Title: Dare to Refuse Such a Man
Rating: K+ (PG) – because I can't think of anything at this point which would constitute a higher rating. Should be sweet and clean.
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Regency
NOTE: Posting a little early cuz I got birthday party stuff to do tomorrow (my daughter Penny will be 4 on Sunday, yay!) A little gift for you :)

Summary: It had never occurred to Fitzwilliam Darcy that, once he had chosen a bride, her father might dare to refuse his consent. However, a woman worthy of being pleased is also worth fighting for. DE, Regency, clean romance.

"He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask."

Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice Volume III, Chapter 17


Chapter Fourteen

Friday
August 16, 1811

"Brother! Where are you off to so early this morning? We have only just finished breakfast!"

Darcy looked up from tugging his fingers into his right glove to observe Georgiana standing at the base of the grand staircase, her head tilted at him in curiosity and bemusement. His smile, which had been threatening to break free of his solemn self control since he had bid Elizabeth a fond farewell the evening before, spread across his face rapidly. "I am going to the village on some particular business," he announced.

"'Particular business'?" his sister repeated, the tread of her steps light upon the marble flooring as she approached. "What 'particular business' takes you out so early, Brother?"

With his beaver hat seated firmly upon the crown of his head, Darcy mumbled a dismissal to the footman who had been assisting him with his outerwear and, once the fellow had disappeared into an antechamber off the hall, turned back to Georgiana. In a low voice thrumming with excitement, he confessed, "I hope to acquire you a sister."

Georgiana's peal of glee reverberated around the foyer, startling more than one servant going about their business in the vicinity. He cautioned her to lower her voice, but his sister cried out, "Is it true? Are you finally going to ask Lizzy – "

"Yes, Sweetling, yes," affirmed Darcy, using his own quiet tone as an example of the volume she should be striving for. His eyes, however, twinkled with indulgence in spite of his implied scold.

Georgiana, though still bouncing upon the balls of her feet like an exuberant spaniel, reigned her enthusiasm in to a more proper level and stage whispered, "I am so happy, Fitzwilliam! She will make an excellent wife. I do hope she will like me as a sister – she has so many already I daresay she does not need another, but I shall try to do my best to make her feel welcome. Oh! When will the wedding be? Can we host it here or – oh, no, I suppose she will wish to have it in her home parish where all her friends can see her, but I shall be allowed to go, shall I not?"

Darcy laughed and placed both of his hands upon Georgiana's shoulders, stilling her near-constant motion for a moment. "I agree, Elizabeth will be everything excellent as a wife and will add very greatly to my – our – happiness. I am sure she will be pleased to gain another sister, especially has her family will live at such a distance from us, and I would not vex yourself greatly over winning her regard for I believe you already have it. As for the wedding, let us not get too ahead of ourselves – I have yet to actually propose."

Georgiana bit her lip, a tiny mischievous sparkle twinkling in her gray eyes. "'Elizabeth,' is it?"

Darcy cleared his throat and released Georgiana's shoulders to tug absently at his cuffs, eyes averted in sudden shyness at his accidental slip. "Miss Bennet," he corrected, hearing the titter of his sister's giggle as he did so, "has not accepted my hand yet so do not raise your hopes too high."

"But she will," countered Georgiana with a surety she did not usually display. "I have seen the way the two of you gaze upon one another when you think no one is looking – do not deny it, Brother! It is charming, like something out of a novel. Oh, I just knew how it would be!"

"Yes, yes, you were right all along and I bow to your wisdom, Sister Dearest." Darcy rolled his eyes, albeit playfully, and diverted her to a different subject. "Where is Mrs Younge?"

Georgiana shrugged, a gesture that was not entirely ladylike. Was her companion teaching her nothing? "Her head is aching. She is resting in her room."

A new, familiar wave of irritation washed over Darcy, but he quashed it; he was not about to let the antics of a lazy employee ruin his mood. Not today. "I would offer to take you with me, of course, however..."

"Go, Fitzwilliam, I shall be fine in the music room until you return," Georgiana commanded, nudging him in the direction of the front doors. "Come and find me as soon as you do; I wish to hear all about your proposal!"

"As you wish," he replied and allowed her gentle persuasion to guide him outside into the bright summer sunshine.

o0o

As Darcy dismounted his horse in front of the parsonage of Lambton, his most frequent destination these past several weeks since his courtship with Elizabeth had begun, he felt a trill of nervous energy tingle in his stomach. It did not feel like butterflies, precisely, as he had heard this sensation described before, but rather the rapidly beating wings of a bird. It thrummed in tune with the pattern of his heart, which ached to free itself from his body and place itself in Elizabeth's dainty hands.

The familiar manservant of the parsonage took the reins of his horse and, somewhat belatedly, Darcy gave him a quick word of thanks before walking up to the front door with quick, long strides. In seconds, his fist was raised and rapping upon the wood between himself and the interior in a steady staccato of knocks. There was a wait of some long moments before he heard scuffling just beyond the door which indicated someone was preparing to open it.

As soon as the housekeeper, a sturdy, middle-aged woman whose role within the household was denoted by a cap and apron, peeked her head through he announced, "Mr Darcy to see Miss Bennet."

Perhaps he imagined it, but he thought the servant seemed a mite uncomfortable with his request. She stepped back, however, and allowed him entrance, taking his hat and gloves in the entryway. She then led him further within to where he knew the parlor was located, entering and calling out to those within, "Mr Darcy, Sir, Ma'am."

When she moved aside and he gained entry to the room, he stopped suddenly just within the threshold, his eyes roving around and looking for a particular face but finding it curiously absent. "Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner," he greeted the two individuals who were present, trading bows and curtsies with them. "I have an...that is, I had hoped to have a private word with Miss Bennet this morning. Is she in?"

The Gardiners exchanged a look which appeared, without further context, oddly pained and awkward. "I am afraid she is not here, Mr Darcy," replied the husband for the both of them.

"I see," replied Darcy, confusion dimming his enthusiasm. He had requested the honor of a private audience with Elizabeth the evening before and he had thought, expected even, that she would be there waiting for him. Had she misunderstood that his intention was to call upon her at the parsonage? She had not been upon their bridge when he had passed that way. "Has she gone on a walk? If it is no trouble, I could wait for her here – or, if you happen to know which direction she went, I would be amenable to escorting her back home." And the seclusion that a solitary stroll would provide was most appealing to a man ready to tender a marriage proposal.

There was a short, poignant lag in the conversation as the Gardiners exchanged another look. It was impossible to discern with any level of accuracy what sort of communication was passing between husband and wife, but it appeared that Mrs Gardiner was bidding her spouse to do or say something. With a sigh, the tradesman acquiesced to his lady's silent entreaty and said, "Mr Darcy, I believe this is a conversation best held in the study. Would you please follow me?"

Something deep inside Darcy clenched like a fist; it was a strong sense of foreboding for the conversation awaiting him in the gentleman's sanctuary down the hall. Still, he nodded and fell into step just behind Mr Gardiner, his Hessians tapping against the floorboards as they walked deeper into the house.

Once they were ensconced within the study, familiar to Darcy after it had hosted his previous conversation with this same man over the courtship of his niece, Mr Gardiner waved his hand at a chair to indicate that he should sit. Supremely discomfited by this new air of disquiet that lay upon the household and the mysterious absence of Elizabeth, Darcy rejected the proffered seat and instead stood stiffly before the desk, his hands clasped behind him at the small of his back.

"Very well," agreed Mr Gardiner, rubbing his forehead absently as he sank into his own chair. "I am afraid, Mr Darcy, that Lizzy is no longer in Derbyshire. She left early this morning with her father to return home."

Thrown off balance for a moment, Darcy tottered where he stood, the information heard but not entirely comprehended. "I...I beg your pardon?"

"When we arrived home last night after attending your dinner party," Mr Gardiner dropped his hand back into his lap where it threaded with its partner, resting against the slight protrusion of the tradesman's belly, "we discovered that Mr Bennet had arrived in our absence. He insisted that Lizzy needed to come home straightaway and would not be convinced otherwise. I am sorry."

"Was there some kind of emergency?" Darcy asked, frantic to discover how and why she could have been so unceremoniously taken from him without forewarning of any kind. "Is anyone in her family unwell? I can send for my physician in London to attend them, if necessary; he is preeminent in his field. I could send an express now and..."

Mr Gardiner shook his head, but it seemed an expression of exasperation rather than a negative answer to Darcy's inquiry. "As far as we know, they are all well – at least as well as they are generally presumed to be. My brother Bennet would not give a satisfying answer as to why it was so urgent to take Lizzy home so precipitously and so all I have are my suspicions."

"Suspicions?" Darcy repeated, his jaw clenching as his frown deepened.

"I cannot explain why, of course – none of this situation makes any logical sense to me or anyone besides Bennet – but it seems as if he has some sort of objection to your courtship with my niece," Mr Gardiner said, his expression molded into one of great sympathy with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and his mouth pressed into a tight line. "I attempted to reason with him, but he would not be moved. I am very sorry, sir."

"I...I do not understand," Darcy admitted as his hands began to tremble. Had they not been hidden behind his back, Mr Gardiner would have seen how violently they shook.

"He left a letter," said Mr Gardiner, sliding open a drawer of the desk and dipping his hand inside to retrieve a single folded sheet of paper. On the outside it was addressed to "To Whom it May Concern" in tight, even strokes.

Darcy unclasped one hand from the other and reached out, his fingers unsteady, to grasp the letter from Mr Gardiner. The paper crinkled as it transferred from the latter's possession into the former's.

Inside, it was less a letter and more of a terse note. It said, very simply:

August 15, 1811

Sir,

I have been informed by my daughter and brother that you have requested a courtship with the former. I regret to inform you, sir, that it is not possible for your suit to continue as Elizabeth is already betrothed to another. Please consider your acquaintance with her dissolved forthwith.

T. Bennet

In only three sentences, Darcy's hopes for his future with Elizabeth were entirely dismantled. He staggered slightly to the right, his free hand reaching out to grasp for the chair he had previously declined, and grabbed hold of it to more adequately drop himself onto its seat. Throughout these jarring motions, his eyes remained riveted upon the page in front of him. Within his breast, his heart staggered to a stop and died.

...Elizabeth is already betrothed to another. Please consider your acquaintance with her dissolved forthwith.

His Elizabeth – already betrothed? Impossible! She had never said – never indicated – it could not be true!

...your acquaintance with her…

"Acquaintance"? They shared more than a simple "acquaintance" with one another! He loved her and he was sure that she returned the favor. Every look, every blush, every bashful whisper of his given name spoke of it! What was this madness?

Darcy's mind struggled to interpret the words written on the paper, simple and direct as they were, for he could not believe that they meant what his mind insisted that they did. His Elizabeth would not...could not…

"Mr Darcy?" the voice of Mr Gardiner buzzed in his ear like the soft drone of an insect battering itself against a closed windowpane. He could hear it, even knew what it was, but it was distant from his consciousness and made little impact. "Son? Are you well?"

Darcy continued to stare at the note until it was tugged, gently but firmly, from the tight grasp of his fingers and taken from him. He allowed it to go and did not wish for it back.

"This – !" he heard Mr Gardiner exclaim, his voice strangled with anger. There was a harsh crinkling of paper and a loud swear before the tradesman addressed him again with, "Mr Darcy, this is not possible. I would never have sanctioned a courtship between the two of you had Lizzy already been promised to another man – my sister, silly soul that she is, would have published an engagement far and wide and my niece would never allow a man to court her under false pretenses. It cannot be true!"

Darcy's heart, previously decimated by the unfeeling revelation of Elizabeth's prior engagement, stuttered hopefully. He swallowed and turned to Mr Gardiner, his usual facade abandoned in the excessive emotion of the moment, to ask, "Are you certain?"

"Well...no, not certain," Mr Gardiner admitted, adding quickly, "but I cannot see how it can be true! You do not know my sister, but she has an irrational fear of being left to die in the hedgerows after her husband's passing – their family estate is entailed, as you know – and her single goal in this life is to see her daughters married. Had any of them attracted a suitor, the entirety of her acquaintance would know. It would be published in the papers. People who do not even know the Bennets would somehow hear that one of the daughters had managed to catch a husband. I love her dearly, but circumspect she has never been and never shall be."

"Could there be a reason why Mr Bennet would not tell his wife?" Darcy asked, too emotionally wrought to be ashamed of the tremor in his voice.

Mr Gardiner sighed and uncrumpled the letter, glaring at the ink-crafted words. "I cannot think of one. If anything, I would think he would be eager to tell her such good news to prevent her making so much of a fuss about the hedgerows. No matter how many times I and my other brother, Philips, have tried to assure her that we would never let her and the girls starve, she remains steadfast in her fear of the future. To a point, one can hardly blame her," he said, darting his gaze up to Darcy with an apologetic half-smile, "but she can be quite irrational about it."

Darcy clenched his fists tightly against his knees, his blunt fingernails digging deeply into his palms. "I would have taken care of her had Mr Bennet allowed my suit. I am very capable of housing the entire family if necessary."

"I know, Son."

"If Elizabeth is not already engaged, as you suggest," Darcy said, his voice reaching pleading tones, "then why should Mr Bennet reject me as Elizabeth's husband? I love her and – " He stopped speaking when his throat closed upon his words. He could hardly breathe around the tension formed there, the mortal wound within his chest.

He felt a hand descend upon one of his shoulders and squeeze. "I cannot answer that. I am sorry, Mr Darcy."

"Perhaps if I spoke to Mr Bennet, made him realize how much I care for his daughter, we might be able to resolve this between us," suggested Darcy in a wild moment of inspiration. He turned to look at Mr Gardiner, who stood just behind him where he sat in the chair. "If you could give me the direction to the Bennet estate – "

"I am afraid not," said Mr Gardiner, sounding both weary and apologetic at once. "Bennet insisted that I not assist you in following them, if you were inclined to do so. I cannot give you the direction."

"But – "

"I am sorry," interrupted the tradesman, shaking his head, "but it is not my place to usurp my brother's authority in his own house. He has explicitly stated that I was not to give you the direction and I shall abide by his wishes. Were it my own house and my daughter, I would expect no less from him."

Darcy slumped as the sense of defeat he had felt just after reading Mr Bennet's note overtook him again. He buried his face between his palms, holding his heavy head aloft by propping his elbows upon his knees, and struggled against the urge to scream in frustration.

"However, I will do nothing to thwart your efforts, either," Mr Gardiner announced briskly, squeezing his shoulder again. "I told Bennet that you were the type of young man who would stop at nothing to achieve his ends and I suspect that I am right. If you truly love my niece, if you cannot envision a future without her, I suggest that you go looking for her. You know that her family's estate resides in Hertfordshire – that should be a decent start. I will further say, without alluding to any specifics, that they live almost exactly four-and-twenty miles north of London. That should narrow down your search area tolerably well."

Darcy thanked Mr Gardiner, somehow forming the phrase through lips that felt cold and numb, and slowly rose to take his leave. He only just remembered to bow, receiving one in return along with an apologetic grimace, before forcing his feet into motion and exiting the room from the door through which he had entered what felt like ages ago.

He walked down the hall, his mind caught in a dizzying cage of despair and confusion, and silently accepted his things from the housekeeper and applied them to the proper portions of his body by rote. Had such a task required more concentration to perform, Darcy likely would not have been able to.

"Mr Darcy?"

Darcy's head rose, his hat perched upon it, at the sound of a tentative voice beckoning him. Mrs Gardiner stood just within the doorway of the parlor, her face crafted in an expression of painful sympathy. He nodded to her, unable to speak at the present moment, and turned to leave.

"Mr Darcy, please wait," called Mrs Gardiner, her light footsteps bringing her forth to touch his forearm. Her fingers dropped away once Darcy granted her his attention, turning his head at an angle to observe her. "I know it is not strictly proper, but I thought under the circumstances it...well, Lizzy left you a letter. I have it here," she withdrew a folded packet of pages from within the drape of her shawl and presented it to him, laying flat upon her open palm, "and I hope whatever is inside brings you some measure of peace."

William. There it was in her sloped, eloquent script – the name she had given him in the rose garden.

Without even consciously doing so, Darcy reached out and took the letter from Mrs Gardiner, who then withdrew back into her wrap. Unlike her father's missive, Elizabeth had clearly written a rather lengthy explanation of her departure and one he hoped was more satisfying.

"Thank you," he said and then, with Elizabeth's handwriting cradled within his fingers, stepped outside into the glaring summer sunlight.

o0o

Darcy burst into his study, flinging the door inward with such force that it collided with the wall and disturbed some of the more fragile artifacts clinging to the wallpaper and sitting upon the numerous shelves about the room. Nothing broke in his show of temper, but he almost wished that something would fall to the floor and splinter into thousands of tiny pieces as it would be a fitting analogy for the state of his heart, as maudlin as he knew that sounded.

She was gone. Elizabeth was gone. This irrefutable and painful fact reverberated around inside his skull, echoing inside his mind with every agonizing thud of his shattered, bleeding heart. She was gone. Elizabeth was gone.

Darcy did not know how to define his state of mind in the present moment other than manic. He was in such a turmoil of writhing, bubbling, wrenching emotion that it was a wonder that he had not simply split apart at the seams so that they could all burst free. He was melancholy, of course, but more than that he was anguished. Confused. Enraged.

Elizabeth was gone.

Darcy walked to the fireplace and rested both clenched fists against the mantle piece. He paused there for only seconds before his frenzied energy set his feet back into motion and he retraced his steps back toward his desk. Once he had reached that destination, it carried him back to the hearth, and so on until he had fallen into a frantic pattern of stomping boots and heaving breaths.

Elizabeth was gone.

Darcy raised his clenched hands to his temples, grasping at the hair just above his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut as he fought the reminder that continued to assault his overtaxed brain. It gave him no peace, however, and remained on endless, tortuous repeat.

ELIZABETH WAS GONE.

The soft crinkle of paper in his ear drew Darcy's attention out of his head and he halted to a complete standstill before the fireplace, lowering his fists slowly. Clutched within one of them was the letter Elizabeth had left him with her sweet curved handwriting upon the front spelling out her endearment for him. "William," it said.

Half of him wanted to pitch it into the hearth and watch it crumble into ash. The other could not bear the thought of destroying the last piece of Elizabeth she had bequeathed to him. None of him wished to read it. And yet all of him did.

"Brother! I heard that you were back – what did she say?"

Darcy did not turn at the sound of his sister's voice, his eyes transfixed on the wrinkled letter sitting upon his palm. His back was to the door, but he could hear Georgiana's approach as the pitter-patter of her slippers tread across the carpet in his direction.

"Brother?" Georgiana tentatively queried, putting herself within his line of sight. Her sweet face was drawn into an expression of concern and confusion as she leaned forward to look into his eyes. "Fitzwilliam, what is the matter? Did you speak to Lizzy? She – ," Georgiana's speech broke off in a gasp and she covered her mouth with a cupped hand. "She did not refuse you?"

Darcy's fingers curled back into a tight fist around the letter, obscuring his name in Elizabeth's writing. He could not say it aloud – could not make it real.

"I had thought she liked you," continued Georgiana, her hand slowly lowering from her face to press against her heart. "How could she not – ? Perhaps there has been some kind of mistake! I am sure if you speak to her again..."

"No."

"But perhaps there has been some kind of misunderstanding!" Georgiana argued, her eyes growing limpid with tears. She blinked to clear some of them away and they cascaded down her cheeks. "If you go to her – "

"ELIZABETH IS GONE!"

The words erupted from Darcy's mouth, surprising even him with their volume and ferocity. His sweet little sister stumbled backwards and away from him, nearly tripping over her skirts to get away from the volcanic reaction she had unintentionally instigated.

Georgiana trembled, now several feet distant, and seemed to grapple for what to say. Her next inquiry was both high pitched and tremulous, like the soft squeak of a mouse. "Do you mean she is…? That she has…?" She gulped and forced herself to say, "Died?"

A lurch within Darcy's chest reminded him that, in spite of the intense despair he was currently experiencing, the worst case scenario had not, in fact, come to pass. That Elizabeth yet lived, at least, he could be grateful for. "No," he replied, swallowing the irrational panic that such a thought had raised, "she has been taken away by her father. My suit, apparently, has been rejected."

The relief in his sister's expression was evident. "By Lizzy?" Georgiana asked, her tone strengthening again.

"No," he said again, "by her father."

"But why?"

"He – ," Darcy felt the words catch in his throat as if they would smother him. Mr Bennet's note had claimed that Elizabeth was engaged elsewhere, though her uncle did not believe it to be true. Was it? Could she truly belong to another man? Is that what she sought to explain to him in the letter? If so, his decision to leave it sealed was more appealing than ever. "I do not wish to discuss this right now. Please leave me."

"Brother..."

"Please."

Georgiana touched him lightly upon his arm and then left, closing the abused door behind her. As it met its frame more gently than he had separated them upon his entrance, the slight tremor caused a small vase on the nearest bookshelf to tumble from its perch and shatter upon the floor.

Darcy opened his hand again and looked at the letter, caressing each stroke of ink with his gaze. Instead of throwing it into the fireplace as he probably should, Darcy instead retraced his route once more to his desk and, with a jerky movement of fragile temper, pulled open the uppermost drawer on the right where he stored his correspondence. He threw it inside and then slammed it shut again.

Then, after stalking over to his sideboard, he grabbed his decanter of brandy and settled into his chair. After a single swig of the burning drink, he pulled the drawer open again and reached inside.


Author's Note: Poor Darcy...he's not as fun to torture as Caroline Bingley or Mr Collins. And I know that Mr Gardiner's refusal to give Darcy the directions to Longbourn won't please everyone (even I'm kinda annoyed about it), but he seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't directly violate the authority of another head of household. Mr Bennet technically has every right to insist upon this.

WOW, the response to last chapter was certainly...something. I've been mightily enjoying it, especially all of your theories (of which there are many) regarding Mr Bennet and his motives. Those of you who have guessed that Mr Bennet has selfish/lazy reasons for what he's doing are correct, though none have exactly guessed his motivations. Mostly because they're kinda complicated. All I'll say further is that we'll see.

In response to one Guest reviewer who suggested Mr Bennet was going to force Elizabeth to marry Mr Collins against her will, I will go on the record as saying that is NOT what's going to happen. I'm perfectly aware that, even with Lizzy underage, he can't do that. Even if he marches her up the aisle and makes her participate in the ceremony, she can always say NO when the parson asks. (In fact, not to spoil too much, but Lizzy will make a point of reminding her father of this down the line.) So Guest, if you're still reading this, sorry, but your confidence in your theory is misplaced.

Next Update: March 20, 2020
Expected Completion Date: July 24, 2020

MrsMarySmythe