Page 1 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

DARCY

T he last place I wanted to be tonight was a country assembly.

I had only just arrived at my friend’s leased estate that afternoon and wanted little more than to be left in peace.

It would not have happened regardless, for neither Bingley nor his sister would have allowed me the rest I so desperately needed.

Already, I regretted agreeing to this visit since Miss Bingley had wasted no time to begin her assault upon my person. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but the lady clearly believed she was a suitable candidate to be my wife. I disagreed. Vehemently.

Even before we left to attend the assembly, I informed my friend that I did not intend to dance outside of my obligations to his sisters. Had he informed me of the assembly before my arrival, I would have delayed my coming by a day or two.

The summer had been a difficult one, and I wanted little more than to return to Pemberley to lick my wounds. However, the previous spring I had promised Bingley I would help him learn how to manage an estate whenever he finally selected one.

In that same conversation, I advised him to lease rather than purchase because Bingley had a tendency towards fickleness.

Prior to spending the funds to purchase an estate, he would need to determine if running an estate was a desired or feasible undertaking for him.

Moreover, he would need to find a location that suited him, for Bingley liked entertainment too much to permanently reside in such a far-flung location as Derbyshire, regardless of what his sister might insist upon.

With my desire to be at Pemberley at the forefront of my mind, I found myself rather frustrated with my friend when I learnt that I would be required to attend an event nearly as soon as I arrived at his home.

As the evening progressed, when he approached me, saying, “Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance,” I was further irritated with him.

Whilst he did not know the precise circumstances of what I had dealt with over the last several months, he knew I was seeking quiet and rest after several troubling events.

Bingley and I had been friends for several years.

Although he was younger than I, our paths had crossed briefly at Cambridge.

It was not until two Aprils ago, however, that he sought me out at an event during the Season and initiated a deeper acquaintance.

Unlike many others, it was clear that he did not want anything from me; he seemed to seek friendship for its own sake, and so I welcomed his companionship.

His unmarried sister, however, was something else entirely.

She was a social climber of the worst sort, seeking to throw off any reminders that her father’s fortune had been made in trade.

Despite her pretensions otherwise, she was a tradesman’s daughter, albeit a well-educated one.

That, in and of itself, was not a bad thing, but her attitude towards myself and others made me avoid her whenever possible.

I do not know why I did not take her presence into consideration when I agreed to this visit, but I was here now and would help my friend as much as I could .

I answered my friend harshly: “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with ? * .”

One would think that would have been the end of it.

But not so with Bingley. He continued pestering me to dance, even offering to introduce me to a young lady standing behind us.

I glanced over in her direction, and judging us to be out of hearing distance, opened my mouth to speak.

The words that would have crossed my lips would have been scathing indeed and likely would not have shown me at my best, but something forestalled my speaking them.

Everything around me ceased. The music. The dancers. Even Bingley, who was never still, appeared as though he was frozen.

Out of the stillness, a voice rang out—firm, familiar, and unmistakably reproachful. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I raised you better than this. How can you even think such an ungentlemanly remark, let alone speak it aloud? And in the presence of a young lady, no less?”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The voice struck me like a thunderclap—beloved and unmistakable, yet impossible. I had not heard it in over a decade.

My heart pounded as I looked around, half expecting her to appear before me.

“Mother?” I asked aloud, stunned. My head spun with the suddenness of it, and for a fleeting moment, I truly wondered if I had taken a fall and struck my head—surely there could be no other explanation for my long-dead mother to be speaking to me.

“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” the voice replied. “I am here to prevent you from making a mistake that will make the last few months seem almost peaceful in comparison. The woman you were about to insult, besides your words being patently false, would have held it against you, and it would have led to that man gaining a greater foothold with yet another woman you will come to care about. Not only that, but the woman you are about to insult is one of the few women who would not only make you happy but would also bring out the best in you, should you let her.”

I whipped my head around, eyes scanning the room, but no one else appeared to have heard the voice. No heads turned, no expressions shifted. In fact, everything around me seemed unnaturally still—frozen, as though time itself had paused for my benefit alone.

A chill prickled down my spine. My pulse thundered in my ears as I tried to make sense of it.

This was not possible.

My throat tightened, and when I finally managed to speak, my voice was rough and uncertain. Surrounded by so many others, I felt absurd to be speaking aloud to a presence no one else could see or hear. And yet, how could I ignore my mother’s voice, even if it came from beyond the grave?

“After you died,” I said quietly, “Father was quick to remind me of my duty: that I was to marry well, to uphold the family name with honour. He insisted I must choose a woman who could bring wealth and connexions, someone who would elevate our standing. Surely… none of the ladies here meet that expectation.”

Even as the words left my mouth, they rang hollow. I knew it—even before the echo of them faded. And somewhere deep within me, I was certain she would not let such reasoning go unchallenged.

Although I could not see her, I felt her disapproval settle around me like a change in the air. It grounded me, pulling me back to myself.

Then her voice came again, firm but filled with warmth.

“No, Fitzwilliam. Those are the wrong reasons to marry. I married your father for love, and he married me for the same. We were partners in every sense. But after I was gone, his grief changed him. He became cautious, guarded. In trying to protect you from sorrow, he lost sight of joy. ”

There was a pause, as if to let the words take root.

“He urged you to seek status and wealth in a wife, thinking it would shield you from disappointment. But those things fade. What you truly need is a partner—a help meet? * —someone who will walk beside you, not behind or beneath you. You carry too much alone, my son. It is time you let someone share the weight.”

A slow breath escaped me. Since my father’s death more than five years ago, I had felt the weight of responsibility. It lessened somewhat as I grew accustomed to the many demands of managing an estate the size of Pemberley, yet the burden remained substantial.

I did have help, but only from subordinates, and I had long supposed that a wife would prove a similar encumbrance—another responsibility much like Georgiana.

I loved my sister and would do anything for her, yet felt more a father than a brother.

The difference in our ages precluded easy friendship.

My cousin Richard might have provided companionship, but his frequent absences with the military left us with little time together.

That, too, contributed to my present sense of burden. Georgiana was nearing womanhood, and neither Richard nor I knew quite how to guide her. The notion of marrying for her sake had crossed my mind, and I even devoted myself to the last Season with that aim.

Yet every lady my Aunt Matlock deemed suitable—each answering precisely to my father’s requirements—proved insipid, vapid…

unbearably dull. I could not conceive of passing a lifetime in the company of one whose conversation I could scarcely endure.

I wanted more from marriage than duty and propriety; I wanted a partner, not an ornament.

I had long wished for a wife who could challenge me, debate me, speak as an equal, and share in the care of both Georgiana and Pemberley.

That was far from my father’s vision, and by his standard, many young ladies of the ton might have sufficed.

But I could not content myself with a wife chosen solely to satisfy expectation; I hoped for a woman whose company I could truly enjoy.

Love, I admit, had not figured prominently in that vision, but friendship and companionship had.

I had observed enough amongst my peers to know the distinction.

Some had chosen wisely and built marriages founded on mutual respect.

Others had not. They married for position, fortune, or family pressure and now lived alongside women with whom they had nothing in common.

Their affections wandered, their households rang hollow, and they conversed with their wives only when duty required it.