Elizabeth told herself that she was being rather silly to be so nervous as she prepared herself for Darcy's imminent arrival. It was the night of their date, an evening that she had anticipated for an entire week, ever since the day that Darcy had first asked her.
Working nights had several drawbacks and this seemed to be the worst of all of them; it was difficult to maintain a social life when most people were ending their work days around the same time that she was beginning hers.
Casting her mind back over the last time she and Darcy had talked, Elizabeth couldn't help but smile in recollection. She would never have imagined that they could speak so easily or for such a long period of time. There hadn't been even the slightest hint of tension between them, with the most dangerous part of the conversation having been when Darcy noticed Jane's manuscript and asked what it was.
She had answered him honestly, suspecting that he probably knew of Jane's ambitions, if not of her whole backstory in writing. Not for the first time, Elizabeth had wondered whether her older sister had told Bingley of her secret and when she might. It was, after all, not a bad secret to keep since it harmed no one for being repressed. Yet, at which point did a person reveal something so personal to another human being? At which point was there enough trust?
Letting the question go again, Elizabeth patted a few more stray hairs into place and then paused to take a deep breath, considering her own reflection.
"Jane," she called, knowing the other woman was waiting just in the other room and nearly as nervously excited for the evening as Elizabeth herself was.
"Yes?" Jane was there in a moment, smiling broadly. "Oh, Lizzie, you look wonderful."
"Do I really?" Elizabeth darted an anxious glance at Jane's face. "You're not just saying that because you always say nice things about everyone?"
"Lizzie!" Jane scolded, but she was smiling in the impish way that suggested she was in a teasing mood. "Who knew you could be so vain? Or contrary for that matter? Whatever happened to hating Mr. Darcy until the day you died? How have you gone from that to actually caring what he thinks of the way you look?"
"Jane," Elizabeth groaned. "How many times are you going to make me say it? I seem to have been wrong - very wrong - about him."
"Don't worry, Dearest." Jane smiled sweetly. "I'll only make you say it one or two dozen more times. It is so rare that you're willing to admit to such a flaw."
Though she knew Jane would never tease her in a malicious manner, the comment stung more than Elizabeth cared to admit. Was it possible that there was some truth in what Jane was saying? Was it really so rare for Elizabeth to reverse her opinions? Was she often guilty of stubbornly clinging to first impressions, refusing to believe that she might not fully understand the motivations and thoughts of people she did not really know?
The thoughts unsettled her and now was not the ideal time to be considering them in any case, so Elizabeth pushed them savagely out of the front of her mind, choosing instead to focus on brushing invisible lint off the shoulders of her dress.
It was actually Jane's dress and was longer on Elizabeth than it was on Jane, but the dark blue fabric suited her complexion perfectly and the severe lines were somehow flattering when contrasted with her body's natural curves. A pair of smart heels and a silver necklace completed the simple outfit.
Not catching onto Elizabeth's sudden disquiet, Jane put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror. "Truly, Lizzie, you look wonderful. And I suspect you could wear a flour sack and Mr. Darcy wouldn't much mind."
Elizabeth laughed weakly. "Perhaps. But I suspect the other patrons at the restaurant might."
"Well, as you aren't wearing a flour sack and as you surely don't care about the opinions of other diners, I think you'll be fine," Jane pointed out reasonably.
"Are you ever going to tell Mr. Bingley that you're J.M. Richardson?" Elizabeth blurted. She needed to get her mind off both her appearance and this ridiculous nervousness that was causing her stomach to seem to flutter in a nervous manner.
Jane's blue eyes widened briefly in surprise at the question, but she answered readily enough. "Of course I'll tell him."
"But when?"
"Any day now, if the conversation ever seems to demand it. I think he will propose soon, Lizzie. And you know I don't like to speculate about what other people may or may not do, but I just have a feeling that he will."
The gambit to distract herself was working, Elizabeth thought. She was genuinely interested in her sister's answer as she asked the next question. "And what do you think he'll say when you tell him?"
It was Jane's turn to laugh a little weakly. "Truly? I think he'll say something about how he always knew I had the ability in me and that we should celebrate all my past and future success right then and there."
Elizabeth sighed, a little enviously, but drew her sister into an embrace. "I am glad for you, Janey."
As she spoke the words, the knock that she had been both anticipating and slightly dreading at last sounded at their front door. Pulling apart, the two sisters examined each other briefly before Elizabeth took a final deep breath and went to answer. By earlier design, Jane hung back, having said she would do so in order to allow the pair to get on their way without needing to pause for polite conversation.
Pulling the door open, Elizabeth found herself catching her breath at the sight of Darcy. His suit was a severe black, immaculately clean and perfectly fitted to his tall frame. But all that was secondary to the warm smile he was giving her, his dark eyes seeming somehow to convey a mixture of emotions too disparate and too heady to name.
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth conjured up a smile, feeling somehow more settled now that he had actually come and appeared to be happy to see her. "It is good to see you again."
His eyes moved over her once, slowly, before he spoke. From another man, it might have seemed lecherous, but with Darcy it somehow felt more as though he had appraised her and found her more than satisfactory. "Elizabeth, you look lovely," he said simply, deep voice edged with unmistakable sincerity.
He stepped half a pace back from the door and crooked his arm invitingly. "Shall we? I've made reservations at a place I think you will very much enjoy."
Smiling faintly, Elizabeth accepted his escort and followed him into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. But even as he led her to down to his waiting automobile and saw her safely installed into the passenger area before joining her and signaling to Fitch that they were ready to depart, she could not keep a feeling of disquiet from nibbling at the edges of her mind.
Darcy had yet to invite her to call him by his given name and, honestly, until Caroline Bingley had uttered it a week before, Elizabeth had scarcely remembered what it even was, though it had been published in the paper more than once. Still, the fact that she allowed him to drop formal propriety and that he did not return the gesture gave her a sense of unease, as though he were holding her at a greater distance than she was now holding him.
The thought that Miss Bingley might have been right about Darcy simply being kind and willing to look past differences in social standing only up to a point gnawed at her, a painful cancerous notion that seemed to grow in size along with her own insecurities.
As had been the case more than once in the past several minutes, Elizabeth pushed the thoughts firmly away, telling herself that she was being overly sensitive and that to allow Caroline's words any power over her thoughts was to allow the other woman to have accomplished her aims.
"I daresay a week has never seemed to be so long to me before," Darcy commented once they were underway. He was still smiling, though this time it seemed to be in mild self-deprecation. "But then I so rarely anticipate that social meetings may be pleasant; I am entirely unaccustomed to seeing the wait in any light other than that of a blessing."
Elizabeth could not help but laugh in response, having the feeling that he was being purposefully comical, albeit in a rather dry way. "Oh yes," she agreed lightly. "I confess I so often dread having to be thrown in company with the likes of personages such as Mr. Bingley that I would much rather spend my days in company with the likes of Mr. Collins."
Darcy's smile became a true grin in the face of her teasing and he inquired, "Ah, but that is Mr. Bingley. I can understand why you would not like him, he being prone to ignore anyone but his 'angel.' But what of my company? Have I not always given you a greater share of attention than he would do?"
"Not always," Elizabeth answered truthfully. "But I find that sometimes when I feel I have been denied my share of attention, I am always repaid later in full measure for the lack I thought I had."
"How so?"
"You have only to look to yourself, Mr. Darcy. On our first outing together, I believe we scarcely spoke to each other and were forced instead to rely on my sister and your friend for our entertainment. But now how far we have come. I do believe that I have had many more conversations with you alone than I have with any other man, save my father."
"What?" Darcy pretended to be astonished. "Not even the estimable Mr. Collins can claim such an accomplishment?"
Giving a shudder that wasn't entirely fabricated, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that if this were flirting, she rather liked it.
They enjoyed easy banter for the rest of the drive to the restaurant. Fitch had stopped the car and come around to open the door before Elizabeth even realized they had arrived.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, craning her neck to peer up at the outside wall of the building. "I didn't even ask where we were going!"
She accepted Fitch's assistance out of the automobile, and found that she could only look on in delight as she realized where Darcy had brought her.
Feeling his presence behind her, Elizabeth turned to look at him as she asked, "How did you know I've always want to try this place?"
"Well," Darcy admitted, actually looking a bit sheepish, "I may have done a little reconnaissance."
"Good heavens," Elizabeth feigned shock. "Spying on a lady? No doubt you found it needful to question my relatives."
"Only the one," Darcy assured her. "Miss Marchrend was very easy to crack."
"Poor Jane," Elizabeth laughed, allowing him to once more claim her arm and escort her into the restaurant.
It was called Gardiner's and was equally famous both for its excellent menu and for its atmosphere. Elizabeth had become enamored of it from the first time she had passed it on the street, for it was built to resemble a gracious manor house, with even the grounds being maintained to that same level of perfection.
A warm-colored stone had been used on its exterior, contrasting beautifully in the summertime with the lush climbing vines and flowers that twined their way over the romantic garden arches that flanked the pathway leading up to the main door. The foliage was all dried up in the winter months, but the lack had been addressed with cunningly placed aldetric lights which seemed almost to twinkle in the dimness of the evening, as though they were some sort of sprites that had taken up residence among the artfully woven metal arch.
As Elizabeth had hoped, the interior of the place was no less beautiful, having been designed and furnished in such a way that everything flowed naturally and gave off an inviting, almost homey, sensation.
The place seemed to engender intimacy, as well. As Elizabeth and Darcy followed the urbane maître d' to their table, she could hear the quiet murmurs of conversation from other diners, but high seat-backs, cozy nooks and an astonishing variety of leafy plants all served to practically hide each table from view.
"Will this suit?" the maître d' inquired, gesturing to a table that would be entirely hidden from anyone who wasn't heading directly for it. It was tucked away in what had to be a corner of the dining area, around a corner of its own from the interior walkways and featured a large window that overlooked some of the outside grounds.
When Darcy didn't immediately reply, Elizabeth looked to him in some confusion, finding that he was regarding her with an expectant gaze.
"This seems wonderful," she told both men, smiling as broadly as she felt was polite.
The maître d' nodded in acceptance, and departed with a final remark about how their server would be by shortly to get them started.
Feeling almost a little dazed, Elizabeth allowed Darcy to assist her into her seat, and once she had settled, allowed herself to look out the window at a little more length, discerning that their view was of an inner atrium and there were covered tables scattered over the patio, presumably for outside dining in nicer weather. At the center of the courtyard stood an ornate fountain, empty now, but caked here and there with remains of the last snowfall.
"This is wonderful," Elizabeth enthused, keeping her voice pitched low. "I never dreamed I would be able to actually dine here."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed inwardly, thinking how gauche and naïve she must seem to the sophisticated and wealthy man across from her. But he only smiled at her words, seeming utterly sincere as he expressed how happy he was that he could be the person to engineer the fulfillment of her wish.
In that moment, Elizabeth thought that she could truly relinquish the words that Caroline Bingley had planted like poison in her mind. Whatever faults, real or imagined, that Darcy might possess, acute snobbery didn't seem to be one of them. He had, in fact, been almost unfailing in his treatment of her and Jane as being equal to him in terms of core human value. He did not make them to feel as though they were in any way inferior, despite the disparity of their relative stations in society or despite their gender.
Caroline Bingley was merely a jealous woman, who saw Darcy's kindness to Elizabeth as a threat to her own designs on him. Perhaps, in that, Caroline had been more perceptive than Elizabeth had allowed herself to be. Until the moment he had asked her out for this evening, Elizabeth had convinced herself that he was only attempting to be more friendly with her. Now, it seemed, she must accept it was probable that he was be interested in more.
Conversation subsided between them as they were taken up with the usual tasks of dining, ordering drinks and taking the time to peruse the offerings listed in the menu. Their server came and left so unobtrusively that by the time they had been brought a bottle of wine and an appetizer of stuffed mushrooms, Darcy and Elizabeth had fallen into an easy conversation, the content of which kept straying from new topic to new topic.
So when Darcy began to nudge the conversation in a new direction as they enjoyed a dark chocolate and raspberry confection that the waiter had recommended for dessert, Elizabeth was only curious at what he might be trying to get around to, never suspecting what a disaster his conversational gambit would be or how it would end on an extremely bitter note what had otherwise been a remarkably perfect evening.
He had started out innocuously enough. They had been speaking of dreams. Not the sort of dreams one had while sleeping, but rather the hopes and visions one had for their own life. It was personal territory and something of a tender subject for Elizabeth, her mind having lately been filled with doubts about the path she found her life on.
She enjoyed her job at Blue Line much more than she would ever have imagined, but in the comparisons she made of her own life against people like Bingley, Darcy and even Jane, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that her life lacked a certain something in the way of direction. Jane had known for years that she wanted to write and be published under her own name and that dream was taking shaping in the form of the manuscript at which she was laboring away.
But Elizabeth's dreams had never been so clearly defined as all of that.
"Did you always want to do what you're doing now?" she asked Darcy, truly curious about what passions drove him. He obviously had a genius for business and was successful at every venture he turned his hand to, but was it his choice to be on that path? She knew enough from things Bingley and Jane had said to know that Bingley had more inherited his position and that a life in the publishing empire his father had left to him was more a thing that had been pressed upon him rather than anything he had actually ever dreamed of going after. Still, he seemed content enough with his situation, though Elizabeth had privately wondered whether he might somehow contrive to be even happier if he were pursuing something he had chosen for himself.
"I'm not sure any desire on my part ever entered into it," Darcy admitted, a small smile playing at his lips. "To a certain extent, there was only ever expectation that I would, and I then did my best to live up to that expectation."
"Was it your father who expected you to follow in his footsteps?" Elizabeth asked, taking a careful bite of her decadent dessert.
"He was a part of it, as was my mother and nearly every other adult who had influence over me growing up. Aunts and uncles, grandparents. There was never any real question that I would take over someday. But what everyone else expected was really only secondary to the... internal pressure to live my life in a certain manner."
She raised a brow, a little surprised at the answer and the almost hesitant manner in which Darcy said the last sentence, as though he might be revealing something too personal. "Are you saying you were your own strongest encouragement to do what you have done? And if so, doesn't it then follow that you must have had some desire to take the actions that you have?"
Across from her, Darcy took a deep breath and looked off to the side as though collecting his thoughts before replying.
"Have you ever had a dream about doing something," he inquired, "and then at some point in your life, you find yourself actually doing that exact thing under the exact same circumstances that you dreamed?"
Elizabeth thought about that for a moment but had to shake her head in the negative. "No. But I have sometimes been doing something completely unextraordinary and had a sudden feeling that not only have I been in that exact moment before but that I could also somehow know what was about to happen next. Sometimes I've even been correct in my predictions." She shrugged lightly and smiled. "But I think everyone experiences déjà vu at some point or another in their lives."
"What I am talking about is similar to that," Darcy replied, leaning forward, eyes suddenly intense. "But throughout my entire life, I have often experienced something like déjà vu but to a far greater degree."
Now Elizabeth felt only puzzlement, trying to work out what Darcy was trying to tell her and wondering how a sense of déjà vu might possibly relate to the conversation they'd been having about expectations and life dreams.
"I don't understand," she admitted, unsettled by the strange turn the conversation had taken. "Are you saying you had dreams as a child about growing up to take over your father's work and so feel that you had no other options open to you?"
"No," Darcy's voice was low, his tone troubled. "I am saying that for my whole life I've had visions of my own future and they have always been completely true."
His eyes held her own, his gaze completely steady and guileless, although something in his look seemed to be begging her to understand or to accept his words.
Despite this unspoken plea, Elizabeth felt a spike of skepticism shoot through her, though she attempted to hide it. "So, what," she began. "You're saying that you'll have a dream that you're at work and making some important business deal and then the next day you wake up and go to work to finalize that exact deal?"
"It's not often like that, but it can be. I'm more often fully awake when I experience these visions and there's usually not a complete sequence of events."
Her face must be betraying her disbelief for Darcy sighed and again turned that pleading gaze on her as he continued speaking, seeming to pour every ounce of sincerity into his tone that he might. "Perhaps you'll know that almost no one was willing to invest in the automobile industry at its outset.
"On paper, though interesting, it simply didn't appear that anyone might ever be able to turn a profit on such a venture. There were many people who were opposed to the idea when I said I was going to invest, but I had Seen that the investment would be a good one and so I went ahead. It's how I made my name as a businessman on my own merits, rather than being known simply as my father's heir."
He appeared to truly believe everything he was telling her and Elizabeth sat blankly for a moment, not wishing to hurt his feelings or to call him a liar, but unable to fully credit what he was saying. It sounded impossible. Insane. Yet, the earnestness of Darcy's words and the openness of his countenance seemed almost to argue for his sanity. He didn't appear to be manic in any way.
Maybe that only means he really is insane, if he believes what he is saying. It cannot be possible.
The thought was there before she could stop it, but Elizabeth felt the force of it.
"Why are you telling me this?" Elizabeth demanded bluntly, unable to keep from asking the question.
Now he appeared less resolved on pursuing the conversation, but he swallowed once and answered steadily.
"Because it involves you to a certain degree."
"Me?" Of anything he might have said, she hadn't been expecting that. "How so?"
"The first time I met you, I had a vision." The words came softly but deliberately. "It was the substance of that vision that led me to the decision to terminate your employment. I know how that sounds," he added in a rush, seeing her mouth drop open in shock. "If you'll only let me explain-"
"No." The word was spoken in a low, savage voice that Elizabeth didn't immediately recognize as being her own. The abruptness of it gave instant pause to Darcy's words though and he closed his own mouth, eyeing her somewhat warily.
"There is nothing you could possibly say to explain yourself to me that I have any interest in hearing," she informed him in icy tones. "It was bad enough that you could dismiss me with so little regard for my general well-being as a fellow human being, but to have you then worm your way into my life only to feed me a pack of lies is insupportable!"
Her voice had started out as a low hiss but had steadily increased in volume as she spoke so that the last came out nearly as a shout. With some effort, she reined in her temper enough to modulate her volume down to a more appropriate level for the public setting. When she felt she had mastered herself well enough to speak again though, she continued in a steady voice.
"When you said that you had an excellent reason for letting me go, I made a choice to believe you, though it went against my better judgement. I trusted that you were capable of kindness and decency and concern for others because I thought I had seen evidence of it elsewhere in your life."
She allowed her eyes to sweep over him with all the disdain she felt. "But now I can only think I was a fool to believe in you at all."
Darcy winced. She had been watching him closely, wondering whether any emotion might show out of the emotionless mask he had adopted at the beginning of her speech. Aside from that one gesture, he made no other response whether by word or action.
Sighing heavily, she pushed the small plate that held the remains of her dessert away from her and gained her feet. "I want to go home now."
For a long moment, Darcy made no move and Elizabeth wondered if he would refuse her wishes until he had finished spinning whatever the rest of his outrageous tale might be. But then he sighed as well, stood and carelessly threw several large bills onto the table to pay for the meal although they had not yet been issued their check.
Pulling on her coat without assistance, Elizabeth led the way out of the restaurant, feeling Darcy's presence behind her like some grave and silent shadow.
As they approached his automobile in silence, Elizabeth had an unexpectedly clear view of Fitch, who was sitting in his driver's seat and had every appearance of enjoying a meal of his own, though his was served out of a small box with the name Gardiner's printed across it.
Darcy must have seen to his employee getting a warm meal, though she had no idea how or when he might have arranged it. The thought softened her anger somewhat but could not alleviate the fact that now seemed inevitable: although capable of being a good and decent man, Darcy would not ever be good or decent enough to have only honesty between them. His wild stories tonight had proved that much.
Wondering why he had even bothered since she had not pressed him anew on the subject, Elizabeth climbed into the back of the automobile and observed in dull silence as Darcy closed the door behind her before going to to the front of the conveyance to speak briefly with Fitch.
As the automobile pulled away from the restaurant without Darcy, leaving him standing alone and silent in the coldness of the night, Elizabeth wondered at why she should suddenly feel so hollow.
A/N: I'll keep this short. I apologize, as usual, for the long delay. It's been a very eventful and personally difficult couple of months. And I am better at having fights than I am at writing them. Ugh.
Anyhow, trust me. We're getting on towards happy. But how would you react if someone told you they had true visions of their future? I wouldn't believe it and I'm the sort of person who still thinks I might someday open up a wardrobe and find my way into Narnia.
Thanks for the continued patience and kind words! You're all tremendously encouraging!