Hello, readers!
I hope you're doing well, and are in the mood for some raw JAFF which needs some guidance. I have 3 chapters of this story written, but can't decide between this and another I'm working on. I have 6 of the other, but this keeps calling me to pay attention to it. I feel like I can't get over a speed bump with the other, so I thought I'd throw this out there. All constructive comments will be appreciated. Happy Reading!
~Anngela
Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy came as close to slamming the door of his chambers at Rosings as he possibly could without arousing his aunt's suspicion. That she believes him! That she would trust him so explicitly over me. ME! Fitzwilliam Darcy; Master of Pemberley! He who has saved George Wickham's reputation and life from debtor's prison for the last five years, and longer.
He tore his cravat off and tossed it on the chair, certain his valet Briggs would be none too pleased with him. Yet he did not care. The one woman whose esteem he desired the most had championed Wickham. Wickham! He shook his head in disgust and walked to the window with measured steps, staring out into the ink black night. I have lived a life of honor, of responsibility, and she believes the words of a man whose bastard children Pemberley is still supporting.
He snorted with derision and turned back towards the room, pacing with nervous agitation. Luck would have it that Richard and I were summoned by Aunt Catherine for the Christmas holiday. And then to have Elizabeth here with the newly married Mrs. Collins only a month since I left Hertfordshire? His hand slammed down on the writing desk as he passed it. "Miss Bennet, Darcy! She is not yours to think on as 'Elizabeth.' She made it quite plain to you this evening that she does not value the title of 'wife' by you!"
He shook his head and slowly came to a halt, still not believing how the evening's events transpired. "Do I not know the heart of women? Or at least a woman worthy of being pleased? Have I become so base? Always being chased by fortune hunting mothers and daughters that when a woman of substance is placed before me I cannot act in accordance with my values?"
Slumping down in the great chair, he leaned his head back and sighed deeply before whispering to the ceiling. "'You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.' Truly, Elizabeth? No possible way?" He reached over to the bottle of brandy on the table next to him and poured two fingers before downing it in one fiery gulp. No, this is how it should be. Elizabeth Bennet has no money or connections, but a mind and spirit that would send my world spiraling like a whirling dervish. It was providence that she…rejected me and now I can leave Rosings cleansed of my fantasies of bringing her home as the mistress of Pemberley. "But, Wickham," he spat standing up and walking back to the window. 'If your father had not had a son, Mr. Wickham would have fulfilled that role more admirably.' His jaw tightened at the thought. I wonder which version of his lies she was subjected to? Where I did not award him the living after my father's death or where I refused him any inheritance at all. Maybe both? Tapping the glass he looked down towards the parsonage and saw a dim light in the distance. Oh, Elizabeth.
Darcy called for his valet, who seemed to be there within seconds. "Briggs, we will depart in the morning after I break my fast and conclude a small matter of business."
"Yes, sir."
"Let Fitzwilliam's man know as well."
"At once, sir."
Waiting for the door to close behind him, he touched the window and traced the small far-off box of light. As much as my pride is hurt, if I do nothing, her name will be added to the list of women soiled by his touch. I will not allow that to happen.
He walked to the writing desk and withdrew a piece of parchment. If only I had not been born…?
XXXXX
The crunching of snow beneath her feet gave Elizabeth Bennet a small sense of power over the roiling emotions within. She had come to Rosings at the request of her dear friend Charlotte Lucas, ne'ee Collins after her husband, the heir to Longbourn, had been sent to London at the behest of his patroness lady Catherine de Bourgh for a month's time. Not very conducive to matrimonial bliss, but that great lady will not be ignored, and dear Charlotte could not leave her new parishioners, nor did she wish to be alone at Christmas. Elizabeth chuckled to herself, and determined that she must cut her walk short this morning due to both the cold and hopes of not meeting with Mr. Darcy.
She grimaced at the thought, uncertain where all of her anger lay. I am in awe that he held me in such high regard to have proposed, but could never accept such an arrogant man. It was obvious he felt we were beneath his notice, yet I was not? Does he think I could accept a man who was so cruel to one who was raised as his brother? Where is his loyalty? If only the elder Mr. Darcy had not had a son!
She continued to walk along, choosing a path which she seldom frequented to return to the parsonage, when turning a corner, she came face to face with Mr. Darcy and his great stallion.
"Mr. Darcy!" She jumped back, uncertain if she should flee, or attempt another awkward and stilted conversation.
"Miss Bennet. I have been walking the grove with Ulysseus for some time in the hopes of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?"
She instinctively reached out and grasped the missive, as he bowed and turned back towards Rosings, and was soon out of sight.
What have I done? If anyone saw me accept that letter, I will be compromised and forced to marry a man I do not love or respect! She quickly stuffed it into her pocket and hurried towards the parsonage, praying Charlotte was still visiting the Millers and their new baby.
After only thirty yards, the parchment was burning a hole in her pocket. I must read what he said! She stopped along the road, and looked in all directions until she saw a small path leading into the woods. Following it down for another ten feet, she found a fallen log, wiped off a patch of snow, sat down and began to read.
"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, that it may contain any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which last night were so disgusting to you. The writing of this letter could not, however, be avoided as charges were brought before me which I felt honor bound to defend— my character and very being demands it.
"Both charges dealt with Mr. Wickham, and therefore, I feel I will address them as a whole, but must first appraise you of my connection to him. Mr. Wickham was the son of a very respectable man who had the management of our family's estate. He was a devoted member of our staff, and before I had left the nursery, married a widow with a young son close to my age.
"My mother and father encouraged our friendship, and I enjoyed having a playmate. As we grew older, however, George Wickham began to show signs of a defect in his character. His cruelty to animals began to extend to humans, and many a servant was abused by his hand, always fearing reprisal from my father.
"His debacles did not show their darkest character until we were at Cambridge, where my father gave him a gentleman's education in honor of Mr. Wickham senior. This is where our friendship all but ended- My playmate found more enjoyment in debaucheries and other activities not befitting the ears of a lady.
"After the death of both his father, and my own excellent one five years ago, I was instructed in his will to give Wickham a living should it become available. Declaring no interest in the church, my former-friend asked for and received 3000 pounds instead and abandoned our family for what pleasures, I know not, nor do I wish to know. He then returned a year later when his funds had dissolved attempting to retain the living.
"All of these things may not sway you, but the next one will hopefully allow you to see George Wickham in a truer light…"
Elizabeth continued to read, brushing the tears from her eyes which had begun to escape.
"…she was but fifteen years old…"
"Fifteen years old?" She said aloud between sniffles. "That is Lydia's age." Oh, I am a wretched being. My anger at him stemmed from his comment at the Assembly months ago. Yet, our whole acquaintance, I judged him on my misplaced pride and the lies of someone wholly unconnected to me. What have I done?
"…and now, Miss Elizabeth, I think on your words from last night, 'If [my] father had not had a son, Mr. Wickham could have filled that role better than I… quite possibly you are correct, as I have seemed to become lax in the role my father and mother prepared for me, and in the duties towards those I care about the most. However, my greatest failure is not within the confines of my family, but of those of my heart.
I will only say, God Bless,
F.D.
"What have I done?" she asked standing and looking around. She started when she heard the neighing of a horse, and looked up to see Ulysses, Mr. Darcy's stallion pawing at the ground on the path. She walked directly to him and rubbed his muzzle. "Where is your master, Ulysses? Did you break free of your reigns?"
Shall I let this beast go, or stay with him and run the risk of seeing Mr. Darcy so soon after reading his letter? However, she had no choice in the matter as the animal began to nudge her with his head in the direction Mr. Darcy had departed. Holding the reins and allowing the horse to guide her, she walked slowly beside it, formulating what she would say when the awkward meeting took place. However, her concern was in vain. For there in front of her as she turned the bend, was Mr. Darcy, his body slumped on the ground, his head bleeding from where it had struck a large rock.