Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy struggled to keep his hands still as he listened to the ramblings of his closest friends' sister, Caroline Bingley. The simpering woman simply would not stop. Her words were all nothingness, meaningless; yet to her they were of the upmost importance. Wishing he could use his magic to still her tongue, Darcy instead turned his focus towards the passing farms outside the carriage.
Here on the road from London to Hertfordshire, the weather was far milder than what he experienced in Derbyshire and the harvest was still underway. Darcy watched with envy as farmers wielded their scythes and continued to reap their fields. Suddenly the feeling of hard calluses on his hands from years of hard labor as a farmer overwhelmed his senses and he felt a yearning for the relentless sun on his back as he bent over his fields with the peace and solitude such work offered. Sighing regretfully he pulled himself back to the present, reminding himself that such work was not possible for him now.
"Oh Mr. Darcy!" the shrill voice of Miss Bingley punctured his reverie like ice cold steel on a summers day. "I had no idea that you are so affected by the horrors awaiting us in the country! You see, Charles, even Mr. Darcy cannot abide the country. I must insist that you give up this fanciful notion of taking a house so far from town."
Confused, Darcy turned a questioning look upon Miss Bingley who looked quite pleased with herself, only to glance to his friend, Charles Bingley, on the bench next to him, who seemed unable to hide his smirk. Raising an eyebrow, Darcy watched as Bingley broke into laughter much to his sister's chagrin. "I am afraid my dear Caroline, that you have quite mistaken Darcy's sigh. I highly doubt Darcy was agreeing with your sentiments my dear. I am afraid we have caught him woolgathering and that the timing of his sigh with your remarks was nothing more than coincidental."
"Oh nonsense, Charles! I am sure that Mr. Darcy quite agrees with me. Louisa and I are quite positive that we shall not find the society in Hertfordshire to our liking and would much prefer town. A preference I know Mr. Darcy shares with me."
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Darcy calmly looked across the carriage towards Miss Bingley who was now batting her eyelashes at him. Disgusted, he quietly let her down. "You are much mistaken Miss Bingley if you believe that I prefer town to the country. If I could, I would never leave Pemberley as I much prefer the open land and fresh air to that society which is found in town." Reveling in Miss Bingley's disappointment and Bingley's continued laughter at her expense, he continued. "Your brother was not far off in his estimation of my unfortunate sigh of which, Miss Bingley, I hope you will forgive me as it was quite rude. I am afraid I slept poorly last night and would much prefer some exercise to stretch my legs rather than being cooped up in a carriage for hours. Indeed though, I am looking forward to seeing what Hertfordshire has to offer us."
Having now successfully silenced Miss Bingley with his remarks, Darcy pulled out a book he had been reading and tried to focus on that. His ploy worked as Miss Bingley continued on in silence while her brother was content to fall asleep. Darcy on the other hand was unable to prevent his focus from being drawn back outside. He hadn't lied to Miss Bingley; he truly did look forward to this trip to Hertfordshire. For five years he had been looking for her without any success. Yet somehow, this time things felt different. For the first time in five years he felt his life was right.
For the first time in five years, he had hope that he might finally find her.
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Later that evening, Darcy retired to his guest bedroom early. They had arrived at Netherfield about an hour after Caroline's disastrous attempt to persuade her brother to give up the country house he had recently leased, followed shortly by the arrival of Bingley's other sister Louisa Hurst and her husband. The rest of the day was nothing more than Caroline and Louisa's derogatory remarks on how unsuitable Netherfield was for their needs, Bingley's overzealous excitement at finally having guests in his first home, and Mr. Hurst's constant demand for sport and drink. It was more than Darcy could handle after such a long drive. However, the day could not have been complete without a visit from a neighbor, calling at a most inappropriate hour, to welcome Bingley's guests to the neighborhood and invite the entire party to an assembly the following day. Ever enthusiastic, Bingley graciously accepted the invitation for all.
Darcy knew that he was being unfair to his host, but he could not stomach the idea of an assembly so soon after arriving in a new place. Always unsure of himself amongst strangers, Darcy was especially hesitant after meeting Sir William Lucas that evening. As kind and generous as the man had been, Darcy was put off even more than usual by the man's forward nature. Frowning to himself, he realized that if all the families in the area were as excitable as Sir William, he would never be able to be comfortable here. Unless he could find her and help her to remember him.
Sighing Darcy realized that he needed fresh air and exercise, yet he also knew it would be impossible to sneak out without alerting Miss Bingley. Unless...
Settled on a plan, Darcy rang for his valet and prepared himself for bed. As soon as he dismissed his valet for the night, he locked his bedroom door and opened the window wide open. Breathing in deeply of the cool autumn air, Darcy closed his eyes and listened. Before long, he could hear everything; the sound of each individual cricket, the wings on the moths, the scurrying of the field mice, the hoot of an owl. Smiling, Darcy focused on the owl. He could picture the long feathered wings, the sharp claws, and the flat knowing face. He could feel the wind in the feathers and a mouse in its claws. With a deep breath, Darcy leapt from his window allowing his body to dissolve into the wind then commandeered the owls form and flew off into the distance.
Freedom. Pleased with his escape from the house, Darcy flew over various fields and groves. He had lived in Hertfordshire once before, many years ago. As he flew, he looked for some sort of recognizable landmark, something that he might remember. Alas, it had been too long, and the years had drastically changed the landscape.
After flying for well over an hour, Darcy felt much more relaxed and returned again to Netherfield. Having once again achieved his bedroom, he released the owl and watched as it flew off into the night as his body reformed itself. Content, he turned from the window to climb into bed wishing he could fly, just once more, with his own wings. Alas, he knew that could never be.
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"Master Fitzwilliam, sir. I regret to inform you that your father is dead."
Although he had expected that news upon waking, it was still hard to hear that his beloved father was gone. Yet, his true father was not dead. Shaking his head of the confusion he quietly thanked the footman and told him he would be down shortly.
The day that followed the early morning summons became a blur. Seeing his father laying upon his bed without any life in him had been heartbreaking, while at the same time, Darcy felt as though he was looking at a strangers face. Funeral arrangements, reading of the will, transfer of responsibility, combined with his new memories. It was almost too much for him to bear.
Two days after the funeral, Darcy finally had some time to himself to reflect on how his life had changed. It had been so long since he had remembered first; he had forgotten how hard it was. The memories always came at the worst possible time. This was not the first time he had received them immediately following the death of a parent. It was the first time, however, that he found himself heir to a vast estate. It was almost as if he was finally fulfilling his duty.
Yet here he was, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, not Eavan, Fairy Prince.
Sighing, Darcy looked upon his father's desk, now his, and was overwhelmed with all that was now required of him. The hardest part of the memories was the feeling that now that he had awakened, he had stolen somebody else's life. He always felt as though the life he had been living before they returned was not truly his own. He knew that he was Fitzwilliam Darcy that he had always been the only Fitzwilliam Darcy, yet he couldn't help feeling as though Fitzwilliam Darcy was now dead and he was nothing more than an imposter who had taken his place.
Guilt suddenly overwhelmed him. He had been so selfish. For several lifetimes now, he had been unable to bear watching her die only to remember first without her there to guide him. He always felt safe around her. She and she alone could pull him out of his shell. So unable to bear life without her, he had always willingly sacrificed himself in her stead whenever the curse came to collect. Yet if he felt this miserable now, he could only imagine the pain and suffering he had caused her. Images of her broken body on the ship amidst the storm railed upon his mind. The knowledge that to see her again he would have to kill himself had lead to his self drowning. How many times had he forced that same option upon her; that same pain?
Forcing down the hot tears, he attempted to focus instead on estate business that needed his immediate attention, only to be overwhelmed by memories of his most recently deceased father, Mr. George Darcy.
Unable to focus on anything as everything he thought brought painful recollections, Darcy sat at his desk playing with his hands, attempting to keep his restless magic at bay. How long he sat there, he was unsure, but he was finally awoken from his reverie by a soft knock at the study door. Upon bidding the visitor enter, he was surprised to see a small, timid girl enter.
"William, I...I hope I am not disturbing you."
With horror, Darcy looked upon the distraught face of his younger sister Georgiana. Barely eleven years old, the black of her mourning clothes cast a grey pallor upon her fair facade. Her eyes were red rimmed from days of tears and even her blonde hair seemed to hang limp from its macabre ribbon.
Without saying anything, he opened up his arms to her and she rushed into his embrace. A love like nothing he had ever felt overcame him as the small girl let her tears loose onto his shoulder. In all his lifetimes, he had never had a younger sister. Occasionally he would have an older sibling, and even more rarely a younger brother. Yet more often than not, he was born an only child. Sudden dawning of this young girl's existence and importance in his life caused him to finally let loose his own tears as he pulled her more firmly into his embrace and upon his lap.
After both siblings had exhausted their tears, he allowed her to simply seek the comfort she obviously craved from his embrace.
"Georgiana darling, why would you feel unwelcome here?" He finally asked.
Pulling away from him slightly, she looked down into her lap where she had begun to play with the ribbons on her dress. "I haven't seen you since Father's funeral. I thought perhaps you were avoiding me like I had heard you did after our mother died. I was afraid you might blame me for his death like you blame me for hers."
"Oh Dearest!" he cried pulling her back into his tight embrace. "You must forgive me, Georgiana. I did not mean to neglect you, never that. I am afraid I have been so overwhelmed with my new responsibilities and my own grief that I have abandoned you. I could never blame you for Father's death, nor purposefully avoid your company as it always brings me such great joy."
"But you do blame me for Mother's death, don't you William."
Grabbing her face gently in his hands, he raised her face until her eyes were level with his own. "Georgiana, I was a mere child myself when mother died. I did not understand at the time what had happened. I was told one day that mother was gone, and you were here in her place. I was heartbroken, much as I am sure you feel now that father is gone. You were a painful reminder of what I had lost. You had taken her from me. Then one night, you got sick. I heard the maids whispering that you might not make it, and with father gone on business, they were unsure of what to do." Swallowing the sudden emotion in his throat, Darcy finally gave all of his memories free reign. "When I realized that you might not survive, I panicked. I knew that father suffered more than I did with mother's death, yet he had taken time that I had not to get to know you. He constantly told me that you were mother's greatest gift to us, and he could not bear the thought of ever losing you.
"That night, I snuck out of my room to visit you in the nursery. You were so small, so sick, yet you smiled at me. All of a sudden, I understood what father meant when he told me you were a gift to me from mother and I loved you and knew that her death was not your fault. That night you slept in my arms, and for two days and nights I refused to leave your side. When father returned, the doctor informed him that you had made a miraculous recovery, and gave all the credit to my brotherly care." Pausing to collect himself for a moment, he suddenly realized exactly how she had survived an illness that should have killed her. His fairy self saw the need he would have for her when his memories returned and so he had saved her life with magic.
"William?" Her quiet voice gently broke through his thoughts.
"Forgive me sweetheart, I was caught up in the moment." He smiled down at her as he brushed a stray lock behind her ear. "On that first night in the nursery, I vowed I would always be the elder brother you deserved. I am sorry to have failed you these last few days when it is obvious that you have had great need of me."
"Oh William," she sobbed. "You have not failed. I do not deserve such a loving brother."
Chuckling lightly, he kissed her forehead. "Well my dearest, whether you deserve him or not, he will always be here for you. No matter what!"
For several minutes, the two siblings sat together, content in each other's company. Before long, however, he noticed she was starting to doze in his arms. Quietly so as not to disturb her, he gently lifted her into his arms as he stood and carried her up the stairs to her room where he laid her upon her bed. Once he had removed her slippers, he gently pulled the coverlet over her and kissed her forehead goodnight.
As he turned to leave though, he was stopped by a simple question.
"William, before father died you had grey eyes. Why have yours changed color to a most beautiful blue while mine remain a pale grey?"
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Darcy awoke with a start. He always dreamed at night. Most nights his dreams were naught but memories, always of her and his life with her. Never before had he relived a memory of a current life in his dreams, and never so vividly. Clearly there had to be a reason he had dreamt of that memory that night.
Climbing out of bed he walked over to the mirror located in his guest room and stared into his own eyes. Right now they were the color of the sky on a cloudy day. The blue was so pale that they appeared almost grey. Searching his memories, he tried to recall what he had said to Georgiana after her question, but could not. He knew that after his memories returned they had changed to reflect their true color. The blue eyes of the fairy prince.
Sighing, he climbed back into bed after realizing that it was still far too early to prepare for the day, even for an early riser such as himself. Trying to calm his troubled thoughts, he set aside the question Georgiana had asked him that day, and focused instead on the green eyes of the woman he loved hoping that on the morrow he might find her once again.
