"I see no reason we have to travel so very far to visit Jane," Lydia laments loudly from her side of the carriage.
Lizzy sighs at her youngest sister, wishing in her heart that Mama insisted on Kitty or Mary joining this trip instead. But Jane only explicitly asked for Elizabeth - and Mama was insistent at giving Lydia the privilege of seeing the North in place of her less-favored sisters.
"I am certain Mr. Bingley shall throw you both in the way of rich, eligible young men!" Mama declared right before the carriage departed Longbourn.
It's been a very long two days on the road since.
"I hope Mr. Bingley has handsome neighbors," Lydia declares.
Lizzy sighs.
"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane greets her sister with a warm, generous embrace. The growing belly on Mrs. Bingley has started to protrude - but not severely just yet. "Thank you for coming all this way."
"It is my pleasure, Jane." Lizzy assures her sister, smiling.
Stratton Hall is larger than Longbourn, and filled with plenty more luxuries than their home in Hertfordshire is. The breadth of the library alone is enough reason for Lizzy to stay.
"Charles wished to settle in Derbyshire," Jane explains in the kindly tone that is uniquely her. "The trip must have so inconvenienced you."
"It was so tiring, Jane!" Lydia complains.
"It was no matter, Jane. I am glad to see you so happy," Lizzy says, meaning every word.
"We shall have you two refreshed in an hour," Jane announces, the consummate mistress of the manor. "Dinner shall be a simple affair with us and Mr. Darcy."
"Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy pauses just before taking off for the room Jane set aside for them.
"Charles' friend. You must remember - from Hertfordshire?"
"Yes - he left when the Bingleys did - but did not return with them."
Jane nods.
The thought of having that foreboding, scowling man in her house doesn't seem to phase Jane.
So Lizzy shrugs it off - and mutters a quiet prayer of thanks that Caroline Bingley is in London for now.
"He is very handsome," Lydia coos the very first night, on the bed she shares with Lizzy. "You must have seen him brooding, Lizzy."
"Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. We ought not to discuss him so."
"He is so very tall as well. It must feel splendid to be in his arms."
"Lydia!"
"There is no harm in dreaming, Lizzy."
"There is great harm in your sort of dreaming. Go to sleep."
Lydia huffs, but she obeys.
"Mr. Darcy, you write with such elegance!" Lydia declares the next evening, when the family and guests sit together after their meal. The youngest Bennet sister crosses the entire room to lay a hand on Mr. Darcy's arm. "You must show me how you write so well."
"Lydia," Lizzy warns.
"I am merely learning, Lizzy!" Lydia retorts. "You always chide me for needing to be more accomplished."
At the word, Lizzy trades a look with Mr. Darcy.
"Lydia, young ladies ought not to show such blatant admiration. Do not bother Mr. Darcy."
Lydia rolls her eyes before she sits back down on a chair.
Lizzy sighs.
A week passes with little variation.
Twice, Lizzy catches Lydia in the midst of interrupting Mr. Darcy on her own. Twice, Lizzy calls Lydia away.
But then comes the incident.
"Lydia, where are you off to?" Lizzy squints in the dark. The hour is late. The entire household has retired.
"I - go to sleep, Lizzy."
"Lydia, return to bed this instant."
"I can't."
"Lydia." Lizzy wanders towards the door, where Lydia - wearing nothing but her dressing gown and nightclothes - is standing stubbornly still. "What could you possibly wish to do at this hour?"
The dim light from the fireplace gives just enough light to show the clear conflict on Lydia's face.
"I have a meeting to keep," says the younger sister.
"At this hour? With whom?"
"Mr. Darcy."
"Mr. Darcy?"
"I wrote him a note - telling him to meet me at the library tonight."
"Lydia!"
"He accepted it! He even said he would be there waiting!"
It takes Lizzy an entire minute to gain her senses - before she roughly commands her sister to stay in bed, pulls on her own dressing gown, and slips down to the library herself.
There is light underneath the door even before Lizzy enters.
Her sister was brazen - but who knew Mr. Darcy could be just as dishonorable as Lydia was attempting to be?
The thought of a man she's come to respect acting this way is unbearable. Lizzy barges into the library, a ready lecture on her tongue.
"Mr. Darcy!" She cries, when she sees that he really is here - on his own - waiting for Lydia.
"Elizabeth!" He gushes - before he spins on his heels, walks madly towards her, and pulls her to him. "Elizabeth, you came."
"Mr. - " Any efforts to reprimand him are soundly cut off by the sudden sensation of his lips on hers. Lizzy feels her eyes widen, her heart grow. What - who - why -
He continues to kiss her, slanting his mouth against hers with a tender sort of coaxing. His hands on her waist anchor her securely against him. His kisses, though unexpected, feel soft - and gentle - and inviting. Lizzy finds her eyes closing, her body softening as she responds to -
She abruptly pulls back, panting.
He pants right back.
She is speechless now.
So she flees to her room instead.
Is Mr. Darcy nothing more than a heartless rake?
The question plagues her for the remainder of the week.
During the day, he maintains perfect civility with Charles, and Jane, and Lydia, and herself. He extends every politeness to a fault. At night, she retires early - with Lydia. And she doesn't see him until the morning.
His coolness infuriates Lizzy.
Because it infuriates her that she can't quite forget that kiss - those few minutes of blazing sensations after hours.
The faithless lover in the library and the perfect young master at the breakfast table - are they even the same man?
That night, Lizzy catches Lydia trying to escape the room again.
"You are not to act so brazenly!" Lizzy scolds.
"You sneaked out as well! You didn't return until an entire half hour had passed!" Lydia shrieks back at her sister.
The sisters fall asleep, after much fidgeting, each facing a different way.
Ten days after the kiss, Lizzy feels better. There have been no more incidents, no more evening dalliances. Mr. Darcy is a welcome companion to their group and nothing more. Unlike Hertfordshire, he is civil and kind. He is as quiet as he's ever been - but not in a hostile way.
On their way to the picnic, Lizzy trips on the last step.
Mr. Darcy catches her, with his arms.
"Miss Elizabeth," he whispers as he helps her back on her feet. "Are you well?"
Lizzy thinks she is blushing.
She does not quite like the sensation.
"I am well. Thank you."
"I am glad you are not harmed."
"I am perfectly fine." Her voice trembles, just a little.
He nods. He smiles.
He walks back to his spot beside Charles.
The day after the picnic, Lizzy finds Lydia scribbling on her own in the afternoon shade.
"Lydia, what are you - "
Lydia hides her note immediately. Lizzy, naturally, extracts it from her. She reads it, breath shortening.
"Lydia!" Lizzy is aghast. The language in her sister's letter to Mr. Darcy is scandalous and bold, teasing and coy. "What are you doing?"
"I have a lover and you have none," Lydia spits. "You are jealous."
"I - " Lizzy shakes her head. "You are shameless, Lydia. Are you engaged?"
Her sister squirms. "No."
"Are you being courted?"
"No."
"Then it is not right for you to shares such correspondences."
"Lizzy - "
"I had thought better of Mr. Darcy."
"He is not - "
"Pack your trunks." Lizzy gestures towards their room. "You leave at first light tomorrow."
"Lizzy!"
"Go!"
Her sister huffs and puffs.
Then she obeys.
That night, one night before Lydia is bundled up in a carriage and sent home, a note appears beneath their door.
"My Dearest L," the letter reads in a shaky, though masculine hand. "You have bewitched me, body and soul. I cannot bear the thought of another day without the assurance of you in my arms. Propriety has proven itself irrelevant in the light of our passions. Meet me tonight, I beg of you. I shall wait in the library when the others are abed. Do not disappoint me, my love."
The letter is signed by Mr. Darcy. It is all too clear.
Lizzy wants so badly to tear the letter up.
"My lover wants to see me," Lydia mutters gleefully, when she reads the letter over Lizzy's shoulder.
Lizzy snatches the sheet as far away from her sister as she can.
"You will not go," Lizzy orders.
"And shall we have Mr. Darcy wait all by his lonesome in the library? He might catch a cold," Lydia argues.
"I will go." Lizzy folds the note and slips it amongst her skirts. "You shall stay here, on your own."
"But, Lizzy - "
"I shall tell Mr. Darcy that he is acting most inappropriately - and that such behavior shall not be tolerated."
Lydia sulks. Lizzy shakes her head, brings a key, and locks the door when she leaves.
The entire way to the library feels like a descent into hell.
How is she to confront a man who plays the knight in the day but proves a knave in the night? He is handsome and intelligent, learned and blessed - she has never denied those facts.
What she cannot do, however she tries, is to reconcile the man she's seen aiding Charles in matters big and small and the man who writes such damning letters to her baby sister.
Which one is the true Mr. Darcy?
Again, there is light underneath the library door.
Lizzy steels herself. Lizzy enters.
"Elizabeth!" In almost the exact same progression as before, he calls out her Christian name, stalks towards her - and, despite her resolve to not be surprised tonight, pulls her into his arms and against his body.
"Mr. Darcy," she says, her voice limp.
"Elizabeth," he whispers against her ear.
His voice is warm, strong, and intoxicating. His very presence ignites every part of her that touches a part of him. She is dressed, properly this time, but feels naked all the same.
"Mr. Darcy," she repeats futilely.
But now he's pulled back, to look at her.
His hands come to frame her face.
She forgets why she is here, why she even knows he is in the library at this ungodly hour.
And he kisses her - wholly, fully, fervently. His hands drift from her jaw to her neck to her shoulders. She feels her own hands clinging helplessly onto his collar. This is madness. This is hysteria. Her mind disappears as the fullness of her heart takes over her actions.
Their kisses grow deeper - tongue against tongue, every breath touched with a whimper. His hands trail fire from her arms to her waist to the back of her hips. She pulls closer. He lets her in. His body is different from hers - all strength and hardness and power. A heavy object tightens between them, much like the curling in her own upturned soul.
"Elizabeth," he breathes, before kissing her again.
She sighs, she whimpers, and she moans. His fingers traverse around her bodice and inch slowly up towards her bosom. She does not stop him. She cannot stop him. She has lost all faculty over herself.
"You came," he says when he nibbles her ear.
And then her mind rekindles. And then the wheels turn once more.
And she pulls away, as far as she can with his arms still locked around her.
She waits for the haze to lift from her mind. He appears as affected as she.
What were they in the midst of doing? What was her purpose in coming here - and how far have they strayed from that purpose?
"Why?" The word escapes her.
"Why?" He frowns. He is handsome even when he frowns.
"Why - why are you doing this all to me?"
His eyes are round with surprise.
"What do you mean, Elizabeth?"
"You - " Lizzy starts to tremble. She has kissed him - embraced him. She is here to find justice for her sister and only managed to create more injustice for herself. "You asked for my sister. How can you - "
She shoves herself violently way from him. He steps back from the act.
She is frowning now. She is angry.
"How can you - how can you treat Lydia this way and still act so compromisingly towards me!"
"Lydia? I - I have been nothing but civil to Miss Lydia."
"Liar!" Lizzy shouts. She doesn't think about who may be hearing them. She is incredulous - at his audacity and his passion. "I have seen the letters you've exchanged with her. I am here - I am here tonight to tell you to cease all such interactions with my sister."
"I have never - "
"The evidence is right before us!" Lizzy retrieves the note in her skirt pocket and throws it at Mr. Darcy. "I knew you were in the library because of your planned liaison with her!"
He catches the note. He reads the note.
He is frowning.
"Can you deny that you wrote such inappropriate things?" Lizzy struggles to speak in a clear, calm way.
"I wrote this, yes." He holds the note in his hands. He looks up towards her. "But I did not write these words to Miss Lydia. I have no such interest in her."
"But you call her your 'Dearest L' - you allude to your passions, and you - "
"Who is my dearest L but you, Elizabeth? Lizzy, your sisters call you. And with an 'L' you have signed every letter we have exchanged."
"What letters? When have I ever written a single word to - " Lizzy stills. The thought behind his words, coupled with the utter shock on his face at this moment, begin to congeal into a single thought.
"Elizabeth." He steps closer, though not as close as he was before. "Have you ever written me a single note?"
She sees the heartbreak in his eyes, the hopelessness of a stolen dream.
But she cannot lie.
"No," she says.
Mr. Darcy closes his eyes. The passion and fire is gone.
He is flushed now for a different reason.
He is trembling - he is pained.
Lizzy chooses to step over and lay a hand on his arm.
Slowly, he softens.
"I am sorry," he says when he opens his eyes to her. "I had thought - I had believed - oh how foolish I have been!"
He looks askance.
Lizzy's heart clenches.
"Mr. Darcy," she offers.
He looks at her with a tentative hope illuminating his face.
Lizzy licks her lips.
"Your letters with Lydia - you thought to be from me?" Lizzy asks, hollowly now.
He nods a single nod, eyes downcast.
"You say that this - 'L' has bewitched you, body and soul," she repeats as much to herself as to him. Her fingers tighten slightly on his arm. "You meant everything in that note - for me?"
It takes him three seconds to meet her eyes.
"Yes," he whispers. Then he shakes his head. "But I suppose it was all for naught."
"I - " She reaches for his hands and takes them in her own. She is not sure what she is doing - but altogether certain at the same time. "I never wrote those letters."
"I know now. The pill is bitter, and yet I must swallow - "
"But I was the one you kissed," she adds carefully. She watches the flicker of hope dance across his eyes. "And the one who returned those kisses."
Time stills. Nothing in the world feels tangible but the two of them.
"Lizzy," he whispers.
"Fitzwilliam," she attempts the name she has come to learn belongs to him.
His eyes darken. He swallows.
It is her turn to speak again.
"You truly do love me?" she asks.
He waits. Then he smiles.
"With all of my being," he answers.
Shyly, she shifts herself to face him fully - her chin level with his collar.
"May I hope, Elizabeth," he says softly, "that you could learn to love me as well?"
She thinks.
Then she doesn't.
Then she thinks and finds that she has similar conclusions regardless of the state of her mind.
She bites her lip before she smiles. "I suppose."
"Marry me, Elizabeth." He breathes in harsh, heavy pants when he presses his forehead against hers. He clasps their hands together between them. "Relieve me from my suffering and allow me to love you as freely in the light of day as I do in the darkest hours of the night."
He is not a knave.
He is not a rake.
He is a foolish man who has allowed himself to fall in love in the most foolish of ways.
Lizzy smiles. "I suppose I can."
"And will?" He presses.
Her smiles deepens. "Yes, and will."
The way he kisses her now is vastly different from all the other kisses they've shared before. In the taste of his mouth there is gladness and there is hope, there is softness and there is joy.
She finds herself enjoying all his kisses.
"I swear, Elizabeth," he whispers when they part a half hour later, "I shall write your beautiful name in full every time I ever correspond with you again."
Lizzy laughs and agrees.
A/N: As improbable as this premise is, it's one of my favorite one-shots among those I have written. I hope you liked it too! Please do leave reviews. I love hearing your thoughts!