Chapter 3

Darcy's arrival at Pemberley was bittersweet.

Of course, it was wonderful to be home again. It was a prematurely warm spring, and the flowers were beginning to blossom. It was as though he were seeing Pemberley's riot of vivid spring colours -- green and peony and violet and yellow -- and its sparkling blue sky for the first time.

Their carriage crossed the bridge and headed towards the house, and Darcy and Georgiana both fell silent, breathing in the scent of Pemberley in bloom.

It would have been perfect, Darcy thought, if only...and despite himself, he sighed deeply.

"You are wishing she were here, are you not, brother?" Georgiana asked gently, thinking that it was interesting that she had no such wish regarding Wickham. He had been relegated firmly to the past.

Darcy nodded. "Yes, Georgiana, I confess I am."

"I think..." Georgiana began contemplatively. "Correct me if I am wrong, Fitzwilliam, but I believe you expected Miss Bennet to accept your proposals."

"Of course! I would not have asked had I any doubt as to her answer."

"That attitude could not have been pleasing to Miss Bennet, I think. Might I ask why you were so positive she would accept?"

"Her family is of modest means and low connections, and her marital prospects are not promising. In my prior interaction with her, she had a playful manner that I found enchanting, and I suppose I misinterpreted it as her having a personal interest in me. I assumed she would be eager to receive my proposals!"

He looked down at his hands.

"I know, Georgiana, it must seem the most despicable conceit on my part..." Here he trailed off, remembering. "Your arrogance, your conceit and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others."

He shuddered. "I dare say you are right, Georgiana, Miss Bennet was quite displeased and made no secret of her displeasure."

"You must approach things differently this time, brother."

Darcy smiled faintly.

"And what makes you think I intend to approach her at all?"
"Opportunity has knocked, but it is up to you to answer the door! There, I have neatly summed it up with a cliche of the worst sort!"

Darcy laughed aloud. "How my shy little sister has changed this past year. I know my stated intent for touring the Continent was for your benefit, Georgiana, but it has proven beneficial for me as well. Your company has been exactly what I required to sustain me, and I only regret I was not frank with you sooner."

Darcy spoke the absolute truth. In many ways, he felt as though he truly knew his sister for the first time. Of course, there was another kind of companionship for which he longed, and try as he might, he had found Elizabeth Bennet irreplaceable in that regard.

Oh yes, he had tried. In the first weeks of their trip, while they were in Paris, he had attempted to fulfill his needs in a limited way. He was still angry and resentful of Miss Bennet, and he wanted to prove to himself how unnecessary she was to him. His physical needs were pressing, and he sought out the sort of companionship that men needed but never discussed.

Dominique was sympathetic and beautiful in a much more flamboyant fashion than Elizabeth Bennet, and he sought her out for the particular reason that her appearance was in direct contrast to Miss Bennet's. She was tall, with a fashionably curvy figure, and had stunning blue eyes and strawberry blond curls. Her age was difficult to discern; she might have been anywhere from 30 to 40, and she had a lovely musical voice. She spoke perfect English with a most seductive French accent, and this was a good thing as ultimately, talking was all she and Darcy did!

As it happened, what he intended to do and what he succeeded in doing were completely different that evening. Dominique neither complained nor judged; Darcy would not be the first nor the last man who had paid for her time without indulging in the special sensual pleasures one of her occupation had to offer.

Dominique was a courtesan favoured by the upper classes, and as such, she expected and received treatment not generally accorded to the more lowly of her occupation. So the evening began as planned, with fine food and wine consumed by candlelight.

Dominique was an accomplished and sophisticated woman, and in truth, Darcy did enjoy the conversation as a prelude to the lovemaking that was intended to follow. After a glass too many of burgundy, however, Darcy's side of the conversation began to veer in the direction of disappointed hopes and ungrateful women with fine dark eyes who did not recognize a good opportunity when it came their way. Soon, uncharacteristically, it was Darcy doing all the talking, pouring out his bitterness to this woman who was, after all, being paid to listen.

Spirits and bitterness were a poisonous combination, and Darcy's ranting gave way to slurred speech and angry tears. Dominique, accustomed to seeing men at their worst, did her best to placate him, but in the end it became necessary for her manservant to escort him to his carriage so that he might return to his hotel.
"Go home and sleep it off, Monsieur, and return when you are feeling better. At no charge, naturellement!" That last bit of graciousness was due to the fact that Monsieur Darcy was handsome, indeed, and Dominique was disappointed the evening had not ended differently. Mlle. Dominique was not in the habit of offering her services gratis.

Dominique was fairly certain, however, that he would not be back. Monsieur Darcy, she knew, would not feel better in the morning, nor for many, many months. He had it bad, did Monsieur Darcy, and what he needed was the young lady with the fine dark eyes, and she was many miles away. She had attempted to gently tell him so earlier, but he seemed to want to talk, not listen.

Darcy shook himself out of this embarrassing reverie as the carriage drew up to the front of the house. It occurred to him that Dominique and Georgiana were of the same opinion regarding his need for Elizabeth Bennet, but it was hardly something he could mention to his sister!

There was an enthusiastic greeting from the Pemberley staff awaiting them. Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper whose employment was of the longest duration, anxiously searched the Master's face so as to determine whether the melancholy that had so concerned her last spring lingered. Mr. Darcy had never been the most jovial or talkative of young men, but Mrs. Reynolds had known him since he was a toddler and knew well when his pensiveness was due to more than his natural reserve.

He did look better, healthier, than he did when she last saw him, and there was an ease in his discourse with his sister that pleased Mrs. Reynolds very well indeed. As she had hoped, the two of them had proven effective balm for each other, not that Mrs. Reynolds had any specific knowledge of what was disturbing both of them before they left for the Continent.

"You will be wanting your tea I am sure, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy?" she asked with a welcoming smile.

"Exactly what we require, Mrs. Reynolds," Darcy answered. "Thank you." They had partaken of the best of haute cuisine in Paris, but suddenly nothing seemed so appealing as a steaming cup of English tea and one of Cook's freshly baked, buttery scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream.

How wonderful it was to be home! They would stay a week before leaving for Hertfordshire. Perhaps a week's respite would give him the opportunity to decide exactly what he wanted and how to go about getting it.

As he drank his tea, Darcy wondered for the first time what Elizabeth Bennet was feeling about their impending meeting. Surely his letter to Bingley had arrived by now and she knew of his imminent arrival. Was she as disturbed as he at the prospect? Did she look forward to seeing him, or did she dread the renewal of their acquaintance? Remembering the letter he had sent her, and its bitterness of expression, he fervently wished she had destroyed it. There were parts of it he wished her to never have the power of reading again. How he wished he could go back and change it; how differently he would word it today. He could only think that his letter, while it set forth the facts about his history with Wickham, had reinforced Elizabeth's opinion of his arrogance and haughtiness.

He could not remember the particulars of all he had said and written, but its central message was this: You are not good enough for me, but I love you anyway. Just the way one went about wooing a woman!

He knew how he would summarize his sentiments, had he the opportunity now: You are everything I need, I love you, and I have tried to make myself worthy of you.

And as he had always been more effective expressing himself in writing, Mr. Darcy thought that was exactly what he must do. Tonight he would begin to write another letter, one he would never give Miss Bennet, as it would be highly improper to do so. But putting his thoughts down on paper might inspire him to say the right things and do the right things this time.

He looked up to see Georgiana staring at him raptly. "Fitzwilliam! You had the most intense expression on your face. Your lips were moving as though you were talking, yet you emitted no sound. Are you unwell?"

"No, Georgiana, I am well. Better than I have been in quite some time, but I do admit I need to get some rest after our long journey. After tea, I will retire to my room, and it may be advisable for you to do likewise."

"I am not tired as yet, brother. I believe I will play the pianoforte for a little while, as I do long for my own instrument. It has been a very long time."

Darcy followed her into the music room and listened to Georgiana play for a half hour, remembering the performance of another fair lady at Rosings a year ago. As much as he enjoyed the sight and sound of his sister playing, he would have given anything to see that other lady in her place and to know that she belonged here, with him.

Oddly, he felt more inspired than disturbed by these reflections, and the strains of Georgiana's playing followed him as he ascended the stairs to his bedchamber, eager to begin composing his letter.

Darcy, in shirtsleeves, sat at his desk. He took a sheet of stationery and began to write.

Dear Miss Bennet,

He shook his head. No. As he was not going to give the letter to Elizabeth, he would forego restraint and write it exactly as it was in his heart.

He discarded the first piece of paper, took another, and began again.

My dearest Elizabeth
I address you thus because it is what you are and will always be to me. Mine. Dearest.

When I look back on the events of last spring, it is as though I am in the parsonage drawing room once again, alone with you, and a word has not yet been spoken. If only it were true, that the foolish things I said, expecting my words to woo you, were never said and I could begin anew. I will not attempt to justify in any way the things I said, as they are indefensible. I only hope that you have destroyed the letter I wrote you then, so that your only memory of my arrogant sentiments is hearing them spoken and that perhaps that memory might now be fading.

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Do you remember? If only you could obliterate from your memory the words that preceded these, dearest Elizabeth. Had you not heard those other cutting words first, would these have been more pleasing to you? What kind of man would preface a declaration of love with words that defile that love? This man emphatically would not, would he be so fortunate as to be given an opportunity to make his declarations again.

In the matter of Wickham, little more need be said. Despite your dislike of me, you knew I spoke the truth, and you were generous enough to concede this to me. There are those, I realize now, who would be reluctant to connect themselves to my sister because of what befell her last summer. Do you see the irony, dearest Elizabeth, in my declaring my love only after pointing out what as I saw as your family's deficiencies, when my own sister was nearly disgraced beyond redemption?

I write these words now because soon I shall see you again. What do I say to you? Is there anything I might say that will make you think better of me? Most everything in my life has come easily to me, except the one thing I desire most. I sense that I have only one chance, that if we do not come to some understanding, or the beginning of some kind of tentative friendship, we will part never to meet again. And that is what I dread most of all, that I will see you, and the wanting and needing will wash over me again, and you will look at me with the disgust I saw in your eyes the last time we met, and that nothing will make it go away. Yell at me, Elizabeth, pound your fists against my chest, do anything rather than be indifferent.

I love you, Elizabeth, more today than ever, even more because of the harsh words you spoke that I needed to hear. You made me see myself, and I had to take myself far away to do so. I cannot love another, I cannot even desire another, I am lost without you.

It is through the birth of a child that we are brought together again. Look at me when we hold that baby over the christening font, and you will know how much I wish it were our baby, yours and mine. One year from now, where will we be? If I am not with you, I do not know where I will be. It is unimaginable to me to face life without you.

Can you ever love me? You have stripped me of all pretensions. What I have, what I can give you, what I can do for your family, you knew all this and it was not good enough for you because the man who offered these things to you was not good enough. God bless you for making me know this, because if ever you do accept me, I will know I have been given the gift of your love.
Darcy did not even realize he was crying until he saw his own tears on the letter. His mind had been racing almost more quickly than he could write, but it was cathartic to face his feelings and put them into words.

Could he convey even a fraction of what he felt for her to Elizabeth Bennet? He was not good with words, and never had been, but he would force himself to speak to her soon after they met again.

Chapter 4

In the weeks leading up to the christening, Mr. Clifton had been calling on Elizabeth with greater frequency. She neither encouraged nor discouraged his attentions, and Jane refrained from recommending Mr. Clifton to her sister. Unlike Charles, who was oblivious to what Elizabeth was thinking, Jane wisely realized that there was more than one man on Elizabeth's mind these days.

So it was Charles Bingley who was more inclined to play the matchmaker, inviting Mr. Clifton to dinner and taking care to engage him and Elizabeth in conversation. Jane decided it was time that Charles knew the history of Elizabeth's acquaintance with Mr. Darcy.

Charles had his son atop his shoulder, the baby's favorite spot for falling asleep, and Jane sat opposite him in the library. Charles could never remember being so blissfully happy; he was in his own home with a beautiful, gentle wife he loved, and a baby who was adored by both of them.

"Charles," Jane said, "I fear there is something I must tell you. I hope you will not be angry at my not relating it sooner, but as it was not my own secret but someone else's, I did not feel it was my place."

Charles could not imagine his guileless wife knowing a secret so dreadful that she could not share it with her husband.

"What is it, Jane?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"Nothing so terrible, dearest. Last spring, when Mr. Darcy left abruptly for Europe, do you recall your bewilderment at his not attending our wedding?"

"Yes, of course. I was not happy about it, Jane, and Darcy has still not explained it adequately. The first time he even mentioned it was in his letter, referring to a disappointment he had experienced."

"I know what that disappointment was. I knew it then, last spring, but I could not share my knowledge with you."

"You knew, and you did not tell me? I do not understand, Jane."

"Charles, when Mr. Darcy was at Rosings in April, he proposed to Elizabeth and she refused him. More than refused him. They had a terrible row, they both said some hurtful things, and Darcy left for France soon after."

"Darcy in love with Elizabeth! I always suspected, although he never spoke of it."

"One of the reasons she refused him was because of his interference in our courtship."

Bingley nodded. "Jane, he apologized profusely, but if you had refused to see me, I could never have forgiven him. I was very angry with him."

"I know. Poor Mr. Darcy. The woman he loved misjudged and refused him, his best friend was angry with him...I know much of it was his own fault, but I cannot help feeling pity for him."

"Dearest Jane. Why do you tell me now?"

"Because I believe Elizabeth is not completely indifferent to him. I do not believe she regrets refusing him, but I do believe she regrets the uncharitable manner of her refusal. It may be better if you do not encourage Mr. Clifton in his attentions to her, until she has resolved her feelings about Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Clifton is my friend, Jane, I can hardly bar him from the house!"

"Of course not, Charles, and I am not asking you to do so. Just do not promote him to Elizabeth as a possible marriage partner. If he and Elizabeth are truly inclined toward each other, they should not require anyone else's assistance."

"Do you believe Darcy still loves your sister?"

"I have no way of knowing that, Charles. I want to see how they behave in each other's company."

"I tend to think he does, Jane. Darcy may be slow to warm up to people, but he is steadfast once he does."

"I know how highly you think of him, Charles. But Mr. Clifton is your friend as well, and it could be an awkward situation for everyone concerned."

"It might do well for Darcy to know he has a rival, Jane. He is far too complacent in all matters!" Charles chuckled. "Well, well...Darcy and Elizabeth. One would never guess, they seemed to go out of their way to disagree with each other!"

"And rather enjoyed it, I suspect!"

"It is incomprehensible to me. As for myself, Jane, I much prefer harmony." He kissed his son, who was now fast asleep.

Jane rose. "Now that Master Charles is asleep, shall we enjoy some immediate harmony, my love?" She extended her hand to her husband, and he touched it to his lips.

"Wonderful idea, Mrs. Bingley."

After tucking their son into his cradle, the Bingleys retired to their bedchamber, grateful for the ease and comfort of their marriage, and hopeful that those they loved best might someday be equally as happy.

At Pemberley, Darcy and Georgiana prepared for their journey to Netherfield. Georgiana took particular pleasure in assisting Fitzwilliam in selecting the garments he would bring with him as she wanted him to appear to his best advantage when meeting Miss Bennet again.

"When will Miss Bennet be arriving at Netherfield, Fitzwilliam?"

"I imagine a day or two before the christening."

Neither of them knew that Elizabeth had been staying at Netherfield since the birth of the baby. Jane, confined to the house as a new, nursing mother, took much pleasure in her sister's company.

"Then you will have a few days to prepare yourself, Fitzwilliam, that is good. Yes...that one, Fitzwilliam...the green one," she said, giving a critical eye to the coat he held up for her approval.

Darcy smiled at his sister. Elizabeth Bennet had been singularly unimpressed with his wealth and the life he had offered her, and he rather doubted his choice of coat would have any bearing on her opinion of him, but Georgiana so wanted to be helpful.

Darcy shook his head. "I do not think there is time enough for me to prepare myself adequately, Georgiana. I have no idea of my reception!"

"Perhaps that is a good thing, brother, as I recall that last spring you were far too certain of your reception, and no good came of it!"

Georgiana smiled as she lovingly wrapped the silver rattle and cup they had purchased for the baby in Rome. Darcy had purchased another gift, one of which his sister had no knowledge.

While in Naples, he had happened upon a jeweler's shop and was enticed by the display of delicate cameos in the window. One cameo, in particular, had attracted his attention. Set on a blush pink background and encircled in gold, it depicted a woman in profile, her chin held high, three errant curls at the nape of her neck. It so reminded him of his Elizabeth that he had purchased it and kept it in his upper left coat pocket, over his heart, ever since. He hoped someday to give it to her.

Their trunks were in the carriage and all was ready for their departure. At the last moment, Darcy remembered the letter he had written and went to his room to retrieve it. His first instinct was to lock it in his desk drawer, but finally he decided to take it with him, so that he might review its contents if and when he was ready to be frank with Miss Bennet. He folded the letter, and put it in his overcoat pocket.

They were off to London, where they would spend the night, and tomorrow morning they would leave for Hertfordshire.

With just one week remaining until the baby's christening celebration, Elizabeth's thoughts turned to Mr. Darcy. Since the arrival of his letter, no communication had been received from him and he had not been specific as to the date of his arrival. Caroline Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, she knew, would arrive tomorrow. Because of the proximity of Longbourn to Netherfield, her own family, who had, of course, already seen the baby, would remain at home until the day of the christening. Elizabeth had been grateful that Mr. Clifton's courtship (if one could truly call it a courtship) had been conducted without her family's presence.

On this particular afternoon, Elizabeth was enjoying a cup of tea and a quiet moment to herself when Mr. Clifton was announced. The gentleman looked particularly motivated this afternoon, and he nodded briefly at Elizabeth before he sat on the chair directly opposite hers.

He leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face. It was an expression she had seen before, on another gentleman's face, and she dreaded what she felt sure was to follow. Am I doomed, she thought, to receive declarations of love from men for whom I feel no similar sentiments?

"Miss Bennet, surely you know that from early in our acquaintance, I have felt a particular fondness for you which I have felt for no other woman. Dare I hope that my feelings are reciprocated and that you might make me the happiest of men?"

His words were curiously lacking in emotion. How well she remembered another proposal almost a year ago.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Elizabeth was surprised at her own feelings. Despite the haughtiness of Mr. Darcy's manner of expression and his inappropriate and offensive communications regarding her family's inferiority, she had never doubted his passion. It was written on his face, flushed with emotion, it was apparent in his pacing back and forth throughout the room, and in his anger and anguish at her refusal.

What is wrong with me? she thought. I want it all! Amiability and suitableness are not enough for me without the passion.

"Mr. Clifton, I am honoured by your proposals, but I regret I cannot accept them."

"Miss Bennet, you led me to believe..."
"I am sincerely sorry if I led you to believe anything that was not true, Mr. Clifton."

"Miss Bennet, I will accept your refusal for now, but until the day you are the bride of another, I will persist in hoping. May I continue to call on you? Will you allow me that much?"

Again, the man was curiously dispassionate in his request.

"You may persist in whatever you think appropriate, Mr. Clifton, but I must warn you I shall not change my mind."

"Fair enough, Miss Bennet," he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips.

It was a most inopportune moment for him to do so, for just as he gazed into her eyes and kissed her hand, Charles Bingley entered the room accompanied by Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy.