Title: Dare to Refuse Such a Man
Rating: T (PG-13) – 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 hope that you and yours are safe and healthy during the COVID-19 crisis. Take precautions for yourself and others and please don't hoard any goods that your family doesn't need; we're all in this together, even while we remain physically apart.

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 Twenty-Nine

Wednesday
November 13, 1811
Longbourn

"Jane! Jane! He is come – Mr Bingley is come!" was Mama's tittering exclamation as she burst into Jane's bedchamber where Elizabeth was reading to her. Jane had been on the verge of dropping off to sleep just as their mother had entered, startling them both and chasing any notion of rest for the elder Miss Bennet away. "Come, get out of bed and don your blue gown."

Elizabeth frowned at Mama and attempted to dissuade her from disturbing her dearest sister's recovery. Though Jane's fever had long since abated and her sore throat diminished to a mere raspy tingle, she was still somewhat pale and her fatigue lingered. "Mama, Jane is quite fatigued and hardly well enough to go downstairs; you would not wish to set her back, would you?"

Mama waved her handkerchief in a series of impatient flicks at Elizabeth and proceeded over to the wardrobe which she opened and began pawing through. With her head buried within it, she negated, "Nonsense! Jane might be a little more pale than normal, but she is perfectly able to sit in the parlor and visit with Mr Bingley. Ah! Here it is." Mama's triumph was complete when she backed out with the blue gown held reverently between her hands. She shook it lightly to dispel a few imaginary wrinkles and sighed happily. "Yes, this one always brings out your eyes. Come, Jane, get up and put this on quickly!"

Elizabeth put her hand on Jane's arm as her elder sister moved to follow their mother's instructions, keeping her in bed. More firmly, she insisted, "Really, Mama. Jane is only now improving after her illness! She should rest."

"I am well enough, Lizzy," interjected the soft, slightly wheezy voice of Jane. Elizabeth turned to look at her elder sister and opened her mouth to protest, but Jane persisted, "And I wish to greet Mr Bingley; I was sorry not to see him last night at Purvis Lodge."

"There, you see, Lizzy? Jane herself wishes to go down." Mama draped the gown over her arm and shooed Elizabeth away so that Jane could throw back the covers and stand. She looked tired and more than usually fragile, but Jane remained upright without even the slightest sign of teetering.

Elizabeth, in spite of her reservations, stepped aside and allowed it to be without further protest. If Mama wished it to be so, and Jane wished it to be so, there was little Elizabeth could do other than register her dissension, which she already had.

She rolled her eyes behind Mama's back and moved to the window, which overlooked the drive; sure enough, there was Mr Bingley dismounting from his gray mare down below. William was not with him, but then Elizabeth had not really expected him to be. Papa's injunctions against visits from that quarter had been duly registered by all parties and William was not the sort to press his luck when he had little to gain from it. Still, she was disappointed not to see him since the snow had kept her indoors this morning and their daily rendezvous had been impossible. Elizabeth was intrepid and risked all sorts of weather for her walks, but tromping through icy fields for such a distance as it would take to reach their meeting spot was not especially wise. She might have made the attempt anyway, but William had forced a promise from her the previous evening that she would not, and so there was little point in traveling so far with no assignation at the end of it. It was to be hoped that the snow, which lay thinly on the ground, would be essentially gone on the morrow and they could resume their constitutionals.

With a sigh, Elizabeth turned away from the view and went to assist Jane in putting up her hair. She would aim for something simple and easily deconstructed so that, when Mr Bingley's call was concluded, it would be all the easier to tuck Jane back up in bed.

o0o

My Dearest, Loveliest Elizabeth,

I must apologize for leaving you so suddenly and at such a time, but urgent business calls me back to London. I cannot divulge the specifics here lest this note fall into the wrong hands, but believe me when I tell you that only the most dire of circumstances could ever tear me from your side and that I will return the first moment I am able. Do not allow your father or Mr Collins to persuade you otherwise; my heart is irretrievably yours and nothing will keep me from you.

Stay strong, my love. I will come back and then we will marry.

All my love,

F.D.

Elizabeth lifted her eyes from where the missive rested in her lap and redirected her gaze out of the window to the dismally wet day beyond the pane. She folded William's words in on themselves and covered the paper with her hands to keep it from the notice of her meddling cousin, who was sitting across the room from her and smugly pulling the details of his rival's sudden departure from Mr Bingley. Their guest, for his part, seemed reluctant to divulge anything at all to a man so cheerfully rubbing his hands together over the unfortunate news he had brought with him. It was not customary for the amiable Mr Bingley to behave in a standoffish manner, but Mr Collins could inspire even the gentlest souls to it with his ugly, gleeful triumph. Even Jane, wrapped up and settled before the fire, had frowned at him.

When Mr Bingley had made a point of greeting Elizabeth even before Jane upon his arrival, she had been surprised. When he had surreptitiously slipped her the note she now hid between her palms and her skirts, dread had infused her. Now Elizabeth was caught somewhere between calm and distress as she pondered what William had written to her. What disaster could have dragged him away from Hertfordshire while their courtship was still in flux? If there had been a death in his family, he surely would have simply said so or the news could have been passed verbally through Mr Bingley. Whatever had happened was so very wrong, or so potentially scandalous, that it could neither be put in print nor entrusted to the discretion of one of William's closest friends. Mr Bingley appeared to know nothing more than he was revealing to Mr Collins and the rest of the room for he had shrugged at her privately to express his bafflement. Elizabeth could only hope that whatever had occurred would be put right quickly, both for William's sake and, more selfishly, so that he could return to her and resume waging war against Papa and Mr Collins.

Poor Mama had taken immediately to her bed once Mr Bingley had announced to the room that William was gone from the neighborhood. She had been escorted upstairs by Kitty and Lydia, leaving Elizabeth, Jane, Mary and, unfortunately, Mr Collins to visit with Mr Bingley. Mr Collins took up most of the conversation with unfeeling questions about William's departure and snide suggestions that he had perhaps gone to visit his relations in Kent.

It was little more than Elizabeth would have expected from such a mean-spirited little goblin such as Mr Collins, but it was grating all the same. Gentle Jane, ashen yet becoming in her blue gown, had been shocked at their cousin's unkindness and Mary looked more than usually disapproving. All three Bennet girls had watched Mr Collins with increasing disbelief as he proved himself obliviously cruel.

"And so he left early this morning? Barely a word to anybody?"

Mr Bingley's face was set in a stony expression reminiscent of his absent friend. "Not quite, no. He, as I said, received an urgent express last evening after we returned from Purvis Lodge which demanded his immediate removal to London. It was not entirely unexpected, therefore, that he should go at first light."

"But he is gone?" Mr Collins' beady eyes glinted with cheer as he said this. His grin was so wide as to nearly split his face in twain, giving his flabby features the exact look of a toad who had recently feasted upon a juicy fly. Should he lick his lips, the revolting image would be complete.

"For now," Mr Bingley insisted with emphasis.

"Oh, but once he arrives in London, I am sure that he will not be in such a hurry to leave it again. And, of course, his aunt's residence is within easy drive of the capital...I am sure he will not wish to hurry back so soon."

Mr Bingley bristled visibly and his spine straightened. His tone was closely proximal to rudeness as he contradicted Mr Collins. "Actually, Darcy has every intention of returning as soon as may be. He could not give me a specific time frame, of course, but as soon as his business is concluded I fully expect to see him back at Netherfield. If he is not back within two weeks, I shall be very much surprised."

"Oh, yes, certainly...if he is not drawn elsewhere."

Elizabeth had tired of listening to Mr Collins' speculations at this point and absented herself to the window seat where she could be more alone with her thoughts. She did not doubt William's devotion to her, nor his intentions to return, but whatever "business" had drawn him away might not be concluded so quickly and easily as Mr Bingley so optimistically suggested. Were that the case, he would have assured her that this removal would be of short duration, but he had not. Or perhaps he would not have been obliged to go at all, especially so precipitously.

How vexing to not know the details about what had separated them! However temporary William's absence, it was bound to be a trial for them both and would show false weakness to the opposition. But there was nothing to be done for it; if William felt that the explanation was too sensitive to be passed along through third party means, she would trust that it must be so. He had always been open and truthful with her before and there was no suggestion that this aspect of his nature had changed since she had last seen him the night before. All Elizabeth could do at this juncture was hope and pray for the best possible resolution to whatever the problem was. And that her dear William would return safely to her before much time had passed.

Standing, Elizabeth dismissed herself from company, enduring a simpering smile full of false sympathy from Mr Collins for her trouble, and left the parlor with William's note hidden within the folds of her skirt. She must go to her mother and assuage her fears lest Mama suffer an actual attack from her nerves and fall ill. A half-smile from Mr Bingley, the press of Jane's hand and a few well-meant (but inappropriately timed) platitudes from Mary sent her out of the room with a slightly better outlook than she had been enjoying. Mr Collins, of course, persisted in being insufferable.

As Elizabeth passed her father's book room, she heard her name called from within and paused at the top landing. "Lizzy, come in for a minute; I would speak to you."

Shoulders drooping with the weight of inevitability, Elizabeth abandoned her course to Mama's chambers and turned into her father's sanctuary. Instead of settling herself in the chair which had once been her favorite, she stood just inside the threshold, her hands folded together before her in a demure posture which had the dual purpose of maintaining a cold distance between herself and Papa as well as hiding William's note. "Yes, Papa?"

"Come in and sit down." Papa gestured to that same chair, smiling benignly.

"Thank you, but I would prefer to stand."

Papa's smile twitched slightly at one corner, the only sign that her refusal to accept his hospitality had struck him as anything other than customary. He cleared his throat, intertwined his fingers atop the desk and peered at her over his spectacles. "Very well. A shrieking little bird tells me that Deplorable Darcy has returned to London?"

Elizabeth's shoulders, formerly slumped with defeat, tightened and raised higher in offense. "Do not call him that!" she snapped, perhaps unwisely.

Papa flinched slightly at the lash her tongue had just dealt him, but did not chastise her; perhaps even he realized that he had gone too far. "Ahem, yes...well, is it true? Is Darcy gone back to London?"

More calmly, Elizabeth replied, "He had some urgent business that called him away, but Mr Bingley is confident that he will return very soon. Within a fortnight, he expects."

"But he is gone?"

Bristling again, Elizabeth scowled at her father where he sat behind his desk, smirking at her disappointment. She had never suspected him of such cruelty as a girl and was disgusted to see it so clearly displayed now. "He will return."

"You cannot know that," Papa replied with an eager quickness.

"To the contrary," Elizabeth countered, chin held aloft and countenance collectedly cool, "I am entirely certain that William will return. I have had it from him myself." She withdrew the note from its hiding place and presented it to his notice. Papa's eyes narrowed upon the folded piece of paper suspended between her fingers.

"Let me see it." He held out his hand to receive the note and Elizabeth, feeling that there was no profit to be gained by flaunting his authority at every opportunity and that it might even be helpful for Papa to see William's explicit determination to return for himself, crossed the room and laid it across her father's open palm. Papa's eyes traced the lines of script quickly and then returned to Elizabeth's face. "This means nothing. Just some pretty words."

"You may believe that, if it brings you comfort," Elizabeth replied, hearkening back to Papa's snide dismissal from weeks before when he had previously disdained William's devotion to her. By the narrowing of his eyes, she could tell that he recalled the substance of that previous conversation as well as she did. And exactly how wrong he had been proven when William had later appeared in Hertfordshire as if stepping out of a dream.

Papa folded William's note, stood and turned to his fireplace where he dropped it into the glowing embers. As added insult, he took up the poker and stirred the dwindling flames back into life so that they would eat away the physical evidence of William's regard. No matter; the love contained in that missive could not be rendered into ashes, regardless of how desperately her father wished it.

Turning back to Elizabeth, Papa fixed her with a steely glare over the rim of his spectacles and said, "I am not an ogre, no matter what you choose to believe, and so I will give you some time to accustom yourself to the inevitable. You have until Christmas to make your peace with becoming Collins' wife and taking your place here as my heir. However, when Disgusting Darcy fails to return for you before then, I expect that you will stop making such a fuss and do as you are told. Now, be off with you." He flicked his hand at her in a dismissive gesture and sat back in his chair.

Elizabeth turned on her heel and exited, needing no further encouragement to be out of her father's company. His pettiness was what she considered disgusting.

Elizabeth spent the remainder of the day and evening in her mother's chambers, grateful for the refuge from Mr Collins' spiteful suggestions and Papa's implacable belief in William's inconstancy. How either man could think, after all they had already endured as a couple up to this point, that William would ever jilt her was beyond Elizabeth's imagining, but it seemed that both Papa and Mr Collins were inclined to believe only that which was most profitable to themselves. The reality of the situation – that William had not allowed any amount of distance or disapproval to keep them apart, that Elizabeth showed no signs of yielding to any threat or persuasion – mattered little to those who were prepared to ignore it.

Poor Mama had been in a right state when Elizabeth had finally entered her chambers, sobbing and frantic that William had supposedly been frightened away by Papa's continued opposition to their match, and it had taken a good long while before Elizabeth had been able to soothe her out of her fears. She dearly wished that Papa had not burned her note so that she could have utilized it to calm Mama, but he was apparently determined to be cruel in every possible method and so Elizabeth was forced to do without it.

At length, however, Elizabeth's steady insistence that William was coming back and the various acts of consolation had seen Mama settled into some semblance of calm, though she was not at all presentable for company thereafter. Instead, her five daughters tenderly assisted her in changing into her nightclothes, settled her into bed and placated her tattered nerves until she fell asleep. Even after that, Elizabeth and her sisters remained above stairs in Mama's chambers, whispering amongst themselves and avoiding the male inhabitants of Longbourn.

o0o

"Good night, Lizzy. I am sure your Mr Darcy will return soon, as Mr Bingley has said…."

Elizabeth turned at the doorway and gave her sweet, angelic sister a dim smile in deference to the sympathy she had received from that quarter for the better part of the day. Jane was finally tucked up in her covers again, where she belonged, after attending to the needs of others since being rousted from them in the morning. Even on the precipice of sleep, Jane was still thinking of Elizabeth's troubles instead of her flagging health.

"I am sure he will. Now go to sleep." Jane's eyelids drifted closed, hiding that striking blue which mesmerized so many. Her breathing was deep and even, indicating that she was already being fondly embraced by Morpheus.

Elizabeth backed slowly out of Jane's bedchamber and closed the door behind her, mindful of doing so without noise. She then walked the three steps between their rooms and entered her own and closed herself in for the night. Elizabeth took the extra measure of locking her door, more for the sake of metaphorically separating herself from the rest of the world rather than against any suspected danger. Having done so, she rested her forehead against the smooth wood and sighed deeply.

After completing her nightly ablutions by rote, her mind engaged elsewhere, Elizabeth blew out her candle and slipped beneath her bedclothes. She expected a long night with little rest, but no activity besides laying alone in the dark with her thoughts appealed to Elizabeth; she could not fathom any book which would distract her, she was in no mood for cheerful letter writing and any companions she might have found acceptable had all retreated to their own chambers for the night. It was very late and she was alone save for her imagination.

Elizabeth stared at the canopy above her bed and watched the shadows flicker across the fabric in the light cast by her small fireplace. They seemed to form themselves into shapes as though dark clouds scudding across the sky. The shapes merrily danced with one another, a midnight assembly of magic and romance. There, that one, the one shaped like a black stallion in a beaver hat, spun another in the form of a woodland fairy around in a wide arc while the others encroached upon them…

Subtly, with a transformation so gradual that Elizabeth had not noticed, the scene of prancing shadows morphed into a different setting entirely. The shade was now more green, more dappled, and the light was brighter. Warmer. She could hear the soft gurgling of a brook from below and the happy twittering of birds above. The world around her clarified into greater sharpness and Elizabeth could see that her bare hands rested upon familiar gray stone which was lightly carpeted with fine moss. Beside her rested another hand as familiar as the stone, large, masculine and inching ever closer as she watched it…

Elizabeth's gaze crept up the back of the hand to the dark sleeve which was attached to it, trailing gradually upward over the arm, shoulder and starched white cravat until she reached the face most beloved to her in all the world. William was standing beside her and smiling, his gray eyes exceptionally bright. Supernaturally so. When he spoke, his voice rumbled and echoed like far off thunder. "Elizabeth."

Elizabeth felt such relief upon seeing him that she felt a sob gurgle in her chest. "William." Her voice had a similar otherworldly tremor, although it had more the tone of running water than the deep baritone of an oncoming storm.

William's hand trailed up the length of her arm and his fingers swept across the arch of her cheek. It felt like a balmy wind across her skin. "I am coming home."

Elizabeth swallowed the rising feelings in her throat. "I know. I am waiting."

Lightning sparked in William's eyes and a wild gust rattled the trees around them, scattering the green shadows and enveloping Elizabeth in a cocoon of comforting warmth. She drew closer to him. "We will both go home."

"Home," she agreed, breathlessly.

As William lowered his face to hers, Elizabeth tilted her chin at an upward angle to meet his descent. His breath was warm and humid against her mouth…

Elizabeth woke with a start when the cock crowed at dawn, dispelling her only comfort back into the void where dreams came from. She slumped back into her pillows and began to sob.

Author's Note: Well, she got the letter. No time for pointless misunderstandings between now and the end! We have enough trouble without them.

Sorry, a series of relatively short chapters coming up for now, but we're moving along double-time with TWO updates per week so it won't seem so bad. I could probably combine some of them together, but I'm sticking to the individual POV format. Again, hide behind your blue couch until the end if you can't stand the tension; you only have to wait until July 31 to read it straight through. On that note...

TRIGGER WARNING! I want to give y'all a heads up more in advance this time because in the next few chapters we deal with some domestic violence issues. It's primarily contained within Chapter 33 and the violence is relatively minimal compared to what many victims suffer, but still. Don't read ahead if this will cause you anxiety. I'm also upping the rating to T in deference to this.

Next Update: June 26, 2020 (FRIDAY)
Expected Completion: July 31, 2020

– MrsMarySmythe

Guest Review Responses – RE: Chapter 28

I won't normally add this section to my author's notes, but sometimes a Guest Reviewer asks a question or makes a comment that I would like to respond to. Hence, the below.

Guest, 6/19/20 – The reason people complain is because it feels as though you're including farcial plot points to supposedly drive your story forward. Why would Georgiana be eloping now? Why when Bingley took Netherfield *after* the previous summer when Georgiana was 15 and eloped not 16 as she would be now.

On this point, I feel I must defend myself. I did NOT include Georgiana's elopement with Wickham on a whim – to the contrary, I've been building up to it since the beginning. It's exactly why she was at Pemberley during the Derbyshire portion of our story and Mrs Younge was still in attendance as her companion. It was also specifically stated that Georgiana did NOT go to Ramsgate prior to the events of this story. I know it's been awhile since those chapters were posted, so please do go back to refresh your memory if you've forgotten the events of chapters 1-17. I very particularly rearranged the plot points of the original P&P so that I could throw this twist into the last stretch, both with the intent to drag Darcy away from Hertfordshire AND to play around with the elopement trope (ie, instead of Lydia making a scandal, it's Georgiana; instead of Darcy and Elizabeth taking the easy way out, we see how it can all go wrong; and so on). I'm sorry if anyone finds it "farcical," but I'm not writing this story on the fly, as I have already repeatedly said, and every event is entirely intentional. To leave out the Georgiana/Wickham elopement would be to leave a giant, gaping plot hole in my story and I won't do that.

Also, not to be overly particular here, but technically we don't know exactly when Georgiana turns sixteen as Miss Austen never specifies a birth date in the original. She very well could be sixteen by autumn (three months since we've seen her last), but I don't see much difference in maturity one way or the other. Moot point.

Guest 6/22/20 – Just before CF's letter I was about to suggest that Darcy and E better get that 8 months early baby cooking at this point. Collins wont take a TAKEN bride.

That was definitely Mrs Bennet's suggestion and maybe, all things considered, they should have listened, lolz.

JP 6/20/20 – I just finished reading (almost) all your work and figured that this would be a good place to leave a review. I love all of your stories so much that I disregarded my rule against unfinished works. I usually don't even read super long fics for fear of the plot going awry or the author giving up on the story, but you seem a constant sort, so I trust you.
Overall, your writing is incredible (I think that your pacing is perfect), your posting is reliable (an admirable trait in fan fiction authors), and your plots are creative and riveting (I do love a good ghost story).
Thank you for your contribution to the fandom and for giving readers another way to experience Austen's incredible characters (and the not so incredible ones too). Have a fantastic week.
(P.S. I totally called the thing Whickam, but I was really hoping that I was wrong.)

Thank you for being such a faithful reader! I'm glad you've enjoyed the stories I've shared so far and hope you continue to do so in the future. It means a lot to me that you have faith in my abilities and I really needed that confidence boost this week.

I really try to be consistent with my updating, though I will be the first to admit that I've learned from previous mistakes on that score. In older profiles, I had to limit myself to OneShots and shorter plots because any longer projects inevitably went unfinished or took a LONG time for me to write chapters for. This time, I've organized myself much better. It's still a struggle.

Also, I love a good ghost story, too. Even though I'm not a believer in the supernatural, I adore the history and creativity inherent in them. (NOTE: for those of you who might be confused here, JP is referencing "A Haunting at Pemberley," which is also in my profile.)

Kudos for anticipating Wickham's bad timing :)