Author's Notes

I'm kind of amused that not a single person commented on the "other two charges" in the last chapter.

Past All Hope

He felt numb, but then, it made sense that he would feel nothing. There was nothing for him without her.

How could he have been so wrong? So utterly unguarded with his own feelings and blind enough to deceive himself in hers?

Darcy made a sound he had meant to be a derisive laugh, but it came out so choked, it was more of a groan.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Colonel Fitzwilliam cast him a plainly anxious look from astride his great gray mare. He knew very well he was scaring his cousin with his behavior, but it could not matter to him.

Nothing mattered except that she had refused him. It was the only thought in his head, her words echoing louder and louder, mocking him.

How could she hate him when he loved her so completely?

To his horror, his eyes filled with miserable tears. He turned briskly in his saddle, affecting to observe something in the distance so Richard would not see.

.*.

After giving Elizabeth his letter, Darcy was wild to be gone.

When he had finally come upon her in the grove, she looked a little pale, to be sure, but her loveliness aglow in the morning sunlight still made his breath catch in his throat. He had not slept, had barely had the presence of mind to tie his neckcloth and retrieve his hat before leaving the house just after dawn. Nothing of his appearance or manner betrayed any of this.

She had taken the letter from him without question, doubtless to be rid of him as soon as could be done. That was just as well; he did not think he could countenance hearing her repeat any of those sentiments said last night. His aching heart would surely stop beating in protest.

With a perfunctory bow, he bid her farewell and strode away. He could feel her eyes burning into him as he did, but forced himself not to turn back. It could do no good.

The moment he stepped foot inside the entrance hall of Rosings, he directed a servant to tell his valet to begin packing his belongings immediately and another to send for Colonel Fitzwilliam to meet him in the library. He was determined to be gone within the half-hour.

In the meanwhile, he attempted to distract himself with what meager collection of books that room had to offer, a hopeless cause. His mind was not settled enough for any useful employment.

Richard came in a very few minutes and sank into the chair across from him with a half-bemused smile quirking his lips. "What folly is this, Darcy? Are you well?"

"Quite," Darcy bit out his reply. Long sentences would not do. "I have business with my steward in town that can no longer be delayed."

His cousin did not look convinced.

"Surely you have spent more than enough of your leave here with Aunt Catherine to suffice for the time being?"

The colonel laughed. "I shall not contest you on that. Well, you know me, I am at your disposal." Relief flooded Darcy until he went on to say, "But would it not be better for us to wait at least until to-morrow and be off at first light? Half the day will be gone by the time everything is readied and we take our leave at the parsonage."

He looked up sharply. "The parsonage?"

"Yes. It would be abominably uncivil to go without paying a final visit."

"And since when have you been one to eschew incivility?" Darcy said rather more harshly than he had intended.

Richard visibly started. "What the devil has gotten into you, Darcy?" He cocked his head to one side and studied him more closely. Darcy forced his face to remain smooth and blank under his scrutiny. "Have you had some sort of misunderstanding with Miss Bennet?"

He could not help but break his pretense of composure at that. "What?"

"I spoke with her just before tea last evening. Bingley came up in our conversation and she seemed, ah, rather interested in the service you did him some months past. I thought perhaps she had mentioned it to you."

For a moment, Darcy could not speak. He wanted to be angry with Richard, for repeating something he had told him in confidence, for providing Elizabeth with yet another reason to despise him, but he could not bring himself to it. In detaching Bingley from Miss Bennet he still defended himself to have been in the right, but when he recollected in what terms he had related the story to his cousin, he felt no little shame. If Richard had painted the deed in that same light, it was no wonder she could not stand the sight of him.

More to evade giving an answer to his cousin's dreadfully accurate line of questioning than anything, Darcy found himself conceding to Richard's initial charge. "Let us go quickly then."

.*.

On their ride to the parsonage, for Darcy the perverse desire to see Elizabeth was overwhelming. Had she read his letter? Would she give credit to anything he had written over Wickham's silver-tongued lies? Did he dare hope her opinion of him might be softened?

Enough! What was it to him if any or all those things had happened? She had refused him. She was to be forgotten, and that would be the end of it.

His heart clamored in disapproval at the deceit of those thoughts.

However, there was only Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas at home when they arrived. The lady of the house informed the gentlemen that Mr Collins was just gone out to call on some of the parishioners, and her friend was away on her morning exercise.

Darcy offered the greetings required of him, but he left the remaining pleasantries entirely for Colonel Fitzwilliam to make. It was impossible for him to sit idly in this room of all places. She had sat in the very spot Mrs Collins did now when he came to see if she was ill. He had braced himself against that mantle-piece as she spurned his offer and declared him to be the last man in the world she could ever marry. It had been a severe blow to his pride, he could not deny that. And yet, he thought he would gladly endure a thousand more like it had not his heart also depended upon the matter, had she but given him a favorable reply.

As the others had their discourse, he stood fixed by the parlor window, agitated and in agony as he both hoped and despaired that Elizabeth would come at last. He could not bear it after less than a quarter of an hour. It was clear she had no wish to see him, and might even be deliberately staying away if she saw his horse tied to the gatepost outside.

He hastily made his excuses, gave his compliments to the ladies, and departed, not waiting for the servant to see him out.

.*.

By the time Richard returned, it was very nearly midday.

He hesitated before telling his cousin that while the clergyman had returned only a few moments ago—"bowing and scraping in his usual way for our condescension to think of them before we quitted Kent," he said with a roll of his eyes—Elizabeth had never come after all, and he had left regards for her from both of them with Mrs Collins.

A sudden disquiet gripped Darcy. What had become of her? Was she all right? Was anything being done to recover her? He shook his head to dismiss those contemplations. As much as it pained him, she was not his to look after, nor would she welcome any concern from that quarter.

Their aunt, of course, was less than pleased at their going if for no other reason than she had not been consulted in forming their plans, and moreover that her nephews would not be persuaded to remain another se'nnight. She made a remark to the effect that Darcy in particular should extend his stay if he was so unhappy to leave them, her eyes drifting to her daughter as she did.

Darcy repressed a grimace. At times, he believed his aunt to be every bit as ridiculous and ill-bred as Mrs Benn—no! He would not allow himself to consider anything in connection with that family. Or her.

A vague comment or two about estate business on his part was enough to appease Lady Catherine into silence, but Darcy noticed Anne watching him narrowly and exchanging glances with Richard all through the evening.

At daybreak, the two were off. They rode towards London furiously, taking Darcy's lead, but he was soon obligated to slow their pace so as not to fatigue the horses too quickly.

With nothing more strenuous than maintaining a gallop to occupy his thoughts, Darcy's mind dwelt on the only object it could, though he struggled mightily within himself to resist the urge.

…had he been arrogant in his proposal?

No, he resolved, no. I was perfectly right in telling her my misgivings. Her…her vanity….

He would never see her again; his traitorous heart was taking its vengeance on him at the very idea. To her he had written that they should both forget what had been said, but Darcy knew with absolute certainty he never could. He should have taken more care and now it was all too late.

She with all her beauty and intelligence and liveliness would fall in love and become the wife of another, become mother to another man's children, and he…he would live but half a life, for he could not stop loving her even now, yet she would never be his.

End Author's Notes

Red's Law: Something sweet in writing must then have something distressing to compensate.

Apparently.

I know Darcy seems kind of all over the place in this—he's numb, he's angry, he's unhappy—but I think his emotions would be in chaos after Elizabeth refuses him. What about the rest of you? Do you think it's convincing?