A/N: In case you are wondering what the colonel’s first name is, I don’t think it’s Richard. I don't like that moniker and am not sure of why fanfic created such a halo around it since every character in Austen canon named Richard is a screw-up. Perhaps the original fanfic users were thinking of the great military hero King Richard the Lionhearted? But then there is also Richard III, who figures as hero or villain depending upon who is recounting the history. As the colonel appears here, he is not the usual sweet fanfic variant. Do you have any preferences for his name? Would love to hear them.
Chapter 2: Then, Again . . .
Before finally leaving Kent, Darcy told himself he needed a walk to prepare for a day of travel on horseback. He came upon Elizabeth Bennet facing away from him beneath a gnarled old oak tree. He knew he should immediately announce himself but he could not surrender this one last opportunity to take her in.
A man of notable worldliness whose travels had included a tour of the continent, he had never met anyone who fascinated him as she did. It was not just that she was, as Colonel Fitzwilliam described her, lively and pretty. She was refreshingly unlike the ladies of their circle who had been educated by the best governesses and masters to be supremely conventional paragons of society. Darcy saw something to admire in her reasoning and insights even when he disagreed with her. He thought Colonel Fitzwilliam failed to properly credit her value because for all of his many virtues, his cousin could sometimes be just a bit of a philistine. His cousin’s speculation of what she would become as she matured from maid to matron was probably wrong. It took a certain discerning nature to understand why Elizabeth Bennet was far more than pleasant.
As she stood completely absorbed in her thoughts, gesturing and shaking her head, Darcy found the sight endearing. Spending day after day with her was a splendid prospect. She would certainly never be boring. Perhaps her beauty would fade with age as beauty does, but, looking at her in the here and now, he felt a rush of heat. He could not just turn and walk away.
Although he knew she presently liked his cousin more, Darcy’s high self-opinion made him easily suppose that she could grow to like him, if he made the proper effort. He had not been clear enough in his intentions before, and he had let his cousin do too much of the talking. She must be aware by now that the colonel was not going to make an offer. If she was feeling pain at that, perhaps he could ease it. He would be patient and give her time. Faint heart never won fair lady.
It was an unhappy coincidence that even as he girded himself to speak, the woman he watched so avidly was trying to avoid him. It was not that she expected Darcy would seek her out. She thought he might follow along after his cousin who would display his usual excellent manners in coming to say farewell. She would not have minded seeing the charming Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she fled the parsonage because just the thought of Darcy made her head ache and oppressed her spirits.
Usually, a walk would have made her feel better, and especially here at this time of year when there was so much to see. Kent’s soil, fed by the Thames as well the waters of the Atlantic, nourished flora of exceptional beauty, its verdure deepening joyously each day as spring sped toward summer. Today, her mood proved impervious to the delights before her.
She was grateful her time in Kent was nearly over. She knew now that she had been wiser than she even supposed at the time, to have immediately rejected the offer to become Mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. She could not have done what she watched Charlotte doing during this visit, no matter the security gained by marrying Mr. Collins. It was not just the stupid husband, who Charlotte ignored as much as she could, but also the woman he revered as his patroness. Lady Catherine was without a doubt the second-most infuriating, overbearing and interfering person Elizabeth had ever met.
Thinking of the dowager’s incessant hints and comments — practice more because, after all, it was valuable for a governess to know, indeed! — Elizabeth threw up her hands and said aloud, “Such an officious woman, she thinks she always knows everything and, of course, she knows it best.” She was about to add, “Just like her meddling nephew,” when a deep voice behind her observed, “You must be thinking of my aunt.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, she drew a sharp breath and turned. She closed her eyes briefly but he was still standing there when she opened them. He, of all people, would overhear her indiscreet words. The affable Colonel Fitzwilliam never moved as noiselessly as his taller, dark cousin. This was not the first time Mr. Darcy had taken her unawares.
“Sir, I – I beg your pardon,” she stammered in her innate politeness.
“Please don’t upset yourself, Miss Elizabeth. I have only myself to blame if I heard something surprising when you did not know I was here,” he said. He had first met her in the company of her older sister, and here when it was just she, he might have called her Miss Bennet. But he was reluctant to give up the privilege of her given name because he liked the way it felt upon his tongue.
She ignored the smile indenting his chiseled cheeks as she generally did all evidence of his attractiveness. Chaucer’s words, handsome is that handsome does, were never truer for her than with Darcy. Consequently, she found him not at all to her personal taste, although she understood the prevailing opinion. With a moment to collect herself from the shock of finding him behind her, she remembered how angry she was with him. As coldly as she could, she asked, “Have you been standing there long?”
He did not seem to notice her tone, she saw with some vexation. His lips still curved upward in that self-satisfied half-smile of his. He said, “I apologize for delaying in announcing myself. But, may I ask, Miss Elizabeth, if you often talk to yourself, or is it only my aunt who prompts soliloquy?”
“I don’t believe I mentioned your aunt. I might have been speaking of anyone. Happily, even if I had been referring to your aunt, I doubt that my disapproval would give her any more pause than it would give you.”
His smile wavered. “I would say you are mistaken that I would be unconcerned, Miss Elizabeth, but I suspect this is another of those times when you are taking amusement in professing an opinion for the sake of it.”
“I said exactly what I mean and I mean it from my heart. I think you have absolute belief in your views, sir, and would not be moved by what I — or, for that matter, perhaps, what almost anyone thinks.” This startled him, she was happy to see. If it made him uncomfortable, then good, because no one deserved it more.
She always suspected he had a hand in separating Mr. Bingley from Jane. Thanks to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s unwitting disclosure about Darcy’s “protection” of his friend because there were “very strong objections against the lady” – Elizabeth now knew it for certain. Learning this upset her so thoroughly that she excused herself from tea at Rosings to avoid being in company with him the previous day. But now they were alone. What better time to speak?
“Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth, have I done something to offend you?”
“The real question, Mr. Darcy, is what could the gentlest heart in the world ever have done to offend you?”
He squinted confusedly and she explained, “My sister Jane, whom you separated from your friend.”
“Ah,” the sound more a groan than a word.
“Do you deny it?” she demanded.
“No.”
His quick candor surprised but could not conciliate her. She said, “There can be no justification for such cruel meddling. Mr. Bingley is a good man and I do not believe that if left to himself, he would have deserted Jane. Why did you persuade him to leave? Was it merely for amusement?”
Seeing how rigid his face became, it occurred to her that this arrogant man must be completely unaccustomed to having anyone gainsay him. She recalled his cousin’s words, “. . . He arranges the business just as he pleases,” to which she had replied, “And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well. But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich . . .” Rich and important as he was, he had no right to interfere with her sister’s happiness.
Still, she was more frightened than she would have cared to admit as she watched his face after her challenging question. She gulped as she attempted to glare scornfully back at him.
After what seemed an interminable silence, he finally said slowly and deliberately, “She did not like him as much he cared for her. I thought it a dangerous imbalance especially since your mother would make her accept him, that was clear. While I thought your sister would be dutiful, the disparity would eventually have pained him — no doubt greatly so.”
“How could you presume to judge my sister’s feelings? She —” Her voice dropped as she weighed how much of her sister’s private thoughts to expose to this man — “had sincere high regard for Mr. Bingley, and I believe he felt similarly for her. Your interference exposed one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involved them both in misery of the acutest kind.” Voice rising sharply again, she asked, “Does it please you to know you have done such damage?”
He shook his head. “I made a point of watching them together. Certainly, your sister was open, cheerful, and engaging, but I saw no symptom of peculiar affection. I realize you must feel you know your sister better than I do, but I must act based upon my observations.”
“You were wrong in your objections,” she maintained. “Did you think my sister a fortune-hunter who would overlook her own heart in search of mercenary gain? She would not!”
“No, I did not think that for a moment. I told my friend that she is the sort of obedient daughter who would do her mother’s bidding, and that is what I believe. He needed to consider that in deciding whether to pursue your sister, given — ah, given your family.”
“My family, sir?”
He briefly glanced downward before looking back directly into her eyes. “My advice to my friend was also based upon what I had witnessed on several occasions with your family — Pardon me. I have no wish to cause you pain. But I saw at times a total lack of propriety betrayed by your mother, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. It would seem a most unhappy lifetime prospect for my friend to contemplate.”
She swallowed and hoped she was not flushing red. She knew her family. But this should be about Jane and Bingley, not them. Consciously reining in her embarrassment, she defiantly raised her chin and looked at him as witheringly as she could. If it had been in her power to reduce him to a pile of ash, she might have chosen in that moment to do so.
“Therefore, you took it upon yourself to see that your friend would not have to spend a lifetime with my family? I suppose you assumed he could overcome any feelings he might have for her.”
“I have seen my young friend infatuated more than once, and he has always recovered. From past experience, I see the signs that he is doing so this time, too.” He added, “Neither you nor your elder sister share the censure I applied to the rest of your family.”
She ignored the compliment, indeed, hardly noticed it as such. Exasperated at a situation now a fait accompli and unfixable, like broken eggs or spilt milk, she observed, “How much does it matter if a woman has a silly mother or silly sisters — even a father who is sometimes — perhaps not as serious as he should be? Should not the feelings of the man and woman matter most?”
“What would you have me do?” he asked, frowning.
“What more would you want to do? You have saved your friend from my family. Is that not all that counted, what you wanted?” she replied bitterly.
Given his disapproval of her family, she did not expect him to reconsider his advice or to offer even a hint to Mr. Bingley that he might have been wrong about Jane’s feelings. Having his good friend offer for Jane might inconvenience Mr. Darcy if it meant too frequent contact with the Bennets. Elizabeth pitied the misguided Mr. Bingley. It was too bad the younger man was so prodigiously influenced by the older one. If only Mr. Bingley could have stayed to further his acquaintance with Jane, there might have been time for love to grow enough to overcome Mr. Darcy’s effect.
She made no effort to disguise her anger as she threw one final glare at him and said, “Good day.” The words, insufferable man, were going through her mind at almost the same instant she felt him take her arm, his hand tightening around it. It was an unthinkable breach of etiquette. She stopped, startled, but once more willed herself to show no fear.
His eyes met hers and he drew back his gloved hand. He muttered, “I am sorry. Please pardon me.” She held her breath and waited.
“Was there something more?” she prompted. But she saw the familiar haughty composure settle over his features and was not surprised when all he replied was, “Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness, Miss Elizabeth.”
Chapter 2: Then, Again . . .
Before finally leaving Kent, Darcy told himself he needed a walk to prepare for a day of travel on horseback. He came upon Elizabeth Bennet facing away from him beneath a gnarled old oak tree. He knew he should immediately announce himself but he could not surrender this one last opportunity to take her in.
A man of notable worldliness whose travels had included a tour of the continent, he had never met anyone who fascinated him as she did. It was not just that she was, as Colonel Fitzwilliam described her, lively and pretty. She was refreshingly unlike the ladies of their circle who had been educated by the best governesses and masters to be supremely conventional paragons of society. Darcy saw something to admire in her reasoning and insights even when he disagreed with her. He thought Colonel Fitzwilliam failed to properly credit her value because for all of his many virtues, his cousin could sometimes be just a bit of a philistine. His cousin’s speculation of what she would become as she matured from maid to matron was probably wrong. It took a certain discerning nature to understand why Elizabeth Bennet was far more than pleasant.
As she stood completely absorbed in her thoughts, gesturing and shaking her head, Darcy found the sight endearing. Spending day after day with her was a splendid prospect. She would certainly never be boring. Perhaps her beauty would fade with age as beauty does, but, looking at her in the here and now, he felt a rush of heat. He could not just turn and walk away.
Although he knew she presently liked his cousin more, Darcy’s high self-opinion made him easily suppose that she could grow to like him, if he made the proper effort. He had not been clear enough in his intentions before, and he had let his cousin do too much of the talking. She must be aware by now that the colonel was not going to make an offer. If she was feeling pain at that, perhaps he could ease it. He would be patient and give her time. Faint heart never won fair lady.
It was an unhappy coincidence that even as he girded himself to speak, the woman he watched so avidly was trying to avoid him. It was not that she expected Darcy would seek her out. She thought he might follow along after his cousin who would display his usual excellent manners in coming to say farewell. She would not have minded seeing the charming Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she fled the parsonage because just the thought of Darcy made her head ache and oppressed her spirits.
Usually, a walk would have made her feel better, and especially here at this time of year when there was so much to see. Kent’s soil, fed by the Thames as well the waters of the Atlantic, nourished flora of exceptional beauty, its verdure deepening joyously each day as spring sped toward summer. Today, her mood proved impervious to the delights before her.
She was grateful her time in Kent was nearly over. She knew now that she had been wiser than she even supposed at the time, to have immediately rejected the offer to become Mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. She could not have done what she watched Charlotte doing during this visit, no matter the security gained by marrying Mr. Collins. It was not just the stupid husband, who Charlotte ignored as much as she could, but also the woman he revered as his patroness. Lady Catherine was without a doubt the second-most infuriating, overbearing and interfering person Elizabeth had ever met.
Thinking of the dowager’s incessant hints and comments — practice more because, after all, it was valuable for a governess to know, indeed! — Elizabeth threw up her hands and said aloud, “Such an officious woman, she thinks she always knows everything and, of course, she knows it best.” She was about to add, “Just like her meddling nephew,” when a deep voice behind her observed, “You must be thinking of my aunt.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, she drew a sharp breath and turned. She closed her eyes briefly but he was still standing there when she opened them. He, of all people, would overhear her indiscreet words. The affable Colonel Fitzwilliam never moved as noiselessly as his taller, dark cousin. This was not the first time Mr. Darcy had taken her unawares.
“Sir, I – I beg your pardon,” she stammered in her innate politeness.
“Please don’t upset yourself, Miss Elizabeth. I have only myself to blame if I heard something surprising when you did not know I was here,” he said. He had first met her in the company of her older sister, and here when it was just she, he might have called her Miss Bennet. But he was reluctant to give up the privilege of her given name because he liked the way it felt upon his tongue.
She ignored the smile indenting his chiseled cheeks as she generally did all evidence of his attractiveness. Chaucer’s words, handsome is that handsome does, were never truer for her than with Darcy. Consequently, she found him not at all to her personal taste, although she understood the prevailing opinion. With a moment to collect herself from the shock of finding him behind her, she remembered how angry she was with him. As coldly as she could, she asked, “Have you been standing there long?”
He did not seem to notice her tone, she saw with some vexation. His lips still curved upward in that self-satisfied half-smile of his. He said, “I apologize for delaying in announcing myself. But, may I ask, Miss Elizabeth, if you often talk to yourself, or is it only my aunt who prompts soliloquy?”
“I don’t believe I mentioned your aunt. I might have been speaking of anyone. Happily, even if I had been referring to your aunt, I doubt that my disapproval would give her any more pause than it would give you.”
His smile wavered. “I would say you are mistaken that I would be unconcerned, Miss Elizabeth, but I suspect this is another of those times when you are taking amusement in professing an opinion for the sake of it.”
“I said exactly what I mean and I mean it from my heart. I think you have absolute belief in your views, sir, and would not be moved by what I — or, for that matter, perhaps, what almost anyone thinks.” This startled him, she was happy to see. If it made him uncomfortable, then good, because no one deserved it more.
She always suspected he had a hand in separating Mr. Bingley from Jane. Thanks to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s unwitting disclosure about Darcy’s “protection” of his friend because there were “very strong objections against the lady” – Elizabeth now knew it for certain. Learning this upset her so thoroughly that she excused herself from tea at Rosings to avoid being in company with him the previous day. But now they were alone. What better time to speak?
“Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth, have I done something to offend you?”
“The real question, Mr. Darcy, is what could the gentlest heart in the world ever have done to offend you?”
He squinted confusedly and she explained, “My sister Jane, whom you separated from your friend.”
“Ah,” the sound more a groan than a word.
“Do you deny it?” she demanded.
“No.”
His quick candor surprised but could not conciliate her. She said, “There can be no justification for such cruel meddling. Mr. Bingley is a good man and I do not believe that if left to himself, he would have deserted Jane. Why did you persuade him to leave? Was it merely for amusement?”
Seeing how rigid his face became, it occurred to her that this arrogant man must be completely unaccustomed to having anyone gainsay him. She recalled his cousin’s words, “. . . He arranges the business just as he pleases,” to which she had replied, “And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well. But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich . . .” Rich and important as he was, he had no right to interfere with her sister’s happiness.
Still, she was more frightened than she would have cared to admit as she watched his face after her challenging question. She gulped as she attempted to glare scornfully back at him.
After what seemed an interminable silence, he finally said slowly and deliberately, “She did not like him as much he cared for her. I thought it a dangerous imbalance especially since your mother would make her accept him, that was clear. While I thought your sister would be dutiful, the disparity would eventually have pained him — no doubt greatly so.”
“How could you presume to judge my sister’s feelings? She —” Her voice dropped as she weighed how much of her sister’s private thoughts to expose to this man — “had sincere high regard for Mr. Bingley, and I believe he felt similarly for her. Your interference exposed one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involved them both in misery of the acutest kind.” Voice rising sharply again, she asked, “Does it please you to know you have done such damage?”
He shook his head. “I made a point of watching them together. Certainly, your sister was open, cheerful, and engaging, but I saw no symptom of peculiar affection. I realize you must feel you know your sister better than I do, but I must act based upon my observations.”
“You were wrong in your objections,” she maintained. “Did you think my sister a fortune-hunter who would overlook her own heart in search of mercenary gain? She would not!”
“No, I did not think that for a moment. I told my friend that she is the sort of obedient daughter who would do her mother’s bidding, and that is what I believe. He needed to consider that in deciding whether to pursue your sister, given — ah, given your family.”
“My family, sir?”
He briefly glanced downward before looking back directly into her eyes. “My advice to my friend was also based upon what I had witnessed on several occasions with your family — Pardon me. I have no wish to cause you pain. But I saw at times a total lack of propriety betrayed by your mother, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. It would seem a most unhappy lifetime prospect for my friend to contemplate.”
She swallowed and hoped she was not flushing red. She knew her family. But this should be about Jane and Bingley, not them. Consciously reining in her embarrassment, she defiantly raised her chin and looked at him as witheringly as she could. If it had been in her power to reduce him to a pile of ash, she might have chosen in that moment to do so.
“Therefore, you took it upon yourself to see that your friend would not have to spend a lifetime with my family? I suppose you assumed he could overcome any feelings he might have for her.”
“I have seen my young friend infatuated more than once, and he has always recovered. From past experience, I see the signs that he is doing so this time, too.” He added, “Neither you nor your elder sister share the censure I applied to the rest of your family.”
She ignored the compliment, indeed, hardly noticed it as such. Exasperated at a situation now a fait accompli and unfixable, like broken eggs or spilt milk, she observed, “How much does it matter if a woman has a silly mother or silly sisters — even a father who is sometimes — perhaps not as serious as he should be? Should not the feelings of the man and woman matter most?”
“What would you have me do?” he asked, frowning.
“What more would you want to do? You have saved your friend from my family. Is that not all that counted, what you wanted?” she replied bitterly.
Given his disapproval of her family, she did not expect him to reconsider his advice or to offer even a hint to Mr. Bingley that he might have been wrong about Jane’s feelings. Having his good friend offer for Jane might inconvenience Mr. Darcy if it meant too frequent contact with the Bennets. Elizabeth pitied the misguided Mr. Bingley. It was too bad the younger man was so prodigiously influenced by the older one. If only Mr. Bingley could have stayed to further his acquaintance with Jane, there might have been time for love to grow enough to overcome Mr. Darcy’s effect.
She made no effort to disguise her anger as she threw one final glare at him and said, “Good day.” The words, insufferable man, were going through her mind at almost the same instant she felt him take her arm, his hand tightening around it. It was an unthinkable breach of etiquette. She stopped, startled, but once more willed herself to show no fear.
His eyes met hers and he drew back his gloved hand. He muttered, “I am sorry. Please pardon me.” She held her breath and waited.
“Was there something more?” she prompted. But she saw the familiar haughty composure settle over his features and was not surprised when all he replied was, “Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness, Miss Elizabeth.”