Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long! I might have agonized over it, just a bit. It kinda took on a life of its own - I hope you like it! (crosses fingers) Many thanks to all of you for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed - your encouragement means the world to me!
Beta'd by lastincurableromantic, who properly rocks.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. There will be some familiar dialogue that just demanded that to be left alone, so I did. All credit goes to the incomparable Jane Austen, the lovely screen adaptations of P&P, and the writers of Doctor Who.
On edge. Stir crazy. Jumpy.
Restless - the state of being unable to rest or relax as a result of anxiety or boredom. Yep, that was was it. John Smith was restless. He could feel the nervous energy surging through his limbs, aching to be on the move again. Yet he kept delaying their departure, pushing it back for a day, a few days, another week. He was driving himself mad.
He pulled at his hair in agitation, adding to its already wild appearance. Why was he doing this to himself? Oh, he knew, of course. But the internal battle he'd been waging for months was now escalating beyond his control. He was so close to admitting defeat. He had fought valiantly, summoning every reason and defense to his side, yet in the end they all fell at the feet of one Rose Tyler.
In trying to maintain his sanity during this self-imposed imprisonment, he would take sweeping walks about the grounds, attempting to sort through the confusion in his usually brilliant and logical mind. Twice he had encountered Miss Tyler during these ramblings, quite innocently. Afterwards, though he hardly admitted it to himself, he had intentionally gravitated towards her 'preferred' paths, seeking out chances to be alone with her. She seemed to covet the same freedom he sought, relishing the open air and the lack of an audience. Twice he had caught sight of her racing like a wild thing across the lawn, her golden hair shining in the sun, and watched until she disappeared from sight.
Groaning at the familiar bent of his thoughts, he made a hasty excuse to his aunt and cousin before stalking outdoors. He had to find a way to fight this before it consumed him. The gap between her life and his just could not be bridged; they might as well be from different planets. A union like this would draw censure upon both him and his sister. He just couldn't. There were expectations and responsibilities for men like John Smith. He was the picture of propriety and dignity, a gentleman and a scholar, well, a proper genius, really. Now if he could just pull himself together and muster some self-control...
So lost in thought was he that he almost walked right over the subject of his musings. "Oh! Pardon me, Miss Tyler. I was a... a bit distracted." Her lovely face was aglow from her walk in the fresh morning air. He allowed himself a moment to admire it, long enough to register the surprise and amusement there before he forced his gaze away.
" 'S quite alright, Mr. Smith." He could hear the slight confusion in her voice when he continued to avert his gaze. As always, he fought between the urge to simply walk away from her, an acceptable if slightly rude option and surely the wiser choice considering his quandary, and the temptation to steal just a few more minutes with this brilliant woman.
"May I walk with you back to the parsonage?" So much for self-control, he thought. His reaction to her was instinctual, almost involuntary. Darting his eyes down to hers, he offered her his elbow, his arm tingling where her small warm hand curled around it.
Trying to maintain an appearance of calm, he remained silent, eyes straight ahead. He could not keep doing this, encouraging her and himself to entertain hopes for anything further between them.
Though they usually said little during these not-so-random encounters, he would always break as they drew close to their destination, unable to resist the chance to discover just a little more about her. Today, however, despite his slip, he was determined to remain polite but detached. So, naturally, she spoke first.
"I don't know how you manage in a house as large as Rosings. The other day I got turned about just leaving the library. I only found my way back because Thomas helped me."
Allowing his eyes to find hers again, he sighed in relief at the privilege. "And Thomas is...?"
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "One of your aunt's servants? 'Bout my father's age, I guess, grey hair, funny in a quiet sort of way?"
Of course Rose Tyler would befriend the servants. He knew those at his own house quite well, but had hardly spared a thought for the ones here, so accustomed to this life as he was. He tried to keep his wonder at her hidden, even as he felt another wall within himself crumble. "Of course. Perhaps you will come to know the house better when you are welcomed there as a guest rather than just a visitor." Wait... what? He winced. He had been concentrating so hard on maintaining his composure that he had given voice to one of the most secret, forbidden hopes of his heart: that one day she would visit Rosings with him, as his...
Stop it. He closed his eyes and forcefully halted that train of thought.
When he opened them again, he noticed Rose's bewilderment, even as a blush spread over her cheeks. How could he recover from that slip?
He escorted her the rest of the way in silence. He had to get away from her, for both their sakes. The impulse to run far and fast grew in proportion to the hold she had on his heart.
Once inside the sanctuary of the Collins' home, Rose exhaled loudly, trying to expel the frustration of the last half hour. She had grown accustomed to Mr. Smith's rather perplexing visits. However, while their frequency might indicate an attachment of some sort, his quiet, brooding behavior implied quite the opposite. But his comment today had flummoxed her. She could only suppose that he meant the possible union of herself and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and while there were much less agreeable men she could imagine a future with, she had never truly considered that possibility. Robert had become quite a dear friend, but now she was left to wonder if perhaps he felt more for her than he had shown and had intimated this to Mr. Smith. She shook her head. It was all nonsense, and she determinedly put it from her mind.
The following morning she spent in the gardens with Martha, Mickey, and Tish. She and Tish were helping with the weeding while the other two pruned and planted. Rose watched the couple fondly, noting the comfortable and efficient way they had as they worked. As the sun moved overhead they all retreated indoors to talk and relax, enjoying the weariness brought on by honest hard work.
By mid afternoon Rose decided to venture out of doors again, despite the distant threat of rain, taking with her Donna's most recent letter. She could feel the sadness hiding behind her sister's words and was saved from tears only by reflecting that in a couple of weeks' time they would be together again. Having wandered almost onto Lady Yvonne's land in her distraction, she was startled to look up and see someone there, and that it was not Mr. Smith this time, but his cousin.
Rose quickly tucked her letter away, along with her gloomy mood. "I don't usually see you out here," she greeted him, smiling. Her cheeks grew slightly pink as she remembered her musings from the day before.
His open, friendly smile soon put her at ease, however; they were friends, nothing more, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, we are leaving on Saturday, and I always like to make a tour of the grounds before I go. Were you going farther?" he asked, motioning behind him.
"No, actually, I was just about to head back," Rose replied, falling into step beside him. "You are definitely leaving, then? It seems your plans are a bit changeable. I've heard you had meant to leave at least twice already."
Robert laughed, raising his hands in protest. "Mr. Smith is the cause of our delay, not I. Not that I mind. He is the leader of our little party."
"He does seem like a man used to being in charge and having his own way."
"Very much so, though that stems from his wealth and position as much as his character. As a younger son, I am not used to such freedoms."
Rose scoffed a little at that, sending him a sideways glance that said as much. "The second son of an earl, sir, still has much more freedom than many could ever dream of. As a man of wealth, you are still free to buy whatever you like and go wherever you want. Am I correct?"
He knew Rose well enough by now that her bold pronouncement shocked him only slightly, leaving mostly amusement in its wake. "I am properly chastened, dear lady. It is true; I have never felt that degree of dependence. Though I am expected to marry well."
"A hardship, indeed," Rose intoned, her eyes mischievous. "Since your cousin seems to require a companion, I'm surprised he hasn't married yet, just for the sake of convenience."
"Yes, well," he stuttered, a hesitancy in his manner that she'd yet to see in him, "his aunt has made known to me the understanding she had with his mother. And I feel I can trust you to answer honestly, Miss Tyler... have you seen any evidence of affection between my cousin and Isob-... Miss Hartman?"
Rose had to fight back the smile that threatened to overtake her face. So she hadn't imagined the affection she'd seen him show for Isobel! And if her suspicions were correct, the feeling was quite mutual. "Nope. None at all," she declared, unable to hide the delight dancing in her eyes.
His answering smile was embarrassed but undeniably pleased. "Well, good then," he replied, clearing his throat self-consciously and changing the subject. "As far as Mr. Smith is concerned, he does enjoy company while traveling, usually either his sister or a friend."
"His sister... he is her sole guardian?"
"Actually, he and I share that duty."
"Really? Hmm. The two of you caring for a teenage girl? Does she give you much trouble?" she asked teasingly, thinking of Lynda and Lucy. She was more than a bit curious about Miss Smith. However, whatever else she thought of him, it was always quite obvious that Mr. Smith cared for his sister.
Therefore she was surprised by the look of alarm that momentarily crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam's face, which he quickly disguised as interest. "Why would you say that?"
"I have four sisters, Colonel. I know how much trouble we can be," she declared laughingly, trying to put him at ease, "and I wondered if she might have some of her brother's willfulness. But I have heard lovely things about her from Miss Harkness and Mrs. O'Brien. I believe you know their brother, Mr. Jack Harkness, who is a dear friend of Mr. Smith's?"
"I have met him. He is very friendly and spirited, and my cousin treats almost like a younger brother. I believe," he said, lowering his voice confidentially, "that he congratulates himself on having recently rescued him from a rather imprudent marriage. While he did not tell me much at all, nothing specific, I could easily see Mr. Harkness getting himself into such a scrape."
Rose felt a fire course through her veins and looked away, not trusting herself to meet his eyes in that moment. "Did he say why he felt he had to interfere?" she asked, her voice strained.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his puzzled look but pretended not to. "I believe there were some strong objections to the lady."
Biting her lip, Rose fell silent. She was almost shaking trying to hold back the hurt and anger tearing through her. Objections?! She had suspected Mr. Smith's involvement, but to discover that he had orchestrated the separation, that he took pride in it, was almost too much. To think that she had begun to soften towards that man! All of her initial dislike of him flooded back. His arrogance, his contempt, his unkindness to Mr. Saxon all paled next to the suffering he'd caused Donna. Surprised by the metallic taste in her mouth, she quickly released her injured lip.
"Are you alright?" Robert asked, concerned.
Rose took a deep breath, reminding herself that the man beside her was unaware of the import of his story. " 'Course. I just wonder a bit at Mr. Smith's presumption. What right did he have to meddle with his friend's choice if he was happy?" she exclaimed, passion creeping into her words despite her best efforts. "But, like you said, we don't know everything. Perhaps there was not much affection there to begin with."
Colonel Fitzwilliam's smile returned. "Maybe, though that would lessen my cousin's triumph somewhat, wouldn't it?"
Rose did not reply, could not reply to that. The Colonel sensed her unease and changed the subject. As the parsonage came into sight, he viewed the darkening skies with apprehension. "I'm afraid I must go if I'm to avoid getting caught in the storm." A hint of worry in his kind eyes, he continued, "Will you be alright, Miss Tyler? You look a bit pale. Would you like me to walk with you the rest of the way?"
Rose attempted a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, thank you. I do feel a bit off. Nothing a spot of rest can't fix." In truth her head was throbbing, probably as a result of her agitated state, but a kip was out of the question. She needed to get away. As much as she loved her friends, she did not feel like talking to anyone right now. Thankfully, Colonel Fitzwilliam accepted her answer and departed, taking the shortest route across the lawn to Rosings.
Turning abruptly, Rose fled towards her hiding place, heedless of whether she might be seen. She ran headlong into the wind, welcoming the grey clouds that raced towards her. Moments later the skies opened up with a vengeance, echoing the turbulence in her soul. By the time she reached the refuge of the gazebo she was soaked through, damp blonde curls sticking to her face and neck, her pink frock clinging to her skin. She leaned against one of its sides, trying to catch her breath and gain control of the emotions coursing through her.
A slight movement at the entrance made her whip around, gasping at the sight before her. There, his dark eyes stormy and wet hair falling down over his forehead, stood John Smith. Even in her anger she could not deny that he was gorgeous, though that thought only made her angry with herself as well. Before she could speak however, the dam broke. "Miss Tyler!? What on earth do you think you doing out here?" he demanded sharply.
Rose was stunned for a moment. How dare he? Why was he here, anyway? He was most certainly the very last person she wanted to see right now, and yet here he stood, scolding her as if she was a child. Her fingers tingled, seized by an odd compulsion to fly, and only by sheer force of will did she manage to keep them by her side.
Whether he saw the warning in her eyes or his conscience reprimanded him she didn't know, but almost immediately his demeanor softened, his eyes still dark and intense. He ran a hand through his hair, showering them both with tiny drops as he backtracked. "I'm sorry, Miss Tyler. Please forgive me. Robert said you were unwell, and I was... worried. Are you alright?" he asked, glancing over her with genuine concern, his eyes lingering on her form a bit longer than was necessary.
"I'm fine, thanks," she replied shortly. Beneath the swirling, consuming anger, she recognized and was touched by his solicitude. He had followed her into a thunderstorm, and rather hastily, too. All because he was worried about her health? She could never quite suss this man out, and at the moment, considering this most recent revelation, she felt little inclination to. She folded her arms across her chest, glaring up at him as the storm raged outside.
He stared out at the rain for a minute, making no move to approach her, engaged in some internal struggle. He closed his eyes a moment and exhaled before turning to look at her again.
The passion Rose saw there caught her by surprise. "I can't fight this any more. Believe me, I have tried, but I can't. I won't." He paused, his eyes catching hers, their brown depths filled with fervent supplication. "I love you, Rose Tyler. Most ardently."
Oh.
Rose was speechless. All the emotions she'd been wrestling with, the anger and hurt and indignation, refused to be reconciled with the picture before her. With the soft, reverent words that sent shivers down her spine. She blushed and stared as time slowed around her, her lips trying to form words that weren't there.
Taking courage from her silence, he continued. "I've been struggling for so long, holding myself back, but it's no use. I have fought against my better judgment, the expectations of society, my duty to my family, the impropriety shown by your own, the inferiority of your birth... But I am willing to ignore all these. Only please end my suffering, Miss Tyler, and do me the honor of accepting my hand."
Exhaling sharply, Rose sought to hold her simmering anger at bay. His hurtful words had woken her from the strange spell she'd fallen under. Even so, the fact that she had roused such powerful feelings in this man thrilled her. And much as she might like to, she could not deny the pull he had on her, the magnetism that he had obviously felt as well. She had no desire to wound him further. "I am sorry to have hurt you. Believe me, it was unconsciously done."
He quickly discerned her answer for what it was, and a look of incredulity overtook his face. "You're rejecting me?"
Rose's eyes flashed, her compassion evaporating in the face of his arrogance. "I'm sure that the feelings which held you back for so long will help you overcome your disappointment."
Hurt and anger radiated from him. He paused before continuing, his voice tight yet controlled, "May I ask why, with hardly a hint of civility, I am thus repulsed?"
"And I could ask why, with such an obvious attempt to insult me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your better judgment!"
Flustered, he tried to interject. "No, I..."
She paid him no notice, however; her indignation and anger would no longer be checked. "If I was uncivil, is that not reason enough? But you know I have other reasons. Do you really think I would agree to marry the man who crushed the happiness of my dearest sister? 'Cause you did," she declared emphatically, tears stinging the back of her eyes. "They loved each other, and yet you tore them apart. You have made your friend appear fickle and unkind, and my sister seem foolish and pitiable. Do you deny it?"
He drew himself up proudly. "No, not at all. I did my best to separate them. I have been kinder to him than to myself."
His honesty, with that hint of vulnerability underneath, made her push farther, though her voice shook a little. "Why?"
"Aside from reasons similar to those I've already shared with you," he replied with surprising gentleness, "I had observed them closely, and believed her to be indifferent."
"Indifferent?! Why would... Donna is just shy!" Rose protested feelingly.
"Mr. Harkness agreed with me, believing that his feelings were indeed stronger than hers."
"Only because you suggested it!" she cried out. "Donna hardly shows her true feelings to me! And you, you just..." Rose looked down, trying to hold back the overwhelming sorrow she felt for her sister, and so missed the look of regret that passed over his face. Before he had fully recovered himself, her large brown eyes met his again, blazing despite the tears there. "And what about Mr. Saxon?"
A coldness filled his eyes equal to the fire in hers as he drew closer to her. His voice was frighteningly quiet when he spoke. "Mr. Saxon?"
"How do you excuse your treatment of him?" she asked heatedly, brave in the face of his cold fury.
He pinned her with his gaze, his chocolate eyes dark with an anger and jealousy that he made no attempt to hide. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns."
Rose laughed once without amusement. " 'Course I do. How can I not, after hearing of his misfortunes?"
"Oh, yes," he replied, his voice low and dangerous, "his misfortunes have been great indeed."
Shock warred with the outrage in her expression, her whole body tense with it. "You reduce him to a life of dependence and relative poverty, and yet you dare to speak of him with contempt!"
He loomed above her. "So this is your opinion of me?" he demanded, fury and passion and power rolling off of him in waves, rivaling the storm raging outside. "I am grateful to have such a thorough explanation. But perhaps these offenses might have been pardoned if your pride had not been hurt by my honest confession of my doubts. Could you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?"
Chin lifted proudly, her voice fierce and proud, Rose retorted, "You are mistaken, Mr. Smith, if you think your manner of declaration affected my answer. You have merely spared me the remorse I might have felt in refusing you, if you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. You showed yourself from the start to be pompous and proud, far too important to be bothered about the feelings of others. I knew from the start that you were the last man in the world I could ever marry."
Rose was trembling by the time she finished, eyes flashing and pulse racing, an avenging goddess. The anger and tension sparked between them, tangible and electric. Without warning the mood shifted slightly, charged with passion of a different sort, drawing them together without conscious thought until mere centimeters separated them.
The only sound was the rain falling steadily on the damp earth. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips and back again. Rose stood rooted to the spot, spellbound, face upturned and watching him, unable - or unwilling - to move.
A beat passed, and when his eyes met hers again, they were distant and filled with quiet remorse. Whatever madness had seized them had fled. His voice was soft, regret infused in every syllable. "Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time." With one last look, he turned and was gone.
The strength that had been holding Rose up faltered, her hands seeking the rail behind her to keep from falling. She stood there for she knew not how long, the tears trailing down her cheeks in silent accompaniment to the rain.