By the time Darcy's workday ended, he felt thoroughly out of sorts. While he had managed to be attentive during the meeting with Mr. Dyson and while he had maintained a professional detachment as he calmly laid out to Elizabeth what his expectations were of his secretary, the rest of the afternoon had been a total loss in terms of any actual productivity.
He had remained closeted in his office after Elizabeth had left their meeting, all too aware of the subtle scent of her that remained after she herself had gone. He returned to the notes he had made that morning, feeling that he was under an imperative to capture and make note of every detail from his vision that could recall. Who knew what important detail he might overlook otherwise?
By the time he finally ceased his frantic scribbling, he was not entirely surprised to discover it had grown quite late. No matter. Mrs. Reynolds was used to him being first in and last out and would have locked up as per usual.
Gathering his things, Darcy stood and found himself needing to stretch, groaning low in response to the pure, simple physical pleasure that the action afforded. Stopping only to shrug on a light coat against the slight chill that would still be present in the air in the late Spring, Darcy left the office, unsurprised and not very disappointed to see Elizabeth was not at her desk.
He thought of her as he made his way outdoors, pausing as he always did to ensure that the doors were, in fact, holding their latches securely at the firm push he made against them. They held, of course, and he turned towards the location of the nearest public transport, wondering how busy it would be at this hour. He was usually on both before and after the main rush of commuters, but this was well after even his late standards, and he supposed there might be a fresh crush of people headed out towards dinners or errands or simply to spend time with the people they cared for.
It turned out to be not too dissimilar from his early-morning commute: a good number of people, but not so many that it was difficult to find a seat on a bench alone. He sat, grateful for the several minutes he would now have to idly think about Elizabeth.
She would be at the flat she shared with Jane, he decided, the two of them settling down to a simple but flavorful meal. They had liked to cook together, he remembered, but had not been able to enjoy the activity as much in the circumstances he had created, when he had fired Elizabeth and she had worked the swing shift at a mail sorting facility as a result.
He cringed to think of what he had done in that vision and marveled that she had still somehow seen fit to choose him in the end. He would do everything in his power to make her happy from the outset, now that he was able to have what felt like a second chance.
But that was still the rub and while he had been circling the thoughts all day, Darcy had not been truly at leisure to give them his full consideration. The reasons for which he had fired her in the vision he'd had still made a certain amount of sense to him. She could very possibly be called a gold-digger - or worse - and there would be speculation surrounding their relationship.
Wealthy entrepreneurs did not generally marry their secretaries. There were rumors of affairs, of course, and had been since women had entered that sector of the workforce. It was usually contained to gossip, but the gossip could and frequently did contain nasty threads of jealousy and spite and ugly insinuations regarding the morals of everyone involved, but most usually the women.
Darcy would not, for the world, subject Elizabeth to such censure. Even if the two of them and everyone who knew them were to know the truth and to believe them to be beyond reproach, the gossips would speculate and discuss it all, openly and endlessly, until some new scandal came along to distract them.
So, if he would not fire her and if he could not properly woo her while she remained in his employ, then what was the answer?
A brief, ridiculous notion flitted through his head, and he smirked slightly to himself, dismissing the notion as easily as it had come to him. He would not attempt to make Elizabeth's life as his secretary so miserable that she would feel compelled to quit working for him. If she could not tolerate him as an employer, she would hardly feel inclined to attempt to tolerate him as a husband. In a very real sense, she would have fewer freedoms as a wife, as getting a divorce was uncommon and generally only happened when it was the man who initiated the proceedings.
But, perhaps there was a flip side to that idea. Could he make the idea of leaving his employment so attractive to her that she could not help but make a transition to some other job? He would not be odious to her in order to achieve that goal but would instead build up the idea of some other situation as being infinitely preferable to her current situation in every way.
This was an interesting notion, but also had some immediate and clear drawbacks. For the first, he was not aware of any other job roles that would appeal to Elizabeth more than this one did. He frowned as he considered this, mentally flipping through what he could still remember of his vision and eventually came to the unhappy conclusion that either he could not recall any conversation that he may have seen in his vision that would tell him anything about her aspirations, or they had never spoken of it.
Darcy felt staggered at the realization, wondering how he could have possibly worked his way all the way up to and through a successful proposal of marriage without having the faintest idea of what Elizabeth's dreams for her own life might be.
While it was true that culture and society rather dictated that a woman would eventually get married and leave the workforce to become a wife and mother, there was a small but growing number of young women who were beginning to eschew the norms. Even Elizabeth's own sister, Jane, had clearly had and pursued her own aspirations as far as being a successful author.
But what Elizabeth might want, Darcy had not the first clue. Had they never had the conversation in that vision? She had seemed willing enough to marry him, true, but did that mean she would settle into the same sort of domestic role that so many women did? It didn't seem possible, especially as he could recall some instances where she had displayed distaste regarding her step-mother's efforts in that area. Or had the distaste been aimed more at Mrs. Bennet's tendencies to talk without thinking and less at the woman's haphazard (possibly non-existent) attempts at keeping house?
With a mental shudder, Darcy firmly pushed that question into the back of his mind, knowing he would have to come back to it later, but unable to summon the fortitude to deal with it all just now.
He was, he noticed, near to his exit and so quickly cast a glance around to make sure he hadn't idly put down some important item or other while he had been lost in thought. A quick glance revealed that he hadn't and so he was able to stand and exit the conveyance when it came to a stop mere moments later.
He had only two blocks to walk to make it to his street, but these were both uphill, and while he was used to the exercise since he rarely had his driver take him into the office, he still firmly turned his attention to the walk, liking the mild sense of physical strain that came from maintaining his somewhat fast pace even on the steepest parts of the hill.
Turning left on his street, he continued down past several houses before arriving at his own. The gate, always manned by a watchful servant, was gliding soundlessly open as he approached, and Darcy nodded his thanks to the young man, as he always did.
Entering the house through the ornate front door, Darcy could immediately tell that dinner was ready and possibly had been for some time. The rich scents of a meal hung heavy in the air, and he sniffed experimentally, trying to puzzle out what culinary delights might await. He had gotten as far as tentatively identifying rosemary as a possible note among the overall bouquet when his sister came into view, her face lighting with a soft smile at the sight of him.
"Brother!" Georgiana greeted him. "We had quite begun to despair of your ever coming home."
Darcy smiled back at her fondly. "I apologize. I got rather caught up at the office."
She was generally playful with him and so he was not surprised to see her expression morph into a frown, mock-fierce. "You work too much," she scolded, casually looping her arm through his and turning him in the direction of the dining room.
He did not follow, which forced her to stop since she was not of a size to simply tow him in her wake. She had the Darcy height but was willowy and graceful. "I should change for dinner," Darcy commented, letting her know the reason he had halted their progress. "But I do not wish to hold you up from your own meal, if you have been waiting for me." She often did.
"Ah," Georgiana's face cleared, and she smirked up at him. "Then I see you have not been informed. Richard has joined us this evening." Her eyes searched his face, her smile widening as he favored her with a comical look of manufactured dismay at the news. "So, you see," she continued, tugging on his arm, "there is no need to change. I only wish I had known before I got dressed."
The presence of their cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, did indeed put a different face on the evening. He was forever informal with the Darcy family, claiming loudly and usually without being asked, that he had no use for additional pomp and ceremony in his life when he could manage to ignore it, which was not as often as he would like, given the predilections of the military and his immediate family to demand a strict adherence to observing the social niceties.
"Is he already in the dining room?" Darcy inquired, allowing Georgiana's gentle pressure on his arm to move in that direction.
"Oh, no," his sister responded, her nose crinkling in amusement. "It's Richard. He went to devil the poor kitchen staff and said he would come upstairs along with the first dishes."
"Doubtless he'll make a pretense at being a footman and end up dropping the silver," Darcy returned, pretending to grouse. In truth, the thought of his cousin being here had thrown him somewhat off-balance. His vision of this day had not contained a visit from his cousin, so what might have transpired in the here and now to bring the Colonel to his door?
Not knowing made Darcy feel uncomfortable. Were things simply meant to be different now that he had changed his original course of action, whether it was an obvious outcome or not? How could not firing Elizabeth have resulted in his cousin's presence in his home this evening?
The only differences in the day as far as the outside world was concerned had been his having that lunch with Elizabeth and Bingley and Elizabeth being present at her desk to greet Mr. Dyson. Surely there was not some seemingly random and unconnected person who had seen him at lunch and had already begun telling salacious tales which had reached the ears of his family?
No, he decided. That would be simply too absurd for words.
Despite this assurance, he felt a certain clench in his belly, for the truth was that he had rather expected that this timeline, if it could be called that, would run much more smoothly than had the one portrayed in his vision. Yet, he had made one single change and while it was doubtless a significant one, it seemed to be impacting the outcome in unforeseen ways and in ways which were still unclear to him.
It had not even been a full twelve hours since he had met Elizabeth and had the vision and already he felt completely off course.
All through dinner, Darcy found himself unable to shake these thoughts and though he was aware throughout the meal that Fitzwilliam and his sister engaged in a lively conversation with each other and even attempted on several occasions to pull him into their convivial sphere, he could not attend.
By the end of the meal, which he had scarcely tasted in any event, Darcy's mood was very low, and he felt the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes. But he was not so far gone as to have not noticed the exchange of looks his sister and his cousin were giving each other and him. His distraction had made him too slow in any response, however, and he was not able to salvage the evening as he might have wished, by making an offhand comment that he had been thinking about something to do with work and he was so very sorry, he had been rather rude, hadn't he?
Still less was he able to prevent Georgiana murmuring some excuse about her studies and leaving Darcy to the business of inviting his cousin into the small library for some conversation and a drink.
"Something on your mind?" Fitzwilliam inquired once they had gained the cozy room, getting straight to the point for once.
Darcy sighed, one hand coming to the back of his own neck. "I apologize," he replied automatically. "Yes, I have had rather a lot on my mind. Work today was," he hesitated briefly but could think of no better way to end the sentence, "interesting."
Fitzwilliam scoffed, a low sound in his throat, but there was no real heat in it. "I suppose you'll tell me some banal story about yet another brilliant deal you're considering?"
The other man moved towards the sideboard and unerringly selected a decanter of Darcy's finest whiskey. He poured himself a generous amount before turning back to look at his cousin, one eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.
Darcy nodded and was soon in possession of his own glass. He sniffed the amber liquid appreciatively, enjoying the comfort of the familiar scent and of simply knowing that it would smell thus and would also provide the same experience when he sipped it: a slight tingle, warmth filling his mouth as he savored the sip and then the feel of it landing in his belly, starting a pleasant low fire there to complement the actual fire that was dancing merrily in the hearth.
Sighing from a combination of weariness and pleasure, Darcy sank into a chair before the fire. "I do not intend to bore you with my business," he finally responded, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen while they had each engaged in the ritual of properly appreciating the first taste of an excellent liquor.
Fitzwilliam did not sit, but leaned against the mantlepiece, his blue eyes fixed on the contents of his glass, which appeared reddish by the light of the fire. Neither man had bothered to switch on the lights, so the fire was the only source of light in the room, aside from a shaft of light that fell inward from the hallway where the door had been left ajar.
The room itself seemed to Darcy to hold something of an air of expectation.
The silence stretched again, each man lost in his own thoughts. Darcy still did not know why his cousin had come tonight, and suddenly found that he did not particularly care. This evening felt reminiscent of one he had Seen in his vision, where he had in despair and against his will, finally confessed his strange ability to his cousin, only to have the other man actually believe him.
Could he possibly do the same thing now? Unburden all to his cousin, who was, after all, one of the few people in the world that Darcy would consider to be a friend.
Before Darcy could make up his mind one way or the other, Fitzwilliam spoke. "I am being sent to the front in a few weeks' time."
Darcy straightened up immediately, alarmed. "For how long?"
"It's unclear," Fitzwilliam responded. "Sort of an irregular assignment, one could say. I have few other details, none of which I am at liberty to share."
"I see."
Darcy was now more confused than ever before. His vision had not contained any mention or hint that his cousin should have been sent off to where the army was currently embroiled in putting down a tribal uprising. The war, if it could be called that (and Darcy supposed it could, since there was ongoing fighting), was minor so far as such things went and no one believed it would last very long or turn into anything more significant than an uprising which must be put down in order to maintain some semblance of peace in the region.
"You will not be fighting, surely?" Darcy pursued, his thoughts slowly coming into a sharper focus. How could he think of himself at such a time, and yet, he had.
Fitzwilliam shrugged, elaborately casual, still leaning against the mantle and staring more at his glass than at anything else. "I shouldn't think so, but there are never any guarantees in a combat zone."
"Of course," Darcy murmured, feeling a small knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. "How is Aunt Susan taking it?"
Fitzwilliam snorted. "Oh, you know my mother. Keeping a stiff upper lip and all, but I can tell she worries. She asked me whether I would consider giving up my commission."
"And would you?"
Darcy was unsurprised when Fitzwilliam shook his head in the negative but was very surprised by the brief hesitation that preceded the action.
"Richard," he used his cousin's Christian name deliberately, something he rarely did. "Is there something else going on?"
A/N: I'm going to try to keep my chatter down to a minimum, but wanted to note one or two things.
First, is that while I have a decent overall sense of where this story is headed and how I intend for things to unfold, I was rather surprised when the good Colonel opened his mouth in this chapter to proclaim he was going to the front. It puts a bit of a wrench in things, but not a major one, and I can see his point in this being necessary to the overall plot (I know I am not the only author who finds themselves at odds with their characters from time to time, but it does feel odd to talk about it!), so I am rolling with it. It slowed me down a bit though as I am having to juggle some scenes. I don't think it'll impact my weekly posting schedule, but we shall see!
Secondly, in writing SIS, I spent a good deal of time in different viewpoints, with even Jane and Caroline getting at least a chapter, but I mainly alternated between Darcy and Elizabeth. This one is shaping up to be more from Darcy's point of view. His tendency to overthink everything and to speak relatively little mirrors my own such predilections, so I find it easier overall to slip into his character.
Lastly (but not leastly), thank you so much to everyone who has left a review! I am trying to be better about replying when I can, but since some of y'all are guests or have PMs disabled, I thought I would send out a blanket thank you and say how much it means to me to hear your thoughts. I've been feeling somewhat isolated since moving to a new state this year, so it really feels extra sweet and special to have some kind of interaction, especially with folks who are so unfailingly kind. I appreciate you!