A/N: Hey there! Yes I know it's been a while since the last update, so apologies. I am working to get this story finished so I can exercise some of the plot-bunnies running around my head with some new stories, and work on ongoing fanfics as well. I'm hoping posting will become a regular thing again, but I can't promise anything. Meanwhile thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy.
Part 13- 'The Merit And Misery Of Circumstances….'
'We are all the victims of circumstance are we not Mr Darcy?'
He recounted her words as he walked through the thick grove. There was one thing to be said for the country with and that was all the time and freedom it allowed for thought. The city was always busy, the noise of people, of machines, business and energy, movement and a constant din. Always the noise, there was never a moment, never a semblance of openness, of…fresh air.
However had he been there still, amid its restrictions confined and chained to its factories, subject to the constant noise and at the mercy of its choking, oppressive air he still did not doubt he would have borne it better than this. Her words, reminiscent of and akin to everything else she did or said haunted him.
'Victims of unwavering, unforgiving circumstance...' Darcy swished the stick he carried back and forth across the bushes viciously cutting at the leaves as he went. Every stroke harder and faster more brutal than the last, he lay a path of destruction as he went. It was his anger that drove his arm, anger and disappointment and the inevitability of it all.
His avowed intention that morning had been to explain himself to her, to offer some sort of excuse that he hoped would render him a little less reprehensible in her eyes, but it had ended in a foolish and clumsy declaration of love.
'Stupid….stupid man…!' That warranted a particularly vicious snipe so intent in force that it snapped the stick in two. Darcy looked at it disdainfully before tossing it aside into the dense undergrowth. He passed a tired hand through his hair and over his face, and recalled her reaction to his words with painful precise clarity.
'I don't understand….' Darcy was still stood before her; she must know what he had meant, and exactly why he had sought to explain himself to her. He loved her, wholly completely to the point that to have her think ill of him was to leave him restless.
But her reply confounded him.
She smiled slightly at him before stepping around him and walking forwards, and it seemed as if she had not understood his declaration at all. Stopping she spoke over her shoulder.
'What did you expect of me Mr Darcy?' Her smile was gone and she looked at him coldly, it was enough for him to know that her next words would cut him to the core. 'I am a wife Mr Darcy, the mistress of a home, a daughter and a sister and I have duties to each. Do you think I would abandon those sensibilities to pursue so reckless a notion as you propose?'
Darcy struggled to speak, this was becoming the painful truth, he would expose his heart to her and each time it was a mistake as wretched as the knife she used to cut him through and through.
'And of course,' he approached her tenderly, 'you would never put sentiment before duty, too foolish a notion is it not?'
His words tinged with bitterness and racked with pain momentarily unnerved her, her voice and her expression softened, 'Mr Darcy isn't there a saying that 'we are not the masters of our misfortune,' she turned to face him once more, 'you could not have expected more surely?'
She stepped closer to him, 'I wish you would not resent me for this Mr Darcy.' She held out her hand for him to take, he complied dutifully. Taking her hand in his he gently turned it over and kissed her palm. She smiled sadly at him, 'I would loathe losing your friendship Mr Darcy, since you are the one man whose opinions are widely regarded to be more unpopular than mine!'
She laughed quietly then, but it was a poor sort of laugh, one they both knew contained no mirth but a sad attempt at humour. She sighed deeply, 'Mr Darcy I am aware of your situation and your history as you are no doubt by now well acquainted with mine, do you understand now?'
He could only nod his reply, she smiled once more, 'Good, I do enjoy your company Mr Darcy, and that of your sister's, besides I do not doubt this inclination will soon pass, how could you hold me in affection Mr Darcy, you know next to nothing of me!'
She took her place next to him then and they began walking again towards the others. 'I would advise you Mr Darcy to write a sonnet or two upon the matter, and you will see that it will soon put all away.'
H e recognised her dismissive humour and though it pained him she had made it abundantly clear. She had as much placed the question before, would only friendship suffice? Because where Lady Hartfield was concerned there never could anything more.
A friendship and nothing else, no it could never be enough, but Darcy had experience in this matter. That of dismissing hopes and dreams, playing down ambition and learning to suffice, and how well he had learnt and how well he buried the bitter disappointment now. For even as he felt the coldness of hopes dashed and long buried aches surface, he smiled at her and managed a civil reply to her observation.
'You refer to poetry?' he asked her, 'strange I had taught it a generally adapted truth that poetry is the food of love.' Darcy spoke with the same dismissive humour she had adopted.
'No, not all Mr Darcy, a good healthy, stout love will be unaffected of course as everything nourishes what is strong already, one good sonnet will starve a thin sort inclination away entirely...many an affection has been overcome in the same away.'
It pained him that she could dismiss his affection so readily, so easily and his reply was every bit as bitter as he intended, 'Then I must congratulate the one who discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love and put pen to paper directly.'
They walked quickly and were soon in the company of the others. Lady Hartfield and Jane took their leave soon after. Yes, he understood perfectly, she could and would never be his, and it was a fact he ought to resign himself to. They were victims of circumstance, unforgiving, unrelenting…painful circumstance.
Darcy had left the Netherfield lot soon after Lady Hartfield's departure choosing to avoid Miss Bingley's observations on Lady Hartfield's attire and her complexion, or lack of it and instead take a long walk. He had hoped the cool air would do something to clear his frustrations; it had done nothing of the sort.
His return to the estate was marked with as clear anger as he had left, his brow furrowed and features hardened it was a good while before he paid heed to the sound of happy conversation and laughter coming from the vast drawing room. He stopped at the closed door to listen awhile; amongst the voices he was familiar with was one that was relatively new.
New it may have been but to Darcy it was certainly most unwelcome, Lord Chaston. His anger not abated one bit, Darcy threw open the door and entered, his sudden appearance causing almost all to be startled.
Lord Chaston was sat close to Georgiana at the table, Caroline making their third, at times joining in their conversation. She offered him a significant smile Darcy's gaze turned towards where they sat.
Bingley astute enough to recognise the look of dark fury crossing his friend's brow noted the brusque manner with which he addressed the young Lord's appearance. Having by now realised Darcy's conversation with Lady Hartfield had not gone well, he made his way to Darcy's side and steered him towards the fireplace where he had been stood.
'Darcy,' he whispered in a tone, 'I rely on your judgment and know you will be sensible about this. His appearance here cannot be helped, whatever you may think of him, you know very well I could not have turned him away at the door.'
Darcy looked towards Bingley the urgent pleading in his words eventually sought to abate his anger. He sighed deeply, 'No, of course you are right. It is your house Bingley; I am after all only a guest.'
The bitter tone was not lost on Bingley, and a less feeling and less generous man would have called Darcy out over his unfounded resentment but Bingley familiar with his closest friend's nature knew that Darcy's words were a result of the anger from the moment.
It would pass and he would apologise, sincerely and remorsefully, Bingley need not add to his mortification he would feel later by some equally rash words offered now.
Lord Chaston sensible to the feeling of the room once Darcy had arrived arose to take his leave soon after the formers arrival. Aside from a few curt glances Darcy had barely acknowledged his presence; the air grew gloom and melancholy; despite the efforts of one of the party. The one aspect he had least expected such endeavours to be forthcoming and consequently one who surprised him the most.
Georgiana Darcy, sweet quiet, shy Georgiana Darcy took pains to carry the conversation forward. She, as acutely aware as he was of her brother's disapproval smiled and spoke more in that short half hour he remained after her brother's arrival than he had ever heard her speak before.
Fully aware that it was perhaps more for her brother's than his benefit, Lord Chaston enjoyed her attention all the same. Georgiana was a pretty little thing, all sweetness and wit, and all was safe he knew he was in no danger, given the misfortune of her circumstances and inferiority of her connections, Georgiana Darcy would not catch him. But as his friend Lord Hartfield had taught him on many an occasion there was no harm in finding enjoyment in pleasant company, and if it should lead to anything more, so much the better.
And Miss Darcy was certainly showing herself to be more complying than he could have ever imagined.