by Ola Wegner
The Only Way
Copyright © 2011 Ola Wegner
Chapter One
Fitzwilliam Darcy tightly gripped the rim of his top hat with both hands, as he stood in front of the parsonage. He could hardly believe what he was about to do. Life had surprised him many times, but this was perhaps the most unexpected turn of events for him. He found himself attached to a woman whom he had, from the beginning, perceived as entirely unsuitable for him. Considering her low social standing, her lack of connections, and her family made her the last female he should turn his attention to.
He was well aware of all these facts which spoke against her, and still he craved her. This past winter had been miserable for him – away from her, away from Netherfield, away from that little town full of mediocre people and gossip. He had considered himself almost cured when he met her again at his aunt's house, of all places. The first few days he had even prided himself that she had no effect on him. It had lasted till he had seen her from a distance on one of her long walks. Then, he admired how she stood up to his aunt and played the pianoforte, laughing with his cousin.
Now he was not only thinking about her, he felt a physical pain, some sort of ache in his chest when he did not see her for more than a day. The discomfort was taken away the moment she was in the same room with him. Another complication arose when she was too close, walked past him, or sat by him and he could catch her scent. At such times, her presence created quite different kind of discomfort for him.
He did not deserve such torture, and he could no longer pretend that the problem of Elizabeth Bennet did not exist. There were two solutions, first to leave instantly, run away from her and try to forget her. As he had already tried that before with no results, he was not particularly eager to repeat it. The other option was to propose and make her his, to have her company, her smiles, her attention, and one day, children with her. The warmth enveloped his heart at the thought of Elizabeth as his wife, sitting by his side next to the fireplace, teasing him, touching him, kissing him.
Some other man would perhaps consider the third option of making her his lover, but for Fitzwilliam Darcy, it was out of question. He could never offend and degrade her like that. She would never accept such a proposal from him, he was more than certain. Should he propose it, he would lose her forever, as she would not ever want to see or speak to him after hearing such an insult from his mouth.
He looked down at his hat, battered by his own hands. He would have to buy a new one. This one was unfit to wear.
He walked closer to the small house. There were some tall bushes planted in front of the windows. He stood behind one of them, safely hidden, and looked inside. Elizabeth was curled in an upholstered chair, her feet tucked under her, and she was reading a letter. She looked sad, or at least concerned with a small frown even visible on her forehead. He wondered what could have caused that. She could tell him later and he would try to aid her, or at the very least, improve her spirits. First things first though. He had to propose before he could be granted the right to hear about her worries.
He knocked at the front door, but nobody answered. He let himself in the small foyer. The house was quiet, as if abandoned. With his throat tight, he stood in front of the parlour door, and knocked. There was a moment of hushed sounds, before he heard Elizabeth's bright voice, calling him in.
The expression on her face told him that she was not expecting him. Quickly, she composed herself though, and offered him a seat, explaining that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were not present at the moment, and that she was all alone. She had excellent manners despite the unhappy circumstances of her upbringing, he had to admit. She would not bring shame to him. On the contrary, her intelligence, her lively mind, her charm would earn her respect everywhere.
She kept her eyes lowered, as if expecting him to initiate the conversation. He gathered his courage, and sat down, however not on the chair she had pointed for him, but next to her on the sofa she was occupying.
He could see that she stiffened at his close presence, and gave him a guarded look. He hoped she was not afraid of him; he would never hurt her. Never.
He cleared his throat. "Miss Bennet," he started, "You must have noticed that for some time now, I have developed a very special interest in you. I have struggled with my feelings for a while…" He paused, thinking whether it was necessary to point out the discrepancies in their social standing, and remind her how her family was beneath him. After a moment of consideration, he decided against it. She must be well aware of that, and his words could only offend her unnecessarily. He did not wish to upset her. Clearing his throat, he continued. "I cannot stay silent on this any longer." He covered her small hand resting on her muslin draped thigh with his much larger one. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you must allow me to tell you how much I ardently admire and love you." He shifted to the floor, on one knee, wrapping his fingers around her delicate wrist. "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. Therefore, I ask you to end my suffering and agree to become my wife."
As he said the words, he looked intently into her face, waiting to hear her answer. Would it be too forward to kiss her? No, perhaps he should leave it for later, but surely she would allow him an embrace.
Her pink lips fell slightly open, and her dark brown, cat-like shaped eyes seemed even wider than usual. Her eyes were unquestionably her best feature; making one forget that she was not exceptionally pretty.
"Mr. Darcy, please stand up," she voiced herself at last, swiftly rising to her feet.
He rose together with her, and now towered above her as always. At the beginning of their acquaintance, he had thought her to be much too short for his likening, but now it suited him quite well. He was so enamoured, that he liked everything about her.
"Mr. Darcy," she said, lifting her eyes to him. "I … have no words. I am more than astonished."
Poor dear, he thought, amused with how shocked she appeared. "I understand that you cannot believe your own good fortune, but I assure you of the honesty and steadfastness of my intentions."
She walked away from him to the window. "Mr. Darcy, you must see that marriage between us in not possible," she said, not turning to him.
In two steps, he was next to her. She was such a sweetheart. She wanted the best for him, even by the cost of her own happiness. "Your low connections and the lack of dowry bothered me as well, but after lengthy consideration, I decided to overlook those. You will adjust quickly to my circle of friends; no one would ever guess your unimpressive origins. I am wealthy enough to marry where I wish. Though you will not bring money, your intelligence and sound mind are of great value, something I hope you will pass on my… our children. I have no desire to leave Pemberley to some idiot who will ruin it as I have observed many times among my neighbours."
During his speech, she flushed slightly, and her eyes sparkled excitedly. Did she like hearing about their future children? Was she embarrassed thinking what activities would be necessary in order to bring those children to be? He had certainly thought about it many times himself.
"Mr. Darcy," her voice drew his attention from his pleasant musings, "I thank you for your kind offer, I appreciate your honest intentions towards me. However, the union between us is not possible. It was never my intention to injure you by giving rise to expectations that are neither desired nor sought, and I can only hope that you will not suffer long."
He stared down at her with a frown. "You refuse me?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, I do," she answered simply.
He shook his head, not believing his own ears. "May I ask your reasons?"
She sighed, "Sir, I do not want to say something which may not be pleasant f
or either of us. Let us end this embarrassing conversation and never return to it again."
His hands tightened into fists, and he clenched them so hard that the nails cut painfully into the skin of his palm. "Pray, enlighten me," he murmured.
"Mr. Darcy, please do not make it more difficult than …"
"I will take the risk," he interrupted her. "Your reasons?" he prompted.
She looked him straight in the eye. "I have promised myself I would only marry for love. I have witnessed a loveless union firsthand, and I do not wish it for myself."
"I agree with you in that with all my heart," he assured. "I love you, and we will have a happy, loving marriage."
Elizabeth let out a short laugh. "Mr. Darcy, I know of many of your faults, but I never thought of you as daft. My intention was to be delicate, and considerate of your feelings, but you are making it impossible."
She caught his eyes and spoke slowly. "I do not love you, Mr. Darcy. I do not even like you. I am sorry to cause you pain, but it was unconsciously done. I beg you not to ever return to this conversation again."
She moved away from him, once more walking to the window, her back to him. "Leave me now, please.”
"No, I will not go till you explain," he said, walking to her. "I do not understand."
She turned to him, "What do you not understand?"
"You claim not to like me," he reminded her. "Why?"
She cocked an eyebrow with a small smile playing on her lips. "My understanding is that you do not believe that a woman may dislike you."
"I do not care whether other people, women included, like me or dislike me," he spoke impatiently. "I am only interested in your opinion."
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you think that I would ever consider tying myself to a man who has ruined perhaps forever the chances of happiness for my most beloved sister?" she asked, pointing her tiny finger into his chest. "I know that it was you who separated Jane and Mr. Bingley. His sisters were involved as well, to be sure, but it was you who talked him out of making his proposal to Jane. Can you deny it?"
He hung his head low. "No, I cannot deny it, but I had my reasons."
"What reasons?" she cried, and began pacing the room, clearly becoming agitated. "My sister is the sweetest person I know. She did nothing wrong to anyone, and she did not deserve such treatment. Your friend treated her like a toy, broke her heart, and you supported him on that, perhaps even put the idea into his head."
He winced as he saw the tears in her beautiful eyes. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. He had somehow forgotten the matter with Jane. He had hurt his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, and she was crying now because of him.
"Perhaps I was wrong in my judgment," he acknowledged reluctantly. "I thought I was doing a favour to both of them. It can be repaired; it is not too late. Our marriage will bring Bingley and Jane together."
She shook her head. "No, no, it will not bring them together, because I will not marry you. It is not only the matter of Jane that I hold against you, but your general arrogance and lack of consideration for the feelings of others. You are rude, proud, and I do not enjoy your company. I beg you, sir, to leave me alone. Do me this courtesy, and do not prolong this any longer."
He stood rooted in place. He could not believe how badly this conversation had gone. He could not truly blame her. Her devotion to her sister was one of the qualities he had admired in her from the beginning. It was obvious that Miss Bennet must have harboured deeper feelings for Bingley than he had initially thought. Bingley, too, had been somehow subdued when he had last seen him.
His eyes rested on Elizabeth, who was far from calm. Good God, she was beautiful when angry, especially with her breasts falling and rising so rapidly. They were rather small, but how he wanted to see how they looked bared before him.
She lifted her eyes at him, giving him an angry look. "If you do not wish to leave, then I do," she hissed, storming out of the room.
He turned on his feet and went after her. She ran up the stairs, and he heard the slamming sound of a door.
He was faced with dilemma. He wanted, needed, to talk to her, explain to her, but he began to understand that she was not in the best mood for that. She had a temper, which was obvious. He found it rather attractive. A passionate woman was something to be desired. Once she calmed down and was ready to listen to reason, they would talk again. He could hardly follow her to her room; it was improper and he had no right.
He had no other choice but to leave her alone. He would come tomorrow, or even better, he would rise early the next morning and wait for her in the park. She always took an early morning walk. They would have enough privacy where they could have a sensible conversation, without unnecessary emotions.
He returned to Rosings without delay. Brusquely, he told his cousin to relay to his aunt that he had important correspondence to respond to, and he would not be joining the company in the drawing room.
His night was mostly restless. Elizabeth's words telling him that she did not love, or even like, him cut into his very heart, but he explained to himself that she could not feel it any differently at this very moment. She had witnessed her sister suffering from a broken heart, and faulted him for it. Consequently, she had convinced herself to disliking him. She was loyal to Jane, and she could not admit, even to herself, feeling the attraction to a man who in her opinion was responsible for ruining her sister's happiness.
Darcy was ready to acknowledge that he had been wrong and hypocritical in separating Jane and Bingley. However, as he had told Elizabeth, nothing was yet lost. Once the wedding date was set, he would ask Bingley to stand up for him, and he and Miss Bennet would have the opportunity to see each other again. They could even invite Jane to spend the summer at Pemberley. He would make sure that Bingley would come too, and this way they would have plentiful opportunities to rekindle their friendship. Elizabeth would be so pleased with him. He could not wait to witness her reaction when he told her about his plans concerning Bingley and Miss Bennet. He wondered how she would show him her gratitude.
Sleep did not come to him easily. All the emotions boiling up prevented him from rest. He felt apprehensive, but hopeful; excited, but fearful about their meeting tomorrow. Had someone told him a year ago that he would be afraid to talk with a slip of girl of no consequence in the world, he would have laughed him off. He still found it unbelievable that he had lost control over himself to such an extent. Once they married and settled together, he would return to his own self. He would be the Fitzwilliam Darcy he had known all his life, only happier.
Having in mind that Elizabeth was an earlier riser, he was up and dressed before six. The house was quiet, and his still sleepy valet let him out. He walked the grounds back and forth for the next few hours, staying longer at the sites that Elizabeth favoured. Around eleven, he was certain that she had not gone on her morning walk that day as she usually did. Was she ill? She walked every single day. He had a niggling feeling that something bad must have happened.
He decided to visit the parsonage.
Mrs. Collins was seated in the parlour, together with her sister, Miss Lucas, but Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Now he was almost certain that Elizabeth was ill.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Collins rose to greet him. "Have you heard the dreadful news?" she asked.
His heart froze. Bad news? Had something happened to Elizabeth? "No, I have not," he managed to say. "Where is Miss Bennet?"
"Poor Elizabeth, I thought you knew …" She put a painful expression on her face. "My husband went to Rosings some time ago to tell your aunt about it."
"What happened?" he demanded impatiently.
"My friend received a letter late yesterday with such dreadful news. Her father, Mr. Bennet, has died in a tragic circumstance. Apparently two carriages crashed on the road, and he fell out, breaking his neck."
Darcy digested the information for a moment before asking gravely. "Where is Miss Bennet now?"
"On her way to London.
Jane is still there, visiting their uncle."
Darcy frowned. "Did my aunt send a carriage with her?"
"No, she left by post two hours ago."
"Alone?" he questioned unbelievably. "You let her?"
Mrs. Collins' eyes widened at his harsh tone. "How could I stop her?" she asked meekly.
Darcy walked out of the room without saying goodbye, nor waiting for further explanation. He took the shortest path to the manor. How Elizabeth must be suffering now! He knew how close she had been to her father, that she had been his favourite. The despair he felt when his own father had passed away was still fresh in his mind.
He understood that she wanted to return home as soon as possible, but travelling alone by post with random strangers, without protection, was unthinkable. He could not allow it. He was not really surprised that she had done that. After all, he remembered well how she had walked three miles across the fields to see her sister when she was ill at Netherfield.
He would take his horse and intercept her in Bromley, where they would stop to change horses. There they would wait together for his carriage to arrive. She would not likely want to travel alone with him, as it would not be proper, so he would have to ask someone to accompany them. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne's companion, would be the best choice, but he doubted whether his aunt would allow it. One of the maids would have to go. He had no time, nor was he in a mood to explain the situation with Elizabeth to his aunt. He could only imagine how Lady Catherine would react to the news. Today was not a day to listen to her hysterics.
Darcy found his man and ordered him to prepare their carriage without delay, take one of the maids, and drive to Bromley, where he would be waiting for him. His servant seemed surprised, but did not question his orders, and Darcy knew that he would do exactly as instructed.
Half an hour later, he was on his way to meet Elizabeth travelling on horseback.
Chapter Two
The Bell Inn was crowded, which was nothing unusual in the middle of week with so many travellers stopping on their way to London for a rest or a necessary change of horses. Thankfully, Elizabeth managed to find a place for herself in the quiet corner unbothered by anyone. She ducked her head low, hiding behind the wide rim of her bonnet. She did not wish to draw attention with her tear-stricken face.
