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The Darkness Consumes [Oct. 17th, 2006|05:48 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
“What have I done?” Elizabeth questioned herself. “How could I have been so wrong?” Elizabeth once thought herself a good judge of character, but something of late proved her otherwise.

Starring blankly into the mirror before her, she reflected on what had occurred. The once placid and reserved Mr. Darcy seemed to be passionate and caring. He was not as she thought. But then she had been resentful and spoke words she knew tore at him. If only she could have seen, she might not have offended.

There was no breeze and the sky darkened earlier than usual. Even nature was against her. She shuttered at her own coldness, her emptiness.

As a girl she had dreamed of what it would be like to love. She saw that man before her eyes, the one that would come on a white horse and steal her from the balcony she was trapped in. Rational as Elizabeth was, she still believed in the occasional daydream. The childhood fantasies of the prince that would come from the kiss of a toad. Elizabeth smirked as she recalled this youthfulness, for she had done it in reverse. She had found the “prince” but made him into the toad. She was unable to see the truth.

Unable to move, she stood frozen and removed from herself. Everything of late seemed, at least in that instance, to be moving too quickly. Running through puddles, chasing swans, picking wild flowers, wandering through the fields with a book in hand, walking to town, dancing at balls, gossiping with neighbors- theses things all seemed a distant memory. Something else filled her. She wanted more. The world was spinning, and she felt as though everything was going around her. She was not like Charlotte, never could she just marry, although she knew that the proper thing to do. Nor was she like Jane, she could not lie to herself. She was in love, despite of herself.

His letter was stilling burning in her mind. If she was a man she thought she could run after him, explain how wrong she had been. How she did love him and was sorry. But, being female there was nothing she could do. She could not run after him. That was the crux; she had lost him before she ever knew she had him.

Never before did Elizabeth feel this pain. The torment sat upon her heart and was a constant reminder of what a fool she had been. Tears, too heavy to hold, rolled from her eyes and seemed as though they would never stop. She wept that night until she could not feel any longer. Tortured and bruised, her eyes finally closed, but her mind never allowed her to sleep peacefully.

Elizabeth was not the only one who felt the pang of lose. Miles away Mr. Darcy dealt with his own suffering. He was angry, but more hurt than anything. He knew that Elizabeth was the one person that could see him, for who he was, and that’s what hurt. She saw in him, and did not love him. It was his own fault, he reflected, that pushed her away. In her rejection she was not wrong. He had separted her sister from Mr. Bingley. He had said ungentlemanly things, especially with regard to her family. He was wrong to tell her that he loved her despite of himself. The words sounded so differently in his mind. He was a fool to think she would love him because he was Mr. Darcy with 10,000 a year. She was different, and he knew this before. Elizabeth wanted more than material things; she wanted the man Mr. Darcy wanted to be for her. For all of these follies he blamed himself, and not her. It was not anger towards her that pressed against him, but rather his own self hatred.

More than just his words, he knew that the letter he had written in haste would cause her pain. He was not the man she deemed him. There was worth in him. He was desperate and grasping for anything, something to bring her back. If only he could go back to their first dance. Or even to the first moment they met. Even then he knew that she was different. His soul knew, what his heart felt, but his mind pushed from him.

Never would he love another.

The darkness consumed him, but he slept not. In the morning, with the coming of the light, perhaps things would seem differently. Perhaps, there was still hope after all. He could change the way he represented himself in society. He would do anything to make her see.
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Love Always [Aug. 16th, 2006|04:32 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover

Mrs. Darcy,

How wonderful those words sound. This was the first time I wrote them. You probably think this a bit strange. Especially after all the years we have spent together. But I wrote this on the day we were married, so you must forgive its sentiments. It was my intention, when this letter began, to describe and write how I felt on this day. Perhaps to read on a day when I am particulary cross with you, although I imagine that to be impossible. You’re probably laughing at this moment. How I miss that.

I appear to be at a loss for words at this moment. I feel so much, and must recall it all.

The weeks leading up to our wedding were a torment. Your father did not let you out of his sight for a moment, and when his eyes weren’t piercing in my direction, then your sisters were employed in the undertaking of watching our every movement. Perhaps, we should have kept our engagement a secret a little longer, for we did have much more us time in those days. It was then that I came to love your sister Mary, she never wanted to go out on those walks. Those walks that would take us far into the woods, away from everyone else. So far away that I believe you told your mother that we had gotten lost.

Those hours with you were the best part of my day. All the moments I spent with you are my best moments, and the first thoughts that cross my mind in the morning. How you looked in the sunlight, the softness of your hand, and the warmth of your smile. It is your heart that I love most of all. You genually love everything and everyone, and all the world is filled with amusements and adventures waiting to be discovered. It has been through you that I have been able to change. To become the man I always wanted to be, to be the man that you deserve.

I once thought you mad in not exepting my first marriage of proposal, forgive me for bringing this past up for a moment. You were right, as you always seem to be. I had acted and behaved in the most appalling matter, and you were correct in refusing my hand. I was not as I should have been. No one had ever said no to me before, and your words greatly humbled me. I admire and respect you for that, and for the courage you have shown.

It is nearing daybreak, so perhaps I should contine with my original endeaver, but thinking of you distracts me immensly- and I would not like it any other way.

Allow me to remark and say that you looked radiant and lovely, like a "goddess" on our wedding day. You normally look this way to me, but today, when you were walking towards me on the arm of your father, my heart stopped beating. You were breathtaking. The wind stopped whirling, the birds ceased singing, the rain clouds went into hiding, and all the noise diappeared. There was no one else and nothing else in sight. I only saw you, and felt the greatest rush of joy. I knew you were walking towards me, and about to be my wife. It is one of those moments that you only feel once, but I hope I shall feel my whole life.

You would never forgive me if I did not remark how lovely your sister looked. So allow me the opportunity to state that Mrs. Bingley is my favorite of your sisters, and that she looked as beautiful as ever. I believe she and Bingley will be happy and we will all share many found and loving times together.

At this time I am not sure if your father as of yet likes me. He appeared to hand Mrs. Bingley to Bingley with ease, but took his time and had a pain to his face when you let you go. Maybe it is just because you are his favorite. I must tell you, for it may be the last, that I felt sorry for your mother on this day. She cried and was saddened by her eldests daughters being married. I thought that was all she desired, and forgive me for never knowing she actually felt anything other than happiness at her daughters "marrying so well." We spend all our lives hoping and wishing for something, and then when we finally get it, we are a bit scared and sorry for no longer anticipating that joy of accomplishment. For the first time I think your mother realized what it meant for her daughters to be of an age to marry and that they would leave her one by one.

When you took my hand, and squeezed it ever so gently, I knew what you were thinking. It took so long for us to get there, and it did feel like a dream. But you were actually there, and holding my hand. That was a proud moment in my life, when I could stand beside you and show everyone just how fortunate and blessed I was to of found you. Yes my love, there are some things in life that one can be proud of, and you are one of those things. At this moment I am proud to be your husband, to be part of your life, and to be given the chance to spend the rest of my days by your side. To share my fears, loves, likes, hates, days, nights, joy, laughter, tears, pain, to share my soul and every fiber of my being with you.

This is what I was thinking while standing on the alter. I don’t remember what the vicar said or what was happening around me. I just remember you, and how you couldn’t take your eyes away from mine.

By the time the vicar declared us husband and wife I felt as though my skin was the only thing keeping me from going everywhere all at once. The exileration and excitement, the intense passion and longing I felt, I have never felt. There was a rush of every emotion. I think you felt the same way for your hands trembled in mine.

If I had more time I think I would write pages of what it was like to kiss you for the first time as my wife. The gentleness, the softness- you take my breath away Mrs. Darcy.

I do not need to recall to you our first night as husband and wife, for it was perfect in every sense.

I currently have the pleasure of gazing upon you as you sleep soundly beneath our sheets. You’re just beginning to stir and I feel the impulse of racing next to you, which I will as soon as I finish this.

I shall keep this always and leave it for you to read when I can no longer race to be by your side, but forced only to remain in your heart.

If I have not told you everyday how much you mean to me, how much I love you, and how radiant and important you are to me, than I have been a fool. For no man has ever loved a woman, as I you.

For always, your husband,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

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I was really bored at work- "The Bennet Son" [Aug. 2nd, 2006|02:21 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
Mrs. Bennet was a beauty in her day, and still was considered quite handsome. Her features were remarkable for a lady of over forty. It was safe to say that her daughters inherited her feminity, and looks. No man could find fault with Mr. Bennet for being infatuated with such a woman, when he was young then himself.

Their marriage was one of passion that slowly dwindled with each passing year. As daughter number five arrived they had given up hope of ever producing a male heir. It was best to strive to make her daughters attractive and available for suitors of substantial wealth, for that was the only way they would not be ruined and cast out of their home and onto the streets when Mr. Bennet passed on. For the last twenty years or so that was all Mrs. Bennet thought about.

Little did anyone know, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennet did have a son, Henry Bennet- named for Mrs. Bennet's father. Yet, little Henry lived to see no more than three days. He was taken peacefully in his sleep, and Mrs. Bennet cried for days. He was the only child Mrs. Bennet allowed herself to love, for not only was he an heir but she had not dared to love another child, hence if taken from her she would not feel the dept of this despair once more.

It was a secret Mr. and Mrs. Bennet shared, and never passed on to their five lovely daughters. It was better to forget such things. No sense in bringing up the past. But then again, every once in a while Mrs. Bennet would have a moments pause. Henry would be only eleven months older than Jane. His tiny grave was marked by a small stone that could not be seen from the house by a person who did not know it was there. It was hidden rather well, for it was not something one wanted to dwell upon. Yet, there were days when Mr. Bennet or Mrs. Bennet couldn't help but stare in that direction. They believed he watched all the ongoings of the Bennet family and shared in their joy for their daughter's recent engagments. Yet, they both thought about how much he did miss, and how little he had seen of the world.

It was on the day Mrs. Bennet was going off to Mrs. Lucas' to revel in her daughters's advantageouses marriages that she stumbled upon the tiny stone that marked the small grave of her unforgetable son. The girls had gone to town, Mr. Bennet was in his study- probably napping, and Mrs. Bennet couldn't help but stop in her tracks. It had been so very long since he sat by this stone, had seen his face and held his tiny hands. It had been too long.

There is an unspeakable pain that comes from losing a child, no matter what age. So whether he had been three days or thirty years old, Mrs. Bennet loved her son just the same. She learned a lesson upon his death, she would not allow herself to become attached to any one of her children. It was easier. This was not to say that she did not love her daughters, but rather she showed her love in different ways. She would do right by them and aid them in finding a suitable husband. That is all she could do and give to them. Their lives would be better than hers, and that is all any mother can really ask for her children.

The stone had turned lime green over the years; the years that it had not been taken care of, but not forgotten either. His name was still etched ever so lightly against the granite- Henry. Henry Bennet. Mrs. Bennet kindly brushed away the dead leaves and grass that surrounded the site. Once done, she continued to brush her fingers along the name. That little face, arms, legs, nose, and hands came back to her mind.

"My little Henry," Mrs. Bennet stroked the grave. "I was just on my way to Mrs. Lucas to talk about your sisters upcoming weddings. They will be the most lovely brides I am sure of that. Mrs. Lucas will be so happy for us, her own daughter married our cousin, Mr. Collins. Not an altogether unagreeable man, but not like our Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy" she continued on this conversation as though he was right beside her, and always had been all those years.

"Can't forget about Lydia. Her Mr. Wickham, such a fine looking soldier. He’ll make us proud, of that I'm sure. The youngest, married before the others too. You would have loved her my boy. So delightful and cherry, not unlike her dear mama." Mrs. Bennet was not sitting next to her son's grave.

"You were the first. Such a handsome boy you were. Had your father's eyes," tears were in Mrs. Bennets.

"It's been too long my son. Too long indeed. I should have come to you everyday. Placed flowers aside..." she couldn't bring herself to say grave. "We should have all sung happy birthday every year. The girls should have known they had a brother. I suppose it's for the better is it not?" Mrs. Bennet thought not. She could no longer contain the tears and pain of all those years.

Mr. Bennet had been watching from the window in his study. When he saw his wife perch over the tiny stone he knew what was coming, it was a long time in coming. Without a moments pause he began to walk towards her, ever so slowly and quietly so as not to disturb this precious time. But when Mrs. Bennet couldn't stop crying and sobbing, his heart broke for her. He had felt the pain and tears inside himself all those years as well. One never gets over losing a child. He reached out for Mrs. Bennet as she laid over the tiny grave crying.

"Dear," he barely could speak

"Oh Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet turned and faced him. It's hard for any man to watch a woman cry, and even harder when you had not held that woman in such an embrace for so long. But Mr. Bennet couldn't help it. He took her in his arms and lifted her from the ground. They were standing, arms around one another for support, for they both felt as though the earth had given out beneath them. It was the first time, in all those years, that they shared the memory of their son.
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Alternate Ending [Aug. 1st, 2006|10:49 am]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
This is how i see the ending in my head.

Lizzie opens the door from her father's study with a mission. Seeing that Mr. Darcy did not wait in the hallway she races to the front door to catch sight of him pacing. As he turns to walk back from his path away from the house, he catches sight of Lizzie starring at him from the door. He stops and waits to see her reaction.

Pretending to be calm Lizzie makes the effort to slowly approach Mr. Darcy. She looks at his feet for she dares not meet his eyes, less she give herself away too soon, she rather enjoys this moment. As she nears about ten paces from his person she extends her hands out to him, which he kindly takes into his. Only then does she look up and smile.

"Mr. Darcy," she curtsies, still holding his hands.

A smile has taken hold of Mr. Darcy's complexed face, a smile so wide that his eyes are gleaming.

Without noticing the camera angle changes slightley, so that when Mr. Darcy returns the formality of Elizabeth's greeting, he replies

"Mrs. Darcy," still holding her hands he pulls her closer, revealing Lizzie in her wedding gown, as Darcy leans in to kiss her.

Fading back from their kiss they both smile and laugh slightley in utter happiness, for as Lizzie once said "Jane smiles, but I laugh"
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The First Man She Ever Loved [Jul. 31st, 2006|05:44 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
He was the first man she had ever loved. It was his hand that wiped away any tears, his kisses that made all the sorrow in the world disappear, his voice and laughter that resounded in her heart, it was his hugs that protected her, but it was his love that made her strong. He had her and would never let anything or anyone harm her. He was the one man who had to let go.

Yes, it was Mr. Bennet that knew his time had come to let his little girl go. For Elizabeth Bennet was no longer a little girl, although he would always see her as that six year old who ran to him covered in mud so very proud of herself that she caught Tinkers, the not so very well behaved puppy, from running away in the woods. Yes, it was Mr. Bennet who knew that she would never look at him the same way. He had not been replaced, for Liizie’s heart was large enough for the world, but he would no longer relish in being the only man she loved.

It is a day no father is left unscratched. For it is the day he most dreads.

“Where can that girl be?” Mrs. Bennet shrieked throughout the house. Such strange business had been going since of late. Lady Catherine arrived most unnanouced, and whatever she had said to Lizzie sure had been unsettled. Such strange things indeed. And what of that Mr. Darcy was she rambling on about anyway?

“Jane, dear did she say nothing?” Mr. Bennet asked concerned, for although it was spring the morning frost could be a bit cold. She was not dressed properly for none of her dresses, aside from a nightgown, were missing.

Tears were in Jane’s eyes. She was very worried for her sister, it was unlike Lizzie to run off. “Nothing,” was all Jane could reply.

“At least you can’t blame Wickham on this one,” Kitty thought be dared not say. Kitty found her new brother-in-law most enchanting. Lydia did always have the most fun.

“That girl will be the ruin of my nerves,” Mrs. Bennet continued to shriek.

Mary had been sitting at her piano, but knew better than to strike a key. That would surely send her mother to an early grave. So it was calm and collected Mary that first noticed Lizzie approaching with…A MAN!
Poor Mary, her whole family dynamics had been chaging as of late, and Mary liked things to stay as they always were. She was the only one content with standing still while everyone in life raced about her. While everyone took large breaths, Mary took shallow ones. She wasn’t going to miss a thing and she would observe all. So of course, it was Mary that saw that not only was Lizzie approaching with a man, but she was holding his hand.

Ever the dutiful sister Mary allowed everyone to continue in their panic and left Lizzie to have her moment alone. She would allow Lizzie to make her own surprise entrance, a token of sisterly love that would never be recognized, but Mary was never any good at showing affection anyway.

As Mrs. Bennet was pleading with Mr. Bennet to go about and search for Lizzie the front door creaked open. No one breathed. Mrs. Bennet was about to rant at Lizzie for causing such distress to her nerves she caught herself, or rather she caught sight of Mr. Darcy. What a funny pair they looked, all dishelved and barely dressed for descent company. But Lizzie and Darcy felt not the scrutiny of their appearance.

“Lizzie, what ever is this?” Mr. Bennet asked alarmed for the first time all morning.

“Father, Mr. Darcy would like a word,” was all Lizzie could bring herself to say. She neither looked at Darcy nor showed any sort of emotion at all. If she dared show emotion she didn’t believe she could contain it. She would either laugh, cry, or both all at once. But she would never stop smiliing if she really let herself go, no wonder Mr. Darcy always looked proud, it is rather hard to suppress such emotions all the time.

“Father!” Lizzie repeated, for no one had moved.

“Of course, this way Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet projected his voice, sounding firmer than he actually felt at that moment. Without hesitation, perhaps wanting to get out of the eyes of the Bennet females, Darcy followed Mr. Bennet to his study.

Lizzie had to wait. It was all such a dream. She couldn’t believe that he had actually come to her. What a lovely proposal, better than the first. In the years to pass Lizzie knew that she might not be able to remember the exact wording, or what he looked like at that moment, but she would recall their first kiss with clarity. She still have butterflies prancing about her stomach. At the moment her acceptance was needed, she had taken his hand and kissed it very softley. Only then did she notice just how cold it had been outside, for his fingers were quite cold against hers. He then swept an untidy piece of fallen hair from her eyes and rubbed his hand ever so gently across her cheek. Their foreheads meet and his arms found their way about her waist. He held her there in that embrace for a few moments, until the sun setted over the horizon. When the light hit them, they opened their closed eyes as if to find themselve awaking from a dream, but they were both still there.

It was at that time that Darcy leaned in as if to whisper in her ear, but instead took notice of her parted lips. A slight shiver came from Lizzie, either from the cold frost or from the touch of his hands against her back she knew not, but he stroked her back as to warm her. Close to her lip, but not yet touching, he whispered, “I know not at what moment or day, but I have loved you,” one hand had been replaced from rubbing her back to now his index finger was running along the length of her lower lip, “Lizzie,” his thumb was under her chin, “my Lizzie,” he pulled her close and their lips met for the first time.

A smile raced across Lizzie’s face as she recalled that tender moment.

Inside Mr. Bennet’s study, Mr. Darcy had no time for his own rememberance of that morning.

Mr. Bennet eyed Mr. Darcy most closely. He was completely puzzeled. He knew Lizzie was not one to marry for money, but what did she see in this man. Didn’t see think him proud and arrogant? The silence in those moments made Mr. Darcy feel as though he was five and he had just broken his father’s tea cup, but surely that small table was no place for a valuable tea cup to be resting upon when little boys cared for nothing except chasing after the frog that had ventured in from the garden. Mr. Bennet’s gaze was not unlike his father’s at that moment.

Once Mr. Bennet was through looking Darcy thorougly over he allowed the man to take a seat. Composed in nature, in all circumstances, Mr. Darcy accepted the over and showed no sign of timidcy.

It appeared to be a contest of who would speak first.

“So you would like a word with me Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet interperted the silence and tried to put the young man at ease.

“Sir,” Darcy said with all formality, “I have had the pleasure of asking Miss Elizabeth for her hand in marriage, she has kindly accepted, and I await your approval”

“Approval, yes, well, let’s see,” Mr. Bennet basked in having authority and power over such a man as Mr. Darcy. “Do you have terms?”

Darcy’s eyes drifted from Mr. Bennet’s stare. Marriage as a business transaction never suited him very much. In truth all Darcy wanted was Elizabeth but he knew he could not hurt Mr. Bennet’s pride. “Sir, I am more than capable of taking care of Miss Elizabeth, and will gladly do so. All I ask is that you do what you must.” This may sound or appear rude to others, but for Mr. Bennet it spoke volumnes. At that moment Mr. Bennet knew he could not refuse Mr. Darcy anything. A tear formed in Mr. Bennet’s eyes. Surely Mr. Darcy loved Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet probed forward. “Surely you must want something, every man has a price.”

“I would not do you the injustice of asking for more than you could allow, and I assure you Miss Elizabeth is worth more to me than any price you would take upon yourself to offer.”

Mr. Bennet was at a lose for words. Darcy mistook that moment of fatherly appreciation, that he continued, “if you have to settle a sum, all I ask is that you give to Elizabeth what you have kindly given to Lydia, no more than 100 a year.”

Their eyes met once again, a full understanding was reached.

“Well then sir, you have my consent under one condition,” smiled Mr. Bennet

“Sir?”

“I must speak to my daughter first.”

Mr. Darcy smiled for a brief moment. He then bowed and left the room. When he opened the door he had the pleasure of gazing upon Elizabeth, who was called in the room by her fahter. But as she closed the door behind, she couldn’t help but smile back at the man she thought she would once hate forever, but now couldn’t live without.

It was Mr. Darcy’s turn to wait. His mind raced with thoughts of Elizabeth having to prove his honor. She was afterall the only one who did not think him proudful or arrogant anymore. She knew him as no one else did. She was him.

Elizabeth pleaded her case before her father, winning him over with the one statement, “I love him.”

A father certainly cannot deny a most beloved daughter anything, particulary when it is something she loves.

So there it was. In that one morning Mr. Bennet realized he was no longer the only man his little girl loved, but settled to be the first.
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Over Coming the Inferiority of Her Birth [Jul. 31st, 2006|04:35 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover


What was it
? Mr. Darcy thought. It was so familiar and presented such a warm memory in his mind, but he could not think why such a sensation raptured through his senses. He was intoxicated, or as he would put it later, bewitched. But what was it? Why at this very moment did he feel...home.

Home indeed he was not. Rather he had the unfortiutnate duty of visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine in her abode...Rosings. Yet, Darcy knew the real reason as to why he was there. Miss Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth took it upon herself to visit her dear friend Miss Charlotte Lucas who as of late became Mrs. Collins- that poor woman. Mr. Collins, the vicar upon Lady Catherine's domain informed Lady Catherine of Miss Elizabeth's intended visit, for in Lady Catherine's presence Mr. Collins usually rambeled on about this and that, never anything of importance. But Lady Catherine was most interest in meeting Miss Bennet for Lady Catherine heard a great deal of Miss Bennet. Therefore, an invitation was sent in place to a Miss Elizabeth Bennet to dine at Rosings with her cousin and friend. Mr. Darcy, one always to avoid Lady Catherine for he had an inkling she would someday bring up the matter of his pledged marriage to his cousin Anne, was informed by his coneying aunt that such guest would be upon the estate...although little did Lady Catherine know that Mr. Darcy was already forming an attachment to the said Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

If all the details are a bit confusing they were no more cleared to Mr. Darcy. How his Aunt could watch over an entire estate and all its precedigs land to know the utmost and detailed accounts of all the good gossip he could not phatom. Rather he left it up to Fate. But then again perhaps Fate needed a little encouragment, so Darcy accepted the invitation to Rosings, much to the pleaser of his Aunt.

It was near the hour for dinner. Miss Elizabeth would be arriving any moment. Darcy waited in anticpation. He hoped that his well reserve and practiced manners had allowed him to overcome his infatuation. He was sure of it. He had not thought of her in at least twenty...fifteen-okay to be honest-four minutes. It seemed so easy at times, but then he would think of her laugh, her manner of speaking, the touch of her hand…and there was something else. But what was it?

Colonel Fitzwilliam noticed a distraction about his cousin, but knew the better than to ask forthright. Instead the two men decided on a game of chess, nothing like a good battle to clear one's mind. Lady Catherine and Anne were knitting, well at least pretending to knit. People of lesiure rarely find they need to keep busy but rather enjoy the occupation of pretending or striving to be busy. Altogether it was most tiresome to such refined ladies.

When Darcy allowed Fitzwilliam to capture his knight, leaving his queen defencless early on in the game was a sure sign that something was amiss. Darcy never let anyone win, not without a challenge. Yet Darcy knew there was some things you could not conquer or overcome in an opponent.

Fortunately the hustle of Mr. Collin's thick feet could be heard upon the marble floor approaching the study. As the door opened to annoucnce the visitors the sound of gowns hussing back and forth could also be heard...and there it was again. That something so familiar. Mr. Darcy starred at the presence of Elizabeth as she made her way over to greet Lady Catherine. It was only then that he allowed his presence to be known to her, for unknowningly he stepped closer.

Soon everyone was made aware of the connection between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, that they had the pleasure of meeting at a ball in Hartforshire- they lacked the better portion of details. Thankfully before Mr. Collins could have an ecstoic eposide about the splendor of the entire room, leaving Elizabeth perplexed and humiliated, Charlotte amuzed at the cointaince of her husband, and everyone else a bit bored, the dinner bell rang.

As Lady Catherine would have it all manners of decorum must be upheld, leaving Darcy to sit beside Elizabeth, as Mr. Collins could not sit across from his wife.

As Elizabeth swept past and found her seat aside Darcy he felt that...that feeling again. She was so close to him at that moment. Not touching, but close enough. Her warmth, gentleness and scent could be felt and languished upon the stone countance Darcy had placed over his being. A wall had been put in place, he hoped not to have it broken. But she was so near. There was that smell-if only he could figure...ahh. Just then the deepest sense of pain hit Darcy, like a brick being thrown at his wall.

Lavender. She smelt like lavender. That is what had lasted upon Darcy's mind. Most women wear Lavender, but there was something about this scent and how it came from Elizabeth that reminded him of his mother. She had smelt like lavender. Every boy remembers the scent of his mother. It was her and that smell that rubbed his forehead when asleep, tugged him in with a song, chased him about the grounds in a game of tag, it was the smell he would remember as he sat upon her lap as she would read to him as a boy, that softness that guided him as he played the piano- an instrument he had not touched since, it was the scent of lavender he remembered at her funeral when he was but ten. That soft scent, his mother's scent that died and left with her...that's what Elizabeth recalled to Darcy. She felt like his home, that place in his heart he had protected and locked up since.

As Darcy brought all of these thoughts to mind his Aunt was interogating Elizabeth about her family. It was more like insulting everything about the Bennet family, but Elizabeth was doing quite well. He was proud of her at that moment.

Later that evening, after dinner and after Lady Catherine continued her humiliation of Elizabeth and Elizabeth graced through each stage of battle, Darcy thought of that feeling again. Raised as the heir to Pemberley he knew better than anyone what expectations were upon him. What was expected, desired and needed of him. It should be his intention at the moment to find a suitable wife. A woman who would aid to his family connection, property, land, ventures, capital, and position. Elizabeth Bennet had none of these things. Her family was ridiculous. Her mother certainly had high hopes and expectations for her daughters. An unagreeable woman altogther. Her actions at the ball, the insults against Ms. Lucas, and the way she prattled on about Jane's beauty. Then there were the youngest Bennets who cared for nothing more than a man in uniform. Mr. Bennet didn't seem to care or mind at the way his family conducted themselves. Mr. Collins was a shame for anyone to be related to him. Such a small man with want of connection. The way he spoke of his aunt in such affection and held her word to be God was most cumbersome. The Bennet family was certainly not what the Darcy name required. Her inferiority of birth was no small thing.

But then he thought of Caroline Bingley. Why such a face and woman would cross his mind at that moment was beyond him. He loathed Caroline Bingley. She was everything he found wrong with the aristorcacy. That want of connection and superiority. The way she held her nose down upon everyone. All she cared for was fashion, gossip and finding a man to fulfill her pocketbook. If not Elizabeth than certainly his life would be perplexed with having to find a match amongst women like Caroline Bingley. That's when he noticed something. The only difference between Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Bennet was money. Both was ridiculous. Both wanted money and better station in life. Yet, Caroline dressed in the newest fashions of London and was coy in all her remarks. Mrs. Bennet was more irksome in nature for her voice vibrated and shattered all within a distance of at least fifty yards. Was one of such inferior birth really all that different from a woman with a position.

For that matter his Aunt, Lady Catherine, certainly didn't show any reserve in her attack upon Elizabeth. For that he was mortifyed and humiliated beyond words, only his pridfule outfront protected him from looking like a kicked puppy. Perhaps, it was only money that was the difference. For Mrs. Bennet was just as forthright as Lady Catherine, but Mrs. Bennet was poor and seen as an annoyance whereas Lady Catherine was intimidating.

Elizabeth Bennet, however, was none of these things. She spoke her mind and never once suggested she wanted to marry for anything less than love. She was loyal, devoted, trustworthy- she had proven all of these things in her diligent care of her sister Jane while at Netherfield. Most importantly, Elizabeth Bennet for some reason unbenoucned to him, was his home. Perhaps, he could overlook the inferority of her birth. Perhaps, he could allow himself to love her.

Such tumultous thoughts and desires raced over Darcy, he scarley knew what to do.

His aunt was always saying to practice, so Darcy practiced. He would ask Elizabeth Bennet to be his wife. Darcy overcame her inferority of birth, but had not thought of other obstacles. The wall around him was slowly crumbled, and when Elizabeth Bennet was done with him, his wall would be shattered and Darcy would be left quite broken. That was the problem of Humpy Dumpy. Once his wall had come down, he was left in pieces without any hope of being put back together again. So much for happily ever after.

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Various [Jul. 27th, 2006|04:47 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Redemption:

There comes a time in everyman's life that he must confess if not to the world, well than at least to himself that he has made a mistake. Mr. Darcy manifested a blunder not only to himself, but to his best friend Charles Bingley. In retrospect Darcy agreed that he had Bingley's best intentions at heart, but it was his own heart that was the culprit. Darcy sought to separate Bingley from Jane hoping that Ms. Bennet and all the other Bennets would never cross his path again.

He never dared to think that perhaps Jane was a bit like himself. Scared...scared to show too much attachment for the fear of not obtaining the same affection. Scared that perhaps the match was, well in her case to above her. But does love ever take notice of circumstance. No...Darcy had wronged Jane and he tried to wrong himself. In truth, Darcy rarely showed his true emotions, why expect it of anyone else.

Maybe he was asking too much. To be forgiven for such an offense as this. Darcy alone knew the pain and trouble of a broken heart. Sometimes one must allow humility to take root and change a person's accountance for life. Elizabeth's offense on behalf of Darcy ruining her sister's happiness was such a humility. It was time for him to make amends. In hope that it was not too late, not for Bingley and Jane, but more importantly perhaps Elizabeth could find forgiveness in her heart.

Bingley was expected to return to Darcy House in London within the next hour. Darcy took that hour to prepare himself for the greatest challenge of his life...to seek not only forgiveness but to admit his wrong doing and shame...and to acknowledge what his own conscious had been striving to hide- his own love for Ms. Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy paced the length of the great hall. Portraits of Darcy's before him starring at his broken stature. He could feel their judgment as a weight upon his shoulders. His pulse was quick and his palms sweaty. This was going to be a testament to his will, to make it out alive and unscaved. Perhaps this is what one calls a nervous breakdown.

Then came the sound of an approaching carriage. Show time. Darcy took a deep breath and processed to meet Bingley in the atrium. Bingley's happy decorum suggested that he had no idea as to the business of Darcy's request to meet Bingley two days earlier than expected.

The two gentlemen met in high fashion and form, greeted with the return of the regular and expected civilities.

"I hope all is well Darcy, I was not expecting you to be in London until Friday," Bingley innocently questioned Darcy, who at the moment appeared as though he had just run a marathon.

"Quite well," Darcy retorted without hesitation. "There is a matter of the utmost importance that I must relay to you Bingley. Perhaps we should retire to the study," Darcy's gaze was intense and beated upon the unsuspecting Bingley. Bingley, on occassions such as this knew it to be in his best interest to allow Darcy to instruct him as to the particulars at his lesiure. As a friend Bingley assured himself that nothing of too great importance was to transpire, or at least he hoped, but whatever the countance Bingley was his most loval friend and would take on any mission or secret.

The walk to the study was quick and Darcy allowed Bingley to reach the center of the room before shutting the door quietly behind himself. Darcy's behavior was peculiar. He seemed to be all out of sorts, and Darcy was a man that was never out of sorts.

"Bingley, I must confess I have done some wrong on your behalf. I do not ask that you forgive me, not now. I only wish to make amends for what I have so pediciously done." Darcy was calm and collected. His practiced speech was of no help now. Passion had got the best of him, and the rest would come from his heart.

"Darcy I do not..." Bingley interjected.

"Please allow to finish with my...my confession Mr. Bingley before you reproach me," Darcy stated with the care of not demanding silence, but rather piety for his current position. Without a word Bingley silentley gestured he would do as Darcy wished.

"I fear that I have caused not only yourself but a Ms. Jane Bennet great harm. As I have already divulged to you, I believed her affection for you to be lacking. You seemed to care a great deal more for her, than I allowed her timidicy to account for. Since then I have been informed from a most loyal and trusted aquitance that Jane is a bit shy, and perhaps I was too quick to judge her character. Mr. Bingley I must inform you that Jane loves you as you wished she love you. But as I relate this blunder on my behalf I must also tell you that I had other motives, which I am so greatly sorry for. I never thought, I didn't realize the pain of heartache until this. Bingley...I have discovered I am quite out of my league. Emotions were never any concern to myself. I was happy, in my own naïve and proud position as that what happiness truly was. As you grew attached to Jane I found myself thrown at the mercy of Ms. Elizabeth Bennet. I sought to forget her and wished never to be in her company again. I was so blind and stupid of this matter. I knew my position demanded more and there are great expectations for myself. The only way I could control and hope never to meet Elizabeth was to remove her from my company, which included Jane to be out of the picture. I am not proud of this, nor do I recognize myself anymore." Darcy's expression changed from remorse to sheer agony. If Darcy was a weaker man he surley knew he would be in tears. Bingley, a gentleman in every degree listened to Darcy without judgment. Perhaps not listening to Darcy after learning Jane loved him.

"I don't know what to say," Bingley blurted.

"Bingley I am deeply sorry. I expected too much from myself and asked too much from our friendship"

"For the first time in our acquitance Darcy I believe you have finally done something wrong and now need my guidance," Bingley smiled at the notion, and Darcy knew himself humbled but forgiven. Bingley had a greater heart than Darcy could ever imagined. "What are we to do?"

"Do?" Darcy asked surprised at the lack of subject.

"Yes man," Bingley smiled and on behald of his friend's newly found modesty dared not to laugh. "It appears we are two men foolishly in love. How are we to obtain our beloveds?"

"Perhaps we should crawl hand and knees to their doorway and beg to be granted their hands in marriage. For at this moment I feel as though that is not beneath me," Darcy grinned.

Bingley found Darcy a changed man. He had never seen Darcy in love. Obviously Darcy had been in love for her had been pinning for Elizabeth all these months, but this was the first time Bingley had witnessed Darcy allow himself to love another so greatly. Bingley enjoyed this moment, for it would be the first in many of the tender moments of honesty the two men would share over the years.

"Shall we to Longhurn then?" Bingley asked in eager anticipation.

Darcy nodded and the two men hurried on their way, both wearing the same smile. It was a smile that could not be washed away, but unlike Bingley, Darcy also had a great fear that he would not be accepted. He would have to wait, an act of God would have to force Fate to help Darcy. Well, God or Lady Catherine which in her own estimation were quite the same. So Darcy took the first step in redirecting his misfortunes.

The journey from London to Neterfield was long, but the walk to Longhorn the next morning was eternal. The road to salvation is always the longest.


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PRACTICE:


INTERNAL MONOLOGUE OF MR. DARCY before the first proposal

Practice, Practice- okay. {With a deep sigh Darcy brings his eyes to focus upon the mirror in his dressing room.}
Miss Elizabeth (he bows).....(long pause)
Great, she'll reply "Mr. Darcy," and then what man??
Okay, okay, come on man. You're an eligible bachelor. Women throw themselves at you...oh course you want the one woman who things you incorrigable. (Laughs to himself) This is ridiculous.
Miss Elizabeth (he bows again)
I was hoping I could have the pleasure of conversing with you. (Looks at the mirror as though he can't even believe the words that are coming out of his mouth- a slight shake of his head)
Miss Elizabeth (bows)
Mr. Collins gave a fine sermon, did he not?
(mimics Elizabeth: Yes it was quite agreeable. I daresay I have never heard a more rehearshed lecture.)
Are you to walk back now?
(mimics Elizabeth: Yes, I rather enjoy the fresh air after such a stimulating hour of indoors.)
It looks as though it shall rain though (oh this is going well- she's a good judge of weather you idiot)
(mimics Elizabeth: Well then I shall have to walk quickly. Good day Mr. Darcy)
Yes Darcy this has gone quite well.
(Sternly fixes his cravat and huffs)
Miss Elizabeth
Oh to bloody hell with it. I LOVE YOU. I Can't seem to breathe without you. Marry me.
(embarassed laugh)
Oh forget this (quickly rushes from the room) 


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A Restless Night for Mr. Darcy 

Darcy returns to Rosings after being refused by Elizabeth. The clouds have not only dampened and cried all over England, but they have settled over his heart. He can no longer see clearly, and is filled with the deepest pain. Through his own doing, he has lost the one woman he has ever dared to love. This once strong, proud man, is broken. His stride is no longer quick and long, but it's faint, he fears there is no reason for him to keep moving. He has found the one person he wishes to stand still with, but she has run away.

The rain continues to rush over him, but he feels it not. Nothing is as it seems, and everything has changed. Though he had known Rosings his entire life there was something morose about it now. The woods were particulary isolated, the trees too tall, his aunt was more vendictive, the hallways were too large, the hollowness- the emptiness. It wasn't Rosings that changed, sadly it was Darcy. He had become empty and desolate. The crackling of thunder in the distance made Darcy shutter.

It's hours after Elizabeth has denied him eternal happiness. The rain is still pouring, and darkness has consumned all happiness. Disheleved and appearing as though he has visted the nearest resting station for a few exlicers of denial, Darcy refuses to dine with his penicious aunt and altogether too observant cousin. Instead he has found comfort in solace. His bedchamber was a haven.

The windows have been shut, and the air suffocates him. A nervous twitch has set in his arms [perhaps too much comfort at the pub]. No, not that. Elizabeth's face brushes past his mind, not her "I never want to see you again face," no it's the smile she gave him when she was made aware of hispresence at Rosings. Before Darcy could allow his cravat to be undone, or his boots to be pulled from his body, he collapsed upon his bed.

[She doesn't love me]. There was more pain in that thought than Darcy could have ever imagined. She was his soul, and...it was too unbearable. His nervous twtich has spread to his entire body as he shakes. It's not the dampness or the suffocation of the room, it's not from being drenched, it was because he had in someway disappointed Elizabeth. Without consciously allowing it, he had caused her pain.

His eyes were tear stained, but the depth of his despair was too great to allow him the consideration to cry. Something inside of him hurt more than any sob could account for. This was the game Life and Life in Death were playing, for the soul of the Mariner, Darcy knew Life in Death had won his. Surely a life without Elizabeth's laugh, touch, gentlness, and love would be no life at all.

A flickering candle, the only light in the room, died with that last thought. Just as well Darcy believed. He closed his eyes and sought to find comfort in sleep, but little comfort can be found in waking alone. It was a restless night for Darcy as visions of Elizabeth crept through his dreams. [Lizzie, oh Lizzie- but she never did hear his voice, the rain had created sea that separated Darcy from Elizabeth. "Lizzie, LIZZIE," he would shout frantically, but she never did come back, Darcy's body fercilly shook]

Unknowingly, as he drifted from dream to dream, his hand clentched the invisible form of Elizabeth's hand as he had helped her in the carriage that one afternoon. If only he didn't let go.
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(no subject) [Jul. 27th, 2006|04:45 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
Mr. Wickham! The very name was an outrage to Mr. Darcy. How such a man, a man that Darcy himself befriended as a child, could turn out so corrupt, base, and immoral was beyond Darcy.

Truth be told, in youth George Wickham was as loving a boy as any other. There was a kindness in him then that no one aquinted with him at present would recognize. His manners were dignified and he showed a keen interest in pursuing a noble position of life, that of a man of the robes.

Yet, something went horribly wrong in Wickham's life. There was something beyond his power and grasp, and to a boy who saw the sky as the limit, being denied the simplist of things was enough to place a darkness over his heart.

The only thing wrong with Mr. Wickham was he was not a Darcy. 



The Late Mr. Darcy loved Wickham as a son, but at the end of the day, he was not. Sure there was room enough for effection from the kind old man, but Fitzwilliam Darcy was the true heir. He was a son. Wickham was an outsider. A mere relation, not even that, who imposed on the Darcys. When the Late Mr. Darcy passed on, bequeathing the estate to Fitzwilliam Darcy, Wickham was faced with the truth, plain and simple. There was no place among the Darcys for him. He could no recall a time when his mother held him in her arms, or his father instructed him to ride a pony. These were not memorizes in Wickham's past. He had none of those things. Mr. Darcy however, had these things. Above all else, Mr. Darcy had a sister. A young vibrant young lady who adored her elder brother, for he was now her guardian, and she saw him as a father figure. Instead of taking pity on the young girl, Wickham saw an opportunity.

The one man Mr. Wickham hated was the one Ms. Georgiana Darcy loved. She was easily persuaded and such an attractive young lady. She was not his sister, and Wickham wanted revenge. Revenge for something he didn't quite understand. Fate had delt Wickham a cruel hand, but instead of rising to the occasion, Wickham decided to extract what he wanted, EVERYTHING- that was Mr. Darcy's- that meant Pemborley, half of Derbyshire, wealth, and the affection of Ms. Darcy.

Needless to say Ms. Darcy was only so eager to get married, although at the time it can be concluded that the young Ms. Darcy was not all aware of what marriage inclinded. To her a romance was a knight whisking away the princess, she forget the dragons and monsters that went along with such stories. For even the young and innocent come across a wolf dressed as a kind being. Little Red Riding Hood met such a fate.

The true hero in Ms. Darcy's life was her brother, for it was he who loved her, raised her, watched over her, and on one such occasion that they barely speak of anymore, saved her from the likes of a Mr. Wickham.

Yet, Mr. Wickham was one of those villians that never seemed to go away. He always had the worst timing to show back up. It was at the time that Mr. Darcy was trying to become more acquinted and familiar with Ms. Elizabeth Bennet that the scoundrel trapsed back into town, and again tried to steal a treasure from Mr. Darcy.

Luckily, Elizabeth Bennet was a wise lady, and the only setback Darcy had to rear from Wickham was a misunderstanding between Elizabeth and himself. Darcy had caused havoc in Elizabeth's life, and didn't deserve her trust and friendship, but none the less when Darcy told Elizbath his side to the matter of inheritence and the character of Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth believed him, no questions asked. The problem of Mr. Wickham seemed to be put to rest.

That would only be the thought of one who did not encounter the persistant Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Darcy formed an attachment to Elizabeht Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet refused Mr. Wickham. This was not good, not for Wickham, whom it has been stated wanted everything Mr. Darcy had. If Wickham could not have Elizabeth, then neither could Mr. Darcy.

The plot was much harder this time around. Elizabeth couldn't be pursuaded to elope with such a man as himself. Sensible girls were not to his liking- they never seeemd to cooperate. Fortunate for Wickham, Elizabeth Bennet had an unreasonable, flirt of a sister. Yes, Lydia Bennet would do just fine.

Lydia Bennet was more cooperative than Georgiana Darcy, for Georgiana Darcy was innocent, Lydia was more forboding to the demands of Wickham. She made no complaints or mistakes as to the nature of an elopment, should such a thing occur. Wickham had no intention whatsoever in eloping with Lydia, he only needed her for a fortnight. That should seal the deal Wickham believed.

Lydia would ruin her family, and no man would ever want to align his family with such a family as the Bennets. Particulary a stuffy, arrogant, nave as Mr. Darcy. If Wickham couldn't have what he wanted, then neither could Mr. Darcy.

It was not suprising at all that the name to which cursed out of Elizabeth Bennet's mouth when relating the elopement of her sister was Mr. Wickham. Darcy knew all to well the tactics and operation of such a man as Mr. Wickham. Without haste he sought to rectify the sitution of a Mr. Wickham once and for all.

Darcy left a devasted Elizabeth to the care of her aunt and uncle. As Darcy walked out the door she feared he would never reenter. It had taken her so long to get to that moment. She was finally willing to allow love to enter her heart. She saw Darcy now for who he was, and was sorry for the pain she had caused him in her refusal to marry him. Elizabeth never knew she could feel such pain in losing something she knew was not entirely hers. She had sworn to hate him, but instead found she did not want to live without him.

This is the moment in time where this story takes place. Mr. Darcy taking on the figure of the heroic knight attempting to save the young maidan from the dragon. Too bad for Darcy, he didn't like theatrics, but he played the part so well anyway. There was never a moments pause for Darcy on whether or not he would be able to save the Bennet family. The only dilemna Darcy faced was what he was going to do with Wickham when he found him. A thorough lashing upon the rack sounded about right, but Darcy was not a man to torture pathetic animals. No, Wickham for once in his life would be forced to do what was right. Darcy would see to that.

A dark night set over Northern London. The moon vibrarted an eerie silver aura. There was something in the air just then. Wickham stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Strange he thought. No one was there, but sure enough Wickham felt the heat and presence of something about to come. Lydia was trasping along side of him, a bit tipsy from too much merriment. Her hair was uncoiled and her dress was a bit dishevled, what a shame for it was a new dress, and Lydia very much liked new things. As Wickham stopped to look about, Lydia insisted on his moving forward. Afterall, there was nothing there.

"Poor Kitty," Lydia slurred out.

Wickham was only half paying attention, a habit he adapted in the presnce of Lydia for she surely loved to ramble on about this and that, none of which was ever of any importance. But to keep his mind off of his own problems at the moment, for he couldn't shake the notion that something was about to happen, he indulged into a conversation with the youngest Ms. Bennet.

"What for?"

"She desperately wanted to come, but the Forests only wanted me. I always liked the Forests. Such lovely people. Sarah was so jealous when she saw my new dress. What do you think of my new dress? Lovely isn't it. But Kitty couldn't come. Such a shame, for she could have found a husband..."

Perhaps, Wickham thought, he was not that desperate to pertake in such a conversation. There was no real need for him anyway, Lydia did all the talking.

When the door to the Bulls Inn slammed shut behind a drunken man, Wickham jumped about a foot in the air. Lydia couldn't contain her laughter at the sight of Wickham being all shaken up from such a thing, he was an army man afterall.

To hush the impertient laughter of Lydia, Wickham rapped her about his arms and quickly led her up the three flights of stairs to their bedchamber. She would pay for his humiliation. Like in all areas of his life, Wickham was also a selfish lover. He cared more about his needs and desires, than for the comfort and caress of any woman. For it could just as well be any woman in his arms. Though, Wickham kept focus on his plan, in ruining Darcy, Wickham couldn't help but feel that perhaps the suffer the company of Lydia Bennet was not worth it. Wickham took his rage and jealousy and poured it into his endowments.

When the morning light pranced into the bedchamber of Wickham and Lydia, Wickham was again pressed with the notion that something was not right. He had heard of cold feet, but he had no intention of marrying Lydia, so why he would feel such a notion was beyond him. It was more than that. Something telling him that he should not get ouf of bed, that he should crawl back under the covers and never reveal himself to the light of day again. So strong was his desire not to move from his resting place, that when Lydia stirred to begin her day, the day Wickham promised tp marry her, his strong arm reached arcoss the bed and enraptured her. The day would have to wait a little longer to be welcomed. And only then it was to remove himself from the charm of his willing bed partner.

Meanwhile, Darcy spent the evening racing towards London. There was a rage in his eyes and demeaner. His grasp of the reigns was overpowering and Trepid, his black steed was more than willing to race on. Although Darcy was focused on his mission he could not help but think of Elizabeth. It was the first time he had seen tears in her eyes. Tears he could not kiss away. A scared woman he could not hold. He longed to comfort her, take her in his arms and make all the pain in the world stop. Darcy wanted nothing more than to rap his arms around her and protect her. He would keep her safe and never let anything happen to her. He would love her, provide for her, and stroke her hair as he whispered in her ears that he was there and everything was going to be alright. But Elizabeth Bennet didn't want Darcy. He could not hold her, caress her, and make the pain stop. She did not want him, and he couldn't let her go.

Darcy wasn't chasing after Wickham to win Elizabeth, he would never suggest such a barbaric notion. No, he was going to save the Bennets from ruin, because he loved her. In his own heart he would love her, and would find happiness in knowing that perhaps someday she too would find happiness. If she could only love as he did her. All of it would be worth it. There was a hole in Darcy's heart, but he strove to forget his own sufferings.

It was mid-afternoon when Darcy arrived in town. He wasted no time in chaning horses or attire. He set about to find the whereabouts of the two most useless people in the world. It was of no surprise that Wickham set about in the same course as he had done last time. Wickham was not, shall we say, a bright man.

The BlackBeard. That's where Darcy would find Wickham. It was the only gambling pub within a ten mile radius, and those were Wickham's weaknesses. When Darcy entered the debauched pub he was glad that he had not changed his attire. No sene in sticking out in a crowd of ruddy men. For the first time in his life, Darcy didn't feel the beat of every person starring at him as he made an entrance. Here he was just one of the guys and just like everyone else. He was not Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. He was Mr...who cared what his name was, as long as he had money to burn.

A large commotion began to the right of Darcy as he stepped further into the broken down hole of a place. The stench of cigars and alcohol was enough to give the strongest of men a headache.

Wickham. Of course he was the center of all the attention. Apparently he forget to pay his gambling debt that night before. Another reason, perhaps Wickham felt the incessant need to watch his back. On any other day, on any other occasion Darcy would have gladly allowed Wickham to be thrashed, beaten, and possibly be killed. But for the first time in his life, Darcy ventured to conclude that Wickham was worth more alive than dead, at least for the moment. There was still the business of Lydia, who at the present he was thankful was not about. Although Darcy may have looked like everyone else, he surely did not act like everyone else. While those used to such commotion just went about with their drinking and gambling, Darcy acted, well Darcy acted like himself. Standing erect and ever so much the gentleman, Darcy made his way through the boisterous crowd, hoping that a brawl was not about to ensue.

When Darcy at last came into the sight of Wickham the noise died and there was no motion. In an instant, all was not right. Darcy glowered at Wickham disposition, and Wickham, humiliated, almost dared to spit at the ground beneath Darcy's feet but thought the better of it.

"Gentleman," probably the first time anyone ever called this group of men such a thing, "I will gladly pay the debt of this man if you would but release him," Darcy sternly attested. Fighting was always a good sport, but being paid was more agreeable.

The two men who had forciibly holding onto Wickham, not allowing him to escape their grasps, piloted Wickham into the floor as they threw him from their release.

Wickham continued not to move.

"You'd be owing us fifty quid," greedily stated the small bald man aside Darcy's left shoulder.

In the next moment Darcy reached within his waistcoat and glady handed the money to the gaggle of men. His eyes never left Wickham's body, hence if he dared to run he would not be far behind.

"It's been a pleasure gentleman, but now I must see to it that our dear friend here is ready for his wedding at two," Darcy beamed over Wickham, extending his hand to help the defeated man from the ground.

Wickham rather liked the idea of being beaten within an inch of his life at the moment. It sounded, well it sounded less like Lydia's incesstant, prattling voice.

Not wanting a lynching, Wickham decided it best for the time being to allow Darcy to escort him from the bar.

"Better hurry along Wickham, must not be late for your own wedding," Darcy stepped up the pace.

"I fear I do not have the proper attire," Wickham dared to answer, "and I seem to be missing a bride."

Darcy stopped walking. Never a good sign. With his temper in check Darcy preceded with the conversation, this time face to face with the one man Darcy cared if he never looked in the face again.

"Mr. Wickham," said with an inflection in Darcy's voice that made Wickham a bit nervous. The wrath of a man in love was never a gentle thing. He was in dangerous waters and knew better than to drown. "I came here with the every attention of seeing you married this time. You seem to complain and vent about not getting your way, well as I understand it was your intention to elope with Ms. Bennet, and I will glady see to it, that you marry a Ms. Bennet. Do I make myself clear Mr. Wickham?"

"Perfectly, Sir," Wickham glared back at Darcy, and a threat was noted in his eyes.

As the two men continued to walk towards the Inn, Darcy informed Wickham that wedding arrangements had already been made. There was no way Wickham was going to easily weasle his way out of this one. For once in his life, it appeared Wickham was getting everything he wanted. Although, perhaps he should have aimed for Mary Bennet, she didn't speak as much as Lydia, or dance and rattle on and on about something, then again no one did these things like Lydia. There was a certain art to it that she had perfected. Sadly no one admired it, rather they just gazed and wondered what it all meant. Wickham knew what it meant- enternity. Maybe fate would be kind and would take her away soon. Wickham thought all these things as he waited for his bride.

Darcy stood close by Wickham, making sure no one left the room until Wickham and Lydia were man and wife.

Lydia was a confounded at the presence of Darcy. She knew him to be unagreeable, proud, and the ruin of Mr. Wickham. How could such a man come and stand beside her Wickham? Overjoyed at getting married, Lydia overlooked Darcy's presence. Perhaps, he brought a wedding present. It was the least he could do for what he had done to Wickham. Honestly, she thought, some men have no class.

Darcy did have a wedding present for the young couple. For Lydia it was the wedding, for without him she would have never seen an alter. For Wickham he brought a commission, taking Wickham and his bride far away from the rest of Darcy's social settings.

At the end of the day it was a good deed. Still there was a pang in Darcy's heart.

As it has been noted, Wickham wanted everything that Darcy had. Well, for the first time, Darcy wanted what Wickham had, a wife.

The memory of those tears came back to Darcy as he sat atop his horse, about to depart for Neterfield. Yet, they were not Elizabeth's tears, they were his own.
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(no subject) [Jun. 21st, 2006|02:36 pm]
Austen Square

byatt_lover
Welcome to Austen Square- a local club near you, where you meet your favorite friends to discuss the issues of the day- Jane Austen and the world she has created and inspired. 
Film discussions, book club questions, and all such things are acceptable and greatly encouraged.
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