Author's Note: A very important note! Thank you to the Guest reviewer who asked if Darcy had followed the apothecary instructions regarding informing his nearest acquaintances. I have gone back to chapter 1 and added a short paragraph of Darcy writing letters before drinking the potion. If you'd like to read it, you can head to the very end of Chapter 1. The content of the letters and the recipients are not revealed (although important!), so if you don't go back and read just know he wrote some letters (rather slowly).
Thank you so much to those who have taken the time to review. I enjoy reading your speculations, and you have convinced me to not end it so soon after he wakes up (which had been my original bittersweet ending). I have outlined the rest of the story, and I anticipate 7 more chapters. I love all reviews, and speculation and wishes are seriously considered. Special thanks to ColleenS, Deanna27, LoveintheBattlefield who review almost every chapter!
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Hamlet (1.3.85-86)
Darcy attempted to get his bearings on the scene. The assembly was crowded with people, but no one noticed Darcy's sudden appearance. The attendees were too distracted. He followed their gazes to the front of the room, where the Netherfield party had just arrive.
He saw himself, dressed dourly in all black, walking in, starring at the dancers who had stopped upon their arrival. Sir William Lucas was leading them in and happily identifying certain people. Darcy paused, startled at his own haughty expression. He remembered he had been made miserable that day from traveling, Miss Bingley's aggravating and incessant attention, the fact that he was on display for every woman in the room hoping to ensnare a husband, and yes, he had thought himself better than the simple countryfolk. The people in the ballroom saw his arrogant demeanor, the fact that he refused to dance with anyone, and his unwillingness to engage in even polite conversation as a complete portrait of his character. Darcy winced as he saw himself as they had seen him. They were not wrong about who he was.
He had been raised to conduct himself in a way that would ensure the longevity and success of the Darcy house. The wealth, land, and Darcy name would mean nothing if his conduct was not above reproach. Or so Darcy had convinced himself. Even his friendship with Bingley was pushing the bounds of his social sphere, as the Bingley wealth had only been comparatively recently made in trade. But Bingley had endeared himself to Darcy during their time at university, and he hoped to assist Bingley in getting settled in society. He had brought every one of the prejudices against the lower social classes with him at this assembly. Whether it was wrong or right, Darcy was still unsure, but it certainly explained why Elizabeth had found him so unlikeable.
He watched as he, Bingley, and Caroline walked through the middle of the room, and how he had taken a second glance at Elizabeth. Her eyes caused him to do a double take, but he had been determined to maintain a neutral and unflustered countenance.
"You certainly appear miserable, Mr. Darcy."
Not expecting to be addressed, he jumped and looked to his side. Elizabeth stood next to him, in her lovely green dress that complimented her complexion just so, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye.
"I thought I had lost you," he said, relieved to see her.
"No, I arrived here just as you did." He was comforted his companion was the same from the last memory. This Elizabeth carried none of the icy demeanor and derision she would latter have towards him in Kent. And at least he would not need to explain everything to her again. Elizabeth continued in reflection, "This was a thoroughly entertaining evening, even if I do end the night with my vanity thoroughly wounded."
"Miss Elizabeth," he wanted to apologize for everything that had happened since this evening, but he was unable to find the words. Everything was moving too quickly. The music had resumed too fast, the dancers too lively. He looked from her, back to the dance floor where he could see the Elizabeth of his memory dancing. She was laughing gaily, completely uninhibited, and thoroughly enjoying herself. It was a delightful sight, and he was drawn to her again as he had been then.
He then saw Elizabeth sit the next dance out due to the lack of available gentlemen. She was polite in her attempt to make conversation with him, and his cold demeanor towards her pained him now. After she left, Bingley was talking to him exuberantly.
"I have never seen so many pretty girls in my life!"
He could not hear the rest of the conversation over the crowd, but he knew he was calling Elizabeth tolerable. He frowned at himself, both for being rendered too obtuse by his arrogance to even attempt to notice Elizabeth's beauty, but also for being rude enough to speak the thought loud enough for people to hear.
"I am over there with Charlotte," the Elizabeth at his side said, pointing herself out. She found this memory very amusing. "That is how I heard everything you said. You should never have expected sufficient privacy for insulting people at a ball." Darcy could see Elizabeth and Charlotte laughing at his expense. He frowned, instinctively ruffling at being the target of some unknown joke, but he softened when Elizabeth touched his arm gently.
"I was telling Charlotte I would not dance with you for all of Derbyshire," she explained. This did not comfort Darcy in the least. Seeing his expression, Elizabeth smiled kindly.
"Can you fault me with that first impression you made? Let us share in the blame of our delayed friendship, as our conduct did neither of us credit."
"That is an agreeable compromise, Miss Elizabeth," he said this sincerely and decided not to think too much on her choice of the word friendship. It pained him that even in this distorted memory that she seemed unable to imagine them as something more. And yes, he thought, more is what he wanted, still. He had let his anger and pain get the better of him, and he should have never gone to the apothecary. If only he had not acted so rashly. His gaze returned to the current scene, unwilling to further ponder the inevitability of what waited him in the morning.
He saw the group come together after another dance. Mrs. Bennet was speaking to them while a horrified Jane and Elizabeth tried to steer the conversation towards more appropriate topics. Jane looked as if she wanted to disappear on the spot, and Elizabeth was momentarily speechless as her mother embarrassed them with her story about Jane. Elizabeth finally managed to cut in with her statement on poetry. Her wit and intelligence were evident even then, and he had been drawn to engage her in conversation.
Darcy could not help but smile, as he knew what was coming.
"Then what do you recommend, to encourage affection?"
"Dancing. Even if one's partner is barely tolerable…"
His Elizabeth, the one next to him watching the scene, laughed. "The look on your face was worth my impertinence," she said.
"It was a fully warranted set down," Darcy replied, smiling. It had embarrassed him at the time, but he found humor in it now.
In front of him, the evening progressed, consisting of mostly him avoiding dancing and encouraging Caroline's attentions, and he saw his other self attempt to get Bingley to leave, but Bingley insisted on staying until the dance was over. It would endear him to the neighborhood. Right now, he felt great appreciation for Bingley's commitment to making a good first impression, because he knew as soon as the Netherfield party walked out the door, the memory would be over.
This thought distressed him. Darcy turned to face his Elizabeth and took her hand, "I've returned to this night almost as much as any other memory. Your eyes bewitched me the moment I saw you. I simply did not want to admit it."
Elizabeth beamed at him, flattered by his compliment. He smiled softly at her, but his eyes were filled with sadness.
"Mr. Darcy?"
"I wish I had danced with you at every opportunity presented. I wish I had concerned myself with treating you and everyone with respect. Everything else would have been less difficult if I had endeavored to improve my manners sooner. If I had listened to my heart instead of my pride. If I had made a real effort."
"What if we did it differently then, this time? Let us go about this properly," Elizabeth suggested with a smile on her lips, pulling him away from their dark corner and towards the dance line without waiting for his response. The Darcy and Elizabeth of his memory were nowhere to be seen.
Darcy was torn between attempting to leave or enjoying her company for their remaining time together. He felt unable to concentrate enough to even attempt a memory switch, and the idea of dancing with her was so tempting.
"It is the last dance, come, Mr. Darcy," she said and placed him in the line opposite her. Her eagerness, the energy of the room, and the lively music encouraged Darcy to follow her lead. He bowed and felt himself impulsively stiffen at the thought of participating in such an animated dance in a room full of strangers, but when he raised his head and saw Elizabeth glowing with enthusiasm as she curtseyed, he relaxed.
They began moving in step with one another, and luckily this particular dance kept them paired more often than not; even when he had to spin with another dancer, it was not long before Elizabeth was at his side again. He gripped her hand much firmer than was appropriate and smiled broadly when he led her down the line, bouncing with every step. Her good humor was infectious, and Darcy even managed to quell his nervousness long enough to clap along to the rhythm when he was standing still, much to the amusement of Elizabeth. Perhaps it was a side effect of having spent all this time within his memories with her, but he was growing more at ease with himself in her presence. He tried, likely in vain, to commit the way he felt dancing with her to memory.
Much to his dismay, the song ended, and the couples began to leave the dance floor in search of their families and friends as they bid each other farewell for the evening. Two of Elizabeth's younger sisters seemed particularly upset that the night was coming to an end.
He found Elizabeth's hand as she spoke, "What an invigorating dance! See, Mr. Darcy, it is a delightful way to spend the evening, and I stand by my opinion." Darcy looked at her, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.
"And what opinion is that, Miss Elizabeth?"
"That dancing is the best way to encourage affection," she replied. Darcy smiled. As if to provide further evidence of her hypothesis, Elizabeth drew Darcy's attention to Bingley bidding Jane goodnight. Bingley had danced as many dances as would be appropriate with Jane. Bingley was clearly reluctant to leave, and Jane was demure but clearly pleased with him. Darcy frowned, thinking of his own intervention in the matter. His arrogance had hurt so many people.
"I have not yet forgiven you for interfering with Jane's happiness, but I wish Bingley had not been so easily dissuaded from her. I do hope they find a way back to each other," Elizabeth said, looking sadly at her sister and Bingley.
"As do I," Darcy replied, looking directly at Elizabeth. "I will make everything right again, Miss Elizabeth. I must."
The clamor of the crowd was beginning to hush, and the memory began to take on a dreamlike hue. Elizabeth turned her head in concern when the people surrounding them blurred as if brushstrokes of a painting. Only she and Darcy remained in focus in the middle of the assembly.
"Is this the end?" she asked. Elizabeth turned to face him directly, her brown eyes searching his face for confirmation of the answer she already knew.
"There are no memories left, Miss Elizabeth," he answered tenderly, his heart aching as he realized the truth of his words. He brought both her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. Not only did she allow him this liberty, she even stepped closer and leaned her head towards him, and he responded in kind, their foreheads touching.
"Then let us have a proper goodbye. We can pretend we had one," Elizabeth whispered, "Goodbye, Mr. Darcy."
"Goodbye, dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth. I love you. Most ardently," he gazed intently at her, and she held his gaze for a moment, then closed her eyes. His eyes scanned her radiant face, fruitlessly memorizing every inch of it. He did not want this to end; he wanted to feel the intensity of his love for her for as long as he could.
"Remember me," her voice was distant. One of her hands escaped his grasp and firmly touched where his heart was, "Remember me. Meet me at—"
Darcy held her hands as tightly as he could. Elizabeth's voice faded away before she could finish. Then, she was gone.
He felt a hollowness inside himself like never before as a golden light filled the space around him. He saw flickers of a face with a teasing smile, a woman standing stunned and soaked in the rain, the same woman with her dark hair flowing in the wind, walking through a golden field with one hand absentmindedly grazing tall golden grass. The woman looked towards him with bright brown eyes, her face neutral as if seeing beyond him. She turned away. He wanted to call for her, but he did not know her name. The golden light intensified, and its brilliance forced his eyes to close.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was sleeping in his bed at the Darcy House in London. His eyes fluttered opened.
Author's Note: A cliffhanger! Forgive me! Next chapter will be up July 3. Stay safe!