Page 48 of Fortuitous Encounters

At that moment, the door opened and Charlotte stepped in. Her eyes grew round. She gasped and dropped a small curtsey. “Mr Darcy! Elizabeth!”

Despite Charlotte's previous assertions that Mr Darcy might have tender feelings for Elizabeth, she knew her friend must be stunned to find them so late at night, alone in the parlour, and frankly, very nervous. Charlotte's position in the parsonage and the region was not completely secure. Her husband was certainly not the cleverest of men, nor Lady Catherine the most benevolent of patrons. How would they react to this meeting? Elizabeth had complete faith in Mr Darcy that he would not allow his actions to cause her friend harm, but Charlotte would be understandably nervous.

Charlotte would demand explanations from Elizabeth in the very near future, but for the moment, they must get Mr Darcy out of the parsonage.

He bowed. “Mrs Collins, pray pardon my unannounced and intemperate intrusion into your home.”

Elizabeth moved to drop a proper curtsey now that the rules of propriety were reinstated, but was surprised to find that not only did she have one hand on William’s arm, but she was also covering that hand with her other one. William was also covering both her hands with his own, so extracting her fingers to do a proper curtsey proved more difficult than expected.

Elizabeth had read all the novels of the day, even the ones her father did not approve of, from the classics to the modern. She expected love to be something powerful, something earth-shattering, something you could easily see or taste or smell. William loved her. It was written in every line of his being as plain as day now that she knew what to look for, but he had suffered miserably over it for some time. For him it was not a subtle thing; it was very painful and overpowering—so much so that she was not at all convinced he would ever completely recover. He seemed in considerably worse condition than Jane was, and that was bad enough.

She wondered if she would ever feel that intense burning feeling, but then also began to wonder if that was what love was really about. No strong, overpowering, debilitating emotions seized her with her hands on his arm, but it was natural—completely natural. It felt like the place her hand should be, as if it had always been there, and always would be. She also noticed her bereavement when she finally extricated her hands from his person to greet Charlotte.

With that realisation, she understood she actually did feel something powerful for the man. In fact, she always had, right from their first moments! Perhaps her extreme dislike was simply the other side of the same coin. Perhaps everything had gone wrong because in the very beginning she had thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen, and his slight in that very first instance had simply turned her already strong passion in the other direction towards hate. She had the epiphany that there was no middle ground with Fitzwilliam Darcy—everything was all or nothing. That realisation did not bring as much disquiet as she might have thought, and in fact, it brought a sly smile to her lips, and she continued.

“Charlotte, pray, allow me to introduce my intended, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. He has proposed, I have accepted, and we are to be married in two months' time.”

Charlotte's gasp was, of course, expected. An even more startling noise from William was disconcerting, but also joyful. He gasped in surprise, but his voice held no censure—only joy. A moment’s reflection led her to recall that she had not actually accepted his hand; even though the last word on the matter sounded much like a very unambiguous and unladylike rejection, she had not actually managed to decline either. She made the decision at the very moment when all became clear to her while trying to curtsey—how odd. However, like Lady Catherine, she was not to be gainsaid. She had made her choice and would not relinquish her claim without a fight. Glancing at William, she knew there would be no fight. He showed only confusion and profound happiness. She had only realised within the last few seconds that she well and truly did love him, without reservation, in all his particulars, with all his rough edges, and all would truly be well. She had not destroyed his love with her talk of circles—she had strengthened it, and in the process discovered her own. To think—it must have been there all along.

She turned to face him, and reached her hands around his neck. She could not resist playing with his hair, which had been driving her mad for some time—when had that started? He had little choice except to grasp her waist with his hands—something he had dreamed about for months—and that she found particularly comforting—and everything was as it should be. They fit together, as if it was always meant to be.

Looking directly into his eyes, Elizabeth said, “Fitzwilliam Darcy—you are an honourable man. You are a great and yet humble man. You have faults in abundance, but when made aware of them you do your best to resolve them. You help others in your acquaintance learn from you and become better people. You love, honour, respect, and protect your sister and all your loved ones with a fierce passion and without limits. If you commit a wrong, you do your best to make it right, regardless of the cost. You are knowledgeable, well-read, and an extremely witty conversationalist. You are absolutely, incontrovertibly, and irrevocably in love with the one person in the world that can truly make you happy. I am afraid sir, that this places you in only one possible circle—with me.”

The Early Bird

What if Mr Darcy got fed up with Miss Bingley’s tardiness and decided he had just had enough?

Note: This is a new story, started about 3 months ago and finished just in the last week.

The Broken Watch

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared at his pocket watch… again! He compared the time to the mantle clock… again! He paced around the parlour agitatedly… again! He stopped, tried to get his annoyance under regulation, and checked his watch… again!

“Bingley, may I assume you gave your sisters the correct departure time?”

“Of course, but you know how women are.”

“Actually, I do not. See this watch?” he asked, brandishing the offending device. “If my aunt appeared, and the watch reported the time as different from when she promised to arrive, I would just set it, since the watch is far less reliable than my aunt.”

Bingley laughed good naturedly, as usual. “I do not know what to say, Darcy. My sisters wish to make an impression on the neighbourhood.”

“The impression of people who cannot afford clocks or reliable servants.”

“You seem unusually tetchy tonight. Sit and share a brandy with Hurst.”

Darcy looked over at Bingley’s indolent brother-in-law and decided the suggestion of sharing one with the man had little to recommend it; partly because the man had already shared at least one too many, and second because he was softly snoring. It was sad to see a man so desperately caught that he had given up on life before thirty.

“Do your sisters, using some perverse logic beyond my understanding, think this will make a good impression?”

“I cannot tell you how they think. I barely understand how I think myself. I am curious, though.”

“About what,” Darcy replied testily.

“You generally disdain dancing, so being late seems like an improvement to the night’s plan. If you would just sit and relax, you could spend the space of a dance or two in quiet enjoyment, and that would be two less dances for you to suffer through.”

“The dubious pleasure of having one more brandy with Hurst will hardly make up for entering the assembly hall late, thus prompting everyone to stare at us like prisoners in the dock.”

“We are fresh meat. You of all people should know they will do that regardless of when we appear.”