To my only daughter,
I have confirmed, after much examination and scrutiny, that the reports were true. Darcy has indeed lost all memory regarding who he is and what he possesses. In most cases, such a turn for a young man with a rather bright future would be considered tragic. As the previous attempt at compromising him had failed, however, I can only thank Providence for this alternate compensation. Our work has not been in vain.
Unlike the past, Darcy no longer objects when I reiterate the urgency of your union. Perhaps a knock on the head did him some good, after all.
If I have any concerns, they pertain solely to your health and to the extent of Darcy's lack of recollection. The local doctor that this Binglee person has sent for assures us repeatedly that your future husband may regain his memory at any time. The old man dares even to suggest that Darcy be exposed to words and names and stories regarding his past.
It is all hogwash, I say.
Darcy has been informed of his name and position. He is convinced that he has been engaged to you from birth, and he knows that you shall arrive in Hertfordshire, upon my orders, within the next few days that the two of you may renew your acquaintance. That is all he truly needs to know. I would have preferred to take him with me back to Kent, but his friend and cousin have been rather obstructive, insisting that the two of you reacquaint yourselves first before you wed.
Nonetheless, I cannot overstate the necessity of your fully engaging his affections upon your arrival. We risk your health with this trip, and I refuse to consider the possibility that it may not result in the marriage that we have worked so hard to attain.
It appears to be that my unfortunate nephew has spent his past few weeks in the company and care of a family by the name of Bennet - a family, I may add, with the utter carelessness to have borne five daughters.
Save for the eldest daughter, who appears to be in courtship with Mr. Bengly, I fear the rest of the sisters may have their eyes set upon your fiancé.
You must come, immediately, while we sort out Darcy's business here. And when you come, child, I expect full pursuit of your cousin. We need the two of you wed - or, at the very least, compromised enough to indubitably necessitate marriage - before he has a chance to recover his mind.
Failure shall not be tolerated.
Your affectionate mother,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
She is unsure why she even bothered coming.
The simplicity of the cottage ensures that there is little room for her to wander. The note from Monsieur - from Mr. Darcy - came smuggled through Sarah's hands, complete with a rebuking glare, late last night. And, for some reason beyond herself, Lizzy has chosen to follow it to the letter.
Miss Lizzy,
Meet me at the cottage tomorrow at dawn. I beg of you - please.
-Monsieur Darcy
Even now, as she clutches the rumpled paper in her hands, she is unsure.
She shouldn't have come, should she?
Her mission to aid him until his identity was recovered has ended. She has no excuse any longer for meeting strange men alone in abandoned cottages. The very fact that she is here today crosses a dozen boundaries she really ought not to cross.
But she is here.
And she hears him enter behind her.
"Miss Lizzy."
His voice is warm, and gentle. It is a voice she wants to wrap around herself and sleep in.
She sniffs. "Mr. Darcy."
He does not ask her to turn towards him. He walks instead around her - and seats himself at the wooden table, the table where she used to place his portions every morning. He looks at her until she sits as well.
Where do they begin?
What is the reason behind this entire secret rendezvous?
"You have heard?" He says, softly.
It causes an ache in her heart to remember - but she has heard.
"Yes, sir." She looks down. She cannot risk what she can find in his eyes.
He continues to regard her. "I - I am sorry you did not hear from me."
She shakes her head. "It is not your fault, sir. You - neither of us knew your true identity. And I suppose it was silly of me to presume that a recovery of your identity would not come with a recovery of all other attachments as well."
"Miss Lizzy."
"Do not try me." She stands, her eyes still downcast.
She does not wish to face it.
She does not want to discuss how the entire town has heard of the reward money the Bennets have received - for saving the mysterious and handsome man betrothed to the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
She has heard enough of the news in the past seven nights.
She does not wish to relive it.
"I never meant any harm against you," Mr. Darcy says. He speaks as if he were still Monsieur, still a nameless man with no duty, no home, and no fiancée.
"I understand."
"Lizzy, please - if I could only let you know how fully I intended to ask for your ha - "
"Please - stop!" She withdraws, stepping backwards away from the table. He is standing now as well.
"Lizzy - "
"No." She sniffs. "Mr. Darcy, I beg you not to say another word. Your betrothed, your wife-to-be awaits you at Netherfield. Be careful what you say to another woman."
She raises her eyes to meet his.
He is trembling. He is trembling and frowning. She does not like seeing him this way.
"I do not wish to marry Anne," he says, his voice so low that she barely hears him.
She shakes her head. "But you ought to."
"And why should I?" His voice betrays true emotion for the first time since his cousin and friend discovered him. He blinks almost as much as she does. "Why should I marry this stranger when I know in my heart that I care for someone else?"
"You do not mean that, sir."
"I do, Lizzy, I do." He steps forward towards her. Her half-step back does not put quite as much distance between them as existed before. "Anne arrived in Netherfield yesterday. I do not recall her face - or her manners - or anything about her."
Lizzy listens. Perhaps he needs to say these things to her because he has no one else to say them to.
"Am I to marry a stranger?" He asks her, his eyes begging her for an answer she cannot provide.
And Lizzy thinks through her words.
She has acted rashly in the past. She has acted dangerously, even.
She knows that she ought to grow past her childish ways - if not for herself, then, at least, for him.
"We were all strangers, at one time, sir," she speaks softly, her arms wrapped around herself. "And if - and if you grew to love her before - can you not do so again?"
He meets her eyes with a weary gaze.
It is clear that he believes her. It is simply unclear if he is happy to believe her or not.
And in the span of one conversation, Lizzy knows she has ceased to be a child.
"I apologize, Miss Lizzy, for any hurt I may have caused." Mr. Darcy hangs his head. He appears to be miserable.
So Lizzy walks forward, and she places a hand on his arm.
"I forgive it all, sir."
He looks up towards her. He is grateful.
She is glad that she can at least offer him a small measure of peace.
"I wish you and your wife the best of all things, Monsieur," she cannot resist saying then.
He leans forward and plants a kiss on her brow. She holds her breath until he pulls away.
"Thank you - Miss Lizzy."
And she walks back to Longbourn a woman.
"Darcy." Anne, his supposed fiancée, walks into the Netherfield library that night.
He regards her passively, like one would regard a fireplace, or an unlikely piece of rock by the side of the road.
"Anne," he greets dutifully, while refusing to rise from the comfort of his seat.
If this were truly a woman he cared for and wished to marry, she should be able to accept such informalities.
She gives a sound similar to a strained sigh. Then she walks towards him, her pallid form striking an almost eerie image in the light of the fire.
Darcy focuses on his book. An obligation to marry does not accompany an obligation to care.
He's had barely sufficient time to understand the implications of regaining his identity. He is not ready to embrace those implications quite yet.
"Darcy." She attempts to say his name softly, as if cooing to a lover or child.
The sensation her tone begets in him is prickly and discomfiting at best.
He shakes his head. "Do you need something, Anne?"
She looks at him with an expression one might almost call fearful.
She is a puzzling creature, this Anne.
"I - " she begins to stutter. "I - thought it - Mother said - "
"Did your mother have a message for me?" Darcy all but snaps.
He feels poorly about his behavior. Truly, he does.
But life has dealt him a hand by surprise, and he has exhausted all patience in acknowledging said hand - with little to spare upon appreciating it.
"Darcy, perhaps we - "
"I am tired, Anne." He sighs. "And we are to leave by the morrow. Perhaps we can speak more at Kent?"
She nods timidly, mutely. And she slips away.
A/N: Lizzy is growing up, and Darcy is thinking!