I have been trying to upload this for two days now! Fanfic is annoying sometimes. If you read on A03 as well, then you will see I did put this chapter up there earlier today since its easier to post there. Though I like the fans here a bit better. Though I like the kudos better there, tomata, tomato. Anyways here is chapter 5...


Chapter 5 The Folly of Repetition

A dog's bark pierced the silence first, sharp and distant, like an echo from a place he could not name. Then came the low groan of wind rattling the windowpane, accompanied by the faintest chill seeping through the cracks. The sounds swirled together, tugging at the edges of Darcy's subconscious, anchoring him in the liminal space between dream and wakefulness.

A clock chimed six. The first note was muffled, but the reverberation drew him further from the warmth of sleep. One. Two. Three. The rhythm became more distinct, resonating in his chest. Four. Five. Six.

Darcy blinked against the dim light, the final echo of the clock fading into silence. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Once again, he was here. Once again, the same day stretched out before him, predictable and unchanging, yet laden with its own peculiarities.

Though he had taken some delight in his recent pranks, distracting himself with Fitzwilliam's laughter and Lady Catherine's sputtering indignation, there was a thought he could not seem to shake—one he did not wish to acknowledge but found creeping into his mind regardless.

Elizabeth Bennet.

He had tried to avoid her. It seemed wiser, simpler. And yet, despite his best efforts, she remained a fixture of this endless day, her presence weaving itself into the routine in a way that defied his attempts to ignore it.

But something new had caught his attention. A strange realization had begun to form over the last few cycles, one that left him uneasy.

Darcy had noticed a pattern. On the days when his antics caused Fitzwilliam to miss his morning walk with Elizabeth, she would appear at tea that evening, her expression cool but her manner composed. On the days when Fitzwilliam joined her for their customary walk, however, she would remain at the parsonage, her absence remarked upon only in passing by Lady Catherine.

It was a subtle thing, and one he might have dismissed as coincidence if not for the peculiar nature of his circumstances. Here, in this unchanging loop, such deviations were rare enough to demand his attention.

He frowned at the thought, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Was it simply happenstance, or did her appearances—or absences—hold some meaning?

The idea bothered him, and yet he could not deny the flicker of curiosity it stirred. If his presence—or lack thereof—was influencing Elizabeth's actions in some way, what did it mean? And what was she doing on the evenings she chose to stay away?

Darcy stood, pacing the length of his room as the questions churned in his mind. Was this something he ought to investigate? He had tried so many things to break free from this maddening repetition—what harm could come from trying one more experiment?

And yet, the thought of purposefully seeking her out brought with it a discomfort he could not name. It was one thing to play harmless tricks on Mr. Collins or Lady Catherine, to upend the dull routines of Rosings for his own amusement. It was another thing entirely to turn his attention to Elizabeth.

For all his faults, Darcy valued honesty—both with himself and others. And if he were honest, he would have to admit that this strange fixation on Elizabeth was more than mere curiosity. It was something deeper, something he had spent weeks trying to suppress.

But perhaps, in this strange, unchanging day, it was time to confront what he had been avoiding.

He would start with the simplest test. Today, he would ensure he joined Elizabeth for their walk. And then, he would wait to see if she came to tea.

It was a small step, but in this endless loop, even small steps could lead to something unexpected.

Darcy's determination to test his theory led him out into the morning air earlier than usual. The grounds of Rosings were still cloaked in mist, the dew glistening on the grass as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees. He had ensured Fitzwilliam was occupied with an errand of Lady Catherine's devising, one that would keep his cousin indoors long enough for Darcy to intercept Elizabeth.

The morning air was crisp and invigorating as Darcy made his way toward the parsonage with a calculated stride. He had rehearsed this encounter countless times in his mind. Today would be different—he would not blunder as he had before. Elizabeth Bennet would see him in a new light.

He rounded the bend and caught sight of her ahead, her bonnet tilted slightly as she admired the budding trees lining the path. She was alone. Providence itself seemed to favor him today.

"Miss Bennet," he called, his voice steady, though his heart raced, "good morning. It seems fortune favors me, for I did not expect to encounter such charming company on my walk."

Elizabeth turned at his voice, her features marked by the faintest flicker of surprise before smoothing into polite indifference. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy. You flatter me, though I suspect you may have known this is my usual route."

He allowed himself a faint smile, ignoring the sting of her pointed remark. "It is true that I hoped for a moment to speak with you. Might I accompany you for a short while?"

She hesitated, and in that brief pause, Darcy felt his resolve tighten. When at last she inclined her head, granting him permission, a flicker of triumph lit within him.

"If you wish," she said simply.

They walked side by side in silence, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. Darcy's mind churned with the words he had carefully prepared, each phrase weighed and measured. Yet now, with her so near, doubt crept in. Would she believe him? Would she even listen?

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The morning sunlight caught in her dark curls, and her expression, though serene, was impenetrable. She seemed perfectly content in the silence.

Darcy cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Miss Bennet, I find myself compelled to address a matter that has long weighed upon me. It concerns someone you are... acquainted with."

At once, her composure shifted, her brow arching in wary anticipation. "If this is about Mr. Wickham—"

"Please," he interrupted, raising a hand slightly, his tone softening. "Allow me to explain. I do not seek to speak ill of him unnecessarily, but I fear he has given you a false impression of his character."

Elizabeth stopped mid-step and turned to face him, her eyes sharp. "Mr. Wickham has shared his history with me, and while I admit it was not entirely favorable to you, I cannot say it seemed false."

The words struck him harder than they should have, though he had known she would defend the man. Still, hearing her speak with such conviction of Wickham—of all men—set his teeth on edge.

He took a measured breath, forcing his voice to remain calm. "Miss Bennet, I must assure you that I have no quarrel with your opinion of me, should it rest solely on my own conduct. But Mr. Wickham's actions—especially those concerning my family—are another matter entirely."

Her skepticism deepened. "It is curious, Mr. Darcy, that you choose now to defend yourself, when Mr. Wickham is not present to do the same."

Her words carried a quiet accusation, and Darcy felt the sting of her mistrust. Yet he pressed on, determined to reach her. "You are correct to question my motives, though I hope you will not think me ungenerous. It is not my reputation I seek to restore, but rather to shield you—and perhaps others—from future harm."

Elizabeth hesitated, her steps slowing. She regarded him with something akin to doubt, though not outright dismissal. Encouraged, Darcy continued.

"Mr. Wickham's charm is undeniable," he said carefully, "but his honor is... far less so. He has left behind a trail of broken trust, including actions that once gravely affected someone dear to me."

Her expression shifted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Someone dear to you?"

Darcy nodded, his voice lowering. "Yes. My sister. She was but fifteen when his intentions became clear—intentions that were anything but honorable. Were it not for timely intervention, I shudder to think what might have transpired."

The words hung heavy in the air. For the first time, Elizabeth seemed truly taken aback. Her posture softened, though the guarded look in her eyes remained. "Your sister? I... had not heard this."

Darcy pressed on, emboldened by her reaction. "I would not share such a personal matter lightly, but I believe you should know the truth. Mr. Wickham has proven himself a man of little integrity, and I would not see you deceived by his facade."

Elizabeth looked away, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. When she spoke, her voice was measured but tinged with something he could not quite place. "If what you say is true, Mr. Darcy, it is indeed a serious matter. But I cannot help but wonder—why share this with me now? What do you hope to gain?"

Her question was like a blow, yet Darcy met it head-on. "Your good opinion, perhaps," he admitted, his pride slipping through despite his best efforts. "I have come to see you as a woman of uncommon sense and discernment, and I would not wish you to be deceived by a man so unworthy of your regard."

Elizabeth's posture stiffened. The momentary thaw between them froze over as she turned her gaze back to him, her expression unreadable. "That is a fine sentiment, Mr. Darcy, but it seems to me you presume much. If my good opinion is so important to you, perhaps it would be better earned through humility than through warnings of others' faults."

Her words cut deeper than he cared to admit. Darcy faltered, his carefully constructed facade cracking under her scrutiny. "You are right, of course," he said after a pause, his voice softer. "I meant no presumption, Miss Bennet. Forgive me if I have spoken too freely."

Elizabeth studied him for a moment longer, then inclined her head. "You have given me much to consider, Mr. Darcy. I thank you for your candor, though I hope you understand my need for caution in accepting your account."

Darcy bowed slightly, a tightness in his chest. "I would expect nothing less."

They walked in silence for a few minutes more before Elizabeth stopped. "I believe I shall take this path back to the parsonage, Mr. Darcy. Good day."

Darcy stepped aside, his expression carefully neutral as he inclined his head. "Good day, Miss Bennet."

As she walked away, Darcy watched her retreating form with a mixture of hope and frustration. He had said what needed to be said, yet he felt no triumph. Instead, the hollow ache of uncertainty gnawed at him.

Miss. Bennet did not come to tea, with the same excuse.

The next day, Darcy arrived at the path later than before, his plans foiled when Fitzwilliam was already at her side. His cousin was in the midst of some animated tale.

He had meant to retreat but found himself lingering just out of sight, the branches of a nearby tree offering him both cover and a clear view.

"I Know them a little. Their brother is a great pleasant gentlemanlike man-he is a great friend of Darcy's."

"Oh! Yes," said Elizabeth dryly; "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care for him."

"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy DOES take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to supposed that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture."

Darcy stood still, the words Fitzwilliam had spoken echoing in his mind. His cousin's casual remark about Bingley had stirred something inside him—a mix of guilt, realization, and perhaps a hint of defensiveness. He had always prided himself on his careful deliberations, but the accusations Elizabeth had leveled at him during that painful first proposal had lodged themselves deep in his mind, gnawing at him more than he had ever allowed himself to admit.

Was she right? The thought struck him again, and for the first time, he let himself truly consider the weight of her words. She had accused him of separating her sister from Bingley, of interfering with a match that could have been a happy one. He had dismissed it then, certain that his actions had been for Bingley's own good—protecting him from an unsuitable marriage. But now, in the quiet of his room, the recollection of the conversation was sharper, clearer.

It wasn't until he had seen Fitzwilliam leaving Elizabeth at Hunsford Cottage that the full weight of her accusation settled over him. His mind drifted to those moments earlier in the day when he had observed them—Fitzwilliam so easy in his manner, Elizabeth smiling, clearly at ease with him. Darcy had felt a flicker of unease, a sharp pang of jealousy, though he dismissed it as ridiculous. But now, it felt like more—more than just a passing observation.

The next day he tried to defend himself to her, while finding her once again on her walk.

Darcy found Elizabeth on the shaded woodland path, her bonnet slightly askew as she paused to inspect a wildflower. She started when he approached, her expression shifting from surprise to something more guarded.

"Mr. Darcy," she said evenly, inclining her head.

"Miss Elizabeth," he replied, his voice betraying none of the apprehension he felt. "Might I have a word?"

Elizabeth hesitated but eventually nodded. "If you must."

He fell into step beside her, his strides slow and deliberate. "Miss Bennet, I should like to tell you a story, if you would allow it."

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "A story, Mr. Darcy? You pique my interest."

"There was a family," Darcy began, his tone steady though his hands tightened at his sides. "A family of considerable wealth—new money, as it were. Their daughters were well-off, with generous dowries. They came to know a gentleman—a kind, attentive man, by all appearances. He was courteous to all he met, particularly the eldest daughter, though it was clear there was no great affection between them. His father, however, strongly encouraged him to marry a wealthy heiress for the sake of their family's fortunes, which were in dire need of saving."

Elizabeth listened carefully, her lips pressing together as Darcy continued.

"Now, suppose you were a close friend to this eldest daughter. You see her growing fond of the gentleman. What would you do?"

Elizabeth stopped walking, her head tilting as she considered the scenario. "I suppose it would depend," she said cautiously. "Was the gentleman's interest genuine?"

"That is difficult to say," Darcy replied. "But his family's actions and motives might suggest otherwise. If you were the friend, would you not feel compelled to act? To protect her from what could be a grave mistake?"

Elizabeth sighed, her expression clouding. "I would tread carefully, Mr. Darcy. To interfere in another's happiness is not a light matter. And yet..." She trailed off, her gaze distant. "I might have offered advice. I have, in fact, counseled family and friends on matters of the heart before. But always with great care and never based solely on suspicion."

Darcy studied her intently, the tightness in his chest easing slightly. "That was my mistake, Miss Bennet. I acted on suspicion rather than certainty. I thought I was protecting my friend from harm, but in doing so, I may have caused greater harm."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, her stance softening. "You acted with good intentions, then," she said quietly.

"Good intentions are no excuse for poor actions," Darcy admitted, his voice low. "I see that now."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Perhaps it is not my place to forgive or condemn you, Mr. Darcy. But it is clear you have reflected on your choices. That is a start."

Darcy felt a faint flicker of hope at her words. "Thank you, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth offered him a small smile, though her expression remained contemplative. "If you wish to make amends, Mr. Darcy, consider this: it is not enough to change one's actions. One must also consider how those actions are perceived and felt by others."

Her words lingered as she turned and continued walking. Darcy remained rooted in place for a moment, watching her retreating form.

For the first time in countless days, he felt that perhaps he had taken a step toward bridging the gap between them, however small.

Tea at Rosings unfolded with its customary rhythm, Lady Catherine commanding the conversation while her devoted audience listened attentively. Mr. Collins eagerly interjected his agreements, Anne sat quietly at her mother's side, and Elizabeth...

Darcy's eyes lingered on Elizabeth as she sat demurely in her chair, her countenance calm yet subtly resistant to the overbearing energy in the room. Though their earlier conversation on the walk still occupied his thoughts, she had offered him no outward sign of dwelling on it herself. Her behavior toward him was polite but reserved, her tone clipped yet lacking the sharper edges of her earlier animosity.

Darcy found himself restless, his focus split between the scene before him and the words he wished to say to her. The sting of rejection during their walk had softened slightly, replaced by a growing determination. He could do this—he would make her see how deeply he cared for her.

As tea drew to a close, Darcy rose, seizing his opportunity. "Miss Bennet," he said, his tone formal yet betraying a hint of nervousness, "might I escort you back to the parsonage this evening?"

Elizabeth looked up, her eyes meeting his in surprise. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she inclined her head. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That would be most agreeable."

The air outside was crisp, the evening unusually quiet as they made their way down the gravel path. Elizabeth walked with her customary grace, her gaze occasionally lifting to the stars above them. Darcy watched her from the corner of his eye, noting how the moonlight softened her features.

"I trust you found tea enjoyable," he began, breaking the silence.

Elizabeth glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. "It was... enlightening, as always."

Darcy chuckled softly, though his nerves remained taut. "Lady Catherine is nothing if not thorough in her opinions."

"She is certainly passionate about her beliefs," Elizabeth replied, her tone light but with an undercurrent of humor.

They walked on for a time, their conversation weaving through safe and unremarkable topics. Yet Darcy could feel the weight of the moment building, the unspoken words pressing against his chest.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "Miss Bennet," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "I find myself unable to keep silent any longer. There is something I must say."

Elizabeth halted, her brow furrowing in surprise. "Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy took a steadying breath, his gaze fixed on hers. "From the moment I first met you, I have been captivated by your wit, your intelligence, your strength of character. Against my better judgment, I have come to... ardently admire and love you."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, her cheeks coloring faintly. "Mr. Darcy, I—"

He stepped closer, his earnestness intensifying. "I know I am far from perfect. My behavior has been... wanting. But I swear to you, Miss Bennet, I would dedicate myself to your happiness, if only you would consent to be my wife."

Elizabeth faltered, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I... I do not wish to hurt you, Mr. Darcy."

Her hesitation was like a knife twisting in his chest. "You need not fear that," he said quickly, mistaking her reluctance for uncertainty. "I would never ask anything of you that would cause you pain."

She looked up, her expression conflicted. "You do me a great honor, but..."

Darcy's frustration flared, and he stepped closer still. "But what, Miss Bennet? Tell me. Whatever concerns you have, I shall address them. Whatever doubts you hold, I shall prove myself worthy."

Darcy's pulse quickened as Elizabeth hesitated, her silence stretching into eternity. He leaned forward, willing her to speak, to say anything that might give him hope. Instead, she looked away, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Mr. Darcy," she began softly, "there is much to admire in your offer, and I would not wish to seem ungrateful, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she clasped her hands tightly before continuing. "There is a matter I cannot ignore, one which weighs heavily on my heart. It concerns Mr. Wickham."

Darcy stiffened at the name, a surge of frustration coursing through him. Wickham. Of course. How had he failed to address that concern today? In his eagerness to move forward, he had overlooked the necessity of broaching the subject anew. For a fleeting moment, he felt the same exasperation that had consumed him on countless other days, forgetting, as he sometimes did, that Elizabeth had no memory of their earlier conversations. To her, this was the first time the matter had arisen, while for him, it was yet another exhausting return to the same battlefield.

His voice, when it came, was colder than he intended. "What of Mr. Wickham?"

Elizabeth flinched at the sharpness of his tone but held her ground. "You must admit, Mr. Darcy, that there are accounts of your dealings with him that cast you in a less favorable light. I cannot reconcile the man who professes such affection for me with the man who, if Wickham's words are to be believed, has acted with such cruelty toward him."

Darcy felt his control slipping. His hands clenched at his sides as he struggled to contain the storm building within him. "Miss Bennet," he said tightly, "I have already told you—" He stopped himself, realizing his mistake too late.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Already told me?" she echoed. "When?"

Darcy cursed inwardly. He had overstepped, revealing more than he intended. He forced himself to take a steadying breath, but the damage was done. "Forgive me," he said stiffly. "What I mean to say is that Mr. Wickham's grievances against me are unfounded. He is a man of no honor, as his actions have repeatedly proven."

Elizabeth regarded him with wary eyes, her expression a mixture of doubt and disappointment. "And yet, Mr. Darcy, you offer no specifics, no proof to support your claims. If what you say is true, why do you not explain yourself more fully?"

Darcy's patience snapped. "Must I detail every transgression, every lie he has spun, for you to believe me? My word is not enough, then?"

Elizabeth drew back, her own temper rising. "You presume too much, sir. Trust is not given blindly; it is earned. And in this matter, you have offered little to inspire confidence."

Darcy opened his mouth to reply but faltered, his frustration boiling over into something perilously close to despair. Why could she not see? Why could she not trust him, even a little? Every effort he made seemed doomed to failure.

He took a step back, his voice dropping as the fight drained from him. "You are right to demand proof, Miss Bennet," he said quietly. "But it seems I have none that you would accept."

Elizabeth's expression softened, but her stance remained firm. "Mr. Darcy, I do not wish to cause offense, but I cannot overlook what I do not understand. Perhaps, in time—"

"Time," Darcy interrupted bitterly, "is something I seem to have in excess."

The cryptic remark seemed to unsettle her, and she regarded him with a puzzled frown. "I do not follow."

Darcy shook his head, unwilling to explain further. "It matters not." He straightened, his pride reasserting itself like a shield. "Good evening, Miss Bennet. I have taken enough of your time."

Elizabeth hesitated, as though on the verge of speaking, but ultimately said nothing. She inclined her head and turned back toward the parsonage, her steps measured but not hurried.

Darcy watched her go, the ache in his chest growing with each step she took away from him. His confession, his effort to bridge the chasm between them, had ended in frustration and failure.

And yet, beneath the sting of rejection, a flicker of resolve remained. He could not give up. Not yet.

Turning toward Rosings, he walked back in silence, the cool night air doing little to ease the heat of his frustration. Elizabeth's parting words echoed in his mind: Perhaps, in time...

Time. If only she knew.

Darcy's jaw tightened as he reached the house. Tomorrow, he resolved, would be different. Tomorrow, he would try again.

For now, though, he could only retreat to his chambers and steel himself for the endless repetition of his quest.

Tomorrow, he resolved. Tomorrow, he would approach her differently. Tomorrow, he would find the words to bridge the gap between them.

Darcy awoke with the familiar tolling of the clock and the chill of the wind slipping through his window. The day began again, but today he would attempt a different approach with Elizabeth.

He found her on the path, her steps light and deliberate as she navigated the shaded woodland trail. The soft hum of a bird's song filled the air, but Darcy's pulse quickened, drowning out all other sounds.

Elizabeth paused, noticing him, and her gaze flickered with surprise before settling into a polite calm. "Mr. Darcy," she greeted him, inclining her head.

"Miss Bennet," he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions surging within him. "Might I join you?"

She hesitated briefly, then gestured to the path ahead. "If you wish."

Falling into step beside her, Darcy adjusted his pace to match hers. For several moments, they walked in silence, the quiet rhythm of their steps underscoring the tension that always seemed to linger between them. Darcy's mind raced to find the right approach—how much to say, how far to go.

"Miss Bennet," he began carefully, his tone measured, "there is a matter I wish to discuss with you. Two, in fact, both of which weigh heavily on my conscience."

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, her expression curious but wary. "You have my attention, Mr. Darcy. Pray, continue."

Darcy drew a steadying breath. "First, I would speak of Mr. Bingley. I fear I may have interfered in his happiness in a way that, upon reflection, was unwarranted."

Elizabeth's steps slowed, and her brow furrowed. "Mr. Bingley?" she repeated.

"Yes." Darcy hesitated, then pressed on. "You are aware, I presume, of the attachment he felt toward your sister."

Her expression sharpened, but her voice remained even. "I am."

"I believed, at the time, that your sister's affections were not fully engaged," Darcy admitted, his hands clenching briefly at his sides. "And I had concerns regarding the... suitability of the match."

Elizabeth stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "Suitability?"

Darcy met her gaze, his own troubled but resolute. "I questioned the prudence of uniting two families of such differing circumstances. I feared for the stability of their happiness."

"You feared for their happiness," Elizabeth echoed, her tone tinged with disbelief. "Not yours. Not your family's reputation."

"Indeed." Darcy's voice grew quieter. "But in hindsight, I see my actions may have been misguided. If I have caused your sister pain, I deeply regret it."

Elizabeth studied him, her sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. "You interfered with good intentions," she said at last. "But I hope you understand the gravity of meddling in the affairs of others. Especially in matters of the heart."

"I do," Darcy replied, his voice low. "And I shall strive to make amends."

She nodded, her stance relaxing a fraction. "Very well. I cannot speak for Jane, but I... appreciate your reflection on the matter."

Encouraged by her receptiveness, Darcy continued as they resumed their walk. "There is another matter, one I must address with equal urgency."

Elizabeth's expression grew guarded again. "And what matter is that?"

Darcy's jaw tightened briefly before he spoke. "Mr. Wickham."

Her steps faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. "What of him?"

Darcy chose his words with care, though his frustration simmered beneath the surface. "I fear Mr. Wickham has deceived you as he has deceived so many. The man you believe to be honorable is anything but."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, and she remained silent, prompting him to continue.

"He squandered his inheritance in reckless pursuits," Darcy explained, his tone clipped despite his efforts to remain calm. "When it was gone, he sought to gain more through dishonorable means. He nearly ruined my sister, Miss Bennet. Were it not for my intervention, he would have... taken advantage of her trust and youth."

Elizabeth stopped again, her eyes widening. "Your sister?"

"Yes," Darcy said, his voice softening. "She was but fifteen. He preyed upon her innocence and sought to elope with her—his motives purely financial."

Elizabeth's lips parted, a flicker of sympathy crossing her features. "I... did not know."

Darcy nodded. "Few do. It is not something I speak of lightly, but I felt you should be warned. Mr. Wickham is not the man he pretends to be."

She looked down, her expression thoughtful. "If what you say is true, Mr. Darcy, it is a grave matter indeed."

The hint of understanding in her voice bolstered him. "It is true," he said earnestly. "I would not mislead you on this, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth's gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face. "You must think me very foolish to have believed him."

Darcy shook his head quickly. "Not foolish, Miss Bennet. You could not have known the truth. His charm is... formidable."

Her lips quirked into a faint, wry smile. "That it is."

Darcy felt a surge of hope at her openness, her willingness to listen. He mistook it for something more. "You see now, do you not? My actions—both with Mr. Bingley and with Mr. Wickham—were not born of malice but of concern. My judgment may have erred, but my intentions were—"

"Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's voice cut through his words, firm but not unkind.

Darcy faltered, his momentum stalling. "Yes?"

"You presume too much." Her tone was measured but unyielding. "While I may better understand your reasoning, it does not follow that I must approve of all your actions."

Darcy stiffened, the flicker of hope doused like a flame in the rain. "I see," he said, though his pride bristled against her words.

"I do not mean to diminish your efforts," Elizabeth continued. "But if you seek my approval, Mr. Darcy, you must consider that it is not gained through explanations alone. Actions speak far louder."

Darcy's frustration swelled. "And what actions, Miss Bennet, would satisfy you? Must I grovel at your feet, abandon my principles entirely?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, and she stepped back, her posture stiffening. "This conversation has taken a turn I do not care for, sir. Perhaps we should leave it here."

Realizing too late how his words had landed, Darcy's chest tightened. "Miss Bennet, I—"

But she was already walking away, her steps brisk and purposeful.

Darcy remained rooted to the spot, the woodland path suddenly feeling colder, darker. The soft hum of bird song was gone, replaced by the hollow echo of Elizabeth's retreating footsteps.

He clenched his hands at his sides, his breath shallow and uneven as he replayed the conversation in his mind. Her openness, her willingness to listen—it had been within his grasp. Yet he had pressed too hard, spoken too sharply. Again, his pride, his impatience, had undone him.

The air seemed heavier now, the quiet pressing in on him as though mocking his failure. He had thought today would be different, had believed himself capable of reaching her. But instead, he stood alone, the gap between them wider than ever.

For the first time, the weight of it all felt unbearable. How many times would he try, only to meet the same result? How many conversations would he begin, only to falter? Elizabeth could not remember the days before, but he remembered all of them—the mounting frustrations, the countless missteps.

Perhaps he was not meant to succeed.

The thought settled heavily on his chest, an unfamiliar ache cutting deeper than the sting of rejection. He had done all he could, and yet it was never enough. She would not see him for the man he wanted to be—not now, and perhaps not ever.

Darcy straightened, his jaw tightening as he forced his emotions back beneath the surface. He had allowed himself to become consumed by this—by her. It was time to stop. To step back. To regain the sense of control and dignity that had so thoroughly eluded him.

If Elizabeth Bennet would not have him, then so be it.

With that thought, he turned and began walking back toward Rosings, his strides purposeful but heavy. He would focus on other matters—his estate, his family, his responsibilities. He would not waste another day chasing something that refused to be caught.

For now, he was done.


So what do you think? I wanted to convey Darcy was pushing to hard and not really focusing on her reprove. Its kind of a mix of how I saw of what he thought when he wrote the letter combined with a nod of course to the movie this book is inspired by. I was going for the perfect day that gets ruined because he is pushing for it too much.