The storyline, new character development, new events, and new characters are my intellectual property. Copyright Glorioux

At Netherfield, Mr. Darcy is curious and, unwisely, reads a page of Lizzie's daybook. Reading it makes him so upset he wishes that walls could talk to learn more. Her written words produce a chain of unexpected life-changing events, but Lizzie might not like them.

The Daybook

-Setting the stage –

Curiosity

Some wish the walls could talk, but perhaps Lizzie's daybook was as close as one could get, at least for one person, who found out that curiosity leads to unexpected places and can forever change lives.

Elizabeth Bennet, Lizzie, carried her daybook when she went to Netherfield to care for Jane. It was inside her ample pockets wherever she went, along with two pencils, a small pot of ink, a quill, and blotting paper. She truly disliked being there because she despised the superior sisters and, particularly, the hateful Mr. Proud, an appropriate moniker for the hateful proud man.

She loved her thick daybook with an engraved leather cover decorated with silver inlays, and a small gold lock with a key. Her uncle gave it to her for her last birthday; unfortunately, she had misplaced the little lock key. No matter because nobody here would be interested in reading it. She sat alone in the library, readying to write, drawing little squiggles, flowers, flourishes, bugs, and whatnot with her pencil while she decided what to write about. Or she believed to be the only person in the library because she hadn't seen Mr. Darcy. The moment she entered the library, he slouched to avoid greeting her. Now, he sat semi-hidden on a couch, looking at her, hoping to go unseen.

Mr. Darcy thought her beautiful, maybe the prettiest he had ever seen but very provincial. He believed she lacked sophistication, and her clothes were not very good quality. Though she had good manners, she was most unsuitable; therefore, he had no idea why he was so attracted to her. Hmm, he could see she was deeply concentrated on writing whatever. Well, now he wished to know what she wrote about. Or perhaps not, considering what she usually wrote about him, he should not have been so curious. He should have remembered the old adage, 'Curiosity killed the cat.'

Elizabeth wished she could go home every second of every day; staying at Netherfield was sheer torture. She only stayed because her sister had been sick and begged her to stay with her. Lizzie dipped her quill in the ink her uncle had given her, tapped her finger on her lip, and her eyes lighted knowingly. She decided to write about one of her favorite subjects these days.

Looking at her face, Mr. Darcy was really interested in her thoughts. Though Miss Elizabeth was smiling in a manner he didn't quite like. Hopefully, she wasn't thinking about him because her expression didn't look too nice.

He was right because she was thinking of writing about him, precisely. He saw her dipping the quill and starting to write. Maybe she was drawing before, he decided. He was mesmerized with her, but he hadn't acknowledged it.

Lizzie wrote, Dear diary, I must say I couldn't have imagined, had I tried, that somebody could be as proud as Mr. Darcy. Sometimes, I think he must have swallowed a broom. He is so stiff, so proper, and so full of himself that I cannot bear looking at him. Though he is rather handsome, and he knows it, his looks add nothing to his hateful character. I often wonder if he stands in front of the mirror to practice his condescending and proud manner. Maybe I should curtsy and lower my head whenever I see him.

He thinks because he's rich, he is better than everyone else. Miss Bingley also thinks his money makes the gentleman. Not me, I don't think so, money or not, he is simply disagreeable and makes me ill. Now, Miss Bingley always dresses as if she were going out in London; her clothes are not sensible for living in the country. Never mind her preference for the most unbecoming orange, which clashes with her ginger hair. And let's not forget Miss Bingley's feathers, making her look like she belongs in the barnyard.

What a horrible pair they are; perhaps they are made for each other. I wish I didn't dislike him so much because my life is miserable just looking at him and Miss Bingley. I hate his condescending looks. He probably thinks I am a country maiden, perhaps a milk maiden. That was what the superior sisters called me, 'the milk maiden.' I heard them.

Lizzie stopped writing and giggled thinking of herself milking a cow. She drew a cow and a stick man with a sour expression, holding a broom and pointing a hand, then wrote M.P. under, adding, "maid, go and milk the cow for my tea." Then she drew a stick woman with feathers on her head and a beak. She chuckled, a little nasty, looking at it. "Oh dear, I am thirsty," she muttered and decided to go for a cup of tea. She stood up to go, leaving her open diary on the chair, reasoning the ink was wet and would only be gone for a few minutes.

While it was true that Mr. Darcy was very proper, he was awfully curious about what she was writing. Once, long ago, he used to be playful and loved mischief, but that was when he was a child. Of course, now he was an adult and a very rich man. Not many had as much as he did, and he had to behave according to his station, or so he believed. He was the proverbial moth attracted to the flame; so, he was about to fall into temptation and get burnt.

He justified himself thinking he just wanted to take a peek and would do it quickly. He had heard saying she was thirsty and seeing she had left the book open, he decided to walk by and read it as fast as possible. If she came back while he was reading, he would pretend he was getting a drink. Yes, that is a good idea since the liquor table is nearly next to her chair, he thought, stood up, walked quickly, and stood in front of her chair.

Mr. Darcy was able to read what she wrote since there were only a few sentences, but when he read them, he turned red like a beet. As soon as he heard her steps, he hurried to get a glass of brandy, thinking he needed a strong drink. So, he poured nearly half a glass of brandy, tempted to guzzle the entire bottle to calm his mounting anger.

When Lizzie walked into the room and saw him standing by the liquor table, she bit her lip and grimaced. No, nothing to worry about because he wouldn't want to read her humble daybook, she decided. After all, Mr. Darcy thought she was a worm, not worth his time or his presence. Hmm, Lizzie thought, I will add that clever thought. She snickered, set her tea, ate a bite of a biscuit in her pocket, had a sip of tea, and looked at him, stiff as always. He didn't even say hello or greet her; of course not, she was nobody. She shrugged, thinking nothing was new.

Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was fuming, thinking, what is she thinking about? I don't look like I swallowed a broom; no, she is wrong; he reasoned he just had a good posture. Regardless, it bothered him that she didn't like him. Mr. Darcy believed that every woman should like him and want his attention. Why? Just because he was used to women admiring his looks and his money. Though, it was obvious Miss Elizabeth Bennet didn't think much of him.

Now, he wanted to know what else she had written about him, wishing he could tell Miss Elizabeth how offended he was after reading her daybook. Goodness, my cravat is rather tight, he thought, trying to loosen the knot because he couldn't breathe, but it wasn't his cravat; instead, was his anger suffocating him. He swallowed a big gulp of brandy, maybe too much, trying to calm down.

When he walked by her chair, he was tongue-tied; though he wanted to say something, he couldn't. He sat in another chair to stare at her. He didn't care if she noticed; let her say something, he thought. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to read the rest of her daybook. He wished the walls could talk and tell him what else she said about him.

Caught

Later that day, when they all met for tea, Mr. Darcy was so upset he could barely eat, recalling her words. He kept looking at her whenever he thought no one was looking, not knowing how he should feel. Her penmanship was beautiful, and she knew how to draw, no question, and she looked fetching, very. How he wished she didn't. Now, he was a fly caught on her alluring web. But someone was looking, Mr. Hurst, who was observant and wondered why all the looks. He knew his friend Fitzwillam Darcy, or William to his friends never looked at anyone with so much interest. So, Reggie Hurst decided to keep an eye on William; it would provide good entertainment besides eating and drinking. With that in mind, he drank tea instead of brandy and kept an eye on William.

Mr. Darcy wanted to talk or write to Richard and ask him what he thought or maybe not. Richard often told him that his pride was going to be his doom. He might laugh and agree with Miss Elizabeth's poison pen. Perhaps he shouldn't have read the private daybook, but it was best knowing; he was conflicted.

He had heard little snicker at the library when she came back and wrote some more, probably about him. Miss Bingley was saying something, making him remember Miss Elizabeth's comments about Miss Bingley's attire, so he looked at her feathers and had to agree. The thought distracted him a little, making him smile, thinking Miss Bingley looked like she belonged in the barnyard. Miss Elizabeth had written a rather clever and insightful remark.

Miss Bingley asked coquettishly, "Mr. Darcy, do tell what is amusing you. I am sure it is entertaining."

He surprised Elizabeth with his comment, "Your feathers reminded me of Georgie. One day, when she was maybe five, she was imprudent and asked Lady Catherine, my aunt, if her feathers were rooster feathers, making the cousins laugh." He grinned, looking straight at Lizzie, who covered her mouth with a napkin to smile. Lizzie thought he looked handsome and mischievous when he smiled; she might not like him, but she wasn't blind.

Already a little high on the cups, Mr. Hurst guffawed, knowing the story was aimed at Caroline, angering her. Charles also grinned and said, "Caro, dear, I was going to comment when we live here, we should dress accordingly, even if you look fetching."

Miss Bingley pouted but wanted to please Mr. Darcy, "I can see why you smiled. We all have fond memories of our siblings."

Lizzie cleared her throat and sipped her tea, thinking how Miss Bingley would lower herself to please Mr. Proud, though his remark was jovial and clever. His comment reminded her of something, but she was not sure of what. Nevertheless, she acknowledged that Mr. Darcy looked much nicer when he smiled.

Mr. Darcy was somewhat vindicated, hoping Miss Elizabeth would realize he knew what she wrote, hoping for an apology; but he was wrong because there were no apologies forthcoming, Suddenly, he wanted to laugh out loud, remembering the clever depiction of Miss Bingley with chicken feathers on her head and a beak instead of lips. Then, he nearly choked, drinking his tea and trying to stop the laughter. Hurst saw William trying to control his laughter and laughed more, further angering Miss Bingley, who despised Mr. Hurst. Charles also grinned but didn't laugh, afraid of Caroline.

A Fated Walk

Since Mr. Darcy's desire to read the daybook didn't abate, he started following her, hoping for a chance to read the accursed diary. Since his puppy arrived from Pemberley that afternoon, it gave him an excuse to follow Lizzie when she walked. He stayed some steps behind her and had to admire her willowy figure and her agile and graceful manner; he noticed she wore short walking boots, which looked like boy's boots, quite fetching, he thought. However, he was yet to notice that he was allowing himself to admire and like her.

Lizzie was annoyed to see him walking behind her; after all, she was walking to escape him and Miss Bingley while Jane napped. Unfortunately for Mr. Darcy, the Bingley sisters had seen Mr. Darcy readied to walk and rushed behind him, "Mr. Darcy, please wait for us." Hearing Miss Bingley calling, he wanted to cuss, and rather than slowing down, pretending not to hear, he sped up considerably.

The superior sisters's attire was unsuitable for a stroll on a country path. Wearing dainty slippers with thin soles, they could feel every stone, tree root, and whatnot. Louisa whined, "Caro, I want to turn around. I feel every stone on the road, and my feet hurt. Let's go back. I am ruining my clothes."

Darcy heard them and agreed. Miss Elizabeth was also walking faster, hoping to avoid them, so she turned into a forest path, knowing the sisters could not walk on such ground. Mr. Darcy also sped up, wanting to catch up with her. Unfortunately, Elizabeth's daybook fell out of her spencer's shallow pocket.

In the meantime, Miss Bingley stepped onto a tree root, slipped, and fell flat on her bum. Since Mr. Darcy was too far ahead, he didn't see her falling. However, Elizabeth looked back and saw her, so she walked even faster, seeing a chance to get away. In her rush, she did not notice she had dropped her daybook.

When Mr. Darcy saw her daybook on the ground, he debated whether to keep it or give it to her. He knew he would be no better than George Wickham if he kept the book, but the temptation was great. In the end, his good discernment prevailed and walked faster. His small dog, a puppy, barked loudly, excited to be running.

"Miss Elizabeth, Miss Elizabeth, please stop, you dropped a book." Mr. Darcy called her aloud, half-hoping she wouldn't stop so he could open the book and peek. No, he wasn't perfect, and morbid curiosity was tempting him.

They were going near the stream, so Elizabeth could not hear him very well. When she heard something about a book, she immediately patted her pocket and found out the daybook wasn't there. She panicked a little, thinking about all she had written about Mr. Darcy in that book. She knew he would be irate if he had a chance to read what she wrote.

Meanwhile, Luisa helped her sister stand up and covered her mouth to drown a giggle, looking at her sister. Her half-skewed turban was missing a feather, and her fancy gown was muddy and ruined. She personally didn't like feathers on her head, but Caroline loved them.

Miss Bingley was very crossed and said, "I think Mr. Darcy is having an assignment with the country mouse. She's probably a trollop."

For once, Louisa had sound judgment, "Caro, you're being crazy. It seemed Miss Elizabeth didn't even want to see him or us. You better keep your mouth quiet; you might not like it, but she is a good lady." Louisa liked Elizabeth but would not dare to tell Caroline.

Caroline didn't listen; she was too upset and decided to do something about what she thought she had seen. After looking at Caroline muddy, wet, and angry, Mr. Hurst, who had been walking behind, had to lean against a tree to laugh. He wished that Louisa was a better person more often. He despised Caroline, a bad influence who was ruining his marriage.

Lizzie finally stopped running and waited for Mr. Darcy. His dog was quite friendly and went by her, hoping for a pet, which she obliged. "Miss Elizabeth, you dropped this. I think it's yours. It seems to be the book you were writing on at the library." Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow quizzically. Though he was dying to tell her he had read what she had penned about him at the library, with great effort he controlled his tongue before he said anything else.

At this, she blushed, thinking he might have read her book, but she doubted it. She thanked him graciously and wanted to say goodbye because it was inappropriate for them to walk alone inside the forest. When she was about to tell him, Mr. Hurst, who had followed Mr. Darcy through another path, stepped in front of them.

"Hello there; fancy finding you when I decided to go for a stroll; may I join you? I saw you from behind." He moved closer to Darcy and whispered, "Caroline fell. It was quite a funny scene. I will tell you later. I believe you're lucky to get to stroll with Miss Elizabeth. She is a beauty; lucky you that you can aspire to her."

Mr. Darcy had to agree with Mr. Hurst; Elizabeth looked beautiful with her rosy cheeks from the exercise. He had never seen a woman walking like her. He immediately imagined walking with her in Pemberley and greatly liked the idea. He wondered if she knew how to swim; he bet she did. Walking and then jumping and swimming in the lake; yes, he liked the idea very much. Both men offered their arms to Elizabeth, but Mr. Darcy was insistent, so Hurst winked at Darcy when she looked away for a second and moved to her other strolled for a short distance, and she showed them around. She was knowledgeable about the plants and trees growing around and also showed them a Roman ruin. Lizzie thought their company was pleasant enough, even though she didn't like holding his arm; but Mr Darcy didn't share her feelings. Instead, he liked her hand on his arm while they walked briskly, feeding his awoken fantasies.

When they returned to Netherfield, Lizzie stopped to see Jane, but on her way, she heard Caroline telling Charles she had seen Miss Elizabeth meeting Mr. Darcy in the forest. Lizzie was horrified, thinking such gossip would ruin her. Why could she be saying that? The woman was much worse than Lizzie had thought, she also lied.

I would like to hear your comments. Be well and thanks.