Chapter VII

Alas, My Love

A restless night was spent.

For hours Darcy laid in bed, his eyes incapable of closing, his mind incapable of taking respite. He thought not of the glorious relaxation even a short moment of rest would bring him, but of Elizabeth. Only of Elizabeth, from the late hours of the night to the first light of the morning.

Though his eyes were black and drooping under their lids, and his mind was jumbled and muddled to the point where he could barely contrive a complete thought, Darcy arose at an early hour. He was assisted by Kendall in bathing, shaving and dressing, and was able to arrive downstairs before the others had even left their beds.

He immediately retreated to the library - a depressingly ill-furnished library with one desk, one chair, and multiple empty bookshelves that had not yet been filled. Darcy turned the leather chair behind the big mahogany desk away from the door and toward the windows, so that he could sit and watch as the sun rose over the misty landscape. The blessedly silent simplicity of the moment, and the beauty of the picturesque scene in front of him, finally induced Darcy's mind and heart to be at leisure, and he soon fell into a blissfully deep sleep.

He escaped thoughts of Elizabeth, only to become lost in a dream of her.

He was no longer in Netherfield's library, but in his own library at Pemberley.

And she was everywhere.

Elizabeth appeared next to a bookshelf, popped in front of the window, materialized on top of his desk. On the settee, near the hearth, behind a book, against his chair, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared in each place. It was not a delight, it was torture! He could not touch her or speak to her, only go mad with confusion as, with a ghostly air, she vanished and appeared, vanished and appeared, again and again. Her laughter rang loudly in his ears, and he felt with an overwhelming pang that he could never escape. She would never stop haunting his heart.

He awoke to the faint sound of singing:

* "Alas, my love you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously."

It was Elizabeth.

The door behind him opened, and he could sense the undeniable closeness of her. In her lovely soprano voice, she softly sang on:

"For I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company."

For a moment he thought himself still dreaming. But he could smell the potent scent of roses and lavender that permeated the air, could feel her presence as she edged further into the room, and he knew he was awake. Darcy heard the tread of her slippered feet become louder and louder till they stopped directly behind him. He could hear the turning of pages. She must have been perusing the only books in the library: those casually piled on the mahogany desk. Clearly, she had not realized she had company. She sang on:

"Greensleeves was all my joy…"

Lord, how smooth and sultry her voice was when she sang!

"Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady Greensleeves."

She sang the poignant song of a man fallen into an obsessive love. Of a man who coveted a woman he could not have. Was there ever another tune so perfectly suited to his desperate, delicate situation? In fact, why did he not sing it? He was obsessive, he was insane in his attraction to her. However, he assured himself, it would not go on for long.

But, God help him, he could not keep from closing his eyes in utter ecstasy as Elizabeth's heavenly voice continued to reverberate in his heart's very core.

"Alas, my love, that you should own

A heart of wanton vanity…"


Later that morning in the breakfast room, Miss Jane begged for use of Bingley's carriage, so that she and her sister could return to their home as swiftly as possible.

To Bingley the idea was unconscionable. "Miss Bennet, we could not possibly throw you out so, and on such short notice! What if you are not quite well as of yet? I must insist that you cannot leave this morning." There was no mistaking the wild gleam in Bingley's eyes as he entreated his dear Jane not to leave. The look did not escape Miss Jane's notice either, for she blushed delicately and averted her eyes in response.

Seeing that her sister was incapable of further argument, Elizabeth lifted her chin in that daring manner of hers and responded in her sister's stead. "Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, we could not possibly intrude any longer on your hospitality. My sister has assured me she feels well enough for the short journey, and therefore we cannot guiltlessly continue to take advantage of your kindness."

Bingley smiled amiably as he cried, "Miss Elizabeth, you do not intrude on us! Your stay here has been a joy and a pleasure! Is not that so, Caroline?"

Miss Bingley did not even flinch as she answered, "Yes, a joy and a pleasure!" However, Darcy thought, her glare at Elizabeth said otherwise. Caroline then turned to Miss Jane. "Miss Bennet, I must insist that you are not well enough to return home this morning. We cannot let you leave and risk damaging your health, can we?"

Elizabeth saw that they would not budge, and conceded. "Very well. We," she smiled and took her elder sister's hand, "thank you." Miss Jane's blush deepened as she added her heartfelt thanks. "But," Elizabeth added, "if my sister's health remains improved, we must ask leave to return to Longbourn on the morrow."

Bingley looked disappointed, but nevertheless replied, "As you wish, Miss Jane, Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy himself was a bit disappointed at being deprived of the joy Elizabeth's company brought him, but it was, overall, a welcome intelligence. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough.

She attracted him more than he liked.

Whenever he found himself in her company, Darcy's heart beat rapidly and his cravat felt uncomfortably tight. The morning was brutally cold, and in response all seated in the breakfast room were freezing, despite the heavily stoked fire. All but Darcy, who looked at Elizabeth's milky white skin (now pale with cold) and its sharp contrast to her dark, warm eyes, and could feel beads of sweat appear on his palms and drip down his neck. Her fierce independence and firm resolve also set his pulse racing. Never before had he met a woman so strong, so bold, so intelligent, and yet, he thought as he glanced at the Bennet sisters' still joined hands, so sweet.

Enough was enough. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man world-renowned for his focus and control. However, he was anything but focused and controlled when he was in Elizabeth's presence, and it would not do.

It would all stop, this very day! He would speak to her no more, and then, by the time she had gone and left him in peace, Elizabeth would be completely forgotten.

He was determined.


He had a plan.

And it was a damned good one, he thought.

He would avoid Elizabeth's company the entire day - a difficult task, but it could be done. If he frequented those areas of the house in which she was least likely to be present, he could easily avoid speaking with her, and without the appearance of being rude.

Brilliant.

And not only did this plan benefit himself, but Elizabeth as well. Darcy would never wish her to gain vain hopes of something…felicitous occurring between them. No matter how much he wished something felicitous were occurring between them, there was nothing. And there would always be nothing, because sadly something between them was simply impossible. His plan would not only save himself, but her from disappointment, were he to show any more signs of his undeniable admiration for her while in her company.

Not only were the two of them saved from disappointment, but they were saved from the wrath of Caroline Bingley. All throughout Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield, Miss Bingley had been uncivil to her and more teasing than usualto himself. Being spared such annoyance would surely do them both a world of good.

He would frequent those areas of the house in which she was least likely to be present.

Simple enough.

…Right?

…Right.

Darcy chose the library as his desired location. Good, he thought as he sluggishly sat in the large chair from earlier that morning. She has already been here once this morning. And why would an avid reader such as Elizabeth revisit a library with few books?

The Netherfield library was a decent size, but the only books in residence there were those precariously stacked on the desk in front of him. Darcy briefly studied them. From the look of it, the stacks were generally comprised of agricultural books, historical works, practically ancient literature, and some of the less than popular works of Shakespeare - nothing that would suit a woman's fancy. Most women read gothic novels, did they not? Thankfully, there was not a single gothic novel in sight.

Then again, Elizabeth is not most women.

Almost immediately following the thought, the library door slowly began to open. Darcy swiftly hid behind Hamlet and pretended he had turned invisible. The person entered and closed the door. Darcy's gaze briefly flicked above his book.

Of course it was Elizabeth.

"Oh!" she cried upon seeing him. "Forgive me, I wished to return this book and claim another." Damn, he had not thought of that! She stood near the door, waiting for him to respond, but Darcy refused to even budge. He had a plan, and this time he was going to follow it.

"Well," she continued, stepping toward the dusty stacks of novels, "I will make another selection and be on my way."

"No!"

Elizabeth's mouth gaped.

Oh.

Had he said that aloud?

Darcy forced his eyes to remain firmly on his page. "No, Miss Bennet," he said after an awkward clearing of his throat, "please sit."

Her mouth slowly closed as her left brow raised, both at the same rate. "Thank you," she replied. Cautiously, Elizabeth took the seat across him and began to peruse the wall of books between them. Try as he might to keep his notice on Hamlet, Darcy could not help but glance at the book Elizabeth wished to return. It was an incredibly musty volume of Shakespeare's sonnets. Did she not enjoy poetry? Or, heaven forbid, did she not enjoy Shakespeare?

"Oh no," Elizabeth whispered as she ceased in examining the stacks, "I had been hoping for - " At her abrupt stop, Darcy looked up. Elizabeth's eyes rested on the leather bound book in his hands. "I had been hoping for Hamlet," she finished with an embarrassed smile that melted his heart. Darcy hastily lowered his eyes once more.

It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, he thought. But, damn blast it, he could not afford to be a gentleman! Lending Elizabeth his book would be asking for a flirtation. And asking for a flirtation would raise nothing but hopeless expectations for them both.

Elizabeth quickly retrieved the abandoned sonnets. "It is of no consequence," she continued in a warm tone of voice. "Though Hamlet is my favorite work of Shakespeare - "

"Really?" Darcy suddenly blurted out.

Elizabeth was again surprised, but recovered herself quickly. "Yes. However, I will be home tomorrow; and there I may read my own copy whenever I choose. Besides, I should be reading the sonnets. It seems almost shameful that I have not done so already."

Darcy nervously swallowed, then returned his eyes to the scene of Hamlet he truly could no longer attend to. She loved Hamlet - another incredible coincidence.

His obstinate mind told him he should not care.

But, Lord help him, he did!

Darcy finally allowed his gaze to fully behold her. Elizabeth sat gracefully in the straight-backed chair, holding the open book of sonnets closely to her breast while she read, as if she willed the words to fall directly from the pages to her heart. The light from the window captured her perfectly, in all of her radiant beauty; and Darcy could not help but close his book and become completely transfixed by her. Had he been capable of thought, Darcy's mind would certainly have become quite busy, what with having many scandalous thoughts and being forced to shove them out. But for the moment Darcy's mind was blank, and he could only feel. There was an indescribable gleam in his blue eyes, and a warm glow suffused his every feature.

Any experienced person could see that he was a man in love.

Unfortunately, neither Fitzwilliam Darcy nor Elizabeth Bennet had knowledgeable eyes with which to see it.

Because Darcy was incapable of thought, he was also incapable of keeping track of time. He had unknowingly stared at Elizabeth for ten minutes altogether, until she suddenly sighed and began to close her book. Darcy hurriedly reopened his book and made a quick attempt to find his page. Scene one, scene two - Oh, whatever the hell scene, it did not matter!

"Well," Elizabeth passively sighed, completely unaware of his discomfort, "I had better return to my sister. Good day, Mr. Darcy."

"Good - " Darcy had not time to finish before Elizabeth left the room. His throat had suddenly become very dry, and his voice reduced to a raspy whisper.

"Good day."


The following day was a Sunday, and the Misses Bennet had decided to take their leave after services at the local church.

Though only yesterday Darcy had felt utterly ashamed at his vile lack of self-control, he later realized that he should congratulate himself on his overall success. He had scarcely spoken ten words to Elizabeth throughout the whole of Saturday, and on Sunday even less. During services, he had scarcely reacted to the beautiful rose-colored dress she wore (though it was damnably fetching); or to the fact that they had sat directly next to each other in a closely confined pew (though the delicate fabric of the damnably fetching dress had brushed against his thigh a total of seven times); nor had he released a single growl or groan when she sang the church hymns (though he could have sworn her voice came directly from heaven); and his voice did not crack when he bade her good bye (though in his mind, it had.)

And yet, even in the latest hours of the night, Darcy remained unable to rid himself of the pain that had erupted in his chest the moment Elizabeth was handed into her family's carriage and the door was closed behind her. Netherfield seemed colder, as if the building itself recognized her absence. And no matter how many layers of blanket and sheet were piled high atop him as he laid in bed, he felt a chill. Darcy held the corner of the coverlet tightly in his fist, feeling a strange mixture of anger and agony.

He could still hear her voice.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong…." He placed a pillow over his face in order to cover his groan. "To cast me off discourteously…" The groan escaped, regardless - a deep groan of thick, hot breath that tempted to burn the feather pillow with its passionate fire.

His voice was almost inaudible as he sang for only the darkness to hear. "For I have loved you well and long…Delighting in your company."


* The song Elizabeth sings is called, "Greensleeves."