A/N : Well here it is the end at last, or at least one of the endings. You have to understand I wrote this story nearly a year ago and at that time I couldn't see this story finishing any other way. For those of you who've read this story elsewhere will know why I add this word of warning, if you like your stories with the normal canon P&P endings part 20 is not for you. Instead I urge you to wait for the alternative ending which I hope to post within a couple of days.

Part 20- 'Too much and too late…' (Finis)

Lizzy stood nervously in front of the assembled board members. This was infinitely worse than auditioning, she decided. There was more at stake here. They weren't impressed, Lizzy could tell; their eyes, wide and unmoving, simply stared back at her. It seemed her words were hardly being heard at all. In desperation, she looked to the back of the room and sought Robert's eyes. He did his best to encourage her.

All her best laid plans, getting Marcie on board, setting Jane and Bingley to the task of organising food and drinks, making sure Georgiana knew to keep Darcy away for the rest of the day…all this, and she had not counted on this board being the biggest obstacle.

She implored them with every ounce of her being, 'Look, we've all read the papers, we know the stories. But Darcy's record speaks for itself; this theatre is only a success because of the work he has put into it. No one could have given more to this place or run it half as well…'

She was interrupted by a stocky, well-built man who seemed to have been poured into his ill-fitting suit. 'Miss Bennet, we acknowledge Darcy's contribution and appreciate your efforts on his behalf, but the facts remain…'

Lizzy suddenly spoke in a flash of anger, 'What facts? You can hardly blame him for his father's faults!' She sighed and resolved to speak calmly. 'I was surprised when Robert told me that most of you haven't even met Darcy, not properly. You don't know what he really is, then…All I'm asking is that you attend this evening and get to know him. Believe me, when you see him in a true light…'

She almost added they would fall in love with him as she had, but stopped herself. She smiled at them. 'At worst, you'll get an evening of free drinks…'

Darcy sat back in the car and looked questioningly at his sister. 'Georgiana, what's going on?' He tugged at his sleeve and collar. 'Why are we all dressed up?'

She smiled sweetly at him. 'Patience, darling brother…I promise it'll become clear soon enough.'

'Please…Georgiana, I'm really not in the mood. I got all done up in this suit because you insisted, and now I'm being driven half way round Derbyshire for God knows what…'

'Don't you trust me?' Georgiana took hold of his hand. 'We've had a great day, haven't we…like it used to be?'

He smiled, 'Yes, like it used to be, just you and me…maybe we should make that a more permanent thing…'

Georgiana noted the curious tone in his voice. 'What do you mean…?'

He turned to look out of the window. 'I'm tired…tired of everything. Do you know there are days when all I want is to go to sleep and never have to wake up…just to slip away…'

'Darcy…!' Georgiana was shocked at the way he spoke. Never in her life had she heard her brother speak so despairingly.

'I'm sorry, but these past few days…it's been so hard, but maybe it's my way out. The board might insist that a true Darcy take over the ownership of Pemberley, which would mean either you, or Robert, if they think you're too young…'

'Well, I won't do it, and neither will Robert!' Georgiana exclaimed angrily.

'There may not be a choice…and to tell you the truth, I don't think it'll be all too hard to let the place go…'

'She'll make it right…she has to…' Darcy barely heard the last words his sister muttered.

Darcy stepped out of the car and looked up at Pemberley Theatre, the place he had just been lamenting to his sister. Only, he had never seen it look like this. The outside seemed to be decked out in a thousand lights, bathed in an ethereal glow that started at the top and flowed down the stone steps.

'Georgiana…what's going on?' he asked with some trepidation. She linked arms with him and squeezed reassuringly.

'This is us…doing something for you for a change, and making things right.'

'Us…?'

She didn't answer and instead moved up the stairs. 'Come on, Darcy. It's cold.'

He followed her slowly, unsure. The doors swung open and Darcy, upon surveying the scene of regimented, formal dancing in front of him, was sure he had stepped into a Jane Austen novel. Women dressed in long flowing gowns, a multitude of swaying, moving colours held close by men dressed in suits and tails, looking decidedly more comfortable than he was at the moment.

He stood a little dumbstruck, rooted to the entrance, unsure of taking another step forward. Georgiana wore a broad smile which did little to abate his discomfort. Robert suddenly appeared by his side, with Lizzy on his arm.

'Well, here she is, the belle of the ball…' Georgiana kissed Lizzy lightly in greeting. 'Aren't you going to say how well she looks, Darcy?'

Darcy couldn't find the words to express how well he thought she looked. He simply stared at her. She wore an off-shoulder, classic black dress of the most sensuous silk and her smooth ivory skin glowed underneath all the lights.

'What…are you doing here?' He looked around him, at the room, at Robert and Georgiana and back to Lizzy's smiling eyes. Robert, taking Georgiana by the arm, left them alone to talk.

'Well, imagine my surprise when Robert tells me that Darcy hasn't even met the men and women charged with running his life, so…knowing how charmingly inept you are at making a good first impression I'm going to give you a crash course in making people fall in love with you!' She linked her arm in his and eased him into the room.

'Lizzy…please, I want to know what's going on…' He was getting impatient.

She tried her best to reassure him. 'And you will. Come on, I want to introduce you to a few people.' She practically had to drag him farther.

'Now…' she began, casting a critical eye about the room, 'the one thing people love to talk about is themselves. I've done most of the research; all you have to do is remember a few details.'

'Details…?' Darcy raised a brow sceptically.

'Yes, details…' she confirmed, 'we can begin accordingly.' She pointed out a thin, wiry man approaching them at no great distance. He had a pretty young woman on his arm. Lizzy leaned close and whispered hurriedly to him, 'This is Henry Hutchins. His father held the position on the board before he died and passed it onto him. Georgiana and I are convinced he's gay but the woman on his arm is supposed to be his fiancée. So I guess he has a pretty large closet to climb out of still…'

All this information she conveyed to Darcy before Hutchins and his unsuspecting bride-to-be joined them. 'Darcy!' Hutchins exclaimed and thrust out his hand, looking up at Darcy with a more than warm expression that perhaps betrayed the fact that he had started the evening a little earlier than everyone else. Indeed, the glass he held now looked less than steady.

If Lizzy had thought Darcy might be shocked, if nothing else, into making an effort, she was sorely disappointed. He merely gave Hutchins a weak smile and a nod before saying, 'I'm sorry, please excuse me…' and walking off without another word. Lizzy was left to make her many red-faced apologies.

She followed after him as he pushed his way hurriedly through the crowd and out of the French doors onto the balcony. She saw him gasping for breath. Not wishing to be disturbed, she closed the doors behind her.

'Are you alright?' She stepped closer to him. It was cold and she had no wrap, but it was not the weather that made her shiver as she approached him tentatively.

'No…' She struggled to hear him over the sound of merriment inside. 'Why are you doing this? How…?' He had turned to face her suddenly; the look on his face was certainly not the reaction Lizzy had hoped for.

'It was easy enough.' She smiled weakly at him. 'Robert helped me persuade the board members to come. Marcie got all the crew and cast from the film to make up the numbers, and she contacted the press. Jane and Bingley helped with the food and drink…and Georgiana, she had to keep you away for the day…'

He shook his head, 'No… why are you doing this, why are you trying to save me?'

'After what you did…for Lydia, for me…this, this is nothing…' Lizzy stepped closer to him still. She looked up at him, full of smiles and thanks.

But he didn't smile; his face fell. 'How did you even find out about that?'

'Heidi Marchant…'

He didn't let her finish. 'This is precisely why I didn't want you to know. I don't want you to be grateful.' The despair in his voice confused her. 'I didn't want you to do all this, just to thank me…'

'I'm not doing this just to thank you…' Lizzy was at a loss to understand. Every step she took towards him, he seemed to take one backwards in retreat.

'No? Then why, why go to all this trouble…'

'It's not just to thank you, it's…it's because…because I love you…' There; it was out. But, again, his reaction was certainly not the one Lizzy had anticipated.

He seemed to grow angry. 'No, you don't…you shouldn't say things you don't mean…' He turned away from her and went to lean heavily against the huge Corinthian column at the far end of the terrace. His shoulders sagged and he appeared to be in pain.

'Do you know, I think it might have been something somebody said, or maybe I read it somewhere, I can't remember, but it was something like, "To truly overcome sadness, one must allow hope to die…'' Lizzy stood close to him; she had to strain to hear the words, he spoke in such hushed tones.

'I realised that's how I've been living twenty-two of my twenty-eight years. Ever since I found out who I really was, that's how I've been living my life. Letting hope die.'

He looked up and met her confused gaze with a determined one of his own. 'That is, until I met you…you broke my heart, Lizzy, twice…' The sorrow he breathed into that word brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

'But it's my own fault…' he gestured in pain, 'I forgot to live by the rule. I should have given up hope the first time you said no. You see, I've been killing hope all my life, breaking it off and letting it wither away, letting it die. I gave up hope that my father would ever look at me with anything beyond mere disdain, long gave up hope that this place, these people would finally accept me once they found out who or what I really was…and gave up hope that you could ever love me the way that I have loved you…'

Lizzy's heart choked, 'Have loved….?' No more…?

'I'm sorry, Lizzy, it's too late. I can't do this anymore; I can't…I won't. It hurts too much…'

'Alright…' Lizzy's tears were overflowing now. She struggled to speak. Her despair threatened to overwhelm her. 'You want to know how much I love you and the ways I love you? I love you so much that I can't sleep at night, because I keep thinking that I might have blown my chances with you…and then my throat closes up and I can't breathe because of it.'

She took hold of his arm and forced him to look at her. 'I love you so much that the idea of not being around you everyday leaves this gaping hole in my chest and I feel sick. I love you in the way that makes me a little gladder every moment, because you thought I was special enough to love at one point…' She breathed in deeply in an effort to compose herself. 'Now, you're right…if that isn't the way that you love me, then you're right, I can't love you the way you want me to…I can only love you the way I know how…but if that isn't enough…'

She finished at last. He smiled sadly at her, and taking her hands in his own, he brought them both up to his lips. As he pressed them against his face and kissed them reverently once more, she thought she felt the faintest brush of a cold tear. He relinquished her touch at last, letting her hands drop.

He gently whispered, 'It's not enough…I'm sorry.' The chill in the air wrapped itself around Lizzy's heart as she watched him walk away. He didn't look back.

Darcy had had enough. He was ready to run to the nearest cliff kicking and screaming. He hated the way he had left things with Lizzy, but it was too late, too late to go back.

He had crossed quickly to the car park. Having managed to avoid being seen, he had demanded the keys from the chauffer Georgiana had hired to bring them to the party, intending to drive himself.

'Fitzwilliam Darcy, don't you dare get into that car!' The voice, instantly recognisable, stopped him dead. Lady Catherine. She had managed to find him; somehow she always did. She was in that infamous grey suit that now almost seemed like a second skin to her, that always gave her that added air of gravitas and severity.

But today, even in the pale, sickly moonlight, he realised he hadn't cowered before her as he had in the past. Something was different, and in that moment between her crossing over to him with characteristic heavy-footedness and standing in front of him angrily waving a newspaper, somewhere in between those lost few seconds he realised…he wasn't afraid of her anymore.

And it was a heavenly feeling, beyond redemption, beyond freedom…beyond the joy of simply being alive.

The smile he wore only served to enrage her all the more. 'Have you read these headlines? It's not enough that they spread lies about the Darcy family, but this…this really is going beyond the pale!' She thrust the paper at him to read.

Even in the dim light he made out the words easily enough.

'Barely a few days after the scandal of his father's affair with the renowned Diva Carmen Rosetta, and the consequent revelations regarding his parentage, it seems Fitzwilliam Darcy has become embroiled in a scandal of the heart of his very own.

Rumours regarding the sensational break-up of the engagement between Elizabeth Bennet and Edward Collins point to a third involvement in the affair: Darcy. It appears the co-stars became passionately involved, a matter which led the young actress to break off her prior engagement. By all accounts a new engagement may have already been formed by the two…'

Darcy smiled wryly as he read, but he faced Lady Catherine with a determined, serious look. 'This isn't true. Miss Bennet and I are not engaged to be married, nor are we ever likely to be…'

But she was not so easily appeased; Darcy had made promises of this sort before. 'I should hope not, because, believe me, I will have no scruples in revealing to this board, tonight if I have to, the small matter of the twenty thousand pounds you stole.'

Despite the anger rising within him every minute, Darcy endeavoured to speak with composure. 'Go ahead. It doesn't matter anymore. You've read the other stories, I'm sure. With all the publicity this has created, the fact that Rosetta is going to make her reappearance here, do you really think the board is going to care about twenty thousand pounds?' He grinned sadistically at her. Now it was Lady Catherine's turn to be afraid of him. He boldly stepped forward.

'Ticket sales alone will more than double that sum…the stories, the headlines, the pictures…why would they care about twenty thousand pounds when they easily stand to make two hundred thousand by the end of it all? You've underestimated the greed and avarice of your fellow members; nothing could really affect them, no sense of morality, when each one stands to make a small fortune….'

Lady Catherine first turned pale and then an angry shade of red. 'I don't believe you. Those stories…they're lies!'

Darcy shook his head sadly at her. 'No…they're not lies, Lady Catherine. They did have an affair.'

'I don't believe it! My sister Anne would never have consented to adopting a…a…'

'A bastard?' Darcy found the word Lady Catherine struggled with. 'But she did. I tried, over the years, to find a resemblance between you and her after she died, but I soon gave up. There isn't anything to find. You don't have her heart…and you could never even begin to understand her kindness and spirit.'

No, he was not afraid of her anymore. He was indifferent towards her at best, and at worst, he resented her. But there was still one more thing to do. He reached inside the car, leaned over to the glove compartment and pulled out a fat wad of papers. He had hidden them in there from Georgiana, fully intending to retrieve them at the end of the day and post them in the morning. He had not anticipated Georgiana bringing him back to Pemberley, to this party, or that he would meet Lady Catherine here.

'But I am tired of fighting you, Lady Catherine, tired of answering to you at every turn, for every aspect, for every reason and every choice…so here.' He held the papers out to her. 'I had my solicitor draw up the papers a few days ago. I've been holding onto them since, God knows why…I meant to post them. This is what you've been fighting me for; this is what you really want, so here it is. The deeds and ownership to this place are yours. Pemberley Theatre…is yours.'

Lady Catherine was in a suitable state of shock. She reached out cautiously, lest it should all turn out to be a cruel trick and he should snatch the papers away again. But it was not a trick; Darcy stood firm and relinquished it all readily. He turned to climb into the car, but not without a final word.

'I could pretend to be noble about it, and wish you all the luck with this place, but I can't and I won't. I can only hope Pemberley Theatre is as accursed for you as it has been for me. Goodbye, Lady Catherine. I hope you've finally got everything you wanted.' And with that he turned on his heel, seated himself resolutely in the car and drove off.

The much-delayed premiere of the film 'The Framed Rose' finally took place yesterday among a noticeably muted audience. There were no flashing light bulbs, no red carpet and no heavily made-up women in incredibly short dresses.

No, this unveiling was an entirely sombre affair, given the tragic circumstances surrounding one of its lead actors, Fitzwilliam Darcy. The premiere was notable merely for the lack of attendance; perhaps predictably, there was no Elizabeth Bennet, and Robert Fitzwilliam, Darcy's cousin, also stayed away. The only surprise appearance was that of the director of the film, Harry Kilton. He by no means looked well, appearing gaunt and tired; it seems his break up with long-term girlfriend Marcie Cross, as well as the strain of filming, has taken its toll on him.

Some have questioned the appropriateness of releasing the film so soon after the decisive verdict from the coroner. But at least the verdict has put to rest some ghosts, nearly a whole year after his death, only to reveal what most of us have suspected all along. The conspiracy theories, the tall tales, all must now be put away in favour of the verdict that it was, after all, suicide.

Given the witnesses' statements that the car had not slowed down, the lack of skid marks on the road, the position of the driver, his obvious lack of attempt at an escape indicated by the fact that he still wore his seatbelt, and his sister's own tearful admittance of Darcy's little-known battle with depression, the overwhelming evidence must and have led to the conclusion that Fitzwilliam Darcy did drive off that bridge deliberately; he did take his own life.

As for the film itself, it has taken a macabre, an almost urban-legend-like notoriety. That is a shame, for it has been declared by many a critic to be a masterpiece. The chemistry between the leads is alive, the costumes sumptuous and the story wholly engrossing.

But one feels the film will be seen for entirely different reasons, and by an entirely different audience: those wishing to catch the last glimpses of a magnificent actor and perhaps marvel at how the heartbreaking story of doomed lovers Celia and Rupert has come to mirror so completely the equally heartbreaking story of Fitzwilliam Darcy and the woman he by all accounts loved, Elizabeth Bennet.'

Years later, when Heidi Marchant took it upon herself to write the autobiography of the oft-lamented and dearly missed Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thought it best to update the stories of the main characters in his tragically short life.

Her work inevitably became a best seller; how sad that even after Darcy's death, his life or at least the contents of it were still at mercy of others. For Heidi took liberties; she had to, however impressed she may have been by him; she had, after all, met him only once.

She wrote in a style emotionally draining for the reader, straining every incident and maximising the anxiety. Regarding his death, 'It is rather cruelly ironic that at the very point Georgiana Darcy and others were working to save his career, Darcy was ending his life, plunging into the cold darkness, and finally embracing the demons that had for so long haunted his every waking hour…'

Heidi's updates included paragraphs on Collins, Wickham, Georgiana and Lady Catherine. The only other person she included at any length was Lizzy.

Of Mr Collins she stated that it turned out he was not too broken-hearted by Lizzy's breaking off their engagement. Within a few months he was engaged again, this time to the daughter of the manager of the hotel where he had stayed, Lucas Lodge. His new fiancée, Charlotte Lucas, was said to be a well-meaning though simple girl and Collins found that suited him just fine. He was tired of clever, witty women; they gave him concussions and made his nose bleed.

As for Wickham, it comforted many a reader to know that he got perhaps exactly what he deserved. Heidi revealed that if one travelled to the small town of Aldhulme, in the northeast of Manchester, and took pains to eat at one of the fast food restaurants there, one may be, should we say, lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the roguish George Wickham. His ill-gotten gains had not served him well; the money was soon gone. But look closely enough, peer with an intense scrutiny at the man dressed in the giant chicken suit outside the restaurant and you may perhaps recognise the eyes staring back at you. And yes, it is our much hated snake, Wickham.

Poor Georgiana; in the year she realised her whole family dynamic was nothing more than a lie, she had to deal with the death of a brother she loved as dearly as life itself. She came to rely heavily on her cousin, Robert Fitzwilliam. They married, but it was by no means the healthiest of unions considering Georgiana's utter emotional dependence on her husband.

Lady Catherine had at last what she had fought so bitterly with her nephew to obtain. But divine justice has a way of working its spell. She may have had a head for finances and all things monetary, but she had no passion for the theatre, and Pemberley soon suffered from the lack of soul Darcy had breathed into the place. Within a few years, she would be forced to sell up and declare herself bankrupt.

And Carmen Rosetta, well, what can life teach a Diva heartless enough to give up a child without a second thought, and suddenly make her reappearance purely for selfish gain? Apparently nothing; she went on to have an illustrious career, charming and bewitching the multitude of admirers with her heavenly voice as she went.

Elizabeth Bennet never acted, nor did she ever fall in love again. She chose to devote the rest of her life abroad, on rebuilding projects around the world helping people affected by war and strife. A noble undertaking but with an ignoble incentive, as Lizzy became living testament to the belief that the way to overcome heartache of ones own problems is to surround yourself with people who have bigger ones.

The latter half of Heidi's book was devoted to the short-lived love affair between Darcy and Lizzy. To her credit, she wrote with a tenderness that showed even she was capable of emotion.

Before taking his final tragic, decisive steps Darcy had apparently written a lengthy letter to Lizzy, and it was after much petitioning and begging that Heidi finally got Lizzy to allow her to quote some paragraphs of it in her book. It is fitting then that she concluded the autobiography in Darcy's own tender words to the woman he loved.

I never realised how true it was, that you can know someone for all your life and never truly know them. Or in our case, film with them a year and never truly know them. We made love on screen, Lizzy, and yet we never knew each other, not really.

But I have since realised it doesn't take a year or even a lifetime, it takes a moment. A moment of true intimacy, of knowing and loving so completely that even if it lasts for mere seconds, it is a feeling, an attachment that will suffice for a lifetime.

I have known such a moment, and it was with you, in a kiss in the corridor of a hotel, outside your room, where I told you that my feelings for you would never change...and they never will.

I want to thank you, Elizabeth Bennet, for making me one of those rare, fortunate human beings on this earth that has known and shared sentiment which will last forever, a lifetime.

'Nobody does the right thing…'

Whether you choose to condemn Darcy for his cowardice or commend him for finally having the courage to let it all go, the above missive is perhaps a lesson of life. And perhaps the reason why nearly all the characters in this story deserve to be miserable.

Though I offer my apologies for killing off one of the most beloved men of 19th Century literature, men like Darcy with a soul as generous and a heart as feeling, never truly belong to this world of constant demands and disappointments.

Now, as this author's note threatens to be as long as the story itself, it only leaves for me to add my profuse thanks to my beta for this story Sandy Williams, whose hard work has been as unstinting as it is beyond thanks.

And a final word of thanks to those who have taken the time to follow the story, I hope you're not too disappointed.

Lots of love as always, Claire Hart.