A/N: This story was initially inspired by a shocking statistic I read in a paper, 'There is a domestic violence related call made to the police in the UK every 20 seconds', well that got me thinking, if such abuse is prevalent even now, when thankfully women have greater protection and rights, what must it have been like in Regency England, where surely no such protection existed?

Given the above statement I 'm sure you can pretty much guess what the gist of this story will be about, though it will focus on a love affair between our favourite two P&P characters, there will be moments of extreme unpleasantness. By that I mean dark subjects and situations. If such things offend or discomfort you then please read no further than this author's note.

If you seek to offer criticism on any part of the story please make sure it is constructive or at least witty, believe me flaming would be a damn near impossibility, I've been burnt enough times over this story to have heard just about every insult.

Last warning, this is a story that does not contain fluffy bunnies, rainbows or skipping through wild meadows in summer. It is painfully realistic.

Her Cold, Cold Heart

'Trapped in an arranged marriage, Lady Elizabeth Hartfield has long learned to engage merely her body and not the heart. After six years of an unfulfilling marriage, and she has earned the reputation of a cold, unfeeling women. But perhaps, a passionate affair, with Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man society has deemed beneath her, will finally teach her what it is to love…and in every sense of the word…'

Part 1- 'The memory of heartaches past…'

It was a strange and tragic series of events that led to a fifteen year old Elizabeth Bennet becoming the next Lady Hartfield. It would perhaps be prudent to begin with the strange, not only because it would be correct chronologically, but because those who are found to be in floods of tears in the first few pages of a tale are often thrown far more curious glances than those who only wear a peculiar smile.

The Hartfield estate was situated in what could be described as the very setting angels would have been happy in had they been condemned to a life on Earth. Sat atop and surrounded by hills, it boasted an extensive forest, orchards of every variety and grounds amongst the finest in the merry little island of England.

The building itself was old, as ancient as the ghost that resided within its four walls, but it had refused to whither and die. Unlike other structures of its time, modernity had not caught up with Hartfield manor, its romance, its beauty and its life shone out as the brightest beacon.

It was a shame then, that its residents should be such an unpleasant lot. Or resident, for the place could not have borne a soul more repulsive or one that could have polluted its fair prospects so completely, so horrifically than Philip Hartfield. The only son of the fifteenth Earl, he was at the age of ten when the fates determined that his life would become so intricately entwined with that of Elizabeth Bennet.

He was a repulsive child; even the innocence generally associated with babe hood could not save him from the title. As soon as he could walk and articulate he was a menace, a constant heartache to his poor father, who could not, try as he might, connect with or even begin to love the child that in coming into this world had hurried his mother out of it. Lord Hartfield had never been of the resentful nature, but he had loved his young wife dearly.

Lizzy's fate of becoming linked to the misery of the place began with a tradition. Every year, the Hartfield place would hold a picnic for the residents of Longbourn, for which the residents were the principal beneficiaries. All along the grounds of the estate families would be littered, enjoying the hot July month and the food, drink and music laid on for their enjoyment. It was a date anticipated by the whole village, the one time of the year they could look forward to seeing how the wealthy spent their time. For even the lowest yeoman was on par with Lord Hartfield that day, it was a tradition started as far back as when the place was built, and it was unique.

It was at this picnic that the future was to unfold. Having been collected by one of the Hartfield carriages, another privilege for the Longbourn residents, none of them were allowed to walk to the place. The bright, five year old Lizzy was very proud of her dress and her hair, she hung on tightly to the finger of her beloved father Mr Bennet, who was equally proud of his young family.

The picnic passed off without event; in fact it went as it did every year, conventionally and delightfully. The only real unpleasantness appeared, inevitably in the form of bullying Philip Hartfield. Having made numerous other five year olds cry with his characteristic unfeeling brutishness, he turned his attentions to little Lizzy.

But he had underestimated how proud she was of her hair and dress, consequently when Philip made off with one of the ribbons pulled from her hair, rather than burst into a fit of tears like the numerous victims before her, she got up and gave chase.

It was a sight to behold, a ten year old boy being chased by a screeching five year old, who in turn was hotly pursued by her frantic mother. But Mrs Bennet could never really have the stamina to keep up with her daughter, and was left doubled up, gasping for breath and helplessly screaming for her daughter as she doggedly pursued the next Lord Hartfield. Poor woman she was sure she was going to faint.

Philip did not look where he was going; too busy looking back and laughing at the girl who chased him. He tripped over the gnarled roots of an old oak tree. Lizzy was soon atop of him, pummelling him with her little fists and demanding her ribbon. Once over the initial shock of the challenge he soon threw her off. Scowling at her, his menace was clear and he approached her slowly…

'Philip!' The stern, commanding voice soon brought him to heel. He dropped the ribbon immediately.

Lizzy eyeing her chance at an escape with her prize seized the material and scrambling to her feet, ran. She stopped only once to look back, Philip was stood with his father speaking quietly, and she shivered involuntarily. She did not like the way they both looked after her.

So much for the strange, now the tragic. Just before she turned fifteen, Lizzy lost the one man in the world whose opinion she had only truly learned to value. Mr Bennet, one day having taken his characteristic long walk across the wild countryside sat down on a rock to rest, as he suddenly began to feel light-headed and out of breath. He never got up again, the next time his body crossed the threshold of his house it was being carried.

The young Bennet family had concerns far more reaching than merely their grief, they faced destitution. A family of five girls, the inheritance of their home had been dependant on a male heir and they had none. It was all entailed away to a man they had never met, Mr Collins. He was the son of Mr Bennet's older sister, a woman with whom a disagreement had never subsided. Mr Collins therefore had no scruples in taking the house, Mrs Bennet and her daughters were left to starve in the hedgerows.

But fate, it seemed had different plans, there was a saving grace, of sorts. Lizzy had a habit of making impressions, intentionally or otherwise, and she had certainly made one on the late Lord Hartfield. Philip's father did not long survive after the death of Mr Bennet, but he had a great deal more to decree in his will than Lizzy's father.

The night before Lizzy's marriage to Lord Philip Hartfield, she tried vainly to soothe the tears of her inconsolable older sister, Jane. They lay side by side on top of her bed. Lizzy spoke calmly, despite her heartbreak.

'People like us aren't allowed to fall in love Jane…' She smiled at her.

'People like us…?' Jane struggled to speak in between her sniffles.

Lizzy turned her head aside, 'People like us…whose fate is already written in the stars, in the heavens, and the last will and testament of strange old men like Lord Hartfield…' She turned to look at her sister again. If only Jane could stop crying, then maybe Lizzy could be allowed to grieve for herself. She pushed aside a loose strand of Jane's hair from her face, 'Never mind…my darling girl…'

'I wish it was me…' Jane moaned loudly. Lizzy suddenly gripped her hand tightly.

'No…never, not with your feeling heart Jane. Besides Lord Philip Hartfield had no choice with me…his father rested his whole fortune on his choosing me for his prospective bride. And from what I have heard, Lord Philip is not a man to be denied…' She sat up and hugged her knees close to chest. The encroaching sense of dread threatened to overwhelm her. Jane's arms were about her in a moment.

'Oh Lizzy…all the stories, what we've heard about what he is. Lizzy I'm afraid for you…'

'There is nothing else to be done, he has promised to take care of all of you, and he has already bought this place. Mama will be happy, and the girls Mary, Kitty and Lydia, they'll be happy to stay in the house. Surely that's all that matters…' Lizzy rocked herself gently.

'Lizzy, but what he is, his reputation, what will we do?' Jane looked at her with all the fear of a child.

Lizzy did her best to encourage her, even when her own heart was breaking, 'We must hope and pray Jane, that they are only just stories.'

'But…' Lizzy silenced her by suddenly hugging her close.

Jane pulled away and looked at her closely.

'Lizzy…' she resolved to speak with firmness, 'never mind my feeling heart…what of yours?'

The cold, emotionally vague look in her sister's eyes shook Jane to the core. Lizzy's reply was unforgiving.

'My heart? I think my heart died with father Jane…just as well isn't it?'

No people like Lizzy were not allowed to fall in love, but in the end the choice had been as tragically simple as all that. Accept Lord Hartfield and save herself and her family from a life of extreme poverty, or reject him… But no, there could be no rejecting; in essence then there never really was a choice.

Both their fortunes, Lizzy's and Lord Hartfield's depended on the union, he had as much to lose as she did. So at merely fifteen years old Lizzy found herself married.

Above all things it was the innocence she lamented, the innocence lost that she mourned. It was the sentiments of a tender age, an inexperience and simplistic time only truly appreciated when one is young. The running around the garden with her sisters, the looking into shop windows in the village at all the pretty dresses one dreamt of purchasing, and the giggling, bubbling carefree laughter of naughty children.

Yes, it was all that she mourned.

But she had been thrust forward, pushed into a future not of her own making and the first few years had been the hardest. She had not been expected to take over the whole running of Hartfield estate given her young age, but she was expected to look, speak and behave as Lady Hartfield.

What could be simpler Lizzy found, all that the wealthy truly required was an air of indifference. And she had acquired indifference in measures as profuse as one who stands in the rain and is drenched by the heavens.

Her words to Jane had been more than mere effect, she had let her heart die, and it was buried along side with her father.

Six years after her marriage, and Lizzy walked along the grove deep in thought. It was unusually hot for the month of March and Lizzy was more outdoors than ever and as usual she had wondered far away from the Hartfield estate. Her feet forever subconsciously acting out what her heart always desired, to be far away from the wretched place.

Her mind always filled with the same question, always lacked an answer. Why had old Lord Hartfield chosen to condemn her to this, married to a man who she was convinced despised her as much as she did him? But they were tied together, Philip and Lizzy, doomed to spend an eternity together, wretched and miserable because it had been decreed so.

The whole village had been abuzz at first about the prospect of one of their own going to reside in the graound house in the hills. But the furore soon died down, they all knew of Philip Hartfield's reputation, and as they lined the road and watched the young bride being driven away to the church, the men bowed their heads and the women cried. The procession might as well have been for a hearse.

Lizzy could hear their whispers even now, 'Oh poor, dear girl…and he is such a man…' She had tried hard then to shut her ears. 'She looks half-dead, white as a sheet poor girl…what would her father have made of it all…'

Philip, he had not changed. He was still an ogre in every sense of the word, now only he was a fully grown monster. His broad shoulders, hard set features and cold laugh had everyone as fearful of him as he demanded.

But it was strange, he was gentle with her. Or he had been, that first night as man and wife. He hadn't hurt her, or made her fear him. It was almost as if that man hadn't existed at all, the one of ill-repute. But still, her heart was not to be engaged, even with his gentle caresses and reassurances she had not responded, certainly not with that ardour expected between a new husband and wife. Perhaps it was for this reason the resentment between them grew until it was the only sentiment they shared.

Coldness, indifference, yes that what it meant to be wealthy. Despite the heat, the summer months coming and the summer months passed since her marriage she was forever frozen and vowed to remain so.