Darcy's vision suddenly went to black. He could feel nothing but felt as if he were spinning for what seemed like an eternity. Then suddenly he heard Miss Austen's words. "You want…a destiny."

He was no longer at Austen Inn, but outdoors. And his hand was no longer on the strange quote carved in mahogany, but on some kind of strange circular button on a wall. He appeared to be at someone's home…but it didn't look like a house in Hertfordshire, or any place in the world for that matter. The house was ornamented with a small sign displaying a number sequence…two…zero…two…eight…five. Strange…

Thank God he had slept in his shirt and trousers. What if someone out here were to see him? See him? 'Out here'? Where the devil is 'here'? Suddenly a strange carriage with bright lights whizzed through the darkness, scaring the half-dressed Mr. Darcy half to death.

"Oh, God…" Darcy ran his hand through his hair and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He had an agonizing head ache…and this blasted bell wasn't helping. Bell? His eyes snapped open. He didn't she a bell anywhere, but he could have sworn he heard one ring…He leaned on the wall once more.

Ding-dong!

There it was again!

"What the devil…"

The sound seemed to be coming from behind him. Darcy turned around, but all he saw was that little button. He slowly reached out to it. Perhaps that was what was making the-

Ding-dong!

Darcy groaned in defeat and leaned against the wall once more, careful not to touch the infernal little bell this time.

"Coming!" Who said that? Darcy instantly straightened and looked about him. No one was near.

"Dang it!" the person yelled. The voice was of a young woman, and Darcy knew she was coming toward the red front door as her voice grew louder and louder.

"I'm coming!" she called again. It would be extremely inappropriate for a young lady to see him in such a state. Perhaps, if he left now-

Too late. He could see the black doorknob on the bright red door slowly turning…

"He is not sexy."

"Yes he is!"

"The guy is a jerk!"

"A sexy jerk."

Madeline Ridgeway sighed and pressed the rewind button on her remote control. She paused the movie again. "Look at him! How is he sexy?"

"I don't know…There's just something…intriguing about Mr. Wickham," her best friend Cassandra replied.

Madeline laughed. "Well, you can have Wickham. I want Darcy."

Cassandra gasped with mock surprise. "You do?"

"Okay, enough of the sarcasm. One of my favorite parts is coming up."

"Aren't they all your favorite?"

"Sshh!"

Madeline pressed play and continued to watch her favorite movie, Pride & Prejudice. She had first fallen "ardently" in love with the novel when she read it at age thirteen. Suddenly she had found herself reading it over and over and over again. Now she had read it twelve times. Now it practically read itself. Now she had read seventeen Pride & Prejudice sequels and variations.

Now she was writing her own. This was her career, and she was loving it. Already she had written eight books, each becoming bestsellers. She had done all this by the age of twenty. She hadn't gone to college, she was so busy writing. But why did she need to? She had written a bestseller at fifteen for God's sake. She didn't need to go to college. Yet, she was missing something…Was it college she longed for? She had never been able to decide what she wanted. And now she had a severe case of writer's block! If she couldn't write a new novel, what would she do? How would she pay for her house?

Madeline absolutely adored her small little home in San Bernardino, California. It was in a small suburban area on Chivam Street that was wonderfully secluded from the filth of town. It was a beautiful but small two story house, painted white with black shutters and a bright red door. It was picturesque, and Madeline loved living in it.

But she was often terribly lonely. Madeline was accustomed to living with her four sisters, Sabrina, Alice, Leandra, and Gillian. And after nineteen years of living in a big, loud family she felt as if a part of her was missing by being all alone.

Madeline was the second youngest daughter in her family. Her three elder sister sisters were all married with children, while she by herself in San Bernardino, her mind a blank canvas without an inkling of creativity upon it.

She had never had time to date or go out and have fun. She hadn't even gone to her senior prom. It had all seemed unnecessary at the time, but now Madeline realized just how pitiful she was. She had no life. And no one special. The core of her career was romance, after all. Her job was to write of the wonderful love story of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, whose charming tale she could never tell without becoming envious of the love and mutual understanding they shared.

Madeline had met a great number of "eligible bachelors" but they were all deceit and pretension. She wanted a man who was chivalrous, kind, devoted, romantic, responsible, wise, passionate, while still shy and unassuming. But obviously those men only existed in romance novels. She would never be able to find such a dream man, and sometimes she longed for Mr. Darcy so much it made her heart ache. She had always felt so close to him, despite the fact that he was a work of fiction. And she had always felt that he was hers, and she was his, no matter how impossible such a notion is. But those fantasies were over now. It was time to be a serious, hard-working adult.

Cassandra had always supported Madeline in her Pride & Prejudice obsession, starting from high school, where they had first met, and continuing through Madeline's career. Cassandra had often helped her with her writing by giving much appreciated advice. Well, usually appreciated advice. There was the occasional, "Write more about Mr. Bingley!" or "Make Wickham do something sexy!" that Madeline ignored. Bingley and Wickham were Cassandra's favorites, not hers.

Now the two friends were together at Madeline's little white house on Chivam Street with the black shutters and bright red door having their monthly movie night. This get together was often much enjoyed, but tonight Madeline was a bit out of spirits. Her loneliness and anxiety (and the pressure to write another novel) had entirely consumed her.

Ding-dong! the door bell rang. Madeline sighed in annoyance and paused the movie once again. Ding-dong! it rang a second time. "Coming!" she called.

Setting the remote down, she stood up, and accidentally stepped on a book that had fallen to the floor.

"Dang it!" The book now had a large dent in its cover. "Aww…" Madeline picked it up and carefully attempted to repair the damage.

Ding-dong! the door bell rang again.

"Mad, go get the door!" Cassy yelled.

"But look at it, it's all ruined!" Madeline replied with a sob.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and put out her hand. "I'll fix it, just get the door." Madeline consented and gave her the book.

After studying its cover, Cassandra rolled her eyes once more and yelled to Maddie retreating back, "You're reading this again?"

"It's my favorite!" was her only excuse. One of her many favorite Pride & Prejudice books anyway.

"You'll never stop loving Mr. Darcy, will you?"

"Never." Madeline began to open the door, but turned back to Cassandra. "I'm telling you, Cass -" She opened the door. "every time I see him in that open puffy white shirt, walking through the mist -" She turned to face the door. "i just m-"

She was speechless.

"Melt," she finished in a whisper.

There, standing in the January mist and wearing an open puffy white shirt and trousers…was Fitzwilliam Darcy, precisely as she'd always imagined him. He had scruffy, but neat, dark brown hair with bangs that just touched his quizzical brows. And under those eyebrows were his lovely eyes. They were the most beautiful blue Madeline had ever seen, and the shimmer in them was so enticing, she could not look away.

Here, standing before Fitzwilliam George Leopold Darcy, was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. She had a very fair complexion and very dark brown hair which seemed an eclipse over her pale skin. The rich river of hair was in a long braid that hung over her left shoulder most enticingly, and, not understanding why, he longed to reach out and run it through his hand. His hand opened to catch the majestic locks, and just when he was about to touch the dark strands of loveliness, he stopped and reluctantly returned his hand to his side.

The young woman had said nothing throughout this entire time. She merely stared at him with her fine dark brown eyes the exact way he was staring at her.

Both pairs of eyes, one brown and one blue, were arrested by the sight of each other. They stood in silence, and all that could be heard was the sound of their soft breathing.

Finally able to compose himself, Darcy closed his eyes and tried to start again. He reached out to touch the young woman's hand, but then quickly pulled it back. The touch of their hands had sent a rush of heat through Darcy's body. His mind suddenly clouded as his pulse began to race. It was as if he were transfixed, under a spell of utter enchantment.

Resolved to take control of himself, he gripped his hand and tried once more. Their hands touched once more, and Darcy again felt a fire in his veins, but he remained strong and did not retreat.

"Miss?"

She did not respond.

"Miss, do not be alarmed," he said, his voice filled with compassion. Compassion toward this woman he didn't even know! He hurriedly lowered his head, now embarrassed by the awkwardness of the situation. "I am Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire," he hurriedly finished. The lady's eyes widened, and for a moment she looked as though she wished to speak. But she suddenly grew very pale, and her breathing very heavy.

She put her hand on her head and took a retreating step, when all of a sudden her eyes snapped close and she began to faint. With great speed Darcy caught the mysterious maiden just in time, just before she hit the floor.

As he held the lady in his arms, he knew at once that he was doomed. His heart knew that this young woman, whose thoughts and emotions were in no way known to him, would forever be its mistress. Here, in his arms, was the love of his life. He brushed his hand along the now even paler maid's pale cheek, until civility and common decency returned to him, and he looked up.

To his utter amazement, there was another young lady in the room! who had obviously, judging by her shocked expression, seen all that had passed. He looked at the lady in his arms once more.

So beautiful… he thought with a sigh. He quickly shook himself. He was doing it again!

Darcy hurriedly closed his eyes and began to concentrate on precisely how to determine what the devil was going on! But even while his vision was black, his mind's eye envisioned that strange, beautiful fallen maiden whom he so longer to caress.