AN: I'm not even going to attempt to figure out how long it's taken me to update. I think I'll just say that it's been sufficiently long that you might need to reread a few chapters just to figure out whats going on in this story. I know I had to...
But never fear! The next chapter is one of the two chapters that I have been looking forward to writing and posting, so that will most likely be up soon.
In addition, I finally got around to fully planning out my Lily/James story. I think I'll be able to have the prologue up today, if I can manage it.
And lastly, if you can't get enough of my writing (for whatever reason), I did get a FictionPress account, the link for which is on my profile. I've already posted about fifteen chapters of my novel-in-progress, a short story, and an essay. My stories aren't as popular as this one, and I would really appreciate some more feedback.
Thank you for your continued reading of this story, even though you have probably long forgotten the plot. I love you all!
Tolerance
The next morning, Elizabeth received a knock on her door. Curious, she answered: "Come in."
Much to her surprise, it was none other than The Fitzwilliam who entered her room. He was carrying a large, flat parcel. It looked suspiciously like the kind of box that her new dresses would come in, but she didn't think that she would be receiving anything like that from the people on this ship.
She watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly and shimmied the lid off the box.
"My father has asked me to present this to you myself," he said, obviously quite uncomfortable.
Elizabeth went over to the parcel and lifted an elegant, navy blue dress from its wrappings. She took a moment to admire the generosity of the Darcy family.
And then she smiled gratefully at the chance to have clean, mercifully clean,clothing for the first time in ages.
"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," she said, lowering the dress and looking at him. She still kept the patronizing way that she always pronounced his Christian name. But she was happy.
"You are welcome, Mademoiselle Bennet," he said. A hint of a grin flashed across his face before he processed what his muscles were doing. Quickly, he stopped the offending expression.
"Now, if you'll excuse me…" he said, turning promptly and leaving.
"Oh," he said, suddenly shifting back into the doorway. "If Mr. Collins would please come with me, my father has decided to remove him to another room. He feels that the lady should have some privacy."
Elizabeth was relieved. Collins got up and walked out with The Fitzwilliam. She quickly shut the door, and modestly changed into her new dress in the corner, hoping against all hopes that nobody came knocking on her door until she had her new dress on.
After half a letter to Jane, she decided that she might as well go onto the deck and see if she might spar with Charles. According to her porthole, the weather was very fair.
She noticed that she had stopped hoping to never again run into The Fitzwilliam. Perhaps she had finally developed immunity to his stiff rudeness.
Hmmm, "The Fitzwilliam." She rather liked that. It suited him.
A few weeks passed themselves with occasional fencing matches (Elizabeth beat both Charles and the Colonel in only three tries –she suspected that their pleas of "You're a lady" were simply meant to stop her from discovering that it was them that were the ladies), a few turns around the deck, a handful of letters to Jane, and the exponentially increasing words from The Fitzwilliam. The first time she had passed him, he had nodded stiffly. The second time he had gone so far as to say a cordial, "Hello." He was stuck on the 'hello' for a few more times, before tacking on a "beautiful weather, isn't it?" and then it took another handful for him to say something interesting. The first day of actual effort he had asked her if she liked the ship.
"Perhaps I might have if I had not been forced onto it," she responded.
That effectively ended any prospect of conversation.
Slowly, though, he was gaining confidence in his queries. It was almost as though he was afraid of her. But that was ridiculous. The Great Fitzwilliam, afraid of the Mademoiselle? She could laugh aloud at the idea. In fact, she did, earning a very puzzled look from Charles.
One, night, however, sleep refused to come to her. She decided to take a walk, and ran into The Fitzwilliam sitting in the crow's nest.
"My apologies," she said, doing her best to imitate a maid. "I did not know that Fitzwilliam has territory."
He half scoffed, half laughed at this response. "Fitzwilliam does not, actually," he said. "Fitzwilliam has places in which he hides."
"Hides from what?" asked Elizabeth, sitting to face him, interested.
Now Darcy winced regretfully. Clearly, he hadn't intended to admit that he liked hiding. Elizabeth smiled innocently while his brow puckered. She waited for him to work out what he wanted to say.
"Never mind," he said at last. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
"Everybody, then?" she probed.
His eyebrows raised in clear shock. "Not everybody," he said.
"And especially me," she mused, as if she had not heard him. Her nose was now only several inches from his, and her eyes were staring into his, giving him the alarming feeling that she could see right through him.
But an even more alarming feeling was now coursing through Will. He found himself wishing to kiss the mademoiselle's dangerously close lips. He focused on her eyes, and hoped that he would not cave into that ridiculous impulse.
"Am I right?" she asked then, drawing back. Will breathed an internal sigh of relief.
"Unfortunately, no, Mademoiselle," he said. "I do not seek to avoid everybody. Only those who need to be avoided."
"Such as?" she pressed.
He pursed his lips, but did not answer.
"I know what you mean," she said sagely. "I have five of my own sisters, I know what it's like to be surrounded on all sides with no way out."
This response shocked him. She really did see right through him, every time. He had no idea how. Was he muttering his thoughts under his breath? Or could she truly read his mind?
"The Fitzwilliam is speechless," she said.
"Unfortunately," he muttered.
She eyed him for a moment before making motions to climb back onto the deck.
"I'm told we're to make land again soon," she said nonchalantly, gingerly placing her foot on the top rung of the rigging.
"I only avoid people for good reason, you know," The Fitzwilliam said suddenly.
"Every reason, you mean?" she teased.
"Not at all," he said stiffly.
"Then why?"
He neither answered nor looked at her. She went back up to sit across from him again.
"Please tell me," she said softly.
He sighed and the words flowed from his mouth without permission. "I only hide from people that annoy me."
"Such as moi?" she teased.
He weakly smiled a crooked smile. "Such as… hmmm…" he tilted his head back closed his eyes. "Charles' sister," he said.
"His sister?" asked Elizabeth, raising her eyebrows
"There is no family resemblance. Caroline Bingley is a creature that was spawned in the most hellish abyss of London high society," he responded gruffly.
"And what makes her so detestable?" asked Elizabeth, leaning forward with a smirk.
Darcy chuckled. "She is loudly operating under quite a false impression."
"And that is?"
"She believes that she is but a word away from an engagement with yours truly."
Elizabeth giggled. "How you must flirt with other women. I can only imagine the effort it would take on your part to give someone that impression."
"She flirts enough for myself and ten additional suitors. I simply sit, avoid eye contact and attempt to read."
"Fitzwilliam Darcy," said Elizabeth in an exaggerated sigh. "The heartbreaker of London-town."
He chuckled. "I swear, it is only due to her overactive imagination that she fancies I will make her an offer. In fact, the last time I saw her, she followed me everywhere and never stopped talking to me or about me. I spoke to her in monosyllabic replies that bordered on rude, and she did not relent. Even when I sat down to compose a simple letter to my sister, Georgiana, she sat herself right down next to me and constantly told me how fine a letter that I must be writing. It was only out of respect for Charles that I did not slap her."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "The Fitzwilliam is a gentleman," she teased.
"After hearing that, you must know full well that I am not."
"Only a gentleman could withstand slapping the woman that you have just described."
"How are you so sure?"
"I am well acquainted with the overwhelming aggravation that is embodied in obsessed women," said Elizabeth.
He shot her a questioning look.
"You would utterly detest my family," she replied, raising her eyebrows.
He looked at her. "Why your family in particular?"
"Mary would bore you, Kitty and Lydia would give you a headache, and my mother would not let you go until you had made an offer to Jane." She shrugged.
"I see," said Will. "But I suppose I could tolerate them if I had to."
Oh dear lord. He did not just imply-
"Why would you need to?" she was starting to smirk again.
Damn it all to hell.
"If I should ever happen to make their acquaintance," he said quickly in an intentionally gruff voice.
The smirk did not go away, but she did not pester him. He wanted her to, just to give him the excuse to say something. He was on the verge of just telling her everything, just from pure exasperation at himself, and she probably knew. And she waited. Will decided that it would be best to just not open his mouth again.
Thus they watched the sunrise and left in silence.