NOTES: Y'all I am so sorry I completely forgot about posting— forgive me, I was distracted by a new luxury suit store I found and wasted every last bit of my pocket money on a charcoal Italian pinstriped suit that I will now wear everywhere.
I regret the purchase about as much as I regret reading Pride and Prejudice. Make of that what you will.
Regardless, here is the next chapter— long, and from Darcy's POV, with tons of sweetness and humor thrown in :) Enjoy!
~Vinny ❤️
Sopping wet was not the ideal way to apologize to a lady.
Darcy had no idea where the sudden, brief torrent of water had come from, but later he would take it as God's sign for him to STOP WORRYING. He had blisters from pacing, and his throat was sore from discussing the matter with Charles. Charles Bingley was not the best person to go to for advice, generally speaking, but in regards to apologizing for something you said— he was an expert.
"You have to make it a grand gesture," his friend had explained, calmly putting away the now empty decanter while Darcy watched him with glassy eyes. "The worse the subject, the bigger the apology."
He stopped, and looked critically at his friend. "And.. this IS a hypothetical scenario, isn't it?"
"It might be," Darcy replied in an off-balance voice.
"Well," Mr. Bingley smiled, "If it isn't hypothetical, I'm honored you came to me for consuel." A minute pause. "And my counsel is that if this woman is hypothetically Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you should bring flowers. She seems like a romantic."
Darcy gave his friend a suspicious side eye. "How do you know that?"
Charles shrugged, and laughed softly. "Because I know, Darcy old boy. I know."
He didn't ask anymore questions. He just went out, and stole some petunias and white orchids from the flower beds.
Bingley's sister— the recently married Mrs. Hurst— wouldn't mind the intrusion. She was a wallflower of a woman, with the soul of a library. Her husband used to be her complete opposite (partying until dawn, and drinking until the cows decided to leave home), but lately he had been taking on more and more of her better (quieter) characteristics. No one at Netherfield would notice he was gone! It really was the perfect place to be— reminded him of home.
On the way though, his self-assurance began to crumble.
He realized (too late) that it was far too early to be calling on any family, let alone a lady… that… he quite possibly wanted to court and/or (but probably and) marry.
Things only got worse as he walked. First of all, why had he not taken the carriage? Or at the very least, a horse. He knew the direction of the estate (Charles had provided him with ample directions), but he had no idea how long of a trek it might be.
Also, the grass along the road was long, and covered in dew. Before many minutes had passed, everything from his thighs down was sticking to his skin in a most uncomfortable fashion.
Darcy thought about turning back a few times. But then… What if this was his only chance to set things right? What if Lizzy never forgave him after this? Wasn't it better to know, and be disappointed beyond measure, than to be held hostage by uncertainty?
He didn't end up turning back. No, William Darcy did not turn back. Especially not when it might risk losing her again— especially now that he'd just now found her.
He wasn't even put off by the fact that when he knocked on the Bennet's door, heart in his throat, it was answered by a portly smiling woman who took one look at him, shrieked, and slammed the door. Mrs. Bennet was probably just.. melodramatic. It didn't really mean anything that she hadn't come back yet…
Darcy breathed out slowly, and ran a hand through his curls (fluffy with humidity). Lizzy and him were meant to be together. He knew it. So…. this was just a minor setback, right? He would apologize, she would forget all about the incident, everything would be alright— maybe Lizzy would hug him again— and they would get married within a week! Yes, that was how this would go.
This rationale didn't account for, of course, the will of the universe to give him a second bath.
"What the devil…!" He said unconsciously, leaping like a frightened cat in the air, nearly dropping the bouquet.
Just then, the door swung open, and a somewhat out of breath Mrs. Bennet appeared on the doorstep.
"Why Mr. Darcy! What a pleasant surprise!" She said, manically, her hands clasped so tightly the knuckles shone through her skin. "I would invite you in, of course, but OH it's such a lovely day outside I cannot imagine not taking advantage of it! Don't you agree, sir? Yes, yes, a very nice day for tea outside, I've already notified the footmen to bring some out if that's alright with you, but of course it is, because tea is a staple of pleasantries and everything is very normal and pleasant and—"
"Dear madam!" Darcy exclaimed, his concern for the poor woman's health outweighing his dislike of interrupting, "Are you quite alright? Here, please, take a seat."
He quickly grabbed a chair from a nearby table— the glass kind used for garden parties— and set it under the (almost hyperventilating) woman.
"Oh, Thank you," Mrs. Bennet said faintly as she sat.
It was hard to ignore how she had yet to blink since opening the door. Darcy was starting to worry about the poor matron's health.
He was too polite to ask about the obvious anxiety on her face, so Darcy began a practiced conversation about the weather.
He pulled up a chair for himself, and said coolly, "You were correct about the weather; it's very lovely. Does Hertfordahire often have such a lukewarm temperature this late in the season?"
Mrs. Bennet relaxed a bit. She smiled weakly. "Yes," she nodded, exhaling the word, "Though the frost should be brought about by the end of November, I would believe."
"Really?" Darcy asked with expertly feigned interest, "Is there enough rainfall for snow so soon?"
She laughed like a chicken gobbled. "Oh yes! We get lots of rain here, often unexpectedly."
It was as if, for a moment, Mrs. Bennet had forgotten the two of them were only the most recent of acquaintances, and made the sort of teasing joke you would to an old friend.
When she realized the mistake, she— in a frighteningly similar fashion to Lizzy— clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted up to when Darcy's curls were dripping down, clumping together. No doubt making him look like a clown.
Darcy's cheeks bloomed red as roses, and he felt as though it wouldn't be such a bad idea to melt into the soil and never come back.
Neither person could look at the other for a solid minute, each lost to their own embarrassment.
Thankfully, the footmen at this estate had excellent timing, and one emerged from the house with a tea tray heaping with pastries.
William Darcy had never been known for his sweet tooth, but it was far easier to eat than to talk. By the time the tea had been poured and served, there was more sugar in his body than blood.
He felt a little like a wild pig at that point; he was already scarlet, but the shame of it all intensified. Mrs. Bennet gave him a small, hesitating grin as he set down his second lemon tart.
"You know," she remarked softly, "I don't mind if you take more sweets, Mr. Darcy. As a matter of fact.. I take great pleasure in guests enjoying my food. Reminds me… of the children. When they were small."
Darcy felt his shoulders relax a little, and he offered her the smallest smile he could manage under the circumstances. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate that."
She had opened her mouth to answer when the door opened, and a figure of immeasurable beauty walked out into the grass.
Lizzy. His Lizzy.
Wearing a soft yellow summer dress, her skin reflecting the light as her arms moved to clasp in front of her. Her smile warmed him to the bone, and Darcy thought he might faint when she said, in that alluring.. teasing.. utterly perfect voice of hers, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy hadn't remembered getting to his feet, but he stood there, immobile, gaping at her in a mixture of wonder and terror. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do?! AND WHY WAS HE ALL WET WHY DID THAT HAVE TO BE A THING!?
Lizzy was smirking at him, just slightly, and— OH GOD— his brain felt like mush.
"Here." Darcy thrust out the bouquet of flowers to her, and they flopped pathetically forward, dripping filthy water onto the grass below. "These are for you."
Her eyebrows raised, slowly. Her eyes— those beautiful brown eyes, almost amber in the sun— flicked to her mother, skeptically. "Mama?" She asked in a tone he couldn't decipher. "Would it be acceptable for Mr. Darcy to accompany Mary and our way into town?"
Mrs. Bennet huffed from behind him. "I suppose," she said, and began to walk towards the house, casting a warning glance at her daughter as she went. "I'll fetch her— I'll be naught but a moment."
As soon as the door closed, Lizzy's hands dropped to her sides, and Darcy's stomach dropped to his feet. "William Darcy," she said, and he dearly wished her inflection wasn't quite so scolding, "What on earth are you doing?"
He held up his offering. "Bringing you flowers," he said, dumbly.
Lizzy closed her eyes briefly. "You know," she remarked a second late, almost conversationally, "I don't know if YOU know what you did wrong."
"I do! I do," Darcy answered in a desperate tone. "I was foolish, an— and stupid, and I insulted you grievously."
"Not me," Lizzy's eyes narrowed. "My sister. My favorite sister."
Alright, so things were worse than he had thought. Darcy gulped, and slogged on, "Li— Miss Elizabeth. I am deeply, and truly sorry for being as rude as I was last night. It was beyond wrong of me to say such things about any lady— especially one that I never met. I know your thoughts of me may be bitter, and deservedly so, but…"
He took a step forward, and guided the flowers up just below her chin. "...But is there any way you could forgive me?"
Lizzy watched him for one second too long, and then she sighed into a smile, and the knot his organs were twisting themselves into began to untangle. "Mr. Darcy," she said (and it didn't sound like an insult this time!). "You.. are very good at changing someone's mind."
Despite the rush of anxiety still coursing through him, he laughed.
"I'm serious!" She exclaimed, and her eyes started to brighten, "You should go into law. Or perhaps sales? How is your business pitch?"
"I've missed you," he said between breaths all used up with mirth.
Lizzy's face softened a little, and she took the flowers from him carefully. "So have I, Mr. Darcy. And… I think…"
She was interrupted by the slamming of the front door, whereupon both young ex-friends jumped, and a teenage clad in black stormed out onto the lawn, followed by a woman with a very unconvincing look of obliviousness.
The teenager (whom he assumed was Miss Mary) strode right in between the two standing on the grass, and marched with her arms crossed tightly to the edge of the yard.
"Mary, don't—" Mrs. Bennet called out, but was cut off by a groan.
"I'm going, I'm going already , Mama!" The young woman shouted in total exasperation at her mother, her sister, and really the universe in general, "To Meryton! You don't need to tell me again!"
"I was just going to say 'don't forget the flour'," a disgruntled Mrs. Bennet said from the porch. When she caught Darcy looking at her, she assumed a cheery smile. "Now you two have fun!" She cooed, "And make sure to stay in sight of your sister, Lizzy!"
"Yes, Mama," Lizzy parroted, as if she had said it a million times before.
She turned to Darcy and pulled the edge of her mouth down, widening her eyes in a funny expression of 'yikes.' Darcy snickered, then cleared his throat to cover the sound.
As they began walking, and Lizzy waved goodbye to her mother, Darcy cautiously presented his arm to her. She didn't see it at first.
"Um," he said, and she looked at him. He glanced down.
"Oh!" Lizzy exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were turned away. "I… uh, would rather… not. Start any more rumors."
"Ah," Darcy withdrew his arm, and held both hands behind his back. "That's.. understandable."
Lizzy made some uncomfortable sound in the back of her mouth. "And— it's not— I just want make things clear—"
He held up a hand and smiled like it didn't pain him. "You don't need to explain yourself to me."
"Thank you."
That had been the right thing to say— Lizzy smiled at him, slowly, her eyes crinkling as her teeth winked in the emerging sunlight. Darcy swallowed a lump in his throat, and thanked the lord for small miracles.
"So…," he said, feeling giddy and awkward and foolish as he grinned at her sideways. "Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?"