NOTES: Darcy's POV, long chapter. Catching up on his side of things, dash of sweetness, LOTS of awkwardness, and.. well, you'll find out what else is in there. (Hint: did you really think I was going to give you a hint?)

Tune in next time, when I (hopefully) recover some of your trust ❤️
~Vinny

William Darcy had been sitting at his desk, head slumped down on top of his folded elbows, when Mr. Charles Bingley had burst into the door with the invitation to travel to Hertfordshire.

He had initially declined the offer; he was a very busy man, after all.

Then Charles had good-naturedly pointed out that he had literally been sleeping on his desk not 10 seconds ago, and Darcy had been forced to accept the logic.

Charles was a good man. Young, jumpy, thin as a grasshopper with grass green eyes and a sharpened smile. He had been to father's funeral, and convinced Darcy to attend as well, as the man's only heir. It had been a hard sell, but if there was anyone made for sales, it was Charles Bingley.

He was everything that Darcy wasn't— happy, fun, excitable.. good with people. The difference was evident as soon as they stepped into this godforsaken place. People flocked to Charles. They avoided him with almost equal enthusiasm.

Darcy hadn't NEEDED to deal with people in almost five years. There were servants, of course, and the odd business deal, but for the most part… he was left alone with his thoughts.

Those thoughts, without fail, included a tiny bear cub of a girl named Lizzy Bennet.

If he was being honest, the memory of her had been his constant companion throughout the loneliness of his formative years. After hearing Lizzy go on and on about her sisters, Darcy had finally reached out to his cousin Fitzwilliam. Counting Charles (whom he had met at Cambridge), that meant he had TWO companions! Lots more than he would have had otherwise, that's for sure.

From Lizzy, he learned that people could be good. He had started being polite to the household staff, and his tenants, and even attended the odd ball!

That didn't mean he enjoyed himself.

Years of being surrounded by the people of the Ton— who, after the death of his father when Darcy was sixteen, had fairly adopted him into all of the upper circles— his trust in people waned. People hurt others. They stabbed them in the back. He learned that many times over, until all that remained as his hope for humanity lay in his cousin, his friend, and Miss Lizzy Bennet.

More and more, he had begun to think of her as a way to find the perfect woman.

Was this woman as smart as Lizzy had been? Did her smile shine as brightly? Were her mannerisms charming, and her eyes sparkling with every emotion, blended together like the colors of the rainbow?

The answer was, inevitably, no. He had begun to dispair of every finding anyone to share his life with… When Charles Bingley extended an invitation to Hertfordshire.

Sparking candles, dripping wax. Strings pulled to perfection in every off-beat note from the orchestra. Ball gowns and white cravats and then…

He saw her eyes first. And then the last ten years of his life came crashing down on him.

Before he knew it, Darcy was out on the balcony, alone and away from the crowd, breathing hard. He could still hear the music through the wall, and the beating of his heart kept time with the furious violins.

She was here. She was here. He had long since given up on ever actually finding the girl— no, a woman now. A beautiful.. beautiful woman— who had captured his heart that day under the oak tree.

He smiled to himself. Lizzy's hair was still that wild bear shade, soft and pinned up around her head.

Then his smile froze, as he realized the most important thing— Lizzy Bennet was a real person. A real, breathing human being. Not a figment of his imagination. Now.. she could talk to him, and he could listen. She could make him laugh like she used to, and soothe his headaches when things weren't going his way. She… she…

He slumped against the brick wall, and covered his face. Dear lord. Was he in love?

He— He needed to speak with her. Discreetly. Just… catch up on how the last… years. Make sure that nothing had changed too much. And.. Maybe hear the voice that made his stomach explode in butterflies when she said his name? Yes, that would be nice.

So, as soon as he built up the confidence, Darcy watched for her to pass by the balcony doors, and snatched her wrist.

(He let go quickly, but the tingles remained.)

Immediately when she was pulled outside, Lizzy's expression went from shock to delight in a change as rapid as a coin flip. "William!" She whispered, then blushed prettily, her freckles almost disappearing in the red haze that spread across her cheeks. "I mean, Mr. Darcy," she corrected herself with a grimace.

"Miss Lizzy," he said with a dip of his head.

"Oh no, you must call me Miss Elizabeth," Lizzy said, grinning cheekily up at him, "If we are to maintain any facade of propriety."

Darcy's heart did a funny somersault. He could feel heat rising to his face.

"Um, well then," he cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, collecting himself. His eyes found hers again, and the tension in his shoulders softened. "How have you been?"

"I've been well!" Lizzy said (he doubted he would ever get used to calling her the proper name), "My sisters have multiplied in the years we've missed. Now I have four— Oh! And my drawing skills have significantly increased since I was ten, though I'm sure your innate talent will still carry you through to victory, if we ever decide to compete."

She smiled up at him, as warmly as the sun and twice as bright. Darcy felt suddenly very aware that everything he said to her would be heard.

"I- uhm," he fumbled, and straightened his back. "I do not draw. Much. Anymore."

That was a half-truth. He still drew— when he wasn't thinking about it, when nobody was around— but most of his drawings were sketches of.. well… Lizzy. He had begun the habit the day after she left, so fearful he was that he would forget her. On the contrary, every line and curve of her young face was etched into his memory. She had changed so much since then. Her shape had filled out nicely, and her cheeks had lost some of their childhood fullness. But... Some of those lines he had drawn over and over again were still visible— the brush of hair against her forehead, the dip between her nose and rose petal lips.

Those same lips flattened themselves into a line, and her eyes squinted a little at him. Had that been the wrong thing to say? Would she like him more if he was an artist— passionate, and bold?

"Oh," Lizzy said, interrupting his worries, "I suppose.. that's just as well, then." She presented a small grin. "We are adults, after all. No time for silly things."

"Indeed," he answered.

A beat of silence. The night was chilled with vague wind, but Darcy still felt a bead of sweat run down his spine.

"Um!" He exclaimed after a moment. "So! Are you.. Are you having a… pleasant night?" He forced his teeth into a smile, praying that she could carry the conversation after this.

Lizzy chuckled. "I should be asking you that. You are, after all, our guest."

Darcy couldn't help but lose his forced smile at that. She lived here? But all of the houses were… so small. The streets were littered with the lower class, and there was a rowdy, baudy, unpleasant sound to the conversations. He had a difficult time picturing his Lizzy in this backwater place.

His silence must have stretched on for longer than he thought— when he looked back at Lizzy, she seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, rubbing it between her fingers.

"That dress is nice," he said, then clamped his mouth shut.

Lizzy's gaze snapped up to him, and he was dazzled with a smile. "Thank you! It's new— used nearly all of my pin money— my sister thought tonight might be a special occasion, and so called for a special dress!"

While she spoke, Darcy had let his eyes trace over the dress, and now he wished to gauge them out as penance. Her skin was alabaster in the moonlight, and the soft dark blue made the freckles (barely visible on her clavicle) stand out like stars. And… well. Her face wasn't the only thing that had curves.

Thoroughly mortified at himself, Darcy turned abruptly towards the balcony, and neglected to respond to Lizzy at all. He cut his eyes at her, briefly, and saw her watching him with interest.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her voice softer now, as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Darcy fairly leapt away from the touch, unwilling to exacerbate any more… ungentlemanly thoughts about his used-to-be best friend.

"Yes," he answered breathlessly, clearing his throat and scowling at himself, "I'm perfectly alright."

Lizzy's hands migrated to her hips. "Really?" She challenged. "You really want me to believe you're alright?"

"Yes," Darcy said, with more force this time. He kept his eyes on the rolling hills in the distance. Why was she upset with him? What had he done wrong? He looked at her, and raised an eyebrow to punctuate the question. "Why are you upset?"

Her beautiful mouth fell open, just slightly. She removed her hands from her hips and raised them in a 'giving-up' gesture. "If you don't want me here, Mr. Darcy, I can just.. go back inside, and barricade myself in a corner, among my own people. Would that be uncharitable of me? Tedious? Vapid?"

From the way she enunciated the words, pouring on emphasis like it was water on a burn (or perhaps salt on a wound), Darcy could tell they must be important. He racked his brain— addled with emotion— until it hit him, and he turned pale.

At the same time he reacted, Lizzy slapped a hand over her mouth, looking horrified.

They stared at each other for one second, two.

"I am so sorry," Lizzy said. "That was.. incredibly rude of me. Out of line. I apologize."

Darcy didn't answer. He was stuck inside of himself, paralyzed with fear. He could feel his eyes going out of focus; she had heard him. She had heard him. She had heard him criticizing her home, family, and friends, and… She knew it was him.

He still hadn't blinked by the time she took a cautious step back. "I'm sorry," she said again, "I'll just… go.."

"Wait."

Without thinking about it, he grabbed her both her hands and held them tightly. She watched him with brown eyes blown wide as he bowed, and brushed his lips against her skin.

"Li— Miss Elizabeth.. I… am so.. mortified you heard that. It was horrendously… it was rude, and… I wasn't talking about you. Lizzy. I care so.. I would never call you any of those words… you are… I would never say that about you, my dear Lizzy."

Her eyes softened. She squeezed his hands, and a small smile began to break across her lips. "Thank you, William," she whispered, and Darcy could feel his heart being pulled out of his chest towards her.

Then she giggled, taking one of her hands away to cover her mouth. "But really? Why would you say such things about a Bennet woman in a blue dress, hiding, if it wasn't me?"

He laughed quietly. "I'm afraid this is all a grand coincidence. It must not have been the same person I thought it was— You see, I had thought I was introduced to a girl by that name whom my friend was immediately taken by. I was trying to point out that such a woman— she had a sky dress, and was quiet as a shadow the whole time— might not be the best for him."

He smiled at her, a mild blush rising to his cheeks. "Isn't that silly of me? I had Bennet on the mind and must have transposed it onto that unsociable blonde woman!"

To his surprise, Lizzy wasn't laughing. Or smiling. She withdrew her hands from him completely, and stepped away with severe calmness.

"Goodnight, Mr. Darcy," she said, already halfway through the still open balcony doors, "Thank you for indulging my.. curiosity."

And just like that, he was left alone on the balcony, wondering what on earth he did wrong.

Only afterwards, when the guests were making their way to the carriages, did Darcy notice two shades of blue making their way towards the rest of the Bennet family.

He watched until he couldn't make out the splash of dark blue anymore, and then he made his way to the library, and fell asleep with his head in his hands, an empty decanter on the table in front of him.