Elizabeth's head was spinning by the time she found herself situated in the carriage back home. The rest of the ball had been a flurry of commotion; a match between Soulmates was even rarer than the blue mood. Poor Jane and Bingley had barely spoken two words together after they matched, when they had been whisked away by their respective families and bombarded with congratulations.
"I can hardly believe it," Jane had whispered to Lizzy, during a lull in the ballroom's heightened chatter, "I am the happiest woman alive! I can only hope that one day Lizzy, you will find your Soulmate. Then you will be as happy as I!"
"I doubt that," Elizabeth had tried to joke. The words had left the charcoal taste of bitter truth in her mouth.
Jane hadn't noticed; she just smiled widely, and hugged her sister tight. Elizabeth held her close, trying not to think that soon her dearest sister would be leaving their house, to live with another. She tried not to think about how she had lost both her dearest confidants in one night.
Indeed, she no longer knew what to make of Fitzwilliam. He seemed like an entirely different person from the proud Mr. Darcy. Yet, remembering the man's harsh words, Elizabeth flinched. There could be no mistaking it. They were one in the same.
Fitzwilliam had never been.. not loving, exactly, but she could imagine him so, in the flesh. He came across as a subdued, yet passionate man, arguing intensely about morals and philosophy, yet being tender and caring when Elizabeth needed it. He had been a source of comfort, even if he was but letters on her skin.
Mr. Darcy however.. she couldn't imagine him smiling, much less saying the words Fitzwilliam wrote. Mr. Darcy seemed to be inclined to hate everyone and everything around him. Was he being kind to her, simply because she was his Soulmate? And if that were the case, once they were married, how long would it be before the tender FItzwilliam dissolved into the hateful Mr. Darcy?
Elizabeth wasn't sure she could stand being tied to someone who so blatantly hated her, her family, and everything that she held dear. She wouldn't be able to stand living with him, seeing his disdainful glare everyday of her life… and much worse, not being able to leave. If they were bonded, no matter how miserable he might make her, she would be a thousand times worse off without him.
If he was as proud and hateful as his words, then, if she fell out of favor, he might extract himself deliberately! What would she do then? How could she ever love someone who hated her so?
And the worst part was, she loved Fitzwilliam. Loved him dearly. She remembered his kind words, his playful banter, his companionship whenever she felt alone in the world. Somehow, she could not tie in THAT Fitzwilliam with the one in the ballroom. The one that looked at her like she was nothing— no, even worse than nothing. Like she was the worst, the lowest, the most unpleasant thing he had ever laid eyes on.
No, she wouldn't do it. She would not tell him. She would not stand by his side, through thick and thin, and hold his hand as the world crumbled away. She would hide her face, and never tell Fitzwilliam Darcy that the one he hated so, was the one he had been fated to love.