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
PSA: I genuinely hope that you and all of your loved ones are healthy and safe during the COVID-19 crisis which, at this posting, is at quarantine levels across the world. Let's all hope that the situation improves soon.
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 Sixteen
The day was warm as they admired the flourishing roses in the back garden, strolling side-by-side and enjoying the contentment of one another's company. There was some witty banter, a healthy dose of flirting and both parties were smiling in that shy, sweet way of newly acknowledged lovers.
Once their previous topic of conversation had drawn to a natural close, Miss Bennet dared to venture, "Now that we are courting, Mr Darcy, I wonder if we might dispense with certain formalities."
Smiling, he replied, "Such as?"
"Well," she continued, grinning impishly and fluttering her lashes in mock coquettish fashion, "it occurs to me that we might indulge in referring to one another by our Christian names, at least in private. I find that being called 'Miss Bennet' is rather awkward for me, considering that is the name I generally attribute to my dear elder sister."
"Do you have a preferred moniker?"
"Elizabeth or Lizzy," she replied, "for I only answer to 'Eliza' whenever I cannot help it."
Darcy chuckled. "Elizabeth it shall be, then."
"Do you have an abhorrence of nicknames, sir?" asked Miss Bennet – Elizabeth. "Am I to call you 'Mr Darcy' forever more?"
"I do not think that would be necessary," said he, carefully plucking a full pink rose from its bush and presenting it to her. She accepted the gift, burying her nose within its fragrant petals. The color of the blossom blended almost perfectly with the rosy tint of Elizabeth's cheeks, a warm and becoming shade. "Most in my circle call me simply 'Darcy,' although my family members tend to refer to me as 'Fitzwilliam.'"
Elizabeth lifted her face from the flower to ask, "Do you have a preference?"
He shrugged. "Not particularly, though I will admit to thinking 'Fitzwilliam' a touch pretentious."
"I cannot imagine why you would think so," said Elizabeth, impish mirth bubbling up from the depths of her fine eyes. "Why, may I ask, did your parents gift you with such a mouthful?"
"It was my mother's maiden name," Darcy replied simply, inching a little closer to her so that her natural scent might rise above that of the roses. He bent over her head, sadly covered by a bonnet now that they were forced to be more proper with one another, and inhaled deeply.
Elizabeth tilted her chin upward so that she might look more directly at him. They were close enough for Darcy to steal a kiss, but he did not dare when their chaperons were likely watching them from the parsonage windows. "Has anyone ever shortened it? 'Fitz' seems like an obvious choice."
Darcy's lip curled upwards with distaste. "I have been forced to tolerate that nickname from a few acquaintances, though reluctantly." He would do so for her, as well, though he rather hoped that they could come to some other arrangement.
Elizabeth laughed, clearly amused at his expression. "Never fear, good sir, it was not a serious suggestion. However, I have always had a preference for the name 'William' and think it would suit you tolerably well."
"'William,'" he repeated, exercising the syllables upon his own tongue. "I would not be averse to being called that, if you prefer it to either 'Darcy' or 'Fitzwilliam.'"
"I do," she concluded, shifting the rose he had gifted her to one hand so that she might latch onto his upper arm with her other. She squeezed it a little and whispered, "William."
"Elizabeth."
o0o
London, Darcy House
Monday
September 3, 1811
Darcy startled awake in his desk chair, shaken from his doze by the loud thud of his household ledger slipping from his loose fingertips onto the floor. The last he could recall before sinking into the vivid memory of himself with Elizabeth amongst the roses, he had been attempting to focus on the numbers presented to him by his housekeeper in a futile effort to distract himself from thoughts of his missing beloved. As his attention had continued to wander against his explicit desire to the contrary and he had been unable to sleep at night for the past two weeks, it was little wonder that Darcy found himself waking from a shallow slumber sitting upright in his study.
Rubbing both palms over his face, Darcy allowed himself a groan full of irritation and fatigue. He could not go on like this; if he did not find Elizabeth soon, he would inevitably drive himself into madness in the pursuit of her.
After he had indulged in an afternoon and tortured night of self pity, Darcy had rallied himself to the task of searching out the location of his Elizabeth. He and Georgiana had managed to take their leave of Derbyshire a week after Elizabeth's departure and headed for London, the obvious place to begin his search as Mr Gardiner had kindly informed him that she lived within five-and-twenty miles of that great metropolis, and settled into their secondary homes. Georgiana had gone to her own establishment, leased by her brother after she had been taken from school the previous winter, and Darcy had remained at Darcy House with the knocker off the door. Within his stronghold, he plotted his next move.
Darcy had little to go on, merely her name, the knowledge that her father owned an estate of middling size which he could not recall the exact title of – Longhorne? Longmoore? Darcy wished he had paid closer attention the handful of times Elizabeth had mentioned the Bennet homestead by name – and the generic location of her family home, and so the task was monumental. He had considered pleading his case to Mr Gardiner again, but unless he were utterly unable to succeed Darcy hoped to respect the promise that Elizabeth's uncle had made to her father, little though it pleased him. Mr Gardiner's loyalty to his family in the face of disagreement was to be admired as the act of a gentleman and Darcy would treat it as such. However, both men were likely aware that Darcy would not stand upon such ceremony if all else failed; if desperation drove Darcy to beg for Elizabeth's direction, he could only hope that Mr Gardiner would show the same respect in return and violate his confidences.
The investigator he had hired to assist him had cautioned Darcy that which he already knew, much to his annoyance. He was already aware that "Elizabeth Bennet" was not an especially uncommon name, estimating conservatively that there were likely hundreds of them throughout England, and that the direction of "more-or-less twenty miles from London, in Hertfordshire" lacked specificity; she could reside in any number of small villages to the north of the capital, many of them too obscure to even find a place on most maps. An unnamed estate of the size which Elizabeth had described would not be especially memorable, either; were it similar in proportion to Pemberley or Rosings, or had he known what it was called, that would be a different matter. Darcy had snapped in return that, were additional information available to him, the investigator's services would not be needed and he had received a mumbled apology in response. He had hired the man anyway and now waited for clues to surface.
In perfect honesty, Darcy would have much preferred to engage the assistance and military connections of his cousin Richard to aid in his search for Elizabeth. The good colonel was most unfortunately detained in the service of King and Country and thus unavailable; it could not be helped. Darcy thought Richard was still in the country, based on how quickly his letters were returned with an answer, but even that much was unknown. Richard had said in his last communication that he was expected to return home soon, perhaps even by yuletide, but such happy news was not useful in the present circumstance. If he had still not located Elizabeth before Christmas, however, at least then he would have the colonel's help. In the meantime, the private investigator, no matter how skeptical Darcy was of his success, would have to do.
Once Darcy managed to track her down, with or without the aid of other parties, he was not entirely clear on what he should do next. Go to her, of course, but he had little information regarding the reasons why Mr Bennet was strangely set against him as a son-in-law. He could only hope that Elizabeth's father would be more reasonable in person when Darcy showed up on his doorstep to beg permission to marry his daughter. He was willing to explain away any concerns Mr Bennet had over the match, little though he could imagine what they were, and hoped that any misunderstandings could be cleared up between them. If Elizabeth truly were promised to another man, as sickening as that thought was, Darcy hoped that some kind of arrangement might be agreed upon between the individuals involved; surely the loyalty of her supposed fiance could be bought with the right sum. Regardless of the method, Darcy absolutely had to succeed in this if he wished to take Elizabeth to wife and, as his ravaged heart would attest, he most certainly did.
Darcy dropped his hands into his lap and leaned his head back against the leather of his chair. He could not settle no matter what he attempted, not with his mind in continuous turmoil since Elizabeth's disappearance from Derbyshire. After the day of that event, he had not allowed himself to excessively indulge in spirits again as they were the weakness of a weak man, but he still required some form of comfort to fortify him against the odds he struggled against in his quest. Before he had even made the conscious decision to do so, Darcy's hand was reaching for the handle of the drawer which held his correspondence.
From within, Darcy's fingers gently drew out a letter folded into thirds which was addressed to "William" in feminine script. The pages were delicate at the creases, the ink smudged in places and the fibers of the paper were soft after frequent handling – a cherished token. It fell open without much effort and he supported it upon his palm lest it fall to pieces.
"My Dearest William," it began.
Lambton Parsonage,
Friday August 16, 1811,6AM
My Dearest William,
As you are reading this letter, you must know that I am gone. I am sorry to cause pain to anyone and, though it was most unwillingly done, I hope it will be of short duration. Know that it was not my choice to leave, nor would I have done so had there been another presented to me, and that I continue to hold you in great esteem.
I dearly wish that I could explain my sudden departure, but I cannot. This is not from some deeply held secret nor shame in relation to our attachment to one another, but rather from true ignorance; I honestly do not know why I am leaving Derbyshire. Last evening, after we had been dining at Pemberley, my relations and I returned to the parsonage to find my father waiting for us. We, naturally, at first thought that there must be some emergency at home to bring my father so far when he is so generally disinclined to travel, but he only announced that it was time for me to return to Hertfordshire and that we would be leaving early the following morning. All entreaties for explanation were ignored or rebuffed and I was left to the impression that he somehow disapproved of our courtship for he refused to delay our departure to meet you and informed me that our "acquaintance" was to be dissolved forthwith.
At this point in the letter, the narrative which had begun with the smooth, even strokes of a practiced pen started to show the signs of a trembling hand. The symbols were less contained within their lines, their contours were more erratically constructed and tiny pinpricks of ink spattered across the surface of the paper. The words remained legible, but less controlled.
I cannot express how sorry I am to be leaving you and how much I wish I could be giving you this explanation, such as it is, to your face. I should not be leaving you this letter, but it seemed to me that you deserved at least this consideration in the face of my sudden abandonment of our courtship. If we are very lucky, my dear aunt will take pity on us and overlook the impropriety of such an overture and deliver this into your hand sometime during the course of the day.If not, I pray that she will at least forward to you my words of regret and apology.
I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, William. Though my mind tells me that there is nothing that I can do to prevent this separation between us, and perhaps this is true, my heart insists that I should do more. What, I do not know, but something. In any case, I shall have to live with the thought that you are somewhere alive in the world and presumably thinking ill of me for the rest of my days.
These paragraphs were more difficult to decipher as they were blotted in places that indicated the writer had lost her struggle against the fall of her tears. The missive had begun in a brave attempt at composure, but closed with the trembling anguish he, himself, had felt upon learning of her departure.
The maid is calling me downstairs; the carriage is ready. I will close this letter with words of affection and an entreaty that you not allow this situation to deter you from the happiness you so richly deserve. Though it seems that our courtship will not be reaching the conclusion that I – and, I suspect, yourself also – had so hoped for, I want you to move forward into the future and…
The latter portions of this sentence were entirely obscured by a smudge of moisture, though Darcy felt as if he could fill in the blanks; she wanted him to move on to find a wife, to forget about her, much as it was tearing her apart to suggest it.
I will only add, I love you and God bless,
Your Elizabeth
Darcy's thumb stroked the letters that comprised her name as his eyes caressed the "Your" which preceded them. As wrenching as the content of this letter was, he was always soothed by the closing which denoted her affection for him and the single word which reassured him that her heart still belonged to him. It was cold comfort in the dead of night, but gave him the warmth of hope as he forged ahead in his search.
A light rap upon his door called Darcy's attention away from this tender missive and he carefully folded it closed. Unwilling to part with it just yet, he held it in his lap as he bid his visitor entrance. "Come."
Darcy's butler, Mr Clarence, entered and bowed with the rigid formality he was known for. "Mr Bingley is here to see you, sir. Would you prefer I send him away?"
Somewhat surprised, Darcy nevertheless indicated that his old friend's company would be welcome. How Bingley had divined his presence in Town was somewhat of a mystery, but an open and ebullient man such as he would most likely reveal the source of his information without artifice when asked. "No, that will not be necessary. Please send him in."
"Darcy!" Bingley exclaimed a few minutes later as he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the study. His expression was bright and jovial, an earnest and natural grin spread across his cheeks. The younger man stretched out his hand for Darcy to shake. "My sister had it from yours that you were in Town and I had to come see you. I have leased an estate!"
Darcy had stood upon Bingley's entrance and, with his precious letter from Elizabeth tucked safely in the hand behind his back, utilized the other to greet his friend properly. His lips quirked upward into an amused smirk as his prognostication of Bingley revealing his knowledge came to pass without any prodding whatsoever. "I had wondered about that. I take it Miss Bingley has been to see Georgiana?"
"Yes, just yesterday," Bingley confirmed. "Considering your knocker is off the door, I suspect that Miss Darcy did not mean to tell Caroline of your presence here, but...well, I am not so good at keeping secrets, either, so I shall say no more on the subject."
Darcy chose to veer the topic away from Miss Bingley and his own sister's loose lips and targeted the one which Bingley had announced without preamble upon coming into the room. "So you have leased an estate, you said?"
The two men broke apart and took their seats, Darcy behind the desk and Bingley in front of it, as the younger nodded fervently. "Yes! I had hoped that you might be available to render your opinion before I signed the papers, but then I thought you were at Pemberley at the time – though, of course, it turns out you were here all along – but in any case it is just perfect! It is of a decent size, in good repair, close to Town should I need to return for a few days on business; just right. I have taken it for a year and, if I like the neighborhood, might even consider a purchase at the end of my lease."
In spite of Darcy's recent troubles, he could not help but feel an affectionate humor in the face of Bingley's exuberance. It even took some of the sting away from his disappointment. "And when do you take possession of it?"
"At Michaelmas. Once it has been tidied up a bit, we can move in directly, which brings me to the favor I wished to ask of you." Bingley leaned forward in his chair, his elbows propped against his knees, and issued his request. "I would like you to come stay with me for a few weeks and give me that opinion I had been wanting when I signed the lease. Tell me if you think it is a decent opportunity for settling down, give me advice as to how to direct the tenants and the like. We could do some hunting, enjoy the country air – what do you say?"
Darcy hesitated. "It is not the best time, Bingley. I have much work to see to here that cannot be put aside." He could not abandon his search for Elizabeth, not even for a few weeks. He was desperate to find her lest this other man her father claimed was her affianced stake his claim in a way which would render Darcy's proposals moot permanently.
Bingley looked crestfallen as his smile drooped and his shoulders sagged. "But surely you can attend to your affairs at Netherfield! You are always corresponding with your man of business here and your steward at Pemberley. And, as I said, it is close enough to Town that you can return within a few hours if needed – do say that you will come with me!"
Darcy was still unsure, but the reminder that he could easily travel back and forth between London and wherever this Netherfield was situated piqued his interest. Based on what Mr Gardiner had intimated, that Elizabeth lived within five-and-twenty miles of the capital, he might possibly be better placed at Bingley's newly leased estate. Depending, of course, upon the direction in which it lay. "And where, exactly, is Netherfield located?"
"Hertfordshire!"
End Volume I
Author's Note: And now our story will come back around to the events of the prologue. "Volume I: Derbyshire" is now complete and "Volume II: Hertfordshire" begins with Chapter 17. No, before you ask, it's not being posted as a separate story; the two portions just happened to break up into neat and tidy volumes.
Those of you hiding behind your couches can now come out; the angst is letting up from here. There are still troubles ahead, of course (I gotta fill the next twenty-three chapters with something), but at least now ODC can face them together. Next chapter starts up after the assembly.
I hope that you and yours are healthy and safe during the COVID-19 crisis. Part of me worries that we're all overreacting, but then the rest of me feels that we're better off safe than sorry. Either way, PLEASE refrain from hoarding any goods that you and your family don't need. It's important to remember that we're all in the same boat right now and taking up unnecessary resources means that someone else has to go without. We're all in this together as, ironically, we remain physically apart.
Next Update: April 3, 2020
Expected Completion Date: July 24, 2020
– MrsMarySmythe
