AN: Dear readers, I apologize for any confusion this story has brought you. I posted that this is a complete story - meaning not a WIP, and that I will be posting chapters as soon as they have been proofread to the best of my ability (which may be around every 4-5 days, or sooner if I'm lucky). So yes, it does feel incomplete because I am not posting the chapters all at once. I should have marked this as "complete, posting in progress" from the start. Thank you for staying on.
Chapter 3
William placed the last folders in his briefcase while bidding the last few board members goodnight. The meeting had gone a little over three hours, but previous assemblies considered this was an early night. He ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his shadow-roughened jaw absentmindedly as he moved in the direction of his office, the windowless walls bathing the hall in darkness. Everyone else had already gone home of course, as it was already almost six in the evening.
Another day at the office… trite, yes; but absolutely accurate. He was beginning to feel like he did not have a life outside the walls of the building – that much has held true the past three months. When his father had died and left him the company, William had thrown himself into running it full-force. Somehow dealing with everyday, practical matters made the pain easier to bear. That had been more than five years ago. One would have thought he would have found another way to deal with grief. He was certainly a creature of habit.
His thoughts, as they always did when he was alone, turned to Elizabeth once more, and he breathed a deep sigh. It was always like this. Sometimes he saw her, sunlight caught in her auburn curls, outlining her profile as her head remained bent over her book; his mind reliving the afternoons they spent by the brook at Rosings. Sometimes she faced him, eyes dancing defiantly as she issued him a challenge with her opinion; and sometimes, when the nights felt longer than usual, she looked as she did the last time he saw her: that wary, distrusting, angry frown on her face as she regarded him.
Their quarrel at Rosings had been terrible, and the humiliation he suffered as they argued had damaged his spirit. He had thought that the quiet afternoons they had spent together meant something to her; after all, though she had not shown him any particular encouragement she did nothing to discourage his presence. It was a detail he'd held on to as she had gone out of her way in Hertfordshire to avoid his company. The walks they had shared had been done in a slow manner by his desire to prolong their time together; and as the days went by he saw that Elizabeth grew more comfortable in his company.
William recalled the bitterness he felt the day he'd stupidly made his feelings known, not realizing that her hatred far outweighed her respect for him. He had stalked out of the house blindly, seething as he went back to Rosings. His call of apology to Richard had been curt, and when that was finished he paced the length of his room, wound up tight by her accusations still whirling in his head.
He had decided to defend his character the way he thought best – with no room for argument – through an old-fashioned, handwritten letter. He did not have control over whether she chose to believe what he wrote or not, but at least he would rest easier knowing he'd given her the truth. He was up at dawn the next day, praying she would visit the stream one last time before she left, and when she did he handed her the missive, politely wishing her a safe journey home as he walked away.
She had never replied to his letter; he hadn't asked her for one, but his heart had hoped just the same. A month passed with no word from her, and her silence diminished the possibility of his ever seeing her again. He went about his life; and spring turned to summer, still it seemed impossible to rid himself of her memory, his spirits remaining low even as he attended the requisite social and occasionally, occupational obligations that came with the season, though he found little entertainment in those events. The only event he looked forward to in those dismal months was his long-scheduled visit to his younger sister, Georgiana, who was currently staying in Vienna for her studies at the Music Konservatorium. The few days he spent there saw his temper improve, and he took that small step forward. It wasn't doing him or anyone else any good - this new melodramatic side of him. It was time to try and move on.
A few weeks later, he was meeting with the director of his arts foundation when something of extreme coincidence occurred. He'd heard the name "Gardiner" and his ears had perked up, remembering she'd mentioned an aunt and uncle in London by that name; and when he next heard "Lydia Bennet" he immediately knew that the couple before him were her family. His heart had started to beat erratically just by picking up on those words – one would have thought Elizabeth herself was in the room with them.
When he was given a chance to take action for Elizabeth's sake, William found himself rising up to the challenge, remaining heedful his feelings; going as far as to ensure the safety of her youngest sister - not that she would ever be privy to his part in it, he had made sure of that. A month later, Charles returned from his trip to Ireland and it was as if fate was clearing the path for him: he set out to rectify his last error.
William made sure he was able to pay his friend a visit the first day possible; and was glad Charles was alone when he came to call. The silence that followed his confession stretched out, but afterwards, Charles, ever the generous friend, reacted graciously, accepting his apology. He then issued an invitation to visit Netherfield Mansion whenever William would choose, as he was planning to move there indefinitely in a few weeks; needing to settle some business matters first what would be better accomplished while in London.
If all Elizabeth had told him of her sister's feelings for his friend still held true – then Charles and Jane would soon be on the road to mending their friendship.
Which was much more than he could ever aspire for in his relationship with Elizabeth. William wished vainly for a chance to see her again and have her look at him without scorn. For her to see him without their previous misapprehensions: like they were meeting again for the first time. He let that thought trail off, sighing as he opened the door to his office…
…only to come face to face with the object of his reveries for the past several months.
