Author's Note: If you're still with me, thanks for your patience while waiting for this update! Dissatisfaction with the story structure, followed by a long dry spell and real life interruptions conspired against me. I'm almost done with the following chapter, so the next wait won't be nearly as long. In fact I hope to have it up within the week. (Also, a huge shout out to my sister Botsey, for suggesting I spend a little more time in the edit room. It was sound advice!)
Thank you for all the faves and follows, I was blown away by the amount of interest in this story. Special thanks to Deanna27, Regency1914, HarnGin, Mariantoinette1, Mary Norton, Meryton Miss, Another Lizzie, mangosmum, debu, NotACursedChild, Sapphire Dawn and several guests for sharing their thoughts by way of review. (and yes Meryton Miss, having taken a much closer look at web pics of Blake's 'Milton: A Poem', I'm sure Lizzy did get quite the anatomy lesson!)
After reading a couple of the guest reviews I feel the need to clarify that Darcy, far from being naked, was 'undressed', a term used during that period to describe a gentle man or woman dressed casually, or one lacking the finishing touches of dress expected while in polite society. In this case Darcy had loosened his cravat and removed his coat (scandalous!), which would allow him to comfortably drop to the ground and attend to his suddenly lame horse. Of course this also allowed Elizabeth to attend to the seat of those breeches which would, under normal circumstances, have remained hidden under Darcy's coat. Couple of other fun facts I learned while researching Regency menswear - some of you probably already know this, but it was news to me – 'breeches' is actually pronounced like 'britches' and waistcoat like 'wess-kut'.
Now back to our story, where we fast forward to join Elizabeth in the wee hours of the morning immediately following the Meryton Assembly…
Chapter 2 - Elizabeth
"Ridiculous man!"
Elizabeth's arms remained tightly coiled as she clomped the path between her bed and her window for the thirty seventh time, so vigorous was her stride that a corresponding film of ceiling plaster lightly dusted the floor of the room below. She was deep in thought, her restless body working in tandem with an equally restless mind. Recalling Newton's second law of motion, Elizabeth was at this very moment furiously working to calculate the mass of a certain gentleman, the acceleration needed to send him into a neighboring county, and whether or not her slippered foot could generate the force needed to deliver the blow. She fervently hoped that it could.
"Not handsome enough… Ha!"
On this, her thirty eighth pacing, Elizabeth paused just long enough to practice her slippered kick. If she got within one yard of those infernal breeches ever again, she'd teach that man how to fly.
And the evening had started out so well! It had been a mere six hours ago when Elizabeth Bennet, filled with keen and optimistic anticipation, awaited the opportunity to discover her mystery gentleman - and she had not been disappointed! The moment the Netherfield party made their appearance Elizabeth put her observational skills to work, using the process of elimination to determine which of them he might be. The party had consisted of five souls complete, three of whom were gentlemen. Discounting the ladies entirely she focused on those three. The first gentleman to step forward was blond, highly animated and seemed exceedingly eager to please. Though undeniably good looking, he lacked the prerequisite stature and bearing of the gentleman from the road. The fact that he greatly resembled, in both size and deportment, the blue coated gentleman who had come to call upon her father a few short days ago, made her conclude that this must indeed be Mr. Bingley. That conclusion was confirmed when the gentleman stepped forward to represent his party by exchanging greetings and introductions with Sir William Lucas. Curiosity satisfied on that score, she shifted her attention to the next gentleman. A quick appraisal determined him to be a fleshy, lumpish sort of… lump. He was promptly ruled out as well. That left… Good lord bless this day.
Elizabeth Bennet had found her man.
Tall, and stately in demeanor, there was no mistaking that physique. He had the good grace to be handsome as well! Elizabeth's certainty was reinforced when she overheard him speaking in low tones to one of the ladies of his party. Although unable to distinguish his words, there was no mistaking that honeyed baritone. Her favorable impression of the gentleman, discovered to be one Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire Possessed of Ten Thousand a Year (or FDoDPoTTaY for short) still managed to hold firm, even after the opinion of most of her neighbors had emphatically turned against him. (The recollection of well filled buckskin breeches had, after all, greatly stacked the deck in his favor.) Elizabeth's continued approbation might even have managed to outlive the evening - had not that gentleman committed the aforementioned grievous error of declaring, in dulcet tones no less, that Elizabeth Bennet was Not Handsome Enough.
And to think that only yesterday he'd employed that same silky baritone to soothe and comfort his horse. Such a sad waste of multitudinous assets.
Foolish, foolish man.
O~O~O
After such an unfortunate start, Elizabeth would, over the course of the following year, be availed of numerous opportunities in which to consider - and reconsider - Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. There were even moments of introspection, during which Elizabeth would attempt to account for her undiminished fixation with the man. Truth be told his offence had been relatively minor, something she would normally have laughed out of her system ages ago. Why expend so much ire, not to mention the energetic fire needed to let it simmer and stew, on a man who was at best a passing acquaintance? In her more reasonable, objective moments Elizabeth had to own that what she felt was far from the indifference she claimed. And if not indifference, what in fact was she feeling?
Such confusing thoughts would be further compounded whenever Elizabeth crossed paths with those buckskin breeches.
O~O~O
Confounding man!
Of all the people to run into! Having been subjected these past three days to Caroline Bingley's thinly veiled insults and Mr. Darcy's increasingly taciturn silences, Elizabeth thought to make her escape from Netherfield whenever she could be spared from her ailing sister's side, often finding some relief in the form of a walk along the wood lined path which bordered Netherfield's lawn and main gardens. Though complete relief on this day was not to be had, as she found herself joined by the lesser of the two Netherfield Harpies, Mrs. Louisa Hurst. Conversation was sparse - thankfully her partner did not seem to think it much required – and as a result, Elizabeth was able to find a small measure of peace in her surroundings.
However, that peace was soon to be shattered. As they approached the juncture of their path with one which wound thru the shrubbery of Netherfield's formal garden, who should they suddenly encounter but the two people Elizabeth had most assiduously hoped to avoid!
"Miss Elizabeth! We had not thought to find you here!"
The unexpected appearance of Mr. Darcy and Caroline Bingley was quickly followed by the disengagement of Mrs. Hurst's arm from Elizabeth's, and its reattachment to Mr. Darcy's free one. Having no third arm to offer to Elizabeth, and finding the path far too narrow to accommodate them all, Mr. Darcy had graciously suggested moving their party from the path to the lane. Elizabeth, however, had had her fill of the lot of them, and with one pert, parting remark had made her escape. But even as she skipped merrily down the lane she could not help but wonder why Mr. Darcy had been so civil.
And why was he always wearing those breeches?
O~O~O
Odious, hateful man!
She knew Mr. Darcy must be the reason for her favorite's absence, though for the life of her she could not fathom why. How could anyone with even half a heart be so cruel? As it so happened, conspiring to prevent George Wickham from attending the Netherfield ball was found to be the least of Mr. Darcy's offenses! By disregarding a behest and withholding a living, Mr. Darcy had callously dashed to pieces all the future hopes of a completely dependent young man. And he dared to call himself a gentleman! Perhaps all would be revealed in court someday, or at the very least, disclosed to the court of public opinion.
In the meantime Elizabeth had somehow been hoodwinked into dancing with the man! How on earth had she let that happen?
Her partner wore impeccably fitted black satin breeches which inexplicably brought buckskin ones to mind. Her imagination caught fire as she thought of Mr. Darcy's future punishment for his grievous sins. In her mind she pictured Darcy on his knees before Madame Guillotine, his head in the stocks and buckskin clad assets held high in the air. At this very moment, Elizabeth could well picture herself raising the blade and letting it fall!
O~O~O
Vile, insolent, insufferable man!
Whereas the proposal delivered by Mr. Collins had the benefit of being at least mildly amusing, Elizabeth's most recent proposal, most assuredly, had not. Marked by arrogance and conceit, and calculated to be as intentionally insulting to her person, family and connections as possible, it had been delivered just yesterday by none other than the inscrutable and thankfully singular Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Compounding the insults against her own person was his admission to the role he had played in the separation of her beloved sister from the object of her affection.
Elizabeth's resultant declination had been on point.
And now, on this very next morning, Elizabeth found herself holding a letter. It had been placed in her hand just this moment by the man himself. She hardly noticed those omnipresent breeches as he bowed stiffly and turned to walk away, carrying himself with more obstinate, inflexible pride than she had ever seen before. (In later months she would come to learn that this armor was all that had kept the poor man standing upright!) A moment later he turned a gentle bend in the path and was gone.
Left in private with the letter, she swiftly tore into it, firm in the knowledge that it could in no way present an adequate defense of any of Mr. Darcy's actions, much less alter her opinion of him. However, the reading, and subsequent re-readings of the letter would gradually throw her orderly world upside down. In this new and revelatory place, she was humbled by the knowledge that her powers of perception had not been as powerful – or unerring - as she had always thought them to be. In this strange new world her sense of fairness would eventually demand acknowledgement of the truth of Mr. Darcy's words and the merit of his reproofs.
Mr. Darcy was, if nothing else, a just man after all.
O~O~O
And an exceedingly handsome one!
As she faced the large picture of Fitzwilliam Darcy adorning the walls of the long portrait gallery at Pemberley House, Elizabeth Bennet could not help but admire the man. The artist had done him justice. Mr. Darcy was exactly as she remembered, right down to the small smile which she had on occasion seen adorn his face. His posture and bearing reflected the same confident air she recalled him wearing as a second skin – although back then she called it pride. Now, however, her thoughts of him had taken on a much more pleasant turn. Even his attire brought back pleasant memories!
Those breeches were, apparently, his friends of some long standing.
Elizabeth continued to admire the man for some time, indeed, far longer than was absolutely necessary. However, knowing that this would likely be the last time she would ever lay eyes on the man, she found it difficult to turn away. Pemberley was the last place on earth she had any right to be, and at the moment she felt rather like the cat who had snuck into the creamery - though wrong of her to be here, while here she would lap.
After managing to tear herself away, Elizabeth re-joined her Aunt and Uncle who had continued on with the housekeeper. Soon thereafter, the party completed the tour of Pemberley's interior and were turned over to the gardener for a tour of the park. There was so much to discuss and admire, of both good taste and nature, in the harmonious integration of Pemberley with its magnificent grounds, and so the group turned once more to admire the building and its vantage. This would prove fortuitous, for it was at that precise moment, as Elizabeth the cat paused to lap up the view one last time, that the owner of this particularly fine creamery just so happened to turn a corner and appear, in the flesh, right before her very eyes!
Elizabeth's embarrassment was acute – as was his own – as they stammered and stuttered through their respective greetings. The acrimonious nature of their last meeting made this one exceedingly awkward for them both, but still they soldiered on. Mr. Darcy surprised Elizabeth by requesting the honor of introduction to her companions, and surprised her even further as he made plain his desire, not only to renew their own acquaintance, but to further the acquaintance with her lowly Cheapside connections.
Such a changed man!
He was wearing those old buckskin breeches again. Seeing him in this old familiar garb, all while appearing so disarmed and unguarded, made him more human to her than ever before. And it was at that precise moment that Elizabeth lost whatever was left of her heart.
O~O~O
A noble man.
Though Mr. Darcy's clandestine intervention would prove to be a double edged sword, providing both relief and consternation. There was the relief of knowing that her family's reputation and standing in the community, which teetered precariously following Lydia's rash elopement, would be maintained intact after all. But there was also the consternation born of knowing that Mr. Darcy would forever be prevented from renewing his addresses. For a certainly, how could any man of good sense choose, of his own volition, to connect himself to such a villain as George Wickham? No, this must mark the end of their acquaintance, and Elizabeth knew that never a future day would pass unmarked by her regret.
She would see Mr. Darcy no more.
However, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had other plans. Determined man that he was, he had determined to see his Miss Elizabeth again, and again, and as often as was necessary. And he came wearing buckskin.
O~O~O
So it eventually came to pass that, after months of suspense, despite every impediment, heedless of every obstacle and against all odds, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy finally reached an understanding. And on the mid- morning of an exceptional December day, Elizabeth Bennet finally married the very best of men.