Author's Note: This is an alternative version of A Young Man's Love, which I posted last year, a story in which Elizabeth was older than Darcy. Readers will notice that there are similarities between the two stories, but I have put enough differences that I hope it will not be boring or repetitive. Thanks for reading!
A Young Woman's Love
Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat back in his chair as his steward left the study at Pemberley. He was feeling… lost. Depressed. He was about to turn forty, and he felt as if his life was passing him by, with little to show for it. Certainly, he had been master of his estate for almost twenty years, and was now the master of two great estates, and he had been largely successful; but it seemed to him that forty years had passed and he had little to show for it. Even his daughter, Melody, would soon be gone to school in a few years. Then he would be entirely alone. It seemed he had been alone all of his adult life; or even before that.
He had always been a slave to duty; duty to his parents, duty to Pemberley, duty to his sister, duty to his late wife, duty to his daughter. When had he ever done anything simply for the joy of doing it, simply for himself? He had married his cousin to unite two great estates and fulfill his duty to the family. He had seen that Georgiana was married respectably and happily. He was raising his daughter with all the love he knew how to give. But was he destined to remain alone, lonely, for the rest of his life? He felt as if he had little to show for his forty years aside from the size of his estates and the wealth he had garnered from them. But what was wealth or position, really, in the scheme of things?
When he was younger, they had been everything. Looking back on his younger self, he did not like him all that much. He had been proud, haughty, certain of his place in the world. He had not cared much for the feelings of others, nor had he ever bothered to be sociable, expecting people to bow and scrape to him. Yes, the years had changed him.
When he was eight and twenty he had married his cousin, Anne, and united the two great estates of Pemberley and Rosings. When they had been married two years, Anne gave birth to their daughter, Melody; but the strain of childbirth had proven too much for his wife's frail body, and she had perished. Once again, Darcy had fulfilled his duty in producing an heir. When Lady Catherine de Bourgh had died three years later, he took up full mastery of Rosings Parks, although he now only visited the estate once a year.
Georgiana had married a Scottish earl, and she was living happily with him and their two children up in the North. He rarely saw her now, although they corresponded through letters. Yes, Darcy was feeling very alone. He was weary, and not in body. His mind and heart seemed to have been sapped of vitality. Could he find that which he had never sought until now? He did not even have a name for what he wanted.
His parents had never loved each other, not that he could tell. Their union had been an arranged one, much like his own marriage. His mother had been more interested in parties and balls than she had in her only son, and his father had preferred the company of the steward's son to that of his own children. Had Darcy ever dreamed of having love for himself, a romantic love that could overcome all the troubles in his life? He did not know if such a thing existed.
Perhaps he should go to London. He had not seen his cousin, Richard Fitwilliam, nor his friend, Charles Bingley, for over a year. He knew they were in London for the season with their families. Deep down he knew he would no more find what he was seeking in London than he would in Derbyshire; but he felt he must make an effort nonetheless. What else was there to do?
He rose with a sigh and walked down the hall and up the stairs to the nursery. His daughter, Melody, was playing with her dolls on the floor with her nurse. At the sight of the door opening, she jumped up and raced to her father, putting her arms around his waist in a hug. "Papa!" she cried.
Darcy smiled, pushing her blonde hair back from her forehead. "Hello, my dear."
"We are playing dolls," she said. "We are having a lot of fun, are we not?"
The nurse smiled, "Yes, indeed, Miss Darcy."
"Come play with me, Papa."
"Not now, poppet. I wanted to tell you that we are going to go to London soon." Her eyes widened. "Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes, very much, Papa! When are we leaving? Now?"
He chuckled at her excitement. "Not for a few days. I'll make sure nanny has all your dolls packed so you won't be lonely on the journey."
"How exciting! Can Patches come with us?"
Darcy smiled at the reminder of Melody's cat, whom she had named Patches because of the brown patches that covered her white fur.
"Certainly."
"I shan't be able to sleep until then!"
"I certainly hope you will," he said with a smile, "otherwise you will not be able to enjoy London."
She pouted. "Very well, Papa. I will do my best to sleep."
He hugged her to him again. "Would you like to go riding with me?"
She brightened. "Now?"
"Certainly. I will wait while nanny gets you in your riding clothes."
"I will be ready soon, Papa!" she cried, then raced into the next room, followed by her smiling nurse.
Yes, Darcy thought. Perhaps London would be good for him and for Melody.