Elizabeth/Darcy Part 10

Happy day & night to all...hope you enjoy this installment as much as I enjoyed writing it! Debra Mc delivered the magic of correct punctuation, spelling, and grammar where needed...she's awesome.

A side note...I struggle with what these folks call one another once on a first name basis...I mean, JA never really gets the characters in P&P there, hence all the trite fanfic cliches...Richard, Thomas, Fanny, etc. So specifically, I can't find any way of first-naming Mr. Darcy that suits me. Fitzwilliam reminds me of the Colonel, and just seems so, well, formal. William is not his name. Wills & Fitz; I just have a hard time with that. Anyway, I settled on William...I figure since William Price was named such it was common enough.



Part 11



-Elizabeth-

Papa’s words plagued my thoughts for days. I could no longer deny that I had been reluctant to acknowledge Mr. Darcy to be a decent man, and slower still to see him as a good one. I was quick to judge him, and gleefully encouraged Meryton to join in my scorn; a matter which the townspeople had not yet forgotten. Though I was not quite ready to forgive his latest transgression entirely, I decided it was well past time to begin to make amends for mine. Mama’s estimation of Mr. Darcy had markedly, and volubly, improved since her return from London, which I found to be curious, but that was another matter, as I had yet to let the populace know that I had been mistaken in my own assessment of him. There was no easier way to achieve this than to share my revised opinion with my dear aunt, Mrs. Phillips. She, like my mother, generally means well, but is not known to hold her tongue.

My aunt and uncle hosted a dinner for the officers before they were to leave for Brighton, about five days after my mother and Jane came home, so it was then that I set my plan in motion. Drawing Maria Lucas nearby to lend credence to my claims, I introduced the subject, ensuring that my garrulous aunt was within hearing.

“So, Maria, how did you find Kent? Are you happy to see your sister settled there? We have not had the opportunity to converse since our return, I think.”

“Oh! I thought it was so beautiful! The gardens are just lovely. And to think-we dined nine times at Rosings! Such elegance I have never seen!”

I checked my own thoughts on the elegance of Rosings and probed further, “And what did you think of the company? Did you find Charlotte’s neighbors to be pleasing?”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam was so very friendly, but I must admit, I still find Mr. Darcy to be quite intimidating; and his Aunt! So grand! Oh! I could not say anything beyond a monosyllable in her presence.”

“Truly? I prodded hopefully, “You did not find Mr. Darcy’s manner a bit more open than when we met here in the fall?”

“That pompous man?” my aunt chimed in, as I had expected, “Why, he thought himself above us all whenever we met. Such abominable pride! I’ll wager he had never met with more charming manners than he did here, yet he was in a hurry to dismiss us all for our lack of fortune!”

I was ashamed to hear my former thoughts reflected in my aunt’s words, but I would not be dissuaded from my purpose.

Uneasily, I ventured, “Aunt, I am afraid that Mr. Darcy did not show himself to the best advantage when he was here in the fall. Indeed, I found him quite amiable in Kent and in London, did you not, Maria?”

“Oh, yes! I did not mean to say he was unkind, only, he is such a stately man; it is difficult for one to know what to say around him. He was very solicitous of our welfare while in Kent, as was all his family, really. He certainly smiled more!”

“That tall, proud, man?” Kitty asked, disbelievingly, “He is certainly not as friendly as his cousin, the Colonel,” she said dreamily, “I am sure I never heard him say two words together. He always seemed so severe, did he not?”

“Perhaps he did,” I answered carefully, “But maybe he was not comfortable here; he did not know any of the people hereabouts; and rumors of his wealth preceded him, so it is not unreasonable that he would be aloof. You did not see much of him when you were in London, I think, but I can assure you, and Jane can attest to it as well, he is very agreeable.”

“I am sorry, Lizzy,” Jane said, tearing her gaze from Mr. Bingley. ”I was not attending; to what did you need me to attest?”

Kitty supplied the response, “Lizzy says that Mr. Darcy is an amiable man; is it true?”

“Mr. Darcy has been my friend these many years,” offered Mr. Bingley, “And I declare; he is indeed very amiable; much more so, perhaps, than he sometimes appears to be. It is true that he is at times, reserved in company.” Jane smiled in obvious agreement with her affable fiancé.

“Lord, I never saw him laugh, to be sure; such a dreadfully dull man!” To this, Lydia added an irreverent snort.

Mary lifted her nose from her volume of Fordyce’s Sermons to offer, “But we cannot be easy, where we are not safe. We are never safe in the company of a critic; and almost every wit is a critic by profession.”*

Kitty and Lydia giggled, and Lydia burst out with, “And Mr. Darcy is the severest critic of all! Poor Lizzy, to be only just tolerable! I should have died had he said the same about me, though I should not care one jot for his opinion.”

I quelled my embarrassment as my Aunt Phillips asked, “You say he is an agreeable man, Lizzy?”

“I do, Aunt.”

As my aunt is a woman of mean understanding, and Mr. Darcy, a man of means, she required no further persuasion, and accepted the information as fact.

Looking over at Aunt Phillips, I noticed two things: one of which pleased me, and one, which assuredly did not. I first observed my aunt as she turned to her companions and immediately began relating what she heard, rendering my undertaking a success. Behind her, I saw Mr. Wickham, who must have entered a few minutes earlier, watching me with a hard glint in his eye which I had not seen before. I sighed to myself, relieved that he would be leaving with his regiment in a few short days, ensuring we would finally be rid of him. I focused my energy for the rest of the evening on the genial conversation, a game of loo, and, on staying as far away from Mr. Wickham as possible.

***

I could deny it to myself as much as I might have liked, but as the days passed by, I began to hope for some word of Mr. Darcy, though none was forthcoming. I was obliged to be satisfied with news from his relations; Georgiana and Anne, both of whom proved to be regular correspondents. An added benefit of exchanging letters with Anne was that the necessarily covert method of delivery was bringing her and Charlotte closer together-a relationship advantageous to both. Her letters frequently conveyed thoughtful reflections and wistful desires. Georgiana’s missives were filled with poetic observations about life in London, and were sprinkled with references to her brother. Her most recent note indicated that she was to join him for the wedding, though a date of travel had not yet been decided. Still, I could look on the eventual arrival with something like anticipation.

It was during these days of uncertainty that Mr. Bingley happened upon me in front of Longbourn as he arrived to call on Jane. I was in the midst of writing a narrative for Georgiana. In it, she prepares for her coming out ball, and unintentionally rebuffs the attentions of countless eligible bachelors, leaving them all baffled, until one catches her eye. Thusly occupied, I did not hear Mr. Bingley’s approach until he was upon me.

“Miss Elizabeth!” he called gaily.

“Mr. Bingley!” I welcomed him, “As we are soon to be brother and sister, perhaps we need not be so formal with one another?”

“Indeed, Elizabeth; I believe you are right.”

“Much better, Charles,” I teased him with a smile and explained, “I would not, for the world, have people say I do not cherish my only brother.”

“Nor I!” he laughed, “Especially not I!”

“And how does your friend, Mr.-Charles?” I asked, laughing at my own misstep.

“He is well, and is due to join us at any time. He has been detained by business in London, which, I believe, has recently concluded.”

“Oh?” I exclaimed, my heart pounding in my chest. Attempting to hide my discomposure, I continued jestingly, “And what is the nature of this all-consuming business, or do I presume to ask too much?”

I thought Mr. Bingley looked slightly uncomfortable as he shifted his stance and answered, “I-I am afraid I do not quite know.”

“Never mind, Charles,” I waved him off lightheartedly, to ease his discomfort, as well as mine, “An important man such as Mr. Darcy will always have pressing matters to tend to. Shall we go inside?”

It seemed he could not move quickly enough to oblige.



-Darcy-


After meeting with Lord Murdock, I stayed in London a few days more to see that actions were taking the proper direction towards his removal from town. I enlisted Mr. Weldon to keep a close watch, and to keep me apprised of the progress. It was far past time for me to return to Hertfordshire. It had been over two weeks since I was last blessed with the company of Elizabeth, and the void I felt was enormous, even if she was not mine to pine after.

Two days before I was to leave, Georgiana besieged me for an explanation of why I would not bring her with me. I tried to deflect her queries, hoping to avoid revealing to her that Wickham remained in the area. According to Bingley’s information, the militia would likely be gone a day or two after I arrived, so I could easily wait, but I was hoping to arrive in good time to make certain Wickham was able to settle his accounts. I did not want the honest people of Meryton to suffer from my unwillingness to lay out my private affairs. But Georgiana, with a determination which could only have been inspired by an ardent wish to see her friend, was absolutely relentless, so I had to tell the truth.

“My dear, I wished to avoid telling you this, as have no desire to cause you pain, but, since you allow me no other recourse,” I stopped to look at her in mock disapproval, “I must inform you that George Wickham is quartered in Hertfordshire with the militia, and may still be there when I arrive. I would prefer to be certain he has gone from the area before bringing you.”

“Oh,” she frowned.

“Are you very much troubled by the news?” I asked anxiously, “I had rather hoped that you were able to put the incident behind you when we last spoke of it.”

“No! I am not distressed in the way you think; it’s only, well; I must admit, I am upset that he once again disrupts our lives. How I wish he would simply disappear! I mean, I do not wish him harm, but-“

I hugged her to me as I reassured her, “No one understands that sentiment as well as I do, my dear, and as soon as I can ensure he has done just that, I will send for you and Mrs. Annesley, but there are reasons for which I must go on ahead. It cannot be more than a few days; will that do?”

“Yes, I suppose it must. I do miss Elizabeth so!”

“As do I,” I said quietly. I felt her grin against my chest, and resisted the urge to squeeze her a bit too tightly.

Later that afternoon, while working in my study, I had an unexpected, yet most welcome, visit from Mr. Gardiner. As he was announced, I bade the footman to show him in directly.

“Mr. Darcy!” he called cheerfully, “Thank you for receiving me without notice.”

“Sir, I am always glad to see you,” I said as I rose and reached to shake his hand, “How may I be of service to you?”

“My good sir, you already have. I have just had word that Lord Murdock is preparing to sell off his estate to live in Scotland. I could not be more pleased!”

“It is nothing, as you know.”

“Ah, but I know more than you might think,” he smiled, “Never mind that, however; I have come to inform you that despite my best efforts at keeping your involvement in the affair silent, a remark from my brother’s latest letter leads me to fear that he has made the connection on his own. I know that you plan to journey to Hertfordshire soon, so I wished to warn you, on the chance that he may make mention of it. I would not wish you to be caught unawares.”

“Ah, yes, he made his sentiments known to me already.” Grinning, I gestured to the letter on my desk, where it had never been far from my thoughts.

Mr. Gardiner looked a bit uncertain as he appealed to me, “Ah, you must forgive my brother; I hope he said nothing untoward; sometimes, his humor gets the best of him.”

“No, no, there is nothing to forgive,” I laughed, “The note, though brief, was in fact, quite informative, and, Mr. Bennet has assured me that he will keep the matter to himself, for which I am most grateful.”

With an expression of relief tinged with curiosity he observed, “Well, at the very least, you may be assured of his secrecy. You can imagine, with six women in his midst, Thomas has learned to keep his own counsel.”

“Yes, indeed, I can.”

And I did, for a moment, imagine what it must be like for the poor man, constantly surrounded by women as he was. However amiable they may be, only one amongst them presented a reasonable match for his temperament and intellect. Yes, it must be a challenge indeed. I suppose his peculiarities might be excused as a form of defense against the surfeit of femininity in his home.

Mr. Gardiner did not tarry much longer, so I soon sent him off with my regards to Mrs. Gardiner and the children, and, after a moment’s deliberation, I asked him to relate to Miss Lily that I had not forgotten her advice. He looked at me a bit oddly, but asked no questions, and promised to deliver the message.

The next evening, I dined with the Fitzwilliam’s, and was happy to note the improved relations between Julian and my uncle. While he had never been strictly dissolute, Julian had been very careless in the past, and was well beyond the usual age of reformation toward more moderate habits, so it was with great relief that I noted the change, and I gave more effort than usual in engaging him in conversation. He, in turn, proved to be an agreeable companion, and quite adept in the art of discourse, not unlike his brother. After some intelligent talk about politics, estate management and such, he boldly addressed the subject dearest to my heart.

“That Miss Bennet of yours is a very beguiling creature,” he noted.

“She is, isn’t she?” I said, rather longingly, “Though, I cannot claim her for my own.”

“Perhaps not yet, but if I may be so bold, I do believe there will be a time, very soon, when you will,” he suggested, then explained further with his merry laughter, “During my dance with her, she seemed far more interested in hearing about you than she did in learning about me!”

Julian was rising in my esteem with each passing moment.

Not even Richard’s knowing smirk could stifle my good spirits just then. Of course, the outcome of my return to Elizabeth the next day might dampen them sufficiently.

When I left that evening, each family member wished me luck in his or her own way, some subtle, and others, not so. My favorite benediction, however, came from my uncle.

“Do stay away from the wine, son, and bring me a new niece; I begin to grow tired of the ones I have,” he jested, pulling Georgiana into his embrace. She offered no objection to his words.

I departed, with Georgiana’s arm in mine, feeling quite fortunate to have had the support and love of my family when I needed it most. It was a fine sensation indeed.



-Elizabeth-


Papa’s newfound attentiveness outlived the test of a few days. In the weeks that followed our return from London he continued to engage with all of his daughters. With Mary, he debated points on the scholarly texts she favored, and even recommended some additional readings to her. He complimented Kitty’s sketches, and offered suggestions and materials for practice. He even sometimes entered the fray of wedding talk; which perplexed my mother, but pleased Jane. He attempted to show interest in Lydia’s bonnets, though this only caused her sulking to intensify-she was not likely to forgive him the sin of denying her Brighton any time soon.

With me, his relationship had not much changed. We continued in our shared reflections on the literature we loved, and challenged one another in friendly games of chess. He joined me for short strolls on occasion and questioned me about the stories I had been writing. We laughed together about Georgiana’s tale, but I could not bring myself to tell him about my most recent venture, a narrative featuring a hero very much in the spirit of Mr. Darcy. Perhaps I would not have been so reluctant, had I known how the story would end, but, alas, I was unsure.

There was one observation I made which lent me some uneasiness; when I was alone with my father, I discerned a hint of a distant sadness which I could not understand, but each time I broached the subject, he blamed his inattentiveness on his age, and shrugged it off, making it clear to me that it was not a matter on which he wished to speak, so I dared not press further.

In any case, I appreciated his small efforts in taking a more active interest in my sisters, but unfortunately, I was soon faced with indefensible proof that Lydia, at least, had not much improved. On a late afternoon, as I walked out beyond the boundaries of Longbourn, toward Meryton, I encountered one whom I had rather not: Mr. Wickham - locked in what looked like a lover’s embrace - with my youngest sister.

“Lydia!” I chastised her, and they reluctantly pulled apart.

“There’s no need to be so tiresome, Lizzy!” Lydia protested, “I was simply wishing dear Mr. Wickham God’s speed. He is to leave tomorrow, you know.”

Not soon enough, I thought to myself.

“And Papa is being so horrid!” she complained, stomping her foot as would a child. “If I could but go to Brighton!”

“Lydia, we must return to the house,” I insisted.

At her obvious reluctance, I added, a bit more forcefully, “Now! Or, shall I tell Papa where I found you today?” I eyed her meaningfully, daring her to object.

Lydia pouted, but turned and left with me. Before we had gotten very far, Mr. Wickham’s voice rang out, “Miss Elizabeth!”

I cannot say why I did, but after shooing my grudging sister along, I went back to speak to Mr. Wickham; a quite stupid position to put myself in, but I was not thinking of the potential consequences, only the anger which I wished to release upon him. Despite all he had done, I thought him a fool, not a fiend, so I did not consider myself to be in any danger.

“Yes?” I asked impatiently.

“I would not wish to leave without bidding you farewell,” Mr. Wickham answered smoothly; “We were always good friends, were we not?”

“You will have to excuse me; I do not care for your method of leave taking,” I replied brusquely, and turned to leave. “Good, day, Mr. Wickham.”

“Please, wait!” He placed his hand upon my arm. I glared at the offending appendage until he pulled it away.

“Mr. Wickham, you can have nothing you need say to me. I must tend to my sister; the child, I might add, whom you have just importuned.”

Having realized that I was no longer susceptible to his facade of amiability, he dropped the last of the charade, and his eyes held the same malicious gleam I noticed at my Aunt Phillips’ house. I should have felt intimidated; but I did not.

“Your sister is hardly a child, Miss Elizabeth,” he said derisively, “and, I must say, she gave no indication that she felt she was being importuned.”

“You are despicable, sir. I would, if I could, wish you a safe journey, but I can only find enough charity in my heart to say, ‘good riddance’.”

He measured me with his eyes, an expression of disdain mixed with the unmistakable look of lust; a lascivious glare which left me feeling decidedly unclean.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he sneered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I should have known, once I heard you praising Darcy as though he were the prodigal son, I should have realized it was you who prattled to Colonel Forster. Such a shame, too. I truly thought we understood one another.” He raked me with his eyes as he drew closer, causing an involuntary shudder of disgust.

Though I had not, in fact, spoken to Colonel Forster, my father had, but I was not about to let Mr. Wickham know that. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, sir,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Do you not know what you have done?” He demanded, stepping closer, “Ever since you’ve returned from Kent, they have watched me like hawks. My commanders, the shopkeepers, even the fathers of the servant girls. I value my good reputation, Miss Elizabeth, however fabricated it may be; and I will do what I must to protect it.” He leered menacingly, stepping closer still, until he was only an arm’s length away.

A gasp caught my attention, and as I reflexively turned toward its source, Mr. Wickham tightly grabbed a hold of my right arm. It was quite providential for me then, that I am one of the few whom are quite as capable with the left hand as the right, so I reeled and slapped him hard across the face, causing him to let me go immediately.

Though I now felt the fear that I should have admitted long ago, I did not cower as he might have wished; I met his rage with equal determination. I was, admittedly, unsure of what to expect, but was prepared for an unpleasant scene, so I was a bit surprised when he paled considerably, mumbled a hurried “forgive me,” and quickly retreated into the woods. I smiled to myself as I brushed imaginary dirt from my skirts, smugly satisfied with the thought that I had inspired fear in such a contemptible man, until I turned around and faced the true source of Mr. Wickham’s alarm.



-Darcy-


I left before dawn to ensure an early arrival in Hertfordshire. I was certainly anxious to reach the county, and, more specifically, Elizabeth, but why I felt it necessary to push my beast to the brink of his ability, I cannot say. Fortunately, he is a strong animal, and carried me to my destination at a record pace. Upon reaching Netherfield, I hardly spared time for a proper greeting to Bingley, which was just as well - he was leaving for Longbourn when I arrived. I chose the efficiency of a cold bath over the comfort of a warm one, and was again ready to leave within half an hour.

I had little time before Wickham’s removal from the area, so I hurried first into the village to see about discharging any of his outstanding debts. To my surprise, the shopkeepers started denying him credit weeks ago, so the damage was actually minimal. I was further astonished by the graciousness in which I was received; I certainly had not given cause for kindness. Once again, I had underestimated the people of Meryton; but further reflection upon that theme would wait-I was in search of metal far more attractive.**

The sun was beginning its evening descent when I was finally at leave to head towards Longbourn. Veering from the road and entering the woods, I was soon arrested by the sight of Elizabeth-I would recognize her form anywhere-but she was not alone. It was a few moments longer before I realized her companion was Mr. Wickham, and that he held her arm in a tight grip. Furious, but still too far away to be of any use, I pressed Bingley’s fresh horse, which I had exchanged for my tired one, into a gallop towards them. Before I got much closer, he caught sight of me and spinelessly stalked away. My first instinct was to chase him down and give a free rein to my vengeance, but Elizabeth’s well-being was my primary concern. I hardly gave the horse a chance to stop its gait before jumping off and rushing to her.

“Elizabeth!” I exhaled, breathing heavily, “Did he harm you?”

Her initial expression of relief was quickly replaced by one of confusion as she replied, “No; he has not injured me. I believe he suffers more than I,” she added sardonically, a ghost of a smile on her face.

“You were quite fierce,” I agreed, having witnessed the well-deserved slap she delivered. Still, I noticed the red marks on her arms where his filthy hands had been, and was unable to conceal my dismay. She must have seen the direction of my gaze, as she absently moved to cover the bruises with her other hand.

I continued to watch Wickham’s retreat with a hardened scowl, my body taut with tension, until a soft hand gently pressed my forearm, claiming my attention. “Please, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth entreated, “Do not think of it. He is a coward, and not worth your concern.” My posture and expression immediately softened at her plea, and I turned to look on the face I love so well. She drew her hand back hastily, turning away from me.

“I must say, I was disappointed to learn that it was you, and not me, who motivated Mr. Wickham’s hasty departure. I had imagined myself a menacing creature,” she joked half-heartedly. Had my emotions not been so thoroughly disturbed, I might have been amused by her peevishness, but, as it was, it only added to my inner turmoil.

“Miss Elizabeth,” I pleaded, “Elizabeth, please, won’t you look at me?”

She did, but her face was etched with a pain which robbed me of my composure.

Filled with contrition, I groaned, “How can I ever express how sorry I am for the way I behaved?”

“Are you?” she asked testily, “I have been wondering these weeks what could have caused you to act in such a manner. Why were you ready to believe me capable of such behavior - in your own home, of all places?”

I passed my hand over my face, and began pacing in my self-induced frustration. “There is no response I can provide which might excuse my words and actions. I can only say that I was jealous and angry: angry with myself, for not being man enough to secure your heart; angry with you, for giving me no encouragement; and jealous of Mr. Greene, for apparently succeeding where I had failed. I was thoughtless and stupid.”

“If you knew you were wrong, then why did you wait so long to return?”

“When you left early, I could only assume you did not wish to see me, so I thought it best to give you some time; believe me, had I thought you wished it, I would have mounted my horse that very day and followed you.”

“What changed your mind, then?”

“I decided whether you wish to see me or not, I needed to tell you that I know I how dreadfully wrong I was. I cannot bear the thought of you, alive in this world, and thinking ill of me.”

Refusing to meet my eye, she admitted, “It hurt me; to know that I had fallen so low in your esteem. It still does.” The vulnerability she revealed as she said this undid me; I stopped pacing to take her hands in mine.

“Elizabeth; you must believe that I never thought less of you; you were never culpable. You have always been, and always will be, everything that is idyllic in a woman for me. Whether you are able to forgive me or not, that truth, will never change.” I met her eyes and was heartened by the tenderness I saw within them, and so continued, “The truth is, from the time I lost my father, until I found you, I was in command of nearly every aspect of my life, and whatever did fall out of my power, I was able to manage myself, or purchase my way into a resolution. But you - whom I loved so completely, almost from the start - I could not fight my feelings for you, and once I stopped trying, I learned I could not govern your heart, or tempt you with my wealth - nor would I wish to, and yet, I felt a loss of control that I have never experienced, and it frightened me.”

I gently traced her cheek with my thumb as I added, “But, I am not afraid any longer, Elizabeth. Is there any way - can you, please forgive me?”

She smiled wryly as she replied, “I am ashamed that women are so simple to offer war where they should kneel for peace.”***

I could make neither head nor tail of her enigmatic response; puzzled, I asked, “Pardon?”

“From the play we saw in London, Taming of the Shrew; do you not remember?”

“I do recognize the line; it is just that I find it strange to hear you speak of such subservience.”

“True, I have not an acquiescent spirit,” she agreed ruefully, and as I tilted her face up to mine, I could not help affirming, “As I am well aware,” eliciting from her a small smile.

“Nevertheless,” she added, the lively spark returning to her eyes, “On this occasion, I thought it apt.” She reached for my hand where it rested on her cheek and, intertwining her fingers with mine, she said, “It would be a shame to allow one misstep, however dreadful, to come between dear friends, would it not? We have, both of us, I think, behaved foolishly.”

“But Elizabeth, you know full well that friendship is not what I want from you.”

As I stepped closer, she breathed, “What do you want?”

Impossible woman! I decided on a mode of expression far more effective than my words, and crushed her to me, kissing her soundly. Though by then, I am certain she knew my wishes well enough, I also understood that she needed to hear them spoken just as much as I needed to say them. Pulling away, completely breathless, and delirious with passion for this woman, I rested my forehead against hers and finally opened my heart.

“What I want, my dearest Elizabeth, is to see your lovely face as I rise each morning, laugh with you throughout the days, cry with you in dark hours, and hold you as we sleep every night.”

I took the tear which fell from her eye to be sufficient encouragement to complete my declaration on bended knee, and I did so, taking her trembling hands into my steady ones.

“Elizabeth, I know you care little for my wealth and position, but whatever I have, it is yours. I have my share of faults, but I can promise to love, respect, and cherish you always. Will you do me the greatest honor, grant me my most fervent wish, relieve my suffering, and consent to be my wife?”

“Please,” I whispered.

Unable to speak for tears, she choked out a barely audible “yes,” and flew into my arms, where we remained; me, kneeling, she, standing, both of us sobbing, for some time. At length, a rustling in the nearby shrubbery stirred us, and Elizabeth stepped back, pulling me up by my hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” I asked, attempting to ignore the fact that I had just wept like a child in my beloved’s arms.

“For loving me when I had given no reason to deserve it.”

I pulled her back into my embrace, resting my head atop hers, as I replied; “I happen to think the opposite to be true. But let us not quarrel over which of us is less worthy of the other’s love. Instead, let us be thankful that we found one another.”

“You are keen, my lord, you are keen.”****

“I shall delay my response to that line until after we are married, my love.” She blushed furiously at my allusion to the Bard’s lewd joke, “But, since you enjoy Shakespeare so very much, I shall promise to take you to the theater often.”

My Elizabeth reached a hand to my face, and, smiling sweetly, gifted me with a gentle kiss. To attempt to describe my joy would do it a grave injustice. Let it simply be said, however lacking in originality I may be, that where my soul once shattered, it now soared.

“I believe I shall enjoy that,” she said, adding impishly, “After all, it was at the theater where I first learned to admit that you were not all bad.” I threw my head back in open laughter, foreseeing many blissful years in our future.

We walked on, too full of emotion for coherent thought. My mind was filled only with the beautiful woman by my side; that is, until my thoughts were beset with the realization that in my haste and doubt, I had forgotten to bring the ring which I intended to bring from my mother’s collection. When I said as much to her, she merely laughed at my fastidiousness, saying that no jewels would be necessary to secure her affections, and claimed, “William, I would be content to wait indefinitely for the ring, so long as I am able to keep your hand.” Sweeter words were never spoken; but still, I made a mental resolution to have it fetched immediately.

As we came upon the estate, we were greeted by the sight of a lone figure, slowly pacing the side of the house. On closer inspection, we recognized it to be Mr. Bennet, who appeared to be somewhat weary and lost in thought. Our laughter alerted him to our presence; he stopped his pacing and watched our approach, wordlessly. When we reached him, he looked from Elizabeth’s jubilant face, to my besotted one, then held his hand out to me, saying only, “Welcome back, Son.”


*from Fordyce’s Sermons, because every fanfic must have a reference to Mary reading Fordyce’s Sermons; well, at least most.
**from Hamlet
***from Taming of the Shrew
****also from Hamlet; but important to note that what follows Ophelia’s comment that Hamlet is sharp, is a bit of a dirty joke about how to take the edge off.
*****I really like Shakespeare; especially Hamlet, apparently