Hey you ! So here is my first attempt at a P&P fanfic. I have to warn you though because I love this fandom, but people here are litterary experts and write in perfect english, however I'm french and as thus, barely manage casual english, so nineteenth century english is way out of my league unfortunately. I'll do my best not to write like a sixth grader but I can't make any promises. So, if you're still brave enough to go on with your reading, welcome ! 3
Chapter 1
August 31, 1812
« Brother... » said softly his dear sister standing on the threshold, light surrounding her from behind and obscuring her face to him, not that he bothered to turn to her. No his eyes remained focused on the dance occurring in the hearth. And in the fire, he swore he could make out couples dancing, the brightest spark took the shape of a fine eyed lady, and there standing in a corner stood a pathetic brooding man.
« Will you be joining us ? » Georgianna asked timidly, desperation seeping through her words. Worry had long left its place, as it had been four months and a half now and he was only falling deeper into the abyss.
« Not tonight, » he answered nursing a drink in his right hand, his eyes still entranced by the elegant dance happening down before him.
Some days were better than other and he managed to pull himself together enough to share a meal with his closest relatives. Georgiana and Fitzwilliam had tried everything to bring him out of the miserable place he was in, but nothing would do, so they had resigned themselves to this new Darcy, no matter how much it pained them.
He spent his days working, fencing, riding or even climbing to occupy his mind, to feel something else, to get away. Nothing dimmed the memories of those fine dark eyes. he saw her everywhere, heard her warm laughter, smelled lavender in every room. But yet, it was sweet torture, for his memory he knew not to do justice to the real one.
He had tried socializing at first, though he had already tried before april and therefore knew how useless it was to try to replace her. He had dragged his ragged soul and broken heart to every ball, danced with every woman he found sitting down, rumors about his active search of a wife had shaken the ton and every woman of age was thrown on his path. Some women proved to be more than just pretty faces, some showed wit, spirit even humor sometimes. None had been able to even catch his attention, much less touch his heart, and now that he had a taste of love, he knew he couldn't go back to the way he was before. He could never settle for a loveless marriage, could never hold a woman who wasn't Elizabeth. The whole ordeal had only made him more miserable, more irritable and a lot less sociable than ever. Retiring to Pemberley had been the obvious way to go then, and the pikes and unique nature of the land had soothed something in him by allowing him to live his pain freely for this was his home.
Sleep eluded him this night as it had on many others already, he didn't even try to bargain with his mind for a little peace and tiredly dragged his body to his office. As he opened his latest accounting book, he smiled wryly. The numbers on the page made a lie of the rumor about his wealth, if ten thousand had been his annual income when his father left the estate in his hand, it was not the actual amount anymore for Fitzwilliam Darcy was a brilliant landowner and investor. If he had his prejudices against those in trade, it didn't stop him from investing in any business he felt might succeed, and never had he been wrong about any investment. In only five years he had doubled his fortune, but did his best to keep it a secret, for ten thousand was already enough to put him right at the top of the most sought after bachelor of the country despite his lack of noble title, the amount made heads turn and granted him access to the highest sphere as he was also very well-connected both from his family and the friends he had made in school. All this he begged to share, but only with one woman. He had dreamed of covering her in the softest silk, with the purest gold and shiniest diamonds. He still saw her walking the halls of Pemberley and the Darcy House. But alas, it would never become reality for he had ruined everything. His pride and bad manners had made him her worst enemy before he even took a good look at her, before he even realized how precious she was. But he had been so sure of his superiority, so full of himself that he hadn't even considered she would refuse him, poor manners or not. Darcy had long realized he didn't deserve her, and those regrets would eat him from inside until his death.
Sighing, he reached for the plate full of letters his butler had brought in earlier today. Those were the letters he had received to his house in town the past month, a servant was in charge of bringing it all to Pemberley once a month though those close to him knew where to send him letters. Invitation to a ball, to a dinner party, letter from the Viscount of Baston probably asking him to invest in whatever could help rebuild his fortune, a letter from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, another invit-
A letter from Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
His fingers trembled as he caressed the ink on the paper. Was he dreaming ? He took it to his nose, smelling the cold paper and he could swear a faint scent of lavender invaded his nostrils. Darcy closed his eyes, unwilling to let the moment go. And for the first time in four months and a half, he felt pure joy coursing through his veins. With shaking hands he reached for his paper knife and broke the wax seal with precaution, doing his best not to damage the precious object. He cursed himself upon reading the date : it had been sent almost three weeks ago.
Mr Darcy,
I do not know what your expression will look like upon receiving this letter from myself. I amuse myself by trying to imagine it, and I have to say the doubt stagnate between rightful horror -for how could a lady write to an unrelated gentleman like this, and curious fury -as you might remember how we parted last time.
Oh dear Elizabeth you couldn't be more wrong, as it is with a silly smile and hopeful heart that I receive your precious gift.
This letter I have written many times already during those few months, all those different entries you'll never get to read as their only remains are cenders in my fireplace. I'm writing for many reasons but mostly because your method though perfect to ensure that you get your word as you wished to, left no room for my own. I'm well aware that your mind must be miles away from our last encounter, and even farther from what may have happened beforehand, I'm quite sure you've had the time to move on and are now enjoying the relief you must feel from having successfully if unvoluntarily avoided trapping yourself with someone such as I. You may even still feel humiliated from having lowered yourself in such a way. Do not worry , I have my own theory for what happened in Hertfordshire and believe me when I say you did not love me. Anyway, this letter is going to be lenghty as it is, so I won't get into that, as I'm sure you already came to the same conclusion.
He frowned upon those claims, she was so far from the truth. He was living with the ghost of her and the regrets of the world weighted heavy on his thinning shoulders. He didn't love her ? She was the sun he orbited around, the air filling his lung and the only thing preventing his total collapse. What could be this theory of her ? He wasn't sur he wanted to know, but still he drank up her words for they were hers, born in her wonderful mind and written down by her soft, fair hands.
This letter has a purely selfish object : allowing my anger to reach you. However, I'll try to restrain myself, as I do have some apologies to give first. In regard of what I thought of the relationship between yourself and a certain Mr Wickham, I'm deeply ashamed of having been so easily deceived, as I speak it still pains me to think about it. It is torture having to recognise it to you who already have such a low opinion of me, I was so enjoying proving you wrong until then.
« No, my dear, you have nothing to apologize for, it is I who owe you apologies for making you believe one could think lowly of you, » he whispered into the night.
I do not hold you in high estime, but I flatter myself a honest person and I'll endavour to keep this virtue for as long as my life last, I cannot not believe you, not after you confessed the whole story, as much as this lessened my anger toward you, I have to say that I feel insulted with your insinuations. That your aim had been to humiliate me I do not doubt, but there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others, my courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me. Despite what you clearly think, my heart has not been touched, as opposed to my pride. You are right indeed if you believe I was partial to Mr Wickham, but in no way could I have felt anything close to admiration for the man. Not because I didn't like him or suspected anything -I'd rather we not get into how I was scammed, in fact I found his manners charming, but I'm not one to think herself attached to someone after only a few conversations, as the keen observer I'd like to think I am -or was before this grave error, I know of people's tendency to surprise you in the worst way. Therefore I would like you to refrain from formulating those insulting thoughts ever again. That my dislike of you affected my judgement, I cannot deny.
His respect for her only grew upon reading those words for she had the courage and humility to tell it to the man who insulted her. Then he felt such a strong relief that he slumped in his chair : she didn't love Wickham. Thank God. Although he could have guessed it by her character, she really wasn't one to give herself freely to anyone, one had to earn her friendship, her love would be quite another trial. However, he still felt the stab to his heart at the mention of her dislike of him, though he couldn't fault her for her honesty.
Also, I do owe you a thank you for warning me, I will use this knowledge to protect my family, though you must not worry, I'll never breath word of your sister's accident. She is very young, and though my image of her is manichean from having Miss Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam as her champions, I can't help but believe in her absolute innocence, if I may dare a suggestion as a representative of the same sex, never hesitate to speak to her, she may need space, but she needs a confidante even more.
He smiled at that, for he knew how Miss Bingley liked to paint her sister as a sophisticated, pompous lady of the ton, though the tales of his sister's beauty and accomplishments were quite correct, the reserved and quiet nature of his young sister was never talked about by his friend's sister. On the other hand, his cousin loved Georgianna as his own sister and would have talked lovingly about her and her shy manners. His smiled turned melancholic for he had dreamed of seeing his wife and sister becoming friend, they would have loved each other, of that he was sure.
Now though I do not think you're a monster anymore, I still think you're a proud, prejudiced man who insulted my loved ones in every way possible. How you could come up with this proposal I cannot imagine. Regarding our lack of propriety, I am not blind and often have to bear the humiliation of being in public with my family, but you, mister, are not allowed to throw it in my face : firstly because it is quite ungentlemanly of you, secondly because it is very hurtful, and finally because you do not know them. Some of them I can't and won't defend, but I'll count on you not to take your castigations any further than you already have. My father has many faults, one of them being his lack of tact, another his apparent laziness, but he is brilliant, fun and caring. That he is not the landowner you are I cannot oppose, but he never lets the opinion of others intrude in the way he lives.
How Darcy envied the man's intelligence, if only he had not cared about his family, friends and society's opinions then, he could have been the happiest of man. He would give up everything he had, his fortune, estate and every last of his connections to be able to be even her friend.
Mary is a shy girl not that much older than your own sister, drowning among too many sisters, born to the cursed invisible middle seat. But what your sister never had to live through is looking plain between a youngest and an eldest sisters who are so beautiful that you end up looking ugly. I would know as we look quite alike, and I have even once been called 'tolerable, and not enough to tempt a man to dance', this gentleman even naturally came to the conclusion that I had been 'slighted by other men'. I still resent you for that humiliating public comment.
« Oh God, » he groaned and pressed his eyes closed, praying for forgiveness. How stupid and blind had he been. She was so beautiful it hurt him and made every other women invisible to his eyes.
Mary is a lot more reserved than I ever was and lacks my confidence. She has been raised by books and believes a woman's worth to be only that of her matrimony, this is why she is desperate to look accomplished and studious to stand out in her own way. She only feels the need for validation, which my parents I'm ashamed to say do not provide. As for Kitty, she is unlucky for being born only a year before Lydia, she has always lived in a shadow and lacks Mary's spine and will to overcome her lack of confidence. I trust your discretion regarding those personal comments as you've trusted mine, of course.
Though, he couldn't lie to himself and say he liked her family, he would endure living with her entire family had she enough maternal aunts to fill Derbyshire if she would grant him one of her mesmerizing smile.
I still have to add that I find it quite hypocritical that the situation of my relatives in trade ever came up in the arguments to prevent Mr Bingley and Jane's possible union, as his own father was a tradesman himself. Did they forget their own roots ? Or merely forged a new memory of their ancestors ? That is a pitiable trait of character according to I, may their thousand of pounds ease their inner turmoil of which I know nothing.
It had been much more than just hypocritical, and he felt deep shame for the part he played.
I will now conclude for I find I am too tired of trying to find words by which I can relay my entire anger, but allow me to say that i am proud of who I am and I won't ever disavow my own flesh for a comfortable life no matter what your opinion of me was when you approached me that fated day.
His fingers tightened around the paper, willing it to uncover hidden words, another page or anything making him feel linked to her in any way.
Despite everything you have done and said, I still think you possess redeeming qualities thus I truly hope God will bless you with good fortune, you may include a well-bred, rich and handsome lady to its definition.
How could she wish him that ? It cut deep in his heart, mind and soul, and he felt physically ill.
Darcy read the letter six times before sleep caught him. Although, the day after when his valet came to find him, he was already awake. he had been trying to write back to her. He couldn't leave their communication die. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Sighing he looked at all the discarded papers covering his desk and the ground, he had a hard time writing without pouring his heart out and telling her about the love he felt. Rubbing his eyes, he took a new piece of paper and leaned over it.