Title: A Matter of Moments

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Inspired by the works of Jane Austen, the 2005 film Pride & Prejudice directed by Joe Wright, and the 2004 film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind written by Charlie Kaufman and directed by Michel Gondry.

Setting: Regency. Begins in 2005 movieverse but by chapter 9 it is very much on its own path.

Summary: After the failed proposal in Kent, a heartbroken Mr. Darcy is determined to forget Elizabeth entirely. Will this strange concoction truly erase all his memories of Elizabeth? And is he making the right decision? And how will their love get back on course after his rash decision? Inspired by scenes from the 2005 movie and borrowing the memory-erasing procedure from 2004 film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind but adapted to a more Regency friendly version!

Author's Note: Quarantine has ignited my love for Pride and Prejudice, and I've been spending some of my time indoors watching the movie again, rereading the book, and reading fanfics. This idea came to my head a few weeks ago, and I think it won't leave me alone until it's written out. I loved the idea of Darcy revisiting his memories of Elizabeth. As of chapter 9, the story is diverging from just memories to restoring the path back to one another. I hope you and your loved ones are in good health. Thank you for reading.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

Macbeth (5.2.50—55)

Chapter 1

Mr. Darcy, operating as of late on very little sleep, rode out as far as his property line in northern Derbyshire, relishing in the solitude of an early morning ride well before dawn. Here, at least, he could escape the pitying looks of Mrs. Reynolds and the servants. Despite their professional demeanor and respect for Mr. Darcy, they could not hide a certain amount of pity in their eyes when they looked at him.

Yes, the great Master of Pemberley was pitied even by the lowliest of servants. While Darcy had never spoken a word of it aloud to anyone, general opinion amongst the staff settled on it being a matter of a woman. Mrs. Reynolds highly discouraged speculation and gossip amongst the household staff, so she would never contribute her own agreement and suspicion that something terrible must have happened during Mr. Darcy annual visit to Kent. Mrs. Reynolds was certain Mr. Darcy was suffering from a broken heart. She had never seen such a lovesick man. She treated him with the usual reverence and with a touch of extra tenderness as often as she could, for his disposition could be described as nothing but distraught since his return.

Darcy sighed heavily, feeling slightly guilty at the pain he was causing the loyal Mrs. Reynolds, and even more so for the pain he was inflicting on Georgiana as well. He patted his horse as he watched dawn breaking over the rolling hill and forests of Derbyshire. Even this magnificent sight did little for him now. He turned to ride slowly back to Pemberley. After his time in Kent, he had returned an angry and broken man. He shunned all society in London, refusing to take callers and spending his evenings and many of his days locked in the library, partaking in a little too much brandy to dull his senses. He had hoped a return to Pemberley and the company of Georgiana would lighten his mood, but it had the opposite impact he had anticipated.

There was not a day when he did not think about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He saw her bewitching eyes every time he closed his own. He could not enjoy a walk on the wild grounds of his estate without hearing her laughter in the sound of the leaves rusting in the wind. Her figure haunted the halls of Pemberley without having ever stepped foot on its grounds. He had envisioned returning to his estate with his wife on his arm. He mourned the loss of this future he so longed for, the future with Miss Elizabeth at his side, filling Pemberley's quiet with her vivacity. No, the past fortnight at his estate had not provided any more solace to him than his house in London. Georgiana's company barely lightened his somber expressions. He no longer wanted to subject poor Georgiana to his dour mood. He would return to London. At least there, away from Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds, a façade of normalcy was not required, and he was free to wallow in self-pity without interruption. Yes, he could order Georgiana a new pianoforte to make up for being such bad company during his stay and as an apology for his sudden departure. The pianoforte would at least bring her joy he could not in his present state. He would suffer alone.

Only a week after beginning his successful banishment to his London house, Darcy finally decided he was surely going mad. He found himself pacing the length of the Darcy House library with a glass of brandy in one hand late in a hot summer evening.

How could Miss Elizabeth Bennet reject me? Me? he mused as he finally settled down into his favorite leather wingback chair. Darcy smiled bitterly at his own thought. The irony was not lost on him, for had she not rejected him for the very pride he displayed now in being angered at her rejection?

His pride was wounded, yes, and this certainly fueled his anger. Yet, he knew that the next day his anger would be replaced, and he would sink into the depths of his own despair of having lost such a woman as Miss Elizabeth. He was familiar with the back and forth of his emotions because it was in these moods he spent the last three months since his failed proposal, waffling between anger, despair, heartbreak, and shame. Darcy drank the last of the brandy in his cup and reached for the decanter near him to refill his drink.

He stared into the relative darkness of the library, now lit only by moonlight as his candles had extinguished early in his long evening. He cared little, as being left with his thoughts in the darkness perfectly suited his melancholy mood.

Darcy regularly tortured himself by replaying their interactions in his mind, and this evening was no different. Tonight, his memories were clouded by her anger on that cursed day in Kent. He found it difficult to remember much else when he was in a particularly sour mood. He had behaved poorly that day, he would concede that he had been less than eloquent, yet she had shown him so little civility as to make him feel foolish for having lost himself so completely to her. He had been foolish enough to not only assume his proposal would be accepted, but that she would rejoice and profess her own ardent feelings in return. He had misjudged her regard almost as much as she surely misjudged his character.

Every day he hoped he would feel like his old self again, that he could return to the passive, responsible, and great Mr. Darcy everyone knew him to be. And every day, when he woke in the morning, he felt the rush of loss as hard as he felt it that day in Kent. Elizabeth Bennet haunted his dreams, and he feared, no, knew that he would never be free of her or the heartache she caused.

It was well after midnight when he decided to retire from the library to his chambers. He had no idea why he lingered so long in the library evening after evening, anyway. Perhaps he did it on purpose to torture himself further. He often pictured her during her stay at Netherfield tending to Miss Bennet. How she would have enjoyed sitting beside the fireplace in Darcy House.

If she was not so disgusted by the very thought of being near me, Darcy thought to himself. He hated that every pleasant thought of her would result in pain, whether of his own twisted interpretation or not. He berated himself like this constantly.

She had been right, he knew, at least in part. His manners could be improved amongst mixed company, but she understood little of the weight of responsibility on him or how uncomfortable he was in the presence of strangers. It was not his fault she had misjudged him. She had let herself be poisoned by Wickham's lies. Darcy's countenance darkened further. He had written her a letter offering explanation, yet that had done nothing to better her opinion of him.

As far as you know, the hopeful voice inside his head said. Darcy shook it away. If the letter had made a difference, had altered her opinion of him at all, she would have made it known. A letter, or a word, to Rosings. But she had not crossed the expanse between the parsonage and Rosings to make any kinds of amends. No. The letter had made no difference.

With that, Darcy stood, opened the door to the library and made his way quietly down the hall. He had almost reached the staircase, the halls still lit with stray candles in the anticipation of his late nights, when he heard voices by the front door clearly in the middle of a conversation.

"-crossed in love. You know, if he does not forget about her soon, he's going to go mad," the evening maid said.

"Aye," came a quiet reply from a voice he recognized as the evening footman, "but it is not so easy to forget the likes of a woman good enough to have caught Mr. Darcy's fancy."

Darcy was unaccustomed to hearing the servants talk so candidly within earshot of him. They must not have heard him leave the library. It piqued his curiosity to see where this conversation went, so he paused in the hall, hidden from their view.

"You know, I had a cousin who was in a similar state as our Mr. Darcy. Nearly drank himself to death, he did, until he heard about a remedy," the girl continued.

"A remedy? What, another woman?" the footman replied. Darcy could hear the footman's smirk even though he could not see his face.

"No," the girl said with a scoff. "He took a mixture of some kind. Went to the apothecary and got some kind of anti-love potion." It was the footman's turn to scoff. "No such thing," he replied simply.

"Why, yes there is!" the girl cried indignantly in a loud whisper, "He took it, and he forgot all about her. Took it right before bed, and one day to the next, she was out of his mind, like that," the girl snapped.

The footman snorted, clearly unconvinced by the girl's tale. "Alright, alright. I best be on my way." The quiet between the pair unsettled Darcy for a minute, and a few moments passed before he heard both of them part ways. He put out of his mind the impropriety their silence implied. Luckily, they both left through the servant's corridor, perhaps to their respective posts in case the master of the house had the sudden desire to call for tea or want to leave the house at such an ungodly hour. He had been moody and irrational enough for the servants to do their best to be available any minute he may require them for fear of adding to his discontent.

Darcy stood there in contemplation after they had left. As if suddenly remembering that he was standing in the middle of his hallway in the middle of the night, he shook his own head and made his way to his chambers. He dressed much too casually on his late nights in Darcy House, so undressing for bed without a valet was a simple task. He had grown much accustomed to it and preferred the solitude of it as of late.

Could it be true? He wondered to himself as he lay down in an empty bed. As he closed his eyes, he knew Elizabeth Bennet would come to him in his dreams. A reason he dreaded sleep, for his loss was felt all the more when he would wake without her. His final thoughts before his restless sleep were that, if it could possibly be true that something in this world existed that would erase her from his heart and memory forever, he must pursue it.

The next morning, Mr. Darcy woke with a sense of purpose he had not felt since the day he had proposed to Miss Elizabeth in Kent. He rang for his valet, as he was determined to set out for the day. Sooner than he anticipated, he was ready to make his way downstairs and break his fast with the minimal amount of food required not to provoke too great of worry for his health amongst the servants.

Darcy planned to ride to the apothecary on the outskirts of town. While he knew it was risky to run this particular errand on his own, he counted on his ability to buy any silence required of the apothecary, and if need be, any of the patrons in the store. He could not ask even his most trusted and loyal servants to run this errand on his behalf. No, there was far too much at stake.

Luckily, he did not encounter anyone he knew. He smiled grimly, thinking perhaps this was fortune's way of shining on him, as he entered an empty apothecary's shop. He went straight to the man himself. The apothecary started a little at the sight of him.

"Sir," the apothecary said with a bow. Darcy bowed stoically, hoping that not being addressed by name meant that the man did not recognize him. "How may I assist you?" the apothecary asked.

"I have a dear friend in need of some assistance," Mr. Darcy began. The apothecary raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Clearly, he had helped many a patron's friends before. Darcy took his silence as an invitation to continue. "My…friend…heard there may be something to assist him with forgetting a certain amorous attachment," Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, innocently, he hoped.

The apothecary smiled sadly at Mr. Darcy. Darcy did not appreciate the scrutiny, uncomfortable with the look he was receiving, but he remained firm in his resolve and his countenance did not waiver.

"So your friend is looking to forget the object of their affection?" the apothecary asked. Mr. Darcy nodded. "And what good could that do?" the apothecary asked, raising a brow. Darcy did not expect a line of questioning, and largely ignored it.

"Then something like that does exist?" Darcy replied rather excitedly, "Is it truly possible?" he asked.

The apothecary sighed. Many desperate men and women of all ages had come through his shop seeking such a remedy. Most were crossed in love, but on occasion, those grieving a lost parent or child would wander into the store on the whim of a rumor that their broken hearts could be mended. There was one particularly boisterous woman who came in every few months trying to rid the same man from her memory. It seemed to work every time, yet somehow, they would find their way to each other again, only for one or another of them to commit the same folly that would cause her to wind up at the shop once more. The apothecary shook his head slightly thinking about it. He took great pride in his medicinal work and the comfort and health he brought many people, yet peddling concoctions that were of questionable medicinal use was not his preferred way of spending his time.

"Yes. I am in possession of a mixture that is said to make the drinker forget the object of his strong emotions. I have seen many recover from heartache with its assistance, but it does come at a great price," the apothecary said.

"Price is of no concern," Mr. Darcy said rather too quickly, "for my friend, that is."

"You misunderstand me, sir," the apothecary replied. "It is not a monetary price to which I refer. You, rather, your friend, may want to reconsider the true cost of forgetting a love so great. Time is the surest way to mend a broken heart, or perhaps he can still win the object of his affection. It is a rather rash course of action to entirely rid yourself of…"

"Sir, I understand your warning, but I'm sure my friend has weighed his options thoroughly," Darcy interrupted. "He will go mad if he does not erase his woman from his mind. He has been but a shadow of his former self for months already. It is not a normal sort of heartache. It is far worse than anything I have ever seen," Darcy's stoic composure broke briefly. He hoped the apothecary would interpret it as concern for his friend rather than a side effect of his sudden display of vulnerability.

"Very well," the apothecary said, turning to go into the back of his shop. He returned with a small vial. "Does your friend share regular society with the woman in question?"

Mr. Darcy's eyebrows furrowed. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Good. It makes things less complicated. As you can imagine, forgetting someone entirely may create some uncomfortable social situations. Taking the whole contents of this vial will do just that. Before drinking it, your friend should instruct those he is closest with to never mention the woman again, as it may cause him some confusion. However, if the woman is someone he remains in close society with, he should only take half. This will enable him to remember enough of her to be able to hold a polite conversation, but all strong emotional attachment will be gone."

"They would meet, then, as indifferent acquaintances?" Mr. Darcy asked, stunned by the possibility.

"Precisely," the apothecary responded. "He will take either all or half before he retires for the night. While I cannot give you an exact account of what happens since I have not taken it myself…" Here the apothecary paused, "To my knowledge, anyway," he said, seemingly a little unsettled. He persevered, "But it is my understanding that the mixture will go straight to your friend's head, targeting any memories related to the object of affection. He will essentially relive the pain, happiness, love and heartbreak, all of it all over again, in order to rid himself of it and by morning, the mixture will have completed its task."

"Are there any physical risks associated with this?" Mr. Darcy asked, suddenly very concerned about the potency of the mixture before him.

"Other than permanently altering the mind?" the apothecary asked, with slight amusement, "No. He will simply wake up the next morning feeling as if he had indulged heavily in drink the night before."

This satisfied Mr. Darcy, so they settled on the price, and Mr. Darcy bowed his thanks again as he walked out. The apothecary sighed heavily as Mr. Darcy left the store.

Later that evening, Darcy was in his chambers at an earlier hour than usual and had just dismissed his valet. He paced his room and stared at the small vial sitting innocently on the dresser. He stopped, his arms outstretched and hands resting on the dresser as he leaned over, bowing his head.

Mr. Darcy regarded himself a man of excellent judgment. He was considered and thought out his decisions before he made them. Since his father's death, Darcy had moved cautiously yet deliberately in all matters personal and business. Even his proposal to Miss Elizabeth had come after months of considered study of the risks and rewards of such a match. Ultimately, his heart had won out. He had meant to convey his thought process to her, but that had obviously backfired. Altogether, Darcy was not one for rash decisions.

"Until now," he said aloud to himself. Darcy would not stand for it anymore. He was ready to take fate into his own hands.

Darcy moved purposefully to the small writing desk in the sitting area. He pulled out sheets of paper with the Darcy family crest on it and readied his pen. His closest friends and family would need to refrain from ever mentioning Elizabeth Bennet to him again. He thoughtfully reflected on exactly what he wanted to say to the recipients that would be firm enough to ensure their acquiescence with no additional questioning. Even if this plan did not work, at the very least he would be spared having to talk about Elizabeth.

As a slow writer, it took him some time to get through his letters, even though he kept them all brief to half a page. It was quite unlike him, but he hoped the severe tone and brevity would sound final. He needed to wait for the ink to dry. Impatiently, he paced his room. When he decided the ink was dry enough, he sealed each letter and left them on his desk to send tomorrow.

With a final sigh, he made his way back to his dresser. The small vial taunted him.

"It would have been better if I had never met her," With that, he roughly uncorked the vial. He lifted it to his nose. It smelt surprisingly palatable of orange and something else he could not identify.

Half to remain indifferent acquaintances. All of it to forget her entirely, he reminded himself.

"To your health and happiness, Miss Elizabeth," he said sadly, savoring the sound of her name on his lips for, he hoped, the last time. He raised the vial and drank his intended amount. He set the vial back down on his dresser. Darcy then climbed into his bed, pulling the covers over himself, determined to fall asleep and be done with all of this by morning. There was nothing worse than living without Elizabeth Bennet in his life, and soon, he would be free of her. Darcy was hopeful that by morning he would feel like his old self again. His eyes began to droop rather quickly. Yes, this was exactly the right course of action, he reassured himself as he sank into a deep slumber.