AN: So I was not expecting the type of support and interest in this fic that I've received. Not gonna lie, I'm lowkey anxious about living up to everyone's expectations. I'll do my best though :) Who knew the P&P fandom was so active!
This story generally follows the events of Pride & Prejudice, but with some changes necessitated by the premise of soulmate/enemy tattoos. Starting with some Darcy and will probably start off with Elizabeth next update. I think I originally said something about 3 or 4 chapters. I should probably mention that I am notoriously bad at knowing how long a story will be... I always tend to *under* estimate the length. That being said, I am amending my chapter count to eight (based on current outline).
Just as an FYI, I'm working on three *other* WIPs and I rotate through them (I find it helps avoid writer's block if I have options on what to work on). So if you're concerned about lack of updates, it's not because I've forgotten about this story or don't intend to complete it. It's just that it's one of several projects I'm working on. My hope is to update every other week (schedule permitting of course).
Despite the initial thrill of his sixteenth birthday, Darcy actually spends little time thinking about the names on his wrists. They are very much there, but at this juncture of his life he has no interest in a wife. And honestly, the idea of George Wickham being his enemy is just laughable. While the strength of their friendship has waned over the past few years, it's hardly enough to be thought of as a "great rivalry."
So no, he spends his times focusing on his studies at Cambridge. He's just so comfortable in the knowledge of his family's name, his wealth, the fact that he does have a soulmate guaranteed to him. Perhaps he takes it a bit for granted, that everything will fall into place.
Which, of course, it does.
The semblance of distaste for each other truly appears when Darcy's father dies. Wickham does not want to go into the church, which is hardly a surprise to anyone who knows him, and requests the amount of the living. It disappoints Darcy a little to see a wish of his father's be unfulfilled.
When time passes and George Wickham is once again brought before him, requesting (quite frankly, demanding it in the self-assured way of someone used to getting what they want) more money, Darcy's annoyance with the man grows. He denies the request, but is civil as he can be in memory of his late father. Wickham is less so.
At least, he thinks, this is somewhat more reasonable of a disagreement. A childhood friend, an argument, and the promise to never see each other again. Almost a proper rivalry, though not quite.
He forgets about it altogether. Learning to manage his estate and tending to Georgiana take much of his time. It's an exhausting transition from eldest son to master of a household, but he thinks he does a good job of taking it in stride. Finally, months later, he finally feels that he has a handle on his life again. Smiling, he writes to a good friend of him looking for some sort of diversion.
The Bingleys are a unique bunch. Darcy very much enjoys the company of Charles. He's just such a decent man, friendly and engaging in ways that Darcy doesn't quite have it in him to be. His sisters are perhaps not as overtly warm, but they are intelligent, charming women.
He hasn't known Charles more than a few months when the man declares them to be best friends and then proceeds to unburden himself of any secret he ever possessed. Everything from the time he ruined his best shoes and blamed it on his nanny to when he pushed Caroline into a pond when he was seven. And in the same breath that he laughs about a writing assignment he neglected to do as a boy, he goes on about the name etched on his left wrist.
Darcy feels like he's choking, his cravat strangling him as he tries to regain his composure. "I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't her handwriting just beautiful?" His sleeve pulled up to reveal the gentle handwriting of one Jane Bennet. If Darcy's heart had skipped a beat at the impropriety of Bingley showing him the name, it nearly stops when he recognizes the surname. Hopefully his friend will assume his flustered expression is just at his surprise at the situation in general and not the specific name.
For the next hour, he listens to Charles prattle on about his darling Jane. It takes Darcy a good half hour to realize he hasn't even met the girl yet. But is still madly in love with her. He's not sure if that's terribly romantic or terribly naive. Either way, he finds it strangely endearing.
(There's also something disappointing in realizing Charles' connection to the Bennents in as tenuous as his own. He had allowed himself to hope, just for a moment, that he was on the precipice of meeting the still unknown Elizabeth Bennet.)
Since Bingley seems perfectly comfortable talking about the name of his soulmate, Darcy can't help but be curious about his rival. So he asks. But Charles just shrugs, handing over his right hand. In a recognizable, almost sloppy hand is the name Charles Bingley.
Of course it is. Even after their very first meeting, Darcy had been sure Charles Bingley was the most genial man of his entire acquaintance. He's probably never gotten in an argument in his life, never said or heard a cross word. Any one who could possible hate or even dislike Bingley isn't someone Darcy wants to associate himself with.
So no, there is no great rival standing in the way of Bingley's happiness. He as at the mercy of his own capriciousness.
Bingley looks slightly abashed as he covers his own name back up. "At least I can learn from my mistakes and stop getting in my own way," he laughs.
He still neglects his studies. And doesn't take proper care of his finances. And until he meets the mysterious Jane Bennet, he's more than happy to fall in love with any pretty lady he meets.
Charles loves too easily and not too deeply, making him popular among most circles. Strangely, though, the only heart that gets broken in these casual romances is his own. The girls each, one by one, get bored or upset about not being his true soulmate or perhaps even meet their own. They leave, and though he should know someone better is waiting for him out there, he's devastated at each new loss.
Honestly Darcy can't understand it, even years later. With the introduction of each new lady, he merely smiles politely and makes a wager with himself on how long it will last.
What makes the Bingleys interesting is that Charles, so open about almost everything and in love with the whole world, is the complete opposite of his sisters. They are the type to *not* carelessly show off their wrists to anyone, bosom friend or not (he suspects that they haven't even shared them with each other). And as friendly as Charles is, his sisters are not so much cold as distanced. They're not easily moved by those around them.
Darcy respects that about them, he supposes. While not as much fun and certainly not as readily able to make him laugh, they share his sense of morals and propriety in a way their brother does not.
There are times, over the years of their mutual friendship, that Darcy thinks Caroline might believe herself enamored with him. She dotes on Georgiana, pays them both every compliment, and goes out of her way to engage him in conversation. Once or twice he catches her changing her opinion to match his own. It's flattering, he supposes. Futile, but certainly flattering.
Many times, out of boredom, Darcy makes speculations about the names that are hidden on people's wrists. When Louisa marries Mr. Hurst, he is quite sure neither of them have the other's name written on them. He rather suspects that the same words are written on both of Mr. Hurst's wrists - booze and cards, his two great loves and enemies. Louisa doesn't seem one to fall in love, nor is she the type to be foolish enough to make an enemy. If he were to bet money on it, he suspects that she is a rare example of someone who has no names.
Caroline, however, is certainly the type who could rile people up. Darcy is sure she has at least one name, some great rival who doesn't take kindly to her coldness or approve of her airs. The type of man she might fall in love with, well, that is the real mystery.
Until one evening, he catches sight of something he wishes he hadn't. They're playing cards, and she moves to pass the deck to Mr. Hurst. The bracelet she's wearing are not quite tight enough and slip just so. It couldn't have been clearer if it had been orchestrated. Because the way the bracelet dips and the angle of her arm make it easy enough to catch Darcy's eye. And just part of a name.
He's damn near uncivil the rest of the evening. After another half hour, he excuses himself because he feels like he's going to bite off someone's head if they so much as look at him the wrong way.
Pacing in his room, he eventually manages to calm down a little.
Clear as day, he had seen part of the name. But it had been more than enough.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
It felt like he'd been dipped in an ice bath when he'd seen it. Not because his name is on the wrist of some woman who is not the Elizabeth Bennet he's looking for. No, it is so much worse than that.
Darcy has a lot of property to manage, a lot of business to conduct, a lot of letters to write. Which means he signs his own name quite often. He is intimately aware of what his signature looks like and in all of its different incarnations, be it neatly penned or hastily scrawled.
And what little he saw on the slender wrist of Miss Bingley looked not a damn bit like it.
