Her Cold, Cold Heart Chapter 4: Assumptions And Assertions, a pride and prejudice fanfic

A/N: A succint reversal of fortunes and backgrounds for our favourite fictional couple, but they're still as proud and prejudiced as ever.

Part 4- 'Assumptions and Assertions…'

The will stipulated that Philip would receive nothing if his wife died in anything other than natural circumstances, thus he hurt only enough to make her bleed or bruise, nothing to cause serious injury.

But he could not forget his father's words, that he was afraid of her, the letter he had kept was hidden for that very purpose, he could not allow her to have any more power over him.

The fire in her eyes, that endless resistance and still he was falling more in love with her every day, and though it was a poor kind of love, it was more than he had ever shown or felt. But she would not give in, if only she would give him something, anything…but that coldness, it burned, more than any disdain she could have pored on him, that endless hate…and that damned fire. Lady Elizabeth Hartfield or his Lady Lizzy as he sometimes called her, knew what it was to cause to pain, though she may not have used her fists like he, she knew what it was to cut to the very core.

'Bingley I believe this is the most nervous I've ever seen you…one would think you were going to the guillotine and not a ball…' Darcy laughed at the way his friend tugged at his cravat and sleeves.

They bounded along in the carriage, and Darcy found it hard to discern if it was the motion making Bingley look ill, or the prospect of his meeting Jane Bennet's sister again, Lady Elizabeth Hartfield.

Darcy had quitted the shelter under the cherry tree that morning soon after his pretty companion. Try as he might, he could not shake thoughts of that woman, it was those eyes. He had considered asking Bingley if he knew anything of her, but soon realised he would have a poor description to give to his friend. What did he know of her accept that she was so very breathtakingly beautiful?

Besides, Bingley had more to preoccupy him than playing detective and perhaps even matchmaker. He had surprised Darcy by extending an invitation for himself and his sister Georgiana to join him at Netherfield. They were the fastest of friends; largely in part to their father's whose businesses had rendered them much in each others company, even as young boys. Bingley's joy at Darcy's arrival that morning had been as genuine as it was warm.

'This Lady Hartfield must be a formidable creature indeed if she has got you in such a state…' Darcy raised an eyebrow at his friend curiously.

Bingley took a deep breath to compose himself, and avowed to stop fidgeting. 'Darcy, I don't mind telling you that I have come to have a genuine, deep regard for Jane Bennet. I tell you she is an angel…and in every sense of the word, her sweetness and gentleness…' Bingley would no doubt have continued extolling Jane's virtues had not Darcy interrupted him.

'And I take it she is not indifferent to you. If that is the case why must the sister's opinion be one you should value and take such obvious pains to court?'

Bingley sighed, 'Because Lady Elizabeth Hartfield's opinion is taken into much consideration by Miss Bennet, and if her Ladyship is indifferent to me I'm afraid she will take steps to ensure her sister feels the same.'

Darcy grew disconcerted; he had heard nothing of this Lady Hartfield that appealed to him, it seemed strange to him that she could exert such an influence over a sister who was older. From what Bingley had told him of her, Darcy, though he would never say it out aloud, held little hopes for Bingley's success.

The thought of the pain his friend would no doubt have to endure, if the worst happened and Jane Bennet rejected him, made him angry and defensive.

'Bingley, though you are my friend, and some would no doubt consider me to be prejudiced on your behalf, but in all honesty…for the life of me I cannot see what her objections would be.…'

Bingley looked puzzled; Darcy explained further, 'Given her sister's lack of any material wealth, I do not doubt Jane Bennet's charms of course, but the girl has little to offer in respects of a dowry so Lady Hartfield could not consider you a fortune hunter. Rather, given your yearly income, the match is entirely beneficial to the Bennet's. Bingley, I can think of only one reason why her Ladyship should object….'

Bingley begged that Darcy tell him, so he could attend to it immediately.

Darcy shook his head sadly, 'I'm sorry to say Bingley it is something you can do little to remedy. You forget perhaps that Lady Hartfield is landed gentry, be it through marriage, though I have found them to be the worst kind. Her only objections may lie in how your wealth has been obtained, she objects no doubt to the fact that you are in trade.…'

Bingley looked at him amazed, 'Darcy I cannot believe that. Lady Hartfield is cold and indifferent at times, but from what Jane has related to me of her, I cannot believe that she would be capable of such petty snobbery…'

Darcy shrugged his shoulders, 'Believe what you will Bingley and choose an explanation that offers you the most comfort, but I have no doubt. Lords and ladies generally have the worst sort of pride, more often than not it is ceremony without substance…'

'It is very well my brother has no prejudices is it not Mr Bingley…? He passes judgement on poor Lady Hartfield as if he knew her very well, and if her crime is pride Darcybrother, your's of prejudice against her is one of equal flaw...'

Darcy turned to look at his sister who had hitherto stayed silent, though only eighteen Georgiana often portrayed a wisely worldly sense beyond her short years. Her avid reading no doubt was the cause of that.

She flashed a brilliant smile at both, 'For brother I have heard you accuse her of no greater offence than having the good sense to marry into money, and if that be the case, you must tar half the women of England with the same brush and be prepared to condemn them all…'

Ceremony without substance indeed, though Darcy entered the Hartfield ballroom with expectations no greater than these, he had not by any means expected to come across the mysterious girl under the tree. He had certainly not expected her to be the hostess. And he hated the fact that the girl had turned out to be a Lady Hartfield.

Lady Elizabeth Hartfield apart from a brief flash in her brilliant eyes when Bingley introduced him betrayed no sign of their having met already. She greeted him as indifferently as she did any of the other guests; there was neither a word nor a hint to mark him out. Darcy although he could not have expected any different was disappointed, not least due to the fact she was married.

Darcy may have seen nothing to satisfy in Lizzy's non recognition of him, but Philip did. He had spent a lifetime studying those eyes, for him the slightest flicker carried significance, she had taken pains to hide it but her interest was piqued by the arrival of Mr Darcy. If Philip needed further proof, it was in the way her eyes constantly flitted over to Darcy's side of the room. However he had done it, Mr Darcy had ignited something in his wife, and for that premise alone Philip was disposed to loathe him.

But it was Georgiana; the pretty young thing that she was that soon attracted the attention of the room. She had innocence about her that far from being the false modesty so often noted in other pretty young things was as genuine as her smile. She was clearly impressed by Hartfield, and looked around her with an awe that showed she was little used to grand houses and estates.

Mr Darcy it was rumoured had fallen on hard times, the son of a tradesman, his father had owned one of the most successful mills and had been one of those who had built on the growing Industrial Revolution. The siblings had grown up in Lancashire, the heart of the sudden burst of wealth the Revolution had brought with it. Neither had truly encountered open spaces and grand houses, they had lived virtually all their life in the perpetual smoke, dust and noise of an overflowing city.

Fresh air, daylight and green rolling hills were strange and wonderful to the innocent but delighted Georgiana. Darcy was infinitely more judicious, he refused to be so easily impressed, determined that it was only the people who made a place what it was and not the geography.

Darcy had received the best schooling; precisely the sort his father thought would be needed by a man who was to inherit the running of the family business. But the son had returned to find that his views did not always run concurrent with that of his father's. He consented to run the mill with his father, and though the place prospered all was not well.

The workers were threatening a strike; they demanded better pay in accordance with the work they were doing, better pay and better working conditions.

Darcy, almost being a child of one kind of revolution himself was a firm believer in the dictum of the French Revolutionists, 'Liberté, fraternité, égalité'… 'Liberty, Fraternity, Equality'. His father would have been horrified to know Darcy had met and become close friends with a group of French philosophers, and had even become intimate with a young French woman.

He had with those stirring words in mind pored over the finances of the Darcy Mill for the best part of a day and night. His conclusions that the industry was doing well enough for them to be able to offer the choice, and the family wealth was enough to offer the reforms the workers demanded was not met with the enthusiasm he had hoped.

His father had changed; no longer was he the man who remembered his humble beginnings on the shop floor, better health, better pay and conditions for the workers was not his concern. He had become too embroiled in his own self-worth to think to help with the betterment of others.

Darcy's pleas fell on deaf ears. Consequently in that dreadful winter, Darcy Mill was a potential tinder-box and only needed the slightest spark for the place to explode. The inevitable happened when a worker died in a terrible accident, and the place blew up in a blinding fury of anger, dissolution and violence. Riots engulfed the whole mill, and in a fit of rage the mob set fire to the mill and the surrounding buildings where the Darcy family resided. Darcy and his sister escaped with their lives, forced to look on as both their mother and father perished in the flames.

Darcy's inheritance burned to the ground, his future and his livelihood were no more. Nearly all their savings were invested in that mill. Darcy and Georgiana were forced to rely on the kindness of friends to ensure they did not starve. It was a humiliating prospect for the young man who had anticipated so much and dreamt of doing much with the business his father had worked so hard to build. Now, he was poor again.

Darcy by all means, effects land essentials was now working for Bingley. Though he was by no means deficient himself in good sense and business matters, Bingley found Darcy's superior head for figures to be indispensable.

Where they were once equal Darcy had now to accept a wage from his best friend, however much and whichever way they both tried to gloss over the fact, the reality remained and there it was. Where once they were equals, or at one point where Darcy once had the greater wealth, now he had the degradation of being an employee and having his closest friend as the his employer. Both Darcy's and Georgiana's future lay in perpetual doubt.

But all this, all the suffering and worry had done nothing to dent Darcy's enthusiasm, he never lost his ideal and passion for revolution for the masses and now was almost as infamous for his speeches on the subject as he was for his misfortune.

Darcy had relied on the kindness of friends and acquaintances after the tragedy they had suffered, but apart from Bingley no help had been forthcoming especially from the quarters Darcy had expected help to be most readily available to be given. The wealthy had disappeared as silent shadows in the night, almost as soon as his father had perished in the flames, and as the extent of the financial loss had become known, the wealthy persons his father had worked so hard to court, disappeared as quickly as the mill had burnt down.

If he had not loathed them for their wasteful opulence and disparity before, he hated them now with an added and unequivocal zeal.

And he hated the fact that the girl under the tree had turned out to be a Lady Hartfield.

Lizzy walked around the room, wholly engrossed in the pleasure of watching Jane dance with Mr Bingley. Not all her family were present at the ball, Mrs Bennet had shied away on account of her nerves and Mary had stayed behind to attend to her, firmly choosing to reiterate her belief that she infinitely preferred a good book to a ball. But Lydia and Kitty were here and with their liveliness were proving a stark contrast to the hostess, their sister Lizzy.

Lady Hartfield was vainly trying to avoid talking to the fashionably dressed but remarkably dull gathered gentility. She found it frustrating, the more she took pains to avoid society, the more they insisted on courting her. The time they had spent in London rendered Lord Hartfield being declared to be the envy of every man, not least because young men sought to fall in love with Lizzy and the older fell in lust.

Her beauty and youth went a long way to make up for her indifference and coldness, those who admired her fine figure found their envy of Lord Hartfield stemmed from the mistaken belief that her cold exterior hid a passionate being who reserved her ardour for her husband behind closed doors and behind the closed door of the bedroom chamber. In fact her aloofness became as celebrated as her other charms.

She found herself stood next to Darcy and at first it appeared as both had nothing to say. But Lizzy believing her companions silence was merely the result of being embarrassed took pity on him.

'Your sister dances very well Mr Darcy…she is fast becoming a favourite' she remarked as Georgiana made her way down the line, 'Her feet must be naturally light as I suppose you have had little opportunity to take such leisurely pursuits, the business of a mill city I find renders one little opportunity for dance …'

Darcy found himself at once angry, frustrated and hopelessly in love with her. But his jealousy over the fact she had a husband overshadowed any other sentiment.

He spoke with an air that betrayed his hurt.

'And no doubt you think the less of us for it…' he turned to face her, 'you are I suppose undoubtedly one of those of the opinion that dancing is the epitome of a civilised world and the very essence of a polished society.…'

She smiled unbowed, amused almost. 'Not at all Mr Darcy, dancing can be the epitome of an equally uncivilised world, and no doubt the essence of an unpolished society as well. Any savage can dance.…'

Darcy with all the resolve he had taken not to allow his heart to be touched further by her could not help but soften at her playful tone. 'And is that why you are taking such pains to avoid partaking in the sport…?' he asked her.

She smiled wider now, 'No not at all. I have yet to find a partner Mr Darcy who will tolerate a perpetual silence for a whole half-hour together.…'

'Do you insist then on the absence of speech as a rule then during dancing…?' She was teasing him he knew, he had barely spoken a few words to the entire room within the hours he had been there. No doubt she was alluding to this.

'Oh of course, I am certain I will never find a partner with a similar turn of mind as myself, for I am of an unsocial, taciturn disposition and am unwilling to speak, unless I say something that will amaze the whole room and be passed down with all the reverence and éclat of a proverb. Partners I find are eternally occupied with dancing the figures and counting the turns…'

Darcy laughed wholeheartedly, 'You are quite right Lady Hartfield, and you have doomed yourself to standing on the sidelines, forever confined to looking on…though I cannot help but suspect you are attempting to draw similarities between our characters…'

She looked at him mischievously, 'And I equally have little doubt of my success…' They stood together in silence, he had at one point entertained the notion of asking her to dance, but the moment had passed and he was content to observe and scrutinise as she did.

She turned to look at him again. 'I understand Mr Darcy that you are perceived to be the product of one revolution and the firm advocate of another?…'

His look of amazement amused her, 'Oh come Mr Darcy you cannot be so very amazed at my knowing so much about you…?'

He was shocked, especially considering he knew next to nothing about her. She smiled at him broadly, 'Well I see that you are. A dance such as this is the world passing at a remarkably fast pace Mr Darcy, the whole room knows everything worth knowing within minutes, the rate at which whispers pass through would no doubt leave you breathless. Here your past is forever ahead of you; in fact it sets its foot in the door before you…'

Darcy looked about the room and wondered at how he cold have been so oblivious to the whispers Lady Hartfield insisted were so ubiquitous.

She continued, 'The fact is yet more prevalent in a small neighbourhood such as Longbourn, I am afraid you will find yourself very much public property.'

He looked at her directly, 'I cannot say that is a prospect I relish Lady Hartfield…' he noted with some surprise how the use of her official title caused her to bristle and perhaps even shrink a little.

But she seemed to shake off any severity, and throwing her head back in a artistic flourish declared in her best French accent, "Liberty, Fraternity, Equality", and then in a more serious tone, 'the foundation from which the French Revolution was founded I believe?…'

He nodded his head resolutely, 'Yes, they are noble prospects and the sound basis for society.…'

Lizzy raised a brow archly, 'The sound basis indeed, the same sort of soundness that has led to numerous families, men women and children being led to their death for no other crime than having the misfortune of inheriting a family name…'

Darcy grew puzzled; he had been used to being challenged on his political view, but never by so fair an antagonist. For some reason Lady Hartfield was determined to engage him in an argument.

'I may be an advocate of the Revolution your Ladyship, but certainly not of 'The Terror'. The basis was correct, and initially the reasoning sound, but of late the foundation has been ignored. Yes I do believe the beginning was correct, and held out new promises for the betterment and to the advantage of us all, but its application has become lost, wayward…'

'And deadly.…' Lizzy finished for him. 'Napoleon I do not doubt set out with the best of intentions, that of saving a nation and its people from themselves, but what is to be done when the man, the very ideal itself becomes the tyrant, the oppressor. The very thing that ties up its people in chains they have fought so bitterly and spilled so much blood to break…'

Darcy looked on mouth agape as she spoke; it was with such passion and conviction, that any objection he could have offered was soon lost in his growing admiration and…love. Oh yes, he was in love with Lady Elizabeth Hartfield, she need not have spoken a word, he would have come to the same conclusion had she stood silently next to him. He was glad she hadn't, and he listened with an intensity she was apparently oblivious to.

'But could we truly have been surprised that he has declared himself Emperor? He is after all a man, as weak to the prospect and desire of power, and as fallible to its corruption. All men are prone to it, it is intrinsic to their natures no doubt, that desire to be in control, be it one life or the lives of thousands …'

Darcy studying her closely could not miss the unmistakable glance she threw her husband upon these words, nor could he mistake the very pointed manner in which Lord Hartfield raised his glass and smiled at her knowingly.

Lizzy turned to look at Darcy, 'Yyou are surprised by my words no doubt?…' But no amount of smiles could warm Darcy to her now. He had noted the look shared between husband and wife and suspected he knew the very meaning of it. He suspected there was some game between them, and it was exactly the perverse hobby he should have expected of the rich. He was of the firm belief that Lady Hartfield had merely engaged his attentions in an effort to sport with her husband and make him jealous. She was using him, and he cursed his stupidity for letting it happen. To think that she had almost changed his opinion of what the wealthy truly were.

Despite his rage, he resolved to speak calmly, 'Not at all Lady Hartfield, I have found the greater surprise to be in what you do not say, rather than what you do…'

She was intrigued, 'Oh and what do I not say?…'

Darcy leaned in close and spoke low, 'You ought to have told me who you were this morning…'

Lizzy smiled and wondered how he had managed to restrain himself so long from talking of their short tête-à-tête underneath the cherry tree.

'Would you have spoken differently to me if you knew who I was…?' she challenged him.

Darcy spoke hurriedly, despite his efforts he could not help but be affected in every way by this woman. 'Of course,…' he whispered, 'I would never have presumed to…'

Lizzy was ready with her retort, 'Really…? Despite all your fine, fiery speeches on "Liberty, Fraternity, Equality" you would have treated me differently if you had known of my title…? You do not sell yourself well Mr Darcy with such an interchangeable resolve.…'

Darcy grew angry; it was not he feigning an interest in another with purely the intention of stirring feelings of jealousy in a spouse. He spat his next words at her.

'You mean to make sport of me and my beliefs Lady Hartfield; no doubt they sit uncomfortably with your kind…' And with that he walked off.

All noted the cold manner in which Darcy left Lady Hartfield, but none with a greater interest than Lord Hartfield.

He approached her soon after, and standing next to her deliberately pressed a hand to her back where he knew he had hurt her earlier in the day. She felt one of the cuts open up again, and small trickles of blood find their way down the small of her back.

He spoke with a triumphant tone, 'I hear our Revolutionary Mr Darcy is not quite taken with you. Scandalous…and to think you are by far the prettiest woman in the room…' he whispered the words in her ear. She could smell the wine on his breath.

'Still…' he continued, 'the sister holds out better promise…' Lizzy followed his gaze and grew alarmed at the way he fixed it on Georgiana Darcy. She had known him long enough to know how his perverse mind worked. He had no doubt already had designs in mind for the poor girl.

She tried vainly to dissuade him, 'Though I am aware of how young you prefer your 'companions' your Lordship, I fear you will find Miss Darcy not so easily persuaded. No doubt she guards her honour with a jealousy you have not apprehended…'

'We shall see…' he spoke ominously, and Lizzy grew afraid, not only for Georgiana but for her brother as well.