crash into him. Entirely unprepared for such a force, Fitzwilliam fell to the floor with the girl who fell on top of him. Her big chocolatey eyes gazed into his own deep azure eyes, and she did not make to get off him. No, instead, the little girl laughed, shaking her chocolate brown curls around her head. William couldn't help but laugh too, the girl's laugh was contagious, and once they had finally stopped, he decided he must address the problem at hand; for how was Richard meant to find him if he was not actually in Pemberley?
"Might you remove yourself from my person?" William asked her, a polite smile on his face; the boyish one which always seemed to get him what he wanted. But not from this girl, apparently. She started laughing at him again. Slightly angered, for he did not want to lose hide and seek, he added,
"I, Fitzwilliam George Enrique Darcy, command you to remove yourself from my person, at once!" The girl's eyes widened, yet she continued to laugh. Strange; when his father said that to his Aunt Cathy, she followed his instructions immediately. However, even a child as young as Fitzwilliam was could realise how terribly ridiculous his words sounded, and he once more joined her in laughter.
However, she did roll off of him eventually, which was not as good for Fitzwilliam as he initially thought; now, the cold was not blocked at all, and he was lying in the snow. Certainly not his finest moment; at least George and Richard could not see him! She offered him a hand, in order to help him up, which he accepted with a grateful smile.
"You're soaking wet!" She commented, pulling off one of her overcoats and handing it to him. She was wearing two (both of which were her father's) after all. He shook his head fervently; he had read enough stories to know that a gentleman should never take a lady's coat, and he was his mother's 'little gentleman', so he must comply. "I, Elizabeth Rose Bennet, insist that you accept this coat as a peace offering. Besides, you shall fall ill if you do not accept it. It is an offer made in your best interest, Mr Fitzywilliam." She told him. What on earth was 'Fitzywilliam', he wondered, before accepting the coat and wrapping it around his shoulders.
"Thank you, Miss Bennet." He said, attempting to execute a bow, though the snow rendered his job rather difficult.
"T'was no trouble, Mr Fitzywilliam. Though, I am not Miss Bennet. You can call me Lizzy."
"Why do you call me ''Mr Fitzywilliam'?"
"Because it is your name."
"My name is Fitzwilliam." He told her, finding the younger girl's impertinence rather amusing.
"Ah. They sound similar, and Fitzywilliam sounds much better; as I am sure you will agree."
"If you think so. I will call you Elizabeth until I can find my own nickname. If you can choose a nickname for me, it is only fair that I can do the same for you."
"But of course, Fitzywilliam. Might I ask where you are from?" Darcy pointed in the direction of his wardrobe, into the winding footpath and trees.
"And you?"
"Right here. I must return to my father soon, else he will worry." Lizzy told him.
"Well… I should be returning now… I shall come back as soon as I can." Darcy said as the two parted ways, she to Longbourn, he back to the wardrobe. As he ran into it, he stripped off Elizabeth's father's coat, and almost fell out in front of the fire. Richard found him sitting in front of the fire, the back of his shirt still slightly damp.
"Richard, go into that cupboard," Darcy told his cousin, still gazing into the fire.
"Why would I do that?"
"It is where I was hiding."
"Why did you not stay there, then? How impatient are you, Fitzy?"
"Richard, I was in there for at least half an hour!"
"Fitzy, it has only been two minutes since I stopped counting… surely you do not expect me to search all of Pemberley in two minutes?
"'No of course not. Just go into the wardrobe." Richard, confused, followed his cousin's instructions. "What do you see?"
"Fitzy, I see coats. What is the purpose in this?"
"Go further in." Richard rolled his eyes, before walking further in, and banging his head against solid wood.
"Ouch! Fitz, you absolute idiot! Why would you do that?"
"Richard, do you not see it? The snow and the woods?"
"Fitz, I could have just looked out of the window!"
"No, Richard. The coats open into a woods, Richard. I met a girl, Elizabeth. She was playing in the snow, and I can upon her. She seemed rather kind. But it is beautiful Richard, you ought to see it!" Richard eyed his cousin with concern, before letting out a snort of derisive laughter.
"Honestly, Fitz, you read far too much. I feel you are confusing your books with reality. Either that or you have gone entirely crazy."
"I have not lost my mind!" Darcy exclaimed petulantly, walking out of the room.
"Father! Father! The wardrobe; in yours and mother's sitting room. What is it for?" Darcy asked, sprinting into his father's study and slamming the wooden door behind him. George Darcy regarded his son with amusement.
"Fitzwilliam, you have found it then?"
"Found what, Father?"
"Did you try to hide inside the wardrobe? And then you found yourself in some woods that were not one of Pemberley's?"
"Yes father, that is exactly what happened. And worse still, Richard is refusing to believe it happened!" The young boy said indignantly, stamping his foot. George laughed.
"Well, Fitz, perhaps I might add that you can only get in by believing of its existence?"
"So Richard cannot see it? And neither can George?"
"Not unless they believe, Fitzwilliam." Fitzwilliam Darcy sat down in the large chair opposite his father, a huge grin stretched across his face.
"Father, I met a girl there, called Elizabeth Rose Bennet. She was rather kind, you know."
"Bennet, you say? Fascinating… Very fascinating. Now, little man, off you go to lessons!" Fitzwilliam gave a little smirk at his father's stern expression, before quickly scampering away, attempting in vain to avoid being seen by his mother.
(2 days later)
"William, it is 'Je m'appelle', not 'Jem apple'," Lady Anne said, trying to teach her son French. Yet he had no interest, as he dully repeated the phrase, hardly trying to correct the pronunciation. His Latin, Greek, Italian and Spanish was almost fluent, yet French did not come naturally to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
"Jeme Apple Fitzwilliam?" He tried again, absentmindedly scrawling Greek phrases across his paper.
"William, I know you do not like French, but you must learn it, dear son."
"But mother, it is too hard!" He exclaimed dramatically, dropping his pen on the table.
"All you need to do is work on your pronunciation, perhaps we could have one day a week where we speak only French?" Fitzwilliam wrinkled his nose.
"Mother, I shall not speak in only French. I cannot. And you may teach my new sibling French!" Fitzwilliam said, gesturing to Anne Darcy's growing abdomen. "Mother, please might I go and play now?" Anne looked into her son's big blue eyes and simply could not refuse.
"you may go now, but you must come back in time for your Spanish lesson. I shall not send Mrs Reynolds to find you every day!" He nodded enthusiastically, before bounding away down the corridor, into his parent's sitting room. What was he up to?
George Darcy appeared next to his wife.
"George, what is William doing in our sitting room?" She asked him, looking up at her exceptionally handsome husband and stroking his cheek. George smiled, snaking an arm around his wife's waist, leading her towards their sitting room.
"Anne, I once told you about my old friend, Thomas Bennet, do you remember?" She smirked.
"The imaginary cupboard friend?" He raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the wardrobe.
"Where do you think your son has gone?" He asked. Anne stared at him incredulously, and yanked open the wardrobe door; seeing only what she had always seen; the coats and the ice skates.
"I cannot believe that… perhaps William went into the next door room?" George shook his head.
"I know not whether Thomas Bennet, nor William's Elizabeth actually exists. But Thomas was a wonderful friend to me whilst I knew him, Anne, and I cannot deny William this opportunity. He will realise, in time, that the passageway only lasts until he is eighteen, or until he truly grows up, and believes his friend Elizabeth to be imaginary. Allow him to enjoy her friendship; if she is anything like her father, it will be good for him."
Lizzibeth!" Fitzwilliam called, spotting his friend sitting in a tree, reading a book. She looked around, trying to find him, and jumped off the branch, landing right in front of him.
"Fitzywilliam!" She exclaimed. "I did not expect to see you so soon,"
"My mother was trying to teach me French, but I am terrible, and I do not think she will be able to find me here! Not unless she climbs into her wardrobe!" Fitzwilliam laughed, his eyes lighting up. Lizzy laughed.
"My father is teaching me Italian… I have not yet tried French."
"I can teach you Italian!" Fitzwilliam volunteered, with such enthusiasm only found in young children. "I can speak Italian very well; my father says it is because it is similar to Spanish."
"You can speak in Spanish?" Lizzy asked. She had always wanted to learn Spanish, ever since reading a certain Spanish story.
"Of course I can, Lizzibeth! My father is part Spanish, and therefore so am I!"
"Oh." Lizzy looked down. "My father and mother are both just English."
"Well then, I suppose it falls to me to teach you Spanish! Lizzibeth, it can be like our secret language!"
"It would hardly be secret, surely Spanish is widely understood, if not spoken?" Fitzwilliam shook his head.
"My father says that most people know Italian and French, and of course Latin and Greek, but Spanish is not so popular."
"Well then it shall be our secret language, Fitzywilliam. Do teach me!"