Hello P and P fandom!
It's been too long. I'm sorry! Finding balance between work and RL plus writing is kinda tough. I WILL see this through though. But updating may be slow. I've fixed stuff in existing chapters, added details that might alter what I originally planned. Some twists surprised even me! Turns out characters do take you in directions you did not expect!
Lady Muse –insert groan— fickle creature that she is, has been giving me a headache. Been tweaking this chapter like a loon. I hope you like the result.
And now –drumroll please— Darcy and Lizzie finally meet! Well... You'll see...
PS. Jansfamily4, Guest DJ, Guest Colleen S, Levenez, Dksais54, ChrisM0519, Deanna27, and MrsSP9. Thank you! And to all the ladies over at AHA too!
"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves."
—William Shakespeare—
"Destiny is a name often given, in retrospect,
to choices that had dramatic consequences."
—J.K. Rowling—
"Even when you think you have your life all mapped out,
things happen that shape your destiny
in ways you might never have imagined."
—Deepak Chopra—
SIX
Of Dreams And Destiny.
She could not remember walking all the way up here.
"How ever did I manage it?"
Even though she tried, she could not recollect how –or why— she had come up the hill, It was not possible to forget doing anything this arduous. Walking such a long distance –all the way from Longbourn— was indeed a strenuous task. Even if the one walking was herself. She was, after all, used to such activities.
She found herself sitting on the big rock she always favored.
It was a big flat rock at the foot of an impressive old oak tree at the top of Oakham Mount. Her papa had told her that long before she was born, her Grandfather had ordered to have it brought here for his dear wife's enjoyment. Before she was told the story, it occurred to her it had been too much of a coincidence to have such a rock here just by chance –so perfectly placed.
This particular spot held a special place in her heart. There were several reasons, among them, one was her paternal Grandmamma had often brought her here. In fact, coming here was the first memory she ever had. She remembered the lady with great fondness. Her penchant for adventure and her love of nature were two of the traits they shared. They also shared a name. Though the lady always referred to her as her 'Little Moon.'
~~~oOo~~~
A little more than a sennight had passed since September began –it was the last of Summer. The weather should remain relatively warm for a while yet. Colder and windier days lay ahead after all the leaves fell from the trees at the end of next month.
After sunset though, the briskness in the air had been quite apparent.
And yet, despite the late hour, she did not feel its effects. Strange.
The weather kept warm enough during late mornings and early afternoons, to be sure. But evenings and nights? Temperatures should drop noticeably. By all accounts it should be cold then –she thought— it was not the case however. It stood to reason temperatures should lessen past sunset.
By and by, several minutes passed while she considered such. After, her attention went back to more immediate matters, as well as her surroundings. When she finally looked down, she gasped, realizing she was wearing nothing but her nightgown and a thin robe. There were not any slippers on her feet, and her ankles were bare! The direct contact with the humid grass underneath her feet did not seem to affect her in the slightest.
She should feel the cold wind blowing. She always did whenever she visited this place in the evenings, even when she wore her pelisse. She supposed it was logical to expect such at present, especially in her current state of dress. Strangely, she could not feel even the slightest breeze. She wondered why.
What ever had made her come all the way up the hill? In her night clothes no less!
What's more, why be here at this ungodly hour?
She looked up at the sky.
The moon lit the sky in a soft glow. The stars were particularly bright tonight and the darkness did not seem so intimidating. Sighing to herself –as she was already here— she decided she might as well enjoy it. After all, her courage raised at every attempt to intimidate her.
She was here. How or why was left to ponder later.
The last of her misgivings was how meager and inappropriate her attire was, she was thankful there was no one around to see her. She was completely alone. Was she not?
~~~oOo~~~
Looking up, she saw the moon was Full. She remembered suddenly it was not so last night. It had been a Waxing Moon, she was sure of it. This situation was undoubtedly becoming more than just peculiar. Further, the stars seemed to shine more brightly than she had ever seen them do. This momentarily distracted her from her lingering doubts.
It was as if the stars she saw every night were closer somehow. As if the night was fire itself. Surely it could not be? Was she looking at the Orion Nebula? Usually, when the skies were clear, one could see something similar to stardust. Now it shone much brighter than it should.
Orion's Belt was nestled to the South–West. Clearly, it was Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka looking back at her. Sirius could be seen to the side, almost in a straight line with the belt. How was this possible? It was not yet November. To be able to see those stars so high up above herself. What– That was only possible during January!
She stood up, paced a little, then started walking in circles around the impressive Oak–the same tree she had known since her childhood— taking quick steps that reflected her confusion.
The memory of finding this place –where she was able to be herself— had the ability to calm her somewhat. There was no other place in the world that could give her solace as much as this one. This was her refuge.
She often had come up here in an attempt to leave the high-spirited company of her mother and youngest sisters. Tonight however, in the recesses of her mind, she knew there was something different about the place.
All these seemingly inconsequential details were too many to ignore. A sense of the unknown surrounded her, unfathomable though it was, it felt right. She was able to feel it in the crisp air. See it too in a way, as every breath produced a misty whirl coming from her lips as it was released. They all became visible as the two currents of air collided.
Which brought her back to her initial musings.
If it was not cold, why was her breath coming out in a haze?
Something distracted her from her thoughts –she felt someone approaching — she was not alone, even when everything indicated to the contrary. Someone was there with her, and she did not feel afraid,but...
She could not turn around.
~~~oOo~~~
He walked steadily.
His steps followed a long path lined by trees on both sides. His determined strides seemed to echo in the silence. As he reached its end, a rise of some length took him up the hill. The climb brought him ever closer –to what he knew not. The man managed the climb with ease. Once he got past the trees surrounding a clearing, it would be only a matter of walking a few more feet and reaching his destination.
When he arrived at the top –emerging from behind the foliage surrounding the meadow— he approached a tree of considerable size. To his surprise, a young woman was standing there. He approached her with slow but deliberate steps. Stopping a short distance away, only a few steps from where she stood, he spoke.
"My apologies for intruding upon you this way."
"There is no need to apologize, sir."
"Indeed there is, Madam."
A small laugh slipped from her lips. Why did she laugh? This nervous laugh happened but rarely. There was a particular quality to it that only those who knew her well could discern.
It felt as though she had been waiting for him. Why did this man's presence affect her so much? Thinking about it, she had to admit the sound of his voice made her feel... She struggled to describe it with words.
"I was truly unaware anyone was here."
"How could you have known about it, you must not blame yourself."
"Allow me to atone for intruding upon your solitude."
His apology sounded genuinely honest.
To her further puzzlement, she could do naught but acknowledge the timbre of his voice had her mesmerized. It was deep and soothing, even when he had not said much. The hypnotic cadence in the sound felt otherworldly. At the same time, there seemed to be a familiar softness in it that made her feel... Safe?
He began to retreat, and so, he had reached the edge of the clearing when she spoke again.
"There is truly no need. You only surprised me a little, I will leave shortly."
"Please stay. It was not my intention to make you uneasy."
He approached slowly, with tentative steps.
"I know it was not." She breathed.
Those words caught him by surprise.
Everything about this man was mystifyingly complex, and yet so simple. One thing she found most surprising was that strangely, neither of them felt the need to know each other's names. It was as if they already knew each other.
He walked the few remaining steps that separated them and stood still behind her as if asking for permission. As he approached, she heard his breath catch. The sound came almost imperceptibly right from above her head. Heat suffused herwhole person.
She could only hear the rush of her heartbeat.
Suddenly his hands found their place and encircled her waist. She was surprised, yet, at the same time she was not –strange that it should be so– and did not feel the need to escape him, quite the contrary. His hands felt strong and firm, they soothed and gave her balance.
Perhaps she should be afraid or upset. She was not. The disregard for proper manners and the lack of ethic and morals she observed ought to warrant her displeasure, yet they did not.
She leaned her back against his chest. Felt the heat radiating through his clothes. He must not be wearing much more than his shirtsleeves –she supposed— as she could feel the tightening of muscles in his chest. From what she could tell, he seemed to be quite tall and lean, and appeared to possess a well-built physique.
She moved to turn around, but he stopped her and a huff escaped her lips.
He trailed his fingers over her arms, going slowly up until he reached her cheek. Then his fingers swept close to her earlobe. She shivered.
His other hand remained resting over the swell of her hip. But then he moved it slowly upward. Long fingers extended outward, claiming every inch of the surface they traveled. They moved slowly over her as she shivered in anticipation. His hand stopped to rest over her furiously beating heart, and she felt it go faster than ever when his fingers grazed over her nipple. Tingles and shivers suffused her body. Her skin felt warm despite being uncovered. The low-cut neckline in her nightgown had dropped even lower. The ties of her robe... Had they been undone already? Or was that his doing?
The softness of his touch caused her breathing to accelerate and her body to tremble. The mere contact of his hand against her skin made her feel feverish. Regardless of how she tried, she failed to comprehend why she felt this way. Perhaps she ought to stop him. Instead, she chose not to.
The rise and fall of her bosom appeared to distract him, or so she thought. He let go of her for a few moments and stepped away. He seemed to be out of breath as well.
Judging by the sounds she was able to hear, he was greatly affected. The agitated state of his breathing made her believe so. She felt strangely flattered, and surprised that he too was as overwhelmed as she was.
It was too much. She feared turning around, what would she find if she did?
Temptation and fear mingled within her, but remained with her back to him. For some reason she could not fathom, she was almost sure he would appreciate the gesture. However, as soon as he recovered, she was in his arms again.
~~~oOo~~~
This closeness, her closeness had nearly undone him.
He had to let her go. At least until he reagained some degree of composure.
He was unable –or unwilling— to stay away from this wood nymph for long. His feet seemed to move of their own volition. Purposeful steps took him the short distance back to her –back to the spot where she stood still. He was beside her, and the slight increase in her breath proved she was acutely aware of him.
Having her so close after so many lifetimes searching...
What—? After a few seconds' hesitation, realization struck him.
He did not know it until now, but he had been searching. Now he knew it was her.
Escape was impossible for either of them.
He somehow knew that soon she would be with him, That he would be able to hold her in truth. That was the moment he realized he had been dreaming. Nevertheless, he wanted to savor this moment. He could do naught but embrace her again –with a fierceness that almost scared him.
He held her as close to him as he was able. Encircling his arms around her, he rested one of his palms on her middle and his other arm locked in around her shoulders. She was secure in his embrace. Soon reality would mirror this moment. He swore it.
~~~oOo~~~
After his going back to her, both stayed silent for long minutes, basking in their closeness. Especially since they somehow knew their time together here was running short. There were some things that he needed her to know. To reassure her. To reassure himself.
Minutes seemed to last for hours. They began to know each other as they talked.
"...I promise you. I will find you soon."
"How will you manage that?"
"Trust that I will."
"If you do, how will I know you?"
"Somehow you will. Follow your own heart."
"That is in no way helpful. Will you—"
"Have faith in me, I beg of you."
"But what if we do not—"
"We will, my heart, we will."
"How can you be so certain about this?"
"We were able to find each other here, were we not?"
"It is different here! Out there it will ..."
"...Be more difficult. Yes."
If this was a dream –for she was sure it was one indeed— she wondered at his persistence that he would know how and where to find her. As she began to suspect this, her need to remain with him grew tenfold. Her hands tightened over his.
"Please... May we stay here a while longer?"
"We cannot. Though I wish we could."
She held onto him.
He held her just as strongly.
"All my endeavors will always lead me to you."
She turned around suddenly and looked deeply into his eyes.
"You are my greatest gift. Finding you is my greatest wish, and I will succeed."
When he spoke, she noticed his voice turned deeper, the intensity in his eyes robbed her of her capacity for thought. She bit her lip. His blue eyes were fixed on hers. They burned. She felt her pulse vibrate and suffuse her whole person, rather than just her veins. His breath felt warm and it tingled on her sensitive skin.
His fingers moved to where her heart beat. She gasped at the touch. She wanted this.
His face leaned closer to hers. And then his lips touched hers.
The kiss was... soft, reverent. Wonderful.
"I will come to you."
~~~oOo~~~
"Please! Do not leave!"
Elizabeth woke up suddenly and swiftly.
Only to hear her own voice cry out in a plea no one would hear.
Her arms were stretched, her fingers spread as if reaching for something, or someone...
But her fingers found nothing.
There was only air.
Once the frantic beats of her heart and her breathing slowed down a little, she looked around. It became all too clear to her she was not on Oakham Mount, but in her own rooms. She looked around again, taking in her surroundings, she was alone in her bedchamber at Longbourn. She felt both chagrined and lost at the same time.
More than anything else at that moment –even as confused as she felt— she was thankful for not having to explain anything to anyone, least of all her dearest Jane.
If anyone else had been witness to her distress, they probably would have felt the same as she did at that moment. Albeit not for the same reasons, but been distressed all the same.
Upon waking fully, she discovered she felt the cold of the morning much more keenly than usual, her blanket lay on her lap, as she found herself in a sitting position, her upper body had been flung forward on her bed, an unconscious move, no doubt. The need in her voice when she woke upset her greatly. So did her memories.
"There was a man... A young man..."
Her hand moved of its own accord, her fingers touched her lips.
A kiss. Her first kiss. And it had not been real. It existed only in her mind.
Her hand moved to her forehead, she felt a little feverish, the strands of hair there were wet from perspiration. She could not see her hair, but it had come loose. The braid she had worn last night as she went to bed was all but gone. Undone from all her tossing and turning.
The drumming of her heart sounded loud in her ears. She tried taking deep breaths, her desperate gasps for air seemed useless. Soon after however, she realized that the difficulty lay only in her mind. She took one slow breath after another, those were followed by a few more, steadying her until her breathing was even.
Among the lingering vague memories, some stood out.
Earthy fields, moist tree bark, and crushed leaves that had begun to fall. Everything was mixed in with the scents of Ssndalwood, cinnamon, and leather. None of the latter three made sense. Especially the sandalwood, as it did not –to the best of her knowledge— grow in England. Neither did the cinnamon for that matter.
The mere memory of those scents made her eyes fill up with tears. Angry tears. This was ridiculous! Why should she feel like this? This need, this longing, they made no sense at all! She could not understand why, it was a most alarming feeling.
For a few minutes she remained on her bed, trying to recover her composure.
Taking deep breaths, but otherwise not moving, she tried to understand what lay behind these feelings. The sense of calm, of completeness in this man's presence. The night, the sky, the air around her seemed to vibrate. The sensations were heady and thrilling. She wanted them back.
Remembering the way she had called for him as she woke up, her confusion grew. She was unable to fathom the reasons why. The words from her lips had sounded ever so fierce, so desperate —at least to her own ears they did. There was nothing in her limited experience that could help her explain any of it.
A question settled in Elizabeth's mind, and though it seemed quite unlikely –impossible really— she became a little more certain of it as seconds and minutes passed. What would she do if this man was indeed real?
"Somewhere, he might be out there somewhere, if he in fact exists."
~~~oOo~~~
An unexpected feeling of melancholy followed the initial notion, and Lizzie did not know what to make of it. It felt as if she had found the source of every happiness, and yet, she did not know how to take hold of it.
But Elizabeth Bennet was not made for sadness, in fact she would have laughed if someone else told her of such things. She shook her head, as if to rid herself of her confusion. Those feelings did not have room in her life.
She repeated her motto.
"Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." Even if such remembrance is only a figment of your overactive imagination.
She laughed heartily at herself.
~~~oOo~~~
Startled as she had been, the sudden movement as she roused this morning had probably been the source of her injury. As a result, she was having some difficulty turning her head. Her neck felt tense, and it hurt a little if she moved it just so, but the pain was not severe.
She tried to disregard the discomfort, and hoped for it to pass soon. The inconvenience became apparent when she moved too quickly. So she tried to avoid any sudden movements.
Lizzie looked out the window and saw it was still too early for her morning walk. It was still dark outside, even for her. Usually, at this time of year, she woke up as daylight began to peek through on the horizon. The East facing window provided her with an incredible view every morning. She loved having the early morning light flood her bedchamber.
Looking around her room, she laughed as she remembered something.
"Lizzie!"
"I said no, Lydia."
"La! Kitty would agree with me."
"But I am not Kitty."
"And mama—"
"Mama is not here, is she? She is calling on Lady Lucas."
"She will be on my side! You will see!"
"Lyddie, I told you repeatedly, she will not. You are perfectly well where you are now."
"That is not true! The sunlight early in the mornings is so bothersome! You know that I cannot close the curtains at night! It is too dark! You know how it frightens me!"
Lizzie was sure Mrs. Bennet would take Lydia's side as she usually did. In fact, she counted on it. Her current rooms faced West and were too hot during the afternoon. And they were too small. Her ever growing collection of books took much of the space. Besides, she knew that were she to ask her mother for the switch, she would be denied.
Lydia's demands were her only hope.
Later that day, both sisters had their belongings moved. Lydia, thinking she had won over her older sister, rejoiced in her triumph. Lizzie simply stood silent by the door of her new rooms, smiling at her papa as he walked past her, wearing a knowing and mischievous smile of his own.
Her mother had retired to her chambers. Everyone heard her calling for Hill and her salts.
Her dear Jane stood by her side. Apparently clueless as to what had transpired. But the older girl knew her younger sister well. She knew all about her dear Lizzie's antics, but chose to remark on something positive about this whole debacle instead.
"However did you manage to convince mama to allow you to move beside my rooms?"
"Oh, dearest Jane. Never you mind..."
Lizzie laughed as she hugged her sister. Meanwhile, sweet Jane simply shook her head, She loved her incorrigible sister, and would not want to change her for anything in the world.
~~~oO0~~~
Elizabeth reached for her robe.
"May as well sit down for a while."
She stood up from her bed and went to the settee where she found refuge whenever leaving the house was not an option, and read for a while. Her copy of Thomas Paine's "The Age of Reason" was worn out around the edges. It was a book she found herself reading whenever sleep evaded her. It reminded her there were bigger issues to occupy her mind.
A while later, when daylight finally lit the room, she stood up, leaving her book on the little table beside her. She walked to her dressing table, poured some water on a glass and drank greedily. She always kept a decanter in her rooms. Though hers was not filled with wine.
After taking a few sips of her second glass, her mind began to drift, remembering her dream. She disliked being so affected by something so wholly unreal.
She had some time before Jane came, but could not stay still.
Getting dressed without someone else's help was not easily done, but she was able to do it. While she waited, she would at least take care of the easier undergarments, the task could be completed easily enough.
Her mind wandered back to the dream again. She had never experienced anything remotely similar, not in her waking hours anyway. How could she? The rules of propriety did not allow such possibilities. Not that she would, if given the chance.
Lizzie would turn nine and ten in less than two months. It was almost four years since her coming out in society, however reduced it was in Meryton. Since then, she had been able to attend assemblies and dance with young men. But she could not remember ever feeling the smallest fraction of what she had encountered this morning in her dream.
Her experiences since turning ten and five –and the one her mind had conjured up— were much too different to attempt to compare them.
Whenever she attended assemblies, or soirees at her neighbors' homes, her focus was on conversation and dancing. Most of those times, she danced with young men whom she had known her whole life, many of them were childhood playmates. As such, she could not imagine being any closer to them than their friendship allowed.
'Besides, I told Jane in several occasions, men are such silly creatures...'
She tried to disregard the matter in its entirety. And failed.
When there is dancing, most of the steps maintain some distance between dancers. Well, perhaps not the new Waltz that seems to be so scandalously talked about...'
Besides, the rooms at the Assembly Hall in Meryton were always so full of people, they all served as chaperones in some measure. Her own Mamma and the other ladies' gossiping proclivities were reason enough for most young people to behave properly.
Some passages of James Fordyce's sermons fleetingly crossed her mind. If read judiciously –at least in her opinion— there were a few interesting aspects to what the man wrote. But all in all, she thought he went around in circles without really saying anything worthwhile. Most of it was too narrow minded for her taste. If taken as gospel, as some young women had the tendency to do, the man's ideas were dangerous indeed.
'I wish Mary would see that.'
Elizabeth was sure Mary never wondered about any of the things she herself now did. Her character was too solemn for that. She wished it were easier to talk to her other sister.
And though she shared many of her thoughts with Jane. Regarding this particular subject, Lizzie dared not share it. Not for lack of trust, but simply because it was too personal, too private to divulge. Besides, she knew her dear Jane, and did not wish to cause her any distress if it was anything that could be avoided.
'Why has my mind summoned such thoughts? What can possibly be the cause?' She tried to remember if anything she read lately might be the reason.
"Perhaps I could confide in Aunt Madeleine."
Madeleine Gardiner, uncle Edward's wife, had taught her niece so much, and treated her with such motherly affection. She was her example, everything a lady should aspire to be.
Aside from Jane there was no one she trusted more. But discussing certain matters needed to wait until the Gardiners' visit during the Christmas season. She needed to wait. It was not wise writing about it in a letter, especially what she intended to ask. Not for the first time, Lizzie wished her mama was someone she could trust.
Aware of Mrs. Bennet's tendencies, Lizzie could not but feel worried. She saw the reason reflected in Lyddie and Kitty's conduct every single day. Contrary to her younger sisters, she knew the rules of propriety were there to provide order and protection.
Suddenly a thought assailed her.
'Why protection? Protection from what?'
'There must be a perfectly good explanation for that.'
'What I found among Papa's books cannot be it. It all seems so— Yet those books said it is required to— I suppose in a marriage it is. But if this is only allowed within the confines of wedlock— Why do maidens need to be protected from it? Or even from the knowledge of it? I do not understand.'
The mere memory of... Lizzie did not know what to make of it! She had absolutely no point of reference for anything remotely related. Thinking about it only letf her more confused.
Right then she heard a knock on her door. She could not help her surprise. How long had she been standing like this? She was wearing only her chemise.
"Lizzie, may I come in?"
It was Jane.
~~~o~~~ooOoo~~~o~~~
"That woman..."
Fitzwilliam woke up that day feeling utterly confused.
Every detail in this dream had appeared so profoundly real, even something so simple as a rock or a blade of grass. But what he found most disquieting of all, were the answers from his own body. In all his years, few things had possessed the power to leave him so... Bewildered.
Words, he discovered, were woefully inadequate to describe the experience, he did not find any. At the very least, any words that he dare speak aloud. Those that he did come to think of, were too private in nature. Somewhat sinful.
Holding that woman so close to his body felt so... Intimate.
That hardly signified. It was not real.
"It was only a kiss! And not even a real one!"
Startled, he heard the echo of his words in the silent room.
Yet a small smile graced his countenance in spite of it. Or because of it?
That was the very first smile that appeared on his face for some time. It surprised him.
Fitzwilliam sighed. He had to admit it to himself, he lacked the sort of experiences and habits most men of his age and station possessed. Even so, he was not an innocent green boy. He had not been one since his days at university. And yet, in this case, he refused to accept the possibility that something as inconsequential as a dream had the power to overwhelm him so.
He dealt with this the only way availed to him right then.
Even though he wanted to deny this sort of need, he was in fact affected by it, just as any man would. This happened more times than he was willing to admit, so he had come to accept the fact.
This morning he had awoken covered up in sweat. Breathless and panting, feeling the effects of the dream in his every muscle. He felt as though he had engaged in a fencing match. Some other ideas crossed his mind. They should not. The dream was too mild to deserve these reactions, yet he still felt them.
"But why?" He asked into empty air.
The memory of such a thing puzzled him exceedingly.
~~~o0o~~~
After, he had been unable to go back to sleep. This inability to sleep had become a frequent part of his life lately. He well knew the reason why. Luckily for him, his main worry was momentarily forgotten.
What he did not expect, nor desired happening, was what the experience had brought back to the surface: A growing sense of loneliness that threatened his neat and structured life.
He had consistently and stubbornly tried to ignore the feeling. He tried his best not to pay any attention to it, always pushing it aside. But to keep it buried in the background of everyday concerns, was not anything that could be sustained for long.
And yet he tried. Again.
'It may prove easier today. Let us hope.'
~~~o0o~~~
There were more pleasant things to occupy him at present.
Fitzwilliam was able to vividly recall the intensity of her scent, her amazing womanly scent. As well as the effects it had unleashed on all his senses and in his body —inside that dream, but also outside of it. It made him want her by his side. He knew the reason well.
It had been too long.
The natural fragrance of her skin... Just the thought of it...
Oh Lord! The feel of her warm skin. The memory of her essence, as it combined with the delicate Lavender bouquet that also arose from her person. Was it because of the flowers? Or was that also her? Mixed in, there were hints of Spearmint. These were embedded in her clothes and her hair.
The heat coming off of her body, the furious beats of her heart pulsing under his fingertips had been his undoing. The sound alone had seemed to overflow the silence surrounding them. The silver reflection of the moon, its light shining down on her dark tresses, and the warm tone of her voice. All of those nuances were unforgettable.
'That scent... How alluring. If only such a creature did in fact exist.'
His dreams were not normally filled with such detail, rather, they were more often than not, a colorless blur. They usually floated away from his consciousness and memory in mere minutes. It had never been posible for him to remember any of them quite so accurately. In the few hours since he woke up however, he began to remember this one dream in stark detail.
Such a shame this wood nymph's face was the one exception.
'Blast! ' That was the one thing I had to forget!'
Only a pair of bright eyes remained.
The color of those bewitching eyes though, was lost to him in the haze between the waking world and the world of his dreams. Try as he might, he was unable to fully remember them, that particular memory had vanished into the River of Oblivion. But the way they sparkled seemed to have stayed with him, carved into his very soul.
"I cannot recall what is not real. So why do I feel this urgency to do so?"
He could remember not letting the girl turn around and see him. In the end she did turn, surprising him and breaking all his resolve. And when she began biting her lip... Oh, it was too much! His endurance was not that strong.
His dream self had kissed her then.
Why was he unable to remember her face? If only he could committ her lovely features to memory. For he was certain they were lovely. Everything made sense, in a strange sort of way. In the way every dream makes sense as events unfold. Only later do we realize that their logic works only from the inside. Once in the waking world, all of it evaporates in the blink of an eye.
~~~o0o~~~
Trying to leave this intriguing experience behind, he turned himself to real concerns.
For a fleeting moment, thinking of that nymph –unreal as she had been— had been a welcome respite from all his worldly worries. As such he cherished it while it lasted. Mayhap he might find a similar creature on this side of life? A sad smile graced his lips, though it did not reach his eyes.
'It has been years, and not one lady in the Ton has caught my attention. Quite the contrary.'
Rather than someone who was only a figment of his imagination while he slept in the arms of Morpheus, he wished he were granted such gift in the shape of a real woman, so he could take her in his arms –whoever she might be— and cherish her the way his mother and father had cherished each other.
Right then, a memory of his mother intruded upon him.
'Please, not now.'
They were words his own mother had shared with him many years past.
A sigh escaped him. No matter his wishes, his duty had to take precedence.
~~~o0o~~~
Except for this morning and the distractions caused by certain recolections, the past three sennights Fitzwilliam Darcy did not have any clear perception of time passing. It was all an undefined blur. Tormenting him with the slow ticking of minutes and hours, Unending and implacable.
Though only a handful, for him these days seemed eternal. Time had become his enemy, for each minute reminded him of his failures. Especially after what happened in Ramsgate this last month. His Georgiana had been in danger. Had it not been chace that led him there at the time, he could not countenance the consequences.
Knowing that the scoundrel had managed to escape unscathed, and more to the point, after breaking his sister's heart in pursuit of her dowry, was insupportable to him.
'If only I could have gone after him. It haunts me, this inability to make Wickham pay!'
What if the reprobate decided to use his knowledge of events, even worse, twist the truth as was his wont, to hurt his sister's character in the eyes of others? The Ton was cruel and ruthless. Georgiana would not survive their disdain. He would never risk that happening, and thus, he was forced by circumstances to remain silent. In spite of his every instinct crying out for retribution.
Since his departure from Derbyshire four days past, and his arrival in London the day before, he had time enough for self recriminations. But one regret in particular stood out.
'I could have prevented all this heartache by simply being open with my sister.'
Regardless of how he felt, he was certain this had to be much worse for his sweet sister. Georgiana's heart had been touched –she had believed herself in love with the cad. It was her who had been ill used, she was the one who had fallen prey to the smooth and well–practiced lies his former childhood friend had grown accomplished weaving.
During his journey, Fitzwilliam was able to recall fragments and pieces from the only true conversation brother and sister had shared after Ramsgate.
Such conversation took place before Richard arrived in Pemberley. The words constantly played in his mind. They never left him, repeating themselves over and over.
"I was hidden behind your study's door, brother. I heard it all."
"Sister..."
"You don't need to hide it from me. I know what a fool I was."
"Oh, Giggi..."
"Please, brother... Do not try to... Do not try to steer accountability away from me!"
Silence surrounded them for a while. His sister tried valiantly to be brave.
"I believed him Fitz! I foolishly believed his professions of love!"
A few tears had escaped her infinitely sad blue eyes during those first moments. But after she admitted to her own foolish behavior, she could not hold them back any longer. That was when she collapsed into his arms. He held her tightly for as long as she cried, rocking her softly as if she were still a child.
'But these are not the tears of a child. She is no longer one. This is a young woman, crying for the loss of her innocence.'
Her tears did not abate easily. He cried with her, he cried for her. But those tears, he carried inside. Those tears, he did not shed. Holding his dearest sister, sobbing there in his arms, unable to do anything else, seeing her tears falling for that worthless bounder... It was the worst kind of torment he could imagine.
His sister had heard the row between the two men –however much one of them did not deserve such appellation. She had heard Fitzwilliam's recriminations directed at George. What the latter had done, and the agreements to which he had acquiesced in the past.
"I heard... The reason... He came back to revenge himself on you, brother."
A gasp left Fitzwilliam's lips.
"And I was the willing tool for this."
Her voice lost all strength as she all but murmured the words without sound.
"Geor... He used me to hurt you. I hurt you... Through him."
By that point his eyes began to glisten.
The last thing he wanted was for her to take the blame for any of it.
"He used me, brother! He used the love he managed to make me believe I felt for him!" She cried out in anger. "How can I ever trust myself again after that? He must have known! Surely he knew, that his lies would have the effect he sought."
Suddenly all her strength waned, and her last words came out in a whisper.
"I am such a fool!"
Remembering this scene repeatedly had taken away his peace of mind.
Georgiana was his responsibility above anything else. To care for his sister, and protect her was his paramount duty, and he had failed, and such was unpardonable in his eyes. She was only five and ten, and did not deserve this, to have to grow so quickly, yet she found herself compelled to do just that.
Fitzwilliam had been her age when they lost their mother.
When their father died, so many responsibilities fell on him. He did not wish his sister the burden of growing up so fast. He had sworn when he was named her guadian, that nothing sad would befall his sister again. A fool's errand, he knew it perfectly well. Still, he held himself to that oath till this very day.
~~~o0o~~~
Lately, His Lordship had hardly been able to sleep at night. It was fortunate indeed, if he managed to do so for a few hours. If the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, circumstances were not improving. He had even lost some weight.
Providence had knocked on his door, apparently. Today his countenance had improved somewhat.
'This is such good news. Especially today...'
Last night had been the first time in a while that he had finally managed some much needed rest. The young Earl was at last given a reprieve, and had slept soundly.
They had arrived late in the afternoon, and after the most urgent tasks were dealt with, and after taking a long bath, His Lordship had fallen asleep, and thankfully did not wake for many blessed hours.
He considered this as a step in the right direction.
Just one night of uninterrupted sleep, without either tossing or turning, or anything that appeared to plague him with nightmares –which lately happened with alarming frequency— had worked wonders. The shadows under his eyes had lessened. It was a relief.
The accumulated exhaustion and stress had taken a toll on him. Although he was a strong and healthy man, this was hardly enough if he kept ignoring his discomfort. Occupying his mind with responsibilities and obligations was his only escape. Becoming numb to anything else, he kept working on all matters related to the Earldom and its assets, as well as Pemberley's
His body needed longer to heal, and only one night of rest was not nearly sufficient.
Or at least that was Barrow's opinion.
As soon as the valet entered the bedchamber, his quick assessment gave him an approximate idea of his Master's state. Further, he was a man too, so he knew the signs certain matters left in one's person. Such was part and parcel of his job, and his own experience too.
"I hope his Lordship is in good health today."
The man asked as he entered the room. There was a slightly humorous tone in his voice, as he raised one thick eyebrow in his usual way, barely perceptible, except to those who knew him well. The young Earl was one of them. But the catch lay in the fact that such knowledge was mutual.
"Come Barrow, I do not need that from you, man."
"Of course not my Lord."
But the answer had a subtle cheeky tone to it, it was difficult not to find it diverting. Even when it was somewhat impertinent of the valet to behave in such a way with his Master.
Theodore Barrow had only been in the service of the Darcy family since 1795. Both men had met once or twice in their youth. But ever since the time one accompanied the other to University a friendship of sorts between them had begun.
Barrow's family was originally from York. They had worked for his Lordship's uncle, in Wentworth Woodhouse until illness took them.
When he was three and ten, in the Summer of 1795, he travelled to Pemberley with other staff, as the Fitzwilliam family was visiting the newly appointed Earl Holderness. He had stayed in Derbyshire since then, and apprenticed at the side of the former Earl's valet to then became one himself.
Though their stations in life were different, they had become friends –for which Barrow held some pride. This friendship had also grown due to their similarities in age and ideals.
Because of his closeness with the people in his Lordship's life, Barrow had grown to appreciate those who cared for Darcy. The Colonel and Bingley among them.
He had realized before his Lordship could, what Wickham was capable of. He had also helped the Earl's cousins –His Grace, the Duke of Leeds, and Lord Godolphin— shield his Master from various attempts at compromise. And he kept doing so. The latest, from no other than Bingley's sister. To which the Earl was ignorant.
Barrow despised the vulgar woman with a passion. The day she attempted to trespass on the Master's rooms, he had made it known to the 'lady' in no uncertain terms. She despised him in equal measure.
The link between the young Earl and the valet was unique. It could even be said that Barrow considered himself a sort of protective older brother. There was little that he did not know about his Master. And the latter's trust in him was implicit.
In the name of that trust, if things continued in the manner they had, he might have to take drastic measures. Summoning a physician without permission may be needed of him. This development he decided, would depend on what he saw in the next few days.
'At least his Lordship could rest last night. Let us hope this continues.'
~~~o0o~~~
After a long and tiring journey south from Derbyshire –three days' worth of traveling— His Lordship Fitzwilliam Darcy, 7th Earl Holderness, finally arrived in London.
Barley Hill House had been made ready for his arrival, both the Butler and Housekeeper waited for him at the door. The house was situated on the north end of Berkeley Square, almost opposite to Devonshire House to the south. The Eeast entrance to Hyde Park was only a few blocks away.
"Good evening My Lord. We hope you had a pleasant journey."
"I thank you, Taylor. Mrs. Taylor."
He addressed his Housekeeper with a small incline of the head,
Long journeys were arduous affairs. He was relieved to have arrived at last.
His preference for Barley Hill House was tied to childhood memories, as much as it was a matter of practicality.
After spending time in the country, the smell of London was not pleasant, it took a while to get used to it. And while Syon Hill House –which his grandfather had commissioned to be built in Isleworth— was far enough away from Town for the air to be less... bothersome, that same distance was also a disadvantage.
After a bath washed away part of his exhaustion, caused by the many hours he had spent in a carriage, and the nights stopping at Inns, his fatigue was somewhat lessened.
In a sudden rush, all the weariness and ennui that had settled in his soul reached a point where he was no longer able to hold himself together. As he was alone in the Master's apartments, no one would hear him. Fitzwilliam let himself go, and cried. He cried as he only would if nobody was there to witness it. And then fell asleep.
~~~o0o~~~
Before leaving Pemberley for Wentworth Woodhouse, Georgiana had tried to talk to him just once —Once! Where had it all gone wrong?
After a short moment of doubt, when it seemed as if she wanted to run, she stopped herself, hesitated for a minute, and left the room only after uttering a short and hurried fairwell to her brother.
"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam."
Not 'Fitz,' not 'Brother.' That was certainly a sad state of affairs for the siblings.
"Will you write to me? Will you answer my letters Giggi?" He asked.
She nodded. But also gave him a curtsy and a faint smile.
She was so young. When he turned the age his Giggi was now, their Mother had just passed on. Their Father was lost to his grieving. It had taken a while to have their father return to them, if not completely, but partly healed. Meanwhile, Fitzwilliam had to grow up quickly, for who else could see to his little sister. Georgiana, not having anyone else, clung to her brother with all her might.
They had a hard time, the two of them. Add to that the typical struggles that come with young age. He learned along with her, but still, he found some aspects of raising a young lady quite difficult: A brother who had to become a father. Their family helped, but they were not always there .
Georgiana's emotional state was ever changing, but this seemed to be something else entirely. Were her feelings for Wickham that deep?
'Has anything of a more physical nature happened between my sister and that cad?' He certainly hoped nothing of the sort had occurred. He tried to silence the niggling suspicion turning around in his brain.
'Even being the blackguard that he is, he cannot have resorted to that, surely? Whatever else he may be, the friend of his youth was not capable of forcefully imposing himself on a girl of barely five and ten, was he?
~~~o0o~~~
Fitzwilliam left the Master's chambers after taking another bath. Yesterday, when he had arrived he had taken one. Nonetheless, the dreams from the previous night, and the resulting effects on his person necessitated these repeated measures. It was however, faster and perfunctory.
Feeling thus, clean and rested –thank the heavens— he left his rooms after Barrow shaved the growing beard from the previous days of traveling, and helped him dress.
His steps were taking him down the stairs to the small private dinning room, where he usually broke his fast, when he crossed paths with Mrs. Taylor, who had been Housekeeper since he was a boy. She happened as well, to be Mrs. Reynolds older sister.
"Good morning, My Lord. Congratulations!"
He was taken aback for a moment, he quickly rallied. "I thank you, Mrs. Taylor."
He was indeed surprised. He had absolutely forgotten about it. With so much going on lately, the date –and what it represented— had completely evaded him. He felt as if he were much older than the years he had had onn this earth. Though at the same time, he also felt incredibly young and uncertain.
"All the staff wishes to wish you well on this day, my Lord. I do so on their behalf."
"Many thanks. Will you convey these to them as well, Mrs. Taylor?" The older woman accepted her Master's assertion with a nod and a curtsy.
"You will find many of your favorites at table, Master. There are baked eggs on toast, with mushrooms and bacon, you like those, I know. There are also ham cakes, and Chelsea Buns. And your usual fare of cut fruit and coffee. With compliments from Cook."
With all the activity he must surely engage in –a lot of it related to the care of his estates— including horse riding, and his practicing of fencing and boxing at least two times in a sennigh, he usually ate quite heartily. His physique, healthy frame, and athletic figure easily belied that fact.
He knew the woman was aware of it, thus, he did not have the heart to tell her he was not hungry. Ever since the events in Ramsgate, his appetite had waned noticeably.
"That is certainly a feast, Mrs. Taylor. I thank you." He said, hoping to sound enthusiastic
"I hope everyone downstairs will partake?"
"Yes, your Lordship. Thank you."
"Good. See to it that they do."
Somehow her cheerful attitude made him hopeful for the future.
When he reached the dinning room, he found one more surprise. His sister Eleanor and her family, as well as his cousin the Colonel, and Charles Bingley were present in his home this morning. He had not expected this. But appreciated it nonetheless. His niece and nephews were there, and brought a measure of happiness to the day.
'Mayhap things will improve after all...'