Page 1 of An Interrupted Proposal (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The proposal

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

At his momentary hesitation, Elizabeth Bennet cried incredulously, “I beg your pardon. You what?”

Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eyes widened, not expecting such a harsh question following his passionate declaration. “I . . . I love you.”

The lady’s jaw dropped open, but she quickly recovered. “And were there signs of this extraordinary affection towards me?”

“Well, yes.” He nodded, but with hesitant uncertainty.

“Truly?” she snapped. “Was it the insult to my appearance delivered by you upon our first encounter? Or perhaps the constant disapproving stares while we were in company in Hertfordshire? No, I know what it was. You separated your trusting friend from my dearest sister and thoroughly broke her heart.”

His jaw working like a gasping fish, Darcy tried to make sense of what she was saying and finally grasped upon one thin thread. “I never looked at you disapprovingly.”

A most unladylike snort escaped her before her features shifted into what must have been an attempt to imitate his intense stare which had been settled upon her whenever and wherever they had met the previous autumn. “Do I look as though I hold you in great affection, sir?”

Darcy frowned. “Most times when we were in company, I was in deep thought regarding you.” His voice was low, and his fingers twitched for want of a piece of paper to shred or something to wring. “You must understand that my position is far beyond that of yours and your family.”

Before he could continue, Elizabeth held up her hand, her fingers splayed.

“It was clear from the moment you entered our assembly that you thought yourself above the inhabitants of Meryton and the surrounding area, but I care not who your aunt, uncle, or grandfather might be. You were raised a gentleman, sir, but I have seen very little of it in your interactions with others. My lowly relations in trade are more amenable and approachable than you have ever been. My uncle who lives within sight of his warehouses is more charitable.”

Standing even taller, Darcy raised his chin. “I beg your pardon, madam, but how would you know of my charity?”

“Precisely. I know nothing of you other than your wealth, family, and pride. If you love me as you say, I would expect you to have revealed more to me, unless that is all there is. Mr. Wickham gave me a clearer understanding of your character and charity than you ever did.” She rose and walked to the door.

She was about to open it when Darcy called, “Wickham?”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to face him once more. “Mr. Wickham’s recital of his interactions with you revealed more of your character than you ever did in our few conversations.”

A fire began to burn within him, and Darcy realized any response now would only further deteriorate the situation. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his shoulders and bowed his head. “Forgive me for having taken so much of your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

He stepped towards her but paused before grasping the doorknob and looked into her eyes, which still flashed with anger.

He wanted to say something, anything, which would turn her feelings towards him, but realized this was not the time.

Instead, he bowed more formally, hoping she would read his respect for her in his actions, then slipped from the room.

***********

The parsonage door closed behind him, and Darcy made his way back to Rosings from habit as his mind was otherwise occupied.

The idea that Elizabeth Bennet had been completely unaware of his feelings, let alone his struggles, left him in utter bemusement.

As he attempted not to raise her expectations in Hertfordshire, she had taken his near constant stares as him judging her and finding her wanting.

When he asked her and only her to dance, not once but three times, she truly thought he was mocking her as she had stated at Netherfield on the second occasion.

How was it possible that he had hidden his feelings so well from the object of his affections?

So much so that she believed Wickham’s lies and saw Darcy as the lesser man. A groan escaped his lips.

“Darcy?”

Startled from his thoughts, Darcy raised his gaze and found his cousin watching him from the staircase, a look of concern transforming Philip’s normally cheerful expression.

Darcy looked about and discovered he was in his aunt’s entryway; the butler stood before him, his hand extended to receive his outerwear.

With little thought, he removed the articles and thanked Braxton for his assistance before returning his attention to his cousin.

Philip had descended the stairs and was now standing before him with his arms crossed over his chest. Before Darcy could say a word, his cousin looked about, grabbed Darcy’s arm, and pulled him through the nearest doorway into a small morning room their aunt disliked and rarely entered.

Once inside, Philip looked about the entryway one more time before closing the door.

The room fell into darkness and Darcy heard his cousin curse before fumbling his way towards the fireplace, obviously expecting a tinderbox or such to be there.

The sounds of the normally nimble man bumping into random objects momentarily lifted Darcy from his previous confusion, and he reached back to open the door.

As a sliver of light spilled across the room, Philip reached his destination and cursed again.

“For the love of God, why is there nothing here to light a lamp?”

“Perhaps because it is a morning room, and one would expect light to be entering the windows when it is in use.” Darcy chuckled.

The absurdity of the moment, following so closely on the equally bizarre scene at the parsonage, robbed him of what composure he had thus far retained.

The chuckle morphed into a laugh which quickly brought tears to his eyes and a lump in his throat as he was thoroughly overcome by his confusing mirth.

The befuddled expression upon Philip’s countenance only added to his amusement and bewilderment, and he fell back against the wall as his vision blurred and laughter continued to tear at his chest.

A moment later he was in a chair, his cousin on the edge of its companion; one curtain had been adjusted to allow enough illumination to reveal the gentlemen’s countenances.

The shadows of the remaining room loomed over them in a threatening manner, ending Darcy’s hysteria as quickly as it had begun.

“Darcy?” Philip asked once more, though this time his tone and expression displayed unease.

“Fear not, Philip, I have not lost my mind.” He leant forwards, his elbows upon his knees and his face in his hands.

“I had just come from your rooms when you entered the house. Aunt Catherine has been asking for you.”

Another moan escaped him before he lifted his head and looked pleadingly at his cousin. “I fear I am not so recovered to be in company.”

“What is it? We did not hear of an express arriving. Is someone ill? Has some calamity occurred?”

A harsh laugh tore from Darcy’s throat, causing his cousin’s brow to rise, though he relaxed when it was not followed by a repeat of the previous nature.

After reviewing the events of the evening, Darcy still found himself at a loss, but Philip was due some response.

“No. No express was received, and no one is ill. The worse that has occurred is my eyes being opened to my own shortcomings.” Before his cousin could ask more, Darcy rose, and Philip followed.

“Pray, tell my aunt I am indisposed but shall attempt to join you for dinner.”

“I will tell her you are indisposed and join you in your rooms as soon as I am able.”

Darcy nodded, and the men left the room once Philip checked to be certain no one was about.

Shortly after Darcy had dismissed his valet, Philip entered with a full bottle of scotch in his hand.

Once settled in the sitting area, each holding a well filled glass, Darcy reluctantly laid out the events of his evening while adding pertinent information from his time in Hertfordshire.

At the end of his disclosure, Philip released a low whistle and shook his head. “I knew you liked Miss Bennet, even suspected more than liked, but I never would have thought you could make such a hash of it, Darce.”

Exhausted by his confession, Darcy stretched out as best he could with one leg across the settee, calf hanging off the arm, and the other bent to the side with his foot on the floor.

He still held his glass in one hand, though it was no longer as full, and the other arm lay across his forehead. “Neither did I.”

“Tell me again why you insulted her at the assembly.”

Darcy sighed and sat up. “I had just come from London and Georgiana. Upon arriving, Bingley informed me we would be attending an assembly. I could not refuse as I was his guest, though it is now clear I should have done so. Bingley would have forgiven me my rudeness.”

“Perhaps, but Miss Bingley would have insisted they all remain behind with you.” Philip raised his glass but did not drink. “Or she would have found a way to remain behind while the others attended the dance.” He sipped the scotch while Darcy shivered at the thought.

Philip set his glass upon the table and leant forwards. “There are two parts of your story I must address. The first is Miss Bennet’s statement that you separated her sister from your friend.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I fear it was I who told her of your interference with Bingley.”

With a slight lift of his shoulders, Darcy assured his cousin, “That was simply my most recent sin in her eyes.”

Philip nodded. “And the second is Wickham. Why was Miss Bennet not told of his penchant for lies when you discovered his presence in the neighbourhood?”

“I could not––”