Chapter Six

The wedding between Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn and Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield Park was agreed to be one of the very best that Meryton had seen, and every lucky attendee took on a supercilious air about those who were not fortunate enough to be invited. There may have been too much lace, and certainly more food than could possibly be consumed by the number of guests, but no one who noticed saw fit to mention it. The service itself was brief and succinct, but nonetheless beautiful. Jane and her bridegroom could not have been happier to be married and everyone who saw them said so.

However, it was not the service or the food or even the bride or the groom that occupied the thoughts of a certain gentleman present. Nor was it the lace, save for that which adorned the dress of a particular lady, which held the attention of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He stood across the altar from her, watching her eyes glisten with unshed tears of joy and seeing how a serene smile lightened them further. She was a vision, even more graceful and bewitching than he recalled. Somehow, he had fooled himself into remembering her as rather average in beauty, and he dreaded to find out how he must have underrated her wit.

Elizabeth was incandescent. Her dearest sister was marrying for love, and after all that had happened recently, this felt like a balm to the soul. She watched the couple as the vows were spoken, tears of joy coming to her eyes as she smiled at the scene before her. Her eyes wandered from the blushing bride, as she bestowed a most becoming smile and love filled eyes on her almost husband, then to the bridegroom himself who looked to his 'angel' with doe eyes and a silly smile worn only by a man deeply in love. Her gaze then wandered to the right of Mr. Bingley, where a tall, broad shouldered and very handsome man stood. She examined his attire for a moment and could not help but notice the muscular form beneath the perfectly fitted jacket and long, delicately pressed trousers, or the neat press and precision tie of his cravat. She had to admit to herself that he was, if in no other way agreeable, at least an extremely handsome man. She blushed scarlet as she realised she was staring at him and admiring his muscular form. She searched for something else to think about but neither her mind nor her eyes would stray from the man before her. "He is," she thought, "also very well read, and highly intelligent, not in a pompous or over-educated way, but quick and rather witty." She conceded to herself.

He stood tall, his gaze never moving from her as the ceremony went on. He had watched her when she walked up the aisle behind her sister and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine she was walking up the aisle to him. He watched her take her place behind her sister as the service began and now he watched her as she was watching him. Her eyes wandered over his shoulders and chest, down the length of his arms and then over his legs and back up to his throat before she blushed a most becoming shade of pink. His breath caught as he considered what it could mean, that she was looking at him so and clearly blushing at whatever thoughts occupied her curious mind.

He had arrived only a week before the wedding, convinced that he had overcome his desire for Elizabeth Bennet. Then upon first seeing her, in the hall at Netherfield Park with her sister Jane, he had a surge of all the emotions he felt concerning her course through him like lightning before she looked at him, surprise evident in her expression followed by an embarrassed guilt for he knew not what. It was then that she extended her hand almost sheepishly for him to take as she greeted him, and he bowed over her hand, using inordinate amounts of effort not to press a kiss to the soft ivory skin. He straightened out and looked at her, expecting to see her turn swiftly and retreat from his side as she had done in their past greetings. Instead, she rose from her curtsey and looked at him and, catching her gaze, he saw there a look that he could not discern. It was almost embarrassment if he was not mistaken. But it lasted a mere moment before she lifted her chin, arched her brow and looked at him with her usual expression of daring defiance.

She watched him from across the altar, for he was tall and statuesque with a decidedly stately air about him. Her eyes wandered to his strong jaw and up to his firm angled lips, then she unknowingly raised her hand to her cheek as she felt herself blushing. What in the name of all things was she thinking? How had her thoughts lead her here? She was staring at Mr. Darcy, though she didn't even like the man, she certainly couldn't deny that he was very attractive, although that was hardly an excuse to stare at him the way she was. She chastised herself for doing so and felt determined to end the perusal. As she met his eyes after pulling her gaze away from his lips and up his face, she discovered that her study had been noticed by the subject himself, and she froze as their eyes locked.

His thoughts were returned to the present by the very subject that had been occupying them. Elizabeth had moved her hand up to her face, her finger tips gently resting on her delicate cheek bone. Then her eyes moved further up his face until their eyes met, causing him to catch his breath and freeze. They both stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, until Elizabeth, looking flustered, blinked quickly and turned her eyes back to the bride and groom. He felt the loss of her gaze and longed to be lost to the brilliance of her eyes again, their deep brown hue complimenting the rich mahogany waves and tresses about her face.

His thoughts were once again disrupted, but this time by the man beside him. Bingley had tuned to him, a hand extended as if waiting to be given something. Darcy looked at the hand before him, then back to his friends face and across to the priest, then to the bride, and found they had all turned their eyes on him. He felt, but dared not confirm, that so had the rest of the church. He looked over to Elizabeth and, with confusion on his face, his look begged her help. She smiled at his expense and then, raising her hands ever so slightly to draw his attention, she made a gesture with them to denote the placing of a ring on her finger. He started slightly and then presently withdrew the ring and handed it to Bingley, inclining his head slightly in apology. He turned to look back at Elizabeth, but she had already set her attention back on the happy couple.

~oOo~

As the wedding party made their way from the church and back to Longbourn, they passed through the crowds of well-wishers. Mrs. Bennet was reveling in the attention her daughter's betrothal received and exclaiming over the beauty of the ceremony, while she and Mr. Bennet sat in a carriage behind the newly weds, accompanied by the bridesmaid and groomsman. Mr. Bennet did not fail to note how often Mr. Darcy's gaze would rest upon his second and favourite daughter. The happy couple sat in an open top carriage and smiled at those they passed when they were not engrossed in each other's eyes. The rest of the party all walked behind the two carriages, excepting Miss Caroline Bingley and the Hursts, who insisted on waiting an extra fifteen minutes after the service to ensure they could take the Hurst's carriage back to Longbourn.

When the two carriages arrived at the house, Mrs. Bennet immediately rushed into the house and set to work. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley walked in behind her, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes whenever they could. Mr. Darcy had stepped down from the carriage after Mr. Bennet and waited beside it to hand down Elizabeth. It was, however, after Mr. Bennet handed down his wife, who made a swift exit, that he stretched his hand out to his daughter and helped her down. He looked up at Mr. Darcy, who wore a rather irked expression, and said, "Ah! Forgive me Mr. Darcy, force of habit. You see, it is usually my duty to take each of my daughters from the carriage. Well, well, never mind, I am sure you have plenty of opportunities to take the hands of many handsome young ladies in the future." He said, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

Darcy bristled, aware that his annoyance was visible. He nodded at Mr. Bennet and said nothing but, with his head still inclined, gestured with an outstretched arm that they should go to the house. Elizabeth was the first to walk and she wanted nothing more than to be out of the company of Mr. Darcy, for her thoughts at the church had thrown her senses into turmoil, and she knew not what to make of her musings. She was still embarrassed and a little upset that he knew of the scandal that had almost come upon her family, but, she found, she could no longer hate him. Dislike yes, but hate? No. She could not hate him any longer.

The wedding breakfast passed quickly and there was soon music and dancing, with Jane and her new husband leading the group. Mr. Darcy danced the first with Elizabeth, as was expected for the bridesmaid and groomsman, where they discussed a little of the wedding, both careful not to make eye contact. He then danced once with Mrs. Hurst, followed by Miss Bingley, whereupon everyone expected he would quit the amusement and retreat to stare out of a window. But, instead, he walked around the room and asked Elizabeth for her hand in the next set again. She looked surprised by his request as it was not called for, but she acquiesced nonetheless.

He led her to the line across from him and bowed as the music began, she curtseyed in return but her gaze did not leave him. She could not understand what he meant by dancing with her again, and she was growing increasingly embarrassed by his presence. Gone were her earlier thoughts from the church, all she could imagine now was him standing at the wedding with Wickham and Lydia as they proved just how right his impression of her family was. She imagined how he must have warned Bingley against the connection in the first place and then how smug he must have been to have his point proven so effectively. In fact, she imagined so effectively that she managed to completely misconstrue the look of pleasure he held in his eyes as they began to dance, and took it to be a mocking resentment mingled with pity.

"I believe, Mr. Darcy, that we may have used up all of our safe topics of conversation in the first dance. I fear we are now doomed to either repeat ourselves or talk of the weather."

"Do you consider then that there are unsafe topics of conversation to be had when dancing then, Miss Bennet?" he asked, smiling slightly at her teasing and the comfort it brought him.

She saw his lips turn up slightly and believed he was laughing at her expense. Of course he must take pleasure in this, ridiculing her after she had done the same to him during his stay in Hertfordshire, and this must be his revenge. "Well," she thought, "I will not let him away without his knowing just what I think of 'gentlemen' like himself." she told herself, then looking at him and arching her brow she said, "With you, Mr. Darcy, yes, I do."

"In that case, madam, may I enquire what topics I am to avoid?"

"No, I do not believe I shall make it so easy for you, sir." she said, looking straight ahead of her.

"Come now, Miss Bennet, we are friends are we not? We can..."

"Friends, you and I? I think not, sir, for you could not be expected to lower yourself so." she said, feigning shock.

He looked surprised by this and, in his confusion, he spoke unthinkingly. "I am fully aware of the vast difference in our stations, but it can be overlooked." he said, mildly aware that this was one of the unsafe topics she had warned him of.

Her face look somewhat triumphant and he knew why, his words had just proven her point. He could not have sounded more arrogant had he tried. "Is that how the upper classes invite people to their social events?" she teased. "Or is it simply a charitable custom reserved for your own use, Mr. Darcy?"

He still held some confusion over her deceptively playful tone, she seemed serious and angry but said everything with an unaffected air. "Would I be wrong in thinking that we are now moving into dangerous ground, Miss Bennet?" he questioned.

"Yes, you are right, I believe, perhaps we should begin more inane talk of lighter subjects in an attempt to will the time to pass quicker." She replied with a little lilt to her voice.

He chuckled slightly, a sound she had never heard from him, and it made her look back to him. "Well then," said he, "I am already aware of your disinclination to speak of books when dancing, so perhaps we should discuss something as equally substantial but of more current concern. The war in France, perhaps? Or the new 'turn of the century' farming methods?" He said jokingly.

So determined was she to hear derision in his voice that she did not discern the playful nature of his words and, deciding he was taunting her, abruptly snapped. "Because I am so particularly uncouth that I lack genteel, feminine conversation? Or do you wish to feed my impertinent curiosity in subjects which should not occupy a ladies mind?" she demanded.

"You quite mistake me, madam..." he began before she broke in.

"Yes, I believe you once stated that my failings include a defect to willfully misunderstand, though I believe you and I understand each other perfectly well, Mr. Darcy."

"Oh really?" he said, looking down into her eyes for the brief moment the dance brought them together. "I wager Miss Bennet that you understand very little, in fact, of my own thoughts and feelings." he said rather calmly. The dance brought him once again face to face with her and before he could stop himself he said, "Especially not where you are concerned." It was uttered with a husky tone and accompanied by such a caressing look that she was taken aback somewhat.

She moved away as the dance dictated and swallowed to regain composure. "Please, Sir, enlighten me, for I see not how I could misconstrue you so severely, especially when my summation is based upon your own decidedly expressed opinion." she retorted.

"My own opinion? What could you possibly know of my opinion of you? I have never expressed any such thoughts to yourself and certainly none to anyone which could warrant such disapprobation." he stated, beginning to lose his composure to a small degree.

She stopped for a moment in the line, then stepped forward to him and looked up, directly into his piercing black eyes and said in a quite and with a slight smirk, doe eyes and a breathy voice she uttered his very own words from all those months ago; "She is tolerable, but, not handsome enough to tempt me." She stopped, smirked and then continued the steps to the dance.

His mouth fell open slightly before he snapped it shut, his head spun for a moment as he considered the implications but found that his mouth had other ideas. "I did not... I had... I didn't mean for you to... I did not mean it. It was a poor excuse, I hadn't even looked at you, I simply wanted to be left alone." He stammered. "Please allow me to apologise, I assure you that my opinion is quite the opposite to..." he said but was interrupted.

"I do not ask for an apology, sir, I am simply making a point. You and I have, since the earliest days of our acquaintance, shared a mutual dislike of one another, and so there is no need to justify your thoughts to me. I am beneath you in your opinion, as is everyone you look upon in society such as this, and no doubt even some in higher society too." she said with mock solemnity.

He was shocked, shocked and angry. Did she truly believe he thought so of her? He could hardly deny that it had been his first impression and remained much unchanged concerning the people of Meryton, but did she really believe he disliked her? Did she truly dislike him? He was too angry at her accusation to really make sense of it all. "I have not that talent which some possess of conversing easily with strangers." he justified.

"That may be, sir, but you do have quite a talent for insulting them." said she.

"So this. This slight against your pretty face is what founded your dislike? Miss Bennet, I thought you far too sensible to be so prejudice with your judgment. And it is because I did not feed your vanity, as you are used to by groveling young men, I am sure, that you grew such a fixed opinion." he stated.

"Feed my Vanity? I say, sir, you have outdone yourself today. And no, your insult may have furnished my hatred of you further, but it was your inept manners that lay the groundwork of my opinion of you. Your unwillingness to associate with anyone and your clearly supercilious attitude toward us all was what it was built on." she said, her temper flaring.

"And you think this a good enough reason to hate anyone? Surely you cannot deny that you had your impression warped by OTHER influences?" he shot back, now angry at how openly she declared her feelings.

"I knew it." she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as she stopped the dance once again and stared at him. "You really are here to gloat, aren't you? You know all about my sister and Wickham and what Bingley did for them as well as for my family, and now you are here to remind me of how you warned me against that cad." she said with some surprise. No matter how much she hated him she had not really believed him capable of such a thing, she had still considered him a gentleman, after all. "I had not realised how conceited you truly were." she spoke directly at him.

The music stopped in a sound of fading strings, but, before she could walk away he was at her side and guiding her toward the door, grasping her arm with gentle urgency. Had she been a little calmer, she would have noted the profound effect that his touch had upon her. He led her from the room and into the wide hallway, where several people stood about the place yet none seemed aware to the presence of the pair, although they surely would if they began to argue again. Without consideration but with deft precision, Darcy turned toward a door at the far end of the hallway, bringing Elizabeth with him.

She was silent but as soon as they entered the empty room and she realised just how alone they were and she panicked. "What do you mean by this, sir?" She demanded. "Dragging me off into empty parlors, if we were found do you realise what it would mean for both of us, they'd think we were... we'd be forced to marry." she said, stepping toward him and lowering her voice.

"A fate too cruel for you to consider, I am sure." said he, throwing his arms up at the declaration. He looked directly into her eyes for a moment, they shone even brighter with the flash of anger she was directing at him, and he could not help himself from wondering if that shine would be the same in the throes of passion. He closed his eyes and exhaled a raspy breath before he straightened his back and made for the door. Elizabeth could not deny that the close proximity and privacy which they shared at present was not having an effect on her so it was with no small amount of relief that she watched him retreating. When he reached the door, however, he did something that made her heart race, her head spin, and the rest of her flare with anger.

Darcy reached the door and in one swift movement he turned to key in the lock, spun on his heel to face her and then walked back over to where she stood. "Fear not, madam, your reputation is not at risk, but I will be allowed to defend myself in what you accuse me of." he said with anger rising to the surface.

"Very well, sir, attempt what you will for it would be a miracle at least to be able to justify behavior such as yours." she fired.

He paused, looking at her, he furrowed his brow and crossed his hands behind his back. "I would first begin by apologising to you for the comment at the assembly all those months ago. It has been for some time now that I have held quite a different opinion." He spoke as he stepped towards her, his voice lower now.

"As I said earlier, sir, I do not seek an apology."

"Well, I shall give it nonetheless. And, now, if your dislike of me was not founded from this, then I see no other reason for you to think so very ill of me, madam, you do not give me any chance to prove my character to you."

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. You say I did not give you chance to prove yourself to me, but it was my impression of you that you would never deign to prove yourself to anyone. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners have impressed upon me the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. This is what gave me my opinion, sir. Did you think that it would go unnoticed, Mr. Darcy? That we would overlook your discrepancies because of your status and wealth?"

He was shocked. Shocked, grieved and outraged. "Did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority which was surrounded me? To revel in the manners, or rather lack thereof, of those who were so decidedly beneath me. It goes against everything I know." he spat.

"OUR lack of manners? Pray, tell me what it was that gave you such a decidedly ill opinion of us without even a spoken word to a single person?" she laughed, mirthlessly.

"It was," he began, "the total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even on occasion your father." he retorted. "You and your eldest sister I must exempt from censure, I can fault neither of you." he said the last with some softness in his voice as his hands fell to his side and he looked at her in earnest.

"You have insulted me quite enough." she said, tears forming. "I see no reason for us to continue in this vein. You have made perfectly clear your own opinion of my friends, my family and, thereby, of myself, and I need not assume anymore." She stepped around him toward the door but he reached out a hand and held her wrist.

Neither moved, they both stared down at his hand and her small wrist before they raised their eyes to each other, they stopped, inches apart and locked in an intense gaze. It was as if her feet were fixed to the ground where she stood and her eyes tied by an invisible line to his, he watched her so intently as he lowered his head slightly toward her. He stopped and, as if catching himself, suddenly inhaled sharply but did not pull back. Instead, his eyes moved slowly over her face, caressing her every feature with his appraising eye and he spoke in raspy tones as he said, "If you believe that," with his gaze moving from her lips to her own deep brown eyes, "then you know nothing of my opinion concerning you." He drew in a deep breath and released her wrist as he looked down at the floor. "Forgive me." Was all he said.

She looked at him for a moment and was confused by what she saw. He seemed... saddened, almost human for that short amount of time, as if he had developed emotions when they stepped into the privacy of that parlour together. She started at the realization that she was still standing, very close now, in a room alone with Mr. Darcy and all other thoughts escaped her. "I, I must go... they will be searching." She said, her voice more curt than she realised, and she moved quickly from his side. She unlocked the door and opened it but, before she left, she turned and stood in the doorframe, and looked over to the broad shoulders of the man before her, they were slouched and his head hung slightly, as if defeated and hurt. She opened her mouth to say she knew not what but did not have time to say or do anything else before her name was called and her mother exclaimed how long she had been searching for her.

~oOo~

That night Mr. Darcy retired early, for he was in no way prepared to sit through Caroline Bingley's inane commentary on the low quality of the wedding, and he had a severe headache, with Elizabeth's anger coursing through him like lightning. He trudged heavily to his room and dismissed his valet immediately as he already began to loose his cravat and discard his jacket across the room. He poured himself a glass of Brandy and sat in the large chair opposite the fire, staring blankly for some moments before thoughts rushed unbidden into his mind. He clenched his fist and slammed it into the arm of the chair. "I have every reason in the world to think ill of you," her voice echoed through his mind. He flung himself up from the chair and began to pace as her words began to flood his mind. "From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit..." He was angry, furious in fact, but then… he stopped pacing... had he been so awful? He had, he knew, done little to recommend himself to anyone when he arrived there, but why should he care if they felt shunned? They hardly deserved his condescension and he was in no temperament to give it. "Your selfish disdain for the feelings of others..." He fell back into the chair behind him and raked a hand through his hair. Was she right? Had he been so... Uncivil... No, that was too mild. He was rude, arrogant, and pretentious. She was right, why, she even knew of how offensive he could be, for she had heard his comment about her at the assembly! He closed his eyes and groaned at the realization and recollection of how she so eloquently repeated his own words with a coquettish grin.

Darcy sat in this manner for some time, exhausted, but pangs of pain and anxiety kept him awake. He was in deep dudgeon, he had irrevocably ruined whatever chance he had with Elizabeth. In his arrogance he had thought she had been enticing him for all those months when in actuality she hated him, even despised him! What a fool he was, he never deserved a woman like her, she was excellent. Another woman would have jumped at the opportunity to ensnare a man of his stature but not her... There it was again, that blasted arrogance! Did he really think like this at all times? He was certainly aware that his Aunt Catherine was disposed to that way of thinking but he thought he was better than that! What was it he'd said to her? "...I am fully aware of the vast difference in our stations but it can be overlooked." No wonder she was furious! "...the total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even occasionally your father." What right had he to point out her family's lack of manners? She was smart enough to know it herself, and suffer from it as she did, so why had he brought it up? To upset her? To hurt her? He was, in fact, intentionally hurting woman he loved... the woman he loved? "I do love her" he realised. And what an apt punishment it was, to realise it after he had unequivocally and irrevocably ruined any and all chance he had with her.

He sunk into the chair further and drained the contents of his glass. What an impression he had given, from his very first night in Hertfordshire society he had been haughty and uncivil. Yet he accused the Bennets of ill manners? "Ha!" he exclaimed. What sick joke was this, that he was only now able to see the irony of it all? What had become of him? He no longer remembered the last time he had not behaved exactly as he had that night at the assembly. No one had ever thought it anything other than pride, and his pride was under good regulation... He suddenly remembered the conversation he had with Elizabeth when she had stayed at Netherfield. He grimaced, how she must have laughed at him for such a statement!

He sat staring into the fire for he knew not how long. He remembered all of her reproaches and eventually could not find a defense for any as he began to realise the full extent of it. Then he tried to remember all of his own actions since arriving here at Netherfield, but the thought brought him further pain. He could not find a single act of kindness and his civilities were minimal... How had this happened? When had he become so... so... so austere, so unfeeling?

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat there for hours that night as he contemplated the events of his life that had lead him here. He remembered his parents and how they had raised him. They had loved him and each other dearly, they were devoted to one another... Mrs. Darcy never recovered after Georgiana, she was ill for months after giving birth and was barely allowed to see the newborn. She grew weaker each year and drew slowly away from society. When Fitzwilliam came home from school one summer, he was shocked to find his mother's health so changed over the months he had been gone. She was thin, pale and weak. His father was making himself ill with worry, and was having trouble keeping up with the estate as a result. It was then that Fitzwilliam Darcy had his first insight to the role that would one day be his; Master of Pemberly.

When he was not helping his father to manage the estate, he was with his mother or sister. He read to them both, talked to his mother about school and wrote her letters with her. He could see she would not be able to hold on very much longer, and it was almost more than he could bear, for he loved his mother dearly. She was so joyful and ebullient and it was clear to all that she was the light of his father's life. He knew not what he would have done if his father hadn't had him and his sister to worry about.

His mother passed away shortly after the end of that fateful summer, the autumn being much colder than usual and her weakened, frail body not able to withstand it. His father was heartbroken and would never be the same again.

It was therefore no surprise when he passed away only five years later, leaving an 11-year-old girl in the charge of Fitzwilliam Darcy when he himself was but three and twenty. In those few short years, it was said that old Mr. Darcy had become something quite different to the husband and father he was during his wife's life. He withdrew into himself, became taciturn and critical, he never smiled, never ventured into society, never even held his sweet young daughter who bore such a painfully strong resemblance to his late wife. The once young and joyful man contorted into a cold, withdrawn old man in the space of a handful of years. He had always held onto the hope that his wife, Anne, would be able to return to health, and he was unable to confront any other possibility. But since their last summer together, even his optimism had begun to fail him and as autumn crept in he lost any sliver of that hope he had left as he watched his dearest love slip away. It was a circulated fact that Mr. Darcy had died with his wife, and what was left was a stony shell of the man. He was still an excellent master and his honour and duty never failed, but it was all done without a heart. It was this image that Fitzwilliam emulated so well. He himself took the loss of his dear mother, and then father, very hard indeed and, in no small measure, the heart wrenching loss changed him into something akin to what his father had become in his degraded state.

It was this old Mr. Darcy, and not the father he once knew, who had given Fitzwilliam Darcy his final lessons for life. This was the man Fitzwilliam would come to remember and hold as a paragon on which to base his own actions, it was this ill-natured doppelgänger who had taught his son good values and principles but left him to follow them in pride and conceit, taught him the value of being a loyal friend, man and master but never shown him what to value in anyone else. He had told him his duties were to his sister and to Pemberly and its staff and tenants. He instilled in him duty and honour but spoke nothing of love, when he mentioned marriage he simply said to choose well but could not bring himself to say anything more on the subject. Darcy had assumed that choosing well meant to find someone who would enhance the Darcy name, not himself, he had been expecting to someday find a woman of fortune and title who could elevate the name Darcy further. Of course, if that were truly all he wanted then he would have married his cousin Anne years ago.

He sat in silence for some time staring at the fire ahead of him, wondering where the young man he had been in his mother's life had gone. He hated the way his father had practically cut all affection toward Georgiana in his last years, but he was beginning to realise he was doing the very same. He loved his sister deeply but he barely showed her any affection anymore, he had become so withdrawn over these past... "Five years?" he asked himself. Had it really been five years ago that he lost his father? The pain felt so fresh, but the weight of the burdens that had fallen on him made it feel like it has been a century. He sat forward in the chair, dropping his head into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. Elizabeth was right about everything. He no longer recognized himself, it was like seeing his father after his mother's death, when he had been nothing more than a shadow of his former self and it was painful for all around him. Fitzwilliam could only imagine what pain he'd caused Georgiana through his negligence and his coldness, no wonder she'd run off with that cad last summer! He winced and, throwing himself back in the chair, he realised the consequences of it all, what he'd become and just how much it affected not only his own happiness but also that of all who relied on him.

"I never deserved her," he thought, "but I can at least remedy my own future behavior, take her reproofs and make amends where I can; be a better brother and friend and, yes, even a better master." He sat, contemplating his resolve, his intention fully serious. "...But I can never have her... There I have ruined what chance I had, if ever there was any." His thoughts were broken by a knock on the door, and his valet entered after being bid to do so and he was readied for bed. He thanked his valet sincerely after he completed his tasks and he knew from the fleeting look of surprise that crossed Turner's face just how true Elizabeth's reproofs had been. He hung his head and fell into bed. He would leave in the morning.