Darcy retreated to his London home with every intention of stowing himself away in his study for what was left of the day. The anguish that constricted his chest was too familiar; the mere sight of Wickham, his hateful likeness refusing to fade away from his mind's eye, inspired within him a hatred he knew was unbecoming of a gentleman. He felt that hatred flare within his breast all the same. After all the strife Wickham had caused, Darcy had never allowed the loathing to fully consume him. However, for one night, he would succumb.

Dropping heavily into his arm chair, he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his brow, pressing lightly to alleviate the ache just under his fingers. He knew exhaustion was getting the better of him; it was the only explanation to the ceaseless darkening of his thoughts. Over and over, the most detestable recollections of the last week forced themselves to the forefront of his mind, and with every recollection, the ache behind his brow raged in protest. But he would pause as he pursued this line of thought and wondered incredulously that it could only be divine forces that brought Wickham's regiment to Meryton. Of course, being a man of his character, Wickham could not resist his wild nature wherever he went. Young Lydia Bennet, having thrown herself in his path and parading herself as she was known to do; she was the perfect willing participant Wickham hardly need ask for. The headache persisting, Darcy resigned himself to a glass of brandy before stalking to the window.

He looked upward, wishing he were under Pemberley's skies, strolling through the fragrant gardens. If they had not been torn apart that lovely morning, he might have been in her company, strolling along the path they had taken during her visit. There was another matter to attend to while in London, but once that concluded, he would away to his sanctuary. He was conflicted with the vision of Elizabeth gracing his grounds; the image compounded his grief, yet he felt he should be grateful. If he were never to see her again, at least he had seen her once in his home. There was some consolation in having succeeded in proving himself amiable. She had never looked at him the way she had that night, and when she squeezed his hand as he handed her into the Gardiners' carriage, he knew that perhaps there had been a chance of winning her affection after all.

He had been wrong before, and he wouldn't allow himself to hope unless he was sure, absolutely sure, that there was something... But there was something, his instinct insisted. There was something that wasn't there before, you know it is true. He didn't have the strength on this night to force himself to see reason. The fantasy of her love and the hopes of possessing it were too much to resist. He swilled two glasses of brandy, closed the curtains, and retired to his chambers. He preferred to dwell on his imaginings in bed and fall asleep with the image of her by his side.

-:-

Darcy could not bring himself to look her in the eye. Had he not leapt at the opportunity to see her again just the day before? He had no intentions of attempting to renew himself. He had not even entertained the unlikelihood of conversing with her at all, but when Bingley insisted Darcy accompany him to Herfordshire, Darcy did not hesitate a moment to assent. There was justification in going to Hertfordshire with an invitation, and the circumstance being that he would be lodging on the neighboring property to Longbourn, he would be expected to make calls with Bingley. Just an hour ago, he delighted in the prospect of seeing her bewitching eyes once more. Now, he determinedly fought every urge to glance at her, for upon entering the room, an onslaught of emotion washed over him and he had concluded within a moment that if he looked her in the eye, he would undo all efforts spent attempting to let her go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he knew she was watching him. Her visage, he could no quite make out. He needed only to shift his gaze to see her clearly, but he would not feed that curiosity. It burned in his throat, tightened within his chest, but giving in would be worse in the end.

You know it would be so.

Perhaps just one glance...

Do not be a fool!

He turned and retreated to the window; Mrs. Bennet's full attention being on Bingley allowed him to do so without snubbing the lady. He had meant to move away as a means of escaping temptation, but he should have known better. Elizabeth's reflection could be seen before him. It was not clear, offering only was taste of what her true likeness would be, though it was enough to arrest him. His eyes were transfixed on her fidgeting hands, remembering the gentle touch of her fingers, the unmistakeable pressure she imprinted on his own. She was in some obvious discomfort, he knew, due to his presence. But was she anxious to have him near, or anxious to be rid of him? Though he would not be surprised if she wished him away, their short time spent at Pemberley gave him reason to doubt those were her sentiments. Indeed, her face was turned toward him, but what would say were he given the opportunity to truly speak with her? If he spoke to her, he would be unable to help himself.

I must tell you, as I should have last spring, how precious you are to me.

I thanked God for sending you to Derbyshire and blessing me with your company once more.

Of all my acquaintance, no one can match your wit, your liveliness, everything that you are.

Can you forgive me for being so contemptuous? Please forgive me...

He had settled that he would not importune her with his feelings again, but if they spoke now, he would make a fool of himself. In returning her gaze, she would see his embarrassment, and he decided he would rather not see her reaction whether it bore gratitude or digest. He could not bear either sentiment. For now, he repressed his agitation and resolved to be satisfied to be near her again. He endured through the visit, though his stomach flipped when Bingley accepted the invitation for them both to dine with Bennets the following evening. Darcy knew the offer would be made, how could it not? The prospect was intimidating to him, but the thought came to him that perhaps, given more time in one another's company, he and Elizabeth may overcome this hesitation. Through his embarrassment, he still earnestly wished to be with her. The gentlemen made their goodbyes; not once had Darcy looked at Elizabeth directly. Mounting his horse, Darcy breathed deeply the cool late September air.

-:-

The next day, he found he was only making as much progress as he had the day before. When he and Bingley arrived, he barely glanced at her yet again, but remembering his own reprimand for having been so cowardly and childish, he allowed himself at last to look at her. When their eyes met, again her hands began a slight fidget. There was something about her look that feigned indifference, but her eyes... The flame had diminished into an ember. There was a rigidness in her form that he had never seen in her. She remained in the corner of the room, serving coffee and speaking in low tones with her sister now and again, though he saw that her eyes were frequently on his person. Darcy moved periodically about the room, speaking with those who spoke to him, sometimes briefly contributing to a discussion, all the while mustering up courage enough to approach Elizabeth. He did so when he had finished his coffee.

"Is your sister at Pemberley still?" In truth, he had not expected her to speak to him; he had hardly decided how he would strike up conversation himself.

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas," he replied.

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?" At this, Darcy could not help smiling to himself. She had not seen it, her head still down as she prepared his cup.

"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The other have been gone on to Scarborough these three weeks." She did not say anything more. He could not decide if the strained look she gave him meant she wished not to speak to him any longer, or the wish to say something more. His courage waned at her lack of conversation. She would not even look at him now, insisting on keeping her gaze to the carpet. When he concluded that no further conversation would ensue, he walked away. He regretted not having said more or gently prodded her for conversation despite her lack of encouragement, though he could not deny it delighted him in the strangest way to be near her. Before, the feeling had inspired possibility. There was a warmth of anticipation that thrilled him. Now, knowing of no possible future with her, it was an intoxicating, painful pleasure.

It must be enough to be near her, nothing more. It must be enough...

Another update for you all! I hope everyone is staying safe and remaining healthy. This being such a strange time, I have been very distracted - obviously this whole situation has put many things on hold, but apart from that, I got accepted into college! So there's much to do to prepare for the upcoming fall semester. That being said, I do have more time on my hands and I've been itching to write more. I'm at a point in this story where I just want to get a few things in before getting to the "good stuff", or what I consider most people come on her for which is Elizabeth/Darcy content. I thank all of you, once again, who have stuck with this story and continue to show some support. Stay at home, practice social distancing, and when you go out, don't forget your masks and gloves :)