Page 4 of What to do with Fitzwilliam Darcy?

"I had forgotten how pretty it was here," Elizabeth said when Jane joined her. "It seems like such a long time since I was in Hertfordshire. Although I suppose I cannot put off a visit to Mama for much longer."

"You were not always so complimentary about Netherfield."

The company was not always as congenial as it is now," Elizabeth said with a wan smile.

"Do you mean Miss Bingley, or perhaps Mr Darcy?"

Jane noticed her sister's shoulders quiver, and she did not believe it was her sister-in-law who was causing such heightened emotions. Jane tried her gentlest and most conciliating tone. "Lizzie, dearest, would you like to talk about it?"

"Talk about what, Jane? I cannot imagine what you are referring to."

"Lizzie, your feelings for Mr Darcy..."

Jane could not finish the sentence. Elizabeth held out a hand as if to physically block her words. "Pray do not mention it. It is in the past. It is quite forgotten. We would never have been a fit. He wrote me a very pretty letter. Well, I'm not sure if pretty is the right word," she said, suddenly talking incredibly fast. "He explained all about Mr Wickham, who is quite the scoundrel, by the way, and some of his other behaviours, and perhaps I was a little unkind in my judgement of him, and he is certainly a decent man, but I was terribly rude to him and, as I say, it is all in the past, so not at all worthy of discussion."

"Oh dear." She put her hand to her forehead and gave a little hollow chuckle. "I am getting quite the headache. Please excuse me." With that, she turned and practically ran from the room.

Jane sighed and rested her forehead against the cool glass. That had not gone as she had wished, and if Lizzie could not bear to talk about Mr Darcy, how would she react to seeing the man in the flesh? It was too late to send a note and prevent his coming. In a few hours, whether they liked it or not, he would be in Hertfordshire and at their door.

"Was this all a terrible mistake?" Jane muttered to the empty room. "Am I just increasing my dearest sister's unhappiness?" With that, she rushed off to find her husband.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth paced up and down her chamber at Netherfield Park. It was in the family wing, and Jane, dearest, kindest, loveliest Jane, had had it decorated in Elizabeth's favourite colour of blue. It was the colour of a delicate robin's egg, and the paper was covered with tiny forget-me-not blossoms. The furniture was comfortable but well worn, a collection of pieces from Bingley's family home in Scarborough and pieces recovered from the attics at Longbourn. Jane had embroidered pretty cushions for a comfortable armchair and picked out a new rug from one of the Turkish carpet shops in town. It was all things elegant and comfortable, and Jane had even seen that she had her own dedicated bookshelf filled with the novels and volumes that she loved best in the world.

Everything about the environment was designed for Elizabeth's comfort, but now she wished herself anywhere but here. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, as it always did when Mr Darcy invited himself into her thoughts. She thought again of the proposal at Hunsford. She relived it in her mind upwards of ten times a day. She saw over and over again the anguish on his face as she had refused him with so little courtesy. He had loved her. He had expressed it abominably, but he had loved her in a way that no one had loved her before, and she had taken his heart between her hands and crushed it.

She had allowed her anger to carry her through the hours and night following his offering for her, but by the next day her emotions had cooled and she felt regret for her behaviour, if not her refusal. Then he had come upon her in one of the glades where she liked to while away the morning. He said nothing, simply handed her a letter. A letter that she had read so many times that the creases in the paper were starting to fray and the ink to fade. There he had corrected many of her misunderstandings of his character. His relationship with the scoundrel Mr Wickham, his role in separating her sister from Bingley (although he had promised to correct that fault and had followed through on that promise) and the care that he had taken to mend his own sister's heartbreak.

Little by little, Elizabeth had revisited each of their interactions in her mind with her new knowledge of the man he was, recasting and shifting her original opinions until she did not only regret the wording of her refusal, but the refusal itself. She had known very few truly good and decent men. Her uncle Gardiner, who cared for his wife and family faithfully and worked tirelessly for their comfort, and, to a lesser extent, her father, who, though a good man, was idle and did much less to see to the comfort of those around him. Now she could add Mr Bingley to that number, though the joy she felt when he cast an adoring look at her sister was now tempered with the bitter sting of envy.

Was that what she could have enjoyed if she had only taken a moment to consider her own future and her own heart? She did not have to accept him then and there, but she could have spent the time to get to know him and to give a considered answer. Instead, she had set any feelings he had for her alight and watched them burn to ashes in front of her eyes.

She turned from the window and did not see or hear the carriage approaching the front of the house, nor the man who alighted from it, his face set with a line of grim determination. Instead, she settled into the window seat and considered, once again, all of the ways she had ruined her life.

✽✽✽

Darcy arrived at Netherfield with little enthusiasm. He could tell from the tone of his friend's letter that Bingley sorely needed his counsel, and he would not see his friend do poorly on the deal to purchase his first estate. The man was securing his future and that of his wife and any future children. It was not a decision to be taken lightly, but Bingley was so amiable and agreeable that he would fail to impose the proper terms or negotiate as strongly as he should. But Darcy had no desire to leave his bedchamber, never mind his townhouse in London, to travel down the rutted roads of Hertfordshire to the place where he had fallen in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The woman who, even now, after many months of regret and self-recrimination, still occupied his heart. It seemed cruel to Darcy that a man with a logical mind and reasonable understanding of the world should be brought so low by this infernal organ. She did not love him. She did not even like him. She actively disliked him, and still his heart cried out for her.

He had tried distraction. He had tried drinking. He had tried sleeping the day away or burying himself under paperwork and business matters. None of it mattered a tiny jot because constantly his treacherous heart called for her, and she was not there. It was like being a man dying of thirst who could never, ever enjoy the sweet release of his end. It was a physical pain that he carried with him always, and even when he slept, he dreamed of her. He dreamed of their life together. He dreamed of their beautiful dark-eyed children, and he would wake cold and alone.

As he charged up the steps to Netherfield, he wondered whether he would ever be free of the pain. The doors opened just as Darcy was raising his hand to the knocker, and his friend practically bowled him over in his enthusiasm to come forward and shake his hand.

"Darcy, my dear friend!" Bingley said, pumping Darcy's hand up and down with his own.

"Bingley," Darcy muttered with a slight incline of his head.

"It is so good to see you, my good man, and looking..." Bingley stopped. His eyes moved over Darcy's face, lingered for a moment on the shadows beneath his eyes, then dropped briefly to the looser fit of his coat. "Looking very much as though you are here! And right on time. Everyone has excellent timing today."

Darcy gave his friend a long, considered look. He always spouted some level of nonsense, but this was poor even by Bingley's standards. Perhaps marriage had addled his brain even further. Eventually, his friend released him and stepped back to reveal the slim figure of Mrs Jane Bingley.

She was every bit as pretty as the last time Darcy had seen her, wearing a delicate gown of soft lilac and her hair pinned simply from her face. Her smile was warm and her eyes kind as she said gently, "Welcome to our home, Mr Darcy. We are so very pleased you could join us here. Would you care to take tea with us?"

"You are very kind, madam, but I fear I have been on the road for too long and I am sorely in need of a bath and a little rest."

"Of course, of course. Your being here is so kind of you on such short notice, and I know Charles is thrilled to have your advice."