A Rude Wakening
Posted on Tuesday, 25 May 2004
If a dream can be interpreted I wonder what Lizzy would make of hers.
Elizabeth awoke early to the bright crisp autumn day with the sun just beginning its journey through the cloudless sky. She sighed as her mind wandered back to the day of her and her sister’s meeting several of the officers in Colonel Foster’s militia encamped outside Meryton.
She was especially fond of a particular officer, one Mr. Wickham who was the epitome of affability and charm. Tall, handsome, and who showed a remarked interest in her in turn. They had talked a great deal while at her Aunt Phillips’ dinner party and he regaled her of his life in Derbyshire, an area from which Elizabeth’s Aunt Gardiner lived as a girl.
“Yes, Mr. Wickham is quite the charming gentleman,” she thought, resting her head again on her pillows, “one whom I should like to get to know better.”
She sighed. Her eyelids drooped, and without much resistance she fell back to sleep and into a pleasant dream.
She was standing in a summer meadow. The birds were singing, and the butterflies flitted about her; the sun was bright with the new day. She twirled several times in a circle until she was quite dizzy with exhilaration. Breathing heavy with such an activity, she noticed him from far off in the field walking towards her.
The red of his uniform clashed brightly in contrast against the soft saffron wildflowers and the pale blue of the sky. His smile was dazzling in the bright sunshine as he waved his greeting. His eyes were intense as he stared into hers. When he neared, his arms outstretched, reaching for her, almost touching.
“Yes,” she thought as any young maiden would in a dream. “Take me in your arms. Hold me close.”
In her dream, her eyes closed, and she felt the warmth of his form against hers, his breath on her neck, his lips soft as they kissed her hair. His arms tightened around her to have her begin to feel faint at the wonderful sensations flooding within her.
“Oh,” she sighed as a shudder ran through her. “To be in his arms like this is such a joy.”
She tilted her head as he leaned down to her. His lips covered hers in an exquisite and deepening kiss.
He whispered into her ear, “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”
The brightness of the sun caused her to blink several times as her eyes again took him in. But now his form had altered to a slightly more sedate figure. Although still tall and dark, his curls touched the top of his coat. And his uniform too, had changed in color, first from red to rust, and then to a dark olive; the breeches from white to a tan, and his boots no longer black, but now a rich brown leather.
Elizabeth’s eyes ventured back up to his face to see his smile, but though still dazzling, the face above had altered likewise. For instead of the face of the charming Mr. Wickham, it was no other than that of Mr. Darcy-!!!
Elizabeth’s eyes popped open and she bolted upright in her bed, her heavy breathing a sure sign of a nightmare. She could not fathom how he had invaded her dream that had begun so pleasantly.
“Humph,” she huffed, bouncing from atop the counterpane and towards the wet sink across the room. She splashed the icy water onto her face several times to bring herself wide awake, forcing down the lingering sensations of her body’s reactions in the dream.
“One thing is certain,” she voiced aloud to reassure herself. “At no time will I ever allow him to be that near me. Not after what Mr. Wickham related to me of his despicable actions.” This, to her mind explained the icy exchange that she viewed when the two had met that day in Meryton. “How could either desire the other’s company after Mr. Darcy’s so vindictive reneging of his father’s wishes?”
Thinking of the Netherfield ball, a mere two days hence, she further determined, “I will endeavor to have my dance card filled, be it merely to dance with our bumblesome cousin, Mr. Collins. Ugh! But I will never dance with Mr. Darcy!” She vowed, stamping her foot for emphasis.
The End.