Opportunity

by Kerry

October 2002, Firthness Challenge Entry

Rated PG

Author's Note: Ok ducks...this is my official entry to the challenge. I give fair warning – I think I have outdone myself with sloppiness so get your buckets ready...and expect something extremely silly next time round!

Part One - The Return of the Gentlemen

Darcy entered the room with all the nervousness and agitation that could be expected following the events that had so neatly and painfully dissected their last meeting. He greeted Mrs Bennet with a civility that surprised even himself, and felt himself bow to the ladies almost without knowing that he did so. Their eyes met briefly as he heard himself utter her name, and he was caught again by their beauty. His greeting, she appeared to receive in confusion and embarrassment. Why should it be so? There was no awkwardness when last we met. Surely she could not be surprised at my coming.

As they all sat down he sensed rather than heard Bingley engaging Mrs Bennet in conversation. It was a discourse he had no inclination or ability to partake of. He wished to talk to Elizabeth, and none other, and yet circumstance could not have conspired more perfectly to defeat his wish. He was not seated near her, the conversation with Mrs Bennet was loud in the extreme, and Elizabeth's behaviour, he saw with displeasure, was far from encouraging. Her eyes never ventured in his direction, and her inclination to apply herself to her work rather than take any part in the conversation was obvious. Her colour was high, but for what reason he could not tell. She could no longer be accused of being tanned from travelling, it had been a month at least since she had left Pemberley. No, he corrected himself, she had not left Pemberley, she had left Lambton. She had not left him; she had left the scene of her travels. The distinction was more than enough to remind him of what still needed to be done.

"I hope that your Aunt and Uncle are well," he heard himself ask, sounding desperately hopeful even to his own ears. She looked up in surprise and their eyes held for the briefest moment, and yet long enough to cause his heart to beat an uncomfortably staccato rhythm.

"Yes, I have just received a letter from my Aunt," she said, and then pausing as if recollecting something, blushed and finished rather hurriedly, "they are all well, I thank you."

At length and after some minutes where the conversation flowed but neither took any part, she looked up at him with her face flushed. Their thoughts obviously lay in a common direction; the bittersweet remembrance of when they were last together, but it was a reminiscence that could not be enjoyed without recalling the circumstances of its abrupt and unwelcome ending. From that point there seemed an embargo on every subject.

Where he looked he knew not; his mind too pre-occupied to attend either the inanity of the conversation or to apply himself to engaging her in discourse with any sense. He knew himself to be silent, grave and stupid, but there was nothing that could be done. To be in the same room with her was both pleasure and torture. The utter joy he felt at her nearness, at seeing her vital beauty, was harshly contrasted against the uselessness of his own mind. If she has not decided against me already then she certainly will after today. What use is a man who cannot even string three words together in her presence? If she would but look my way that would give an opening at least, but she remains silent and impervious...Never has she been so withdrawn. Is my presence such a punishment? Does it cause her such agonies? What hope do I have of ever engaging her heart, when my own is so hopelessly captured that I cannot even make myself agreeable? What a fool I am.

These thoughts occupied his mind to such a point that he effectively and unconsciously disengaged himself from the general conversation. This was no disadvantage, for he would hardly expect any joy or wisdom from her mother's discourse. And yet immediately that she spoke, he was roused from his meditations, only to be bitterly disappointed in finding that Bingley was her object. A surge of unreasonable jealousy cut through his breast, how could it be that his friend could command her interest for even a moment, and yet he could gain none?

"Do you mean to make any stay in the country at present," she said.

He saw Bingley's quick glance of confusion as he replied, "A few weeks I believe. Our plans are not yet firmly fixed."

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, she bent over her work again. The irrationality of his hope dared him to claim that this was for his benefit, that she might wish to see him again. And yet if he could not speak to her, it was just as likely that she wished him gone; his presence must be nothing but an endurance. It must be the latter he thought to himself, why else would she address this question to Bingley and not myself?

And then before he knew it, they were bowing and taking their leave, his departure addressed primarily toward her, was met by confusion. She scarcely knew where to look, but it was everywhere but at him.


Part Two - Dinner at Longbourn

It was only a few days later that the two hopeful gentlemen again made their way toward Longbourn. An invitation to dinner was their excuse, and their purpose, to pursue the greatest wishes of their hearts. For one, the prospect of genuine pleasure and reciprocation of feeling supported high spirits, for the other, there was desperate hope but no expectation.

"Tell me you do not intend to remain silent throughout all of dinner Darcy," said Bingley, his eyes alight with anticipation and amusement, "you must at least try and make yourself agreeable. Silence and gravity will never win you the heart of a fair maid."

His friend looked back at him with a slight smile, "Attend to your own interests, Bingley, I shall be just as pleased to see your affections secure."

It was a reply of genuine regard, for having confessed his interference in his friend's romantic affairs two days previous, he had been rewarded with a generosity of feeling and an unquestioning forgiveness in a matter where he knew he deserved none.

It was important. At that moment, the friendship of his companion had never been so keenly felt. He needed Bingley, as he never had before. And truly he never had needed him before. Having confessed his own interest in Elizabeth when he made the mortifying admission of his guilty meddling, Bingley's suspicions had been confirmed. He had suspected Darcy's regard at Pemberley, and yet his friends reticence, and the lady's indifference, had suppressed any ideas he might have had.

As the carriage drew up the gentleman stepped down; Bingley with an eager bound, Darcy, with a more tempered and graceful step. Almost immediately they went to the dining room, and Bingley's happiness was secured. He gained a place at his lady's side with a joyful look, and yet Darcy's hesitation in enjoying his friends happiness, lost him any opportunity for advantage. Mrs Bennet was to be his dining companion, a situation that guaranteed no pleasure for either. And Elizabeth, his fair and lovely Elizabeth, was as far from him as the table settings could afford. It was a tortured affair, for situated as he was there was no opportunity for rational or enjoyable discourse. He spoke little, where he knew exertion was necessary; his spirits so depressed as to make it virtually impossible to attempt anything but monosyllabic answers.

But were there could be no communication, there could be observance; he looked at her often, briefly catching her eye. Yet more often than not, Bingley and her sister held her attention. There was some relief here, for as she watched the reconciled lovers, he detected approbation and hope in her looks. It was enough to relieve his mind of guilt; his worst deed had been undone, and she knew it.

The period following dinner was interminable. He spoke no more than two words, and Bingley spoke none. Their host noted his friend's distraction with obvious pleasure, for there was critical amusement in Mr Bennet's looks. It was not pleasing, but it saved himself the mortification of having his own watch checking noted.

It was a period of reflection and mental fortification, a concerted effort was needed, for the opportunity could not be wasted. Yet when they entered the drawing room, all hope was momentarily lost, for she was crowded by ladies as they served refreshment.

Any hope of interaction disappeared when he took his own coffee; so surrounded was she that any discourse would undoubtedly be obvious and uncomfortable. He drank as hurriedly as he could, never daring to take a seat for fear of finding himself engaged by another. And when finished he waited until she was free of attendance before returning for more. She graced him with a smile, as she took his cup.

"Is your sister at Pemberley still?" she said

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas," he replied.

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"

"Ms Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough these three weeks."

He stood silently by her for some minutes, wishing to say something but knowing not what, and was eventually driven away by another of the young ladies whispering in her ear. He waited again at a distance for opportunity, and perceived on rare occasions she looked his way, but could distinguish no sign of interest. Getting near her was almost impossible for she seemed to be perpetually surrounded by a hoard of young women. Short of going for a third cup of coffee he saw no means of engaging in conversation at all. His sudden penchant for caffeine would surely draw attention and he had no desire to overdose. His heart beat fast enough already when she was near.

The rest of the evening passed in a similar conspiracy of frustrations and disappointments. He was engaged by Mrs Bennet to play at whist, a frivolity he abhorred, and was not even rewarded with a turn at Elizabeth's table. Had he not been so distressed by the loss of opportunity he might have seen some amusement in her usually mercenary mothers monopoly of his time. Had Mrs Bennet known that the dearest wish of his heart was to engage her daughter, she would have cleared the room. He did briefly consider letting this slip, such was his desperation, but rationality seized his frustrated mind before he caused himself further embarrassment. As it was, they forever circled each other, yet never drew near; a circumstance that ironically, and not a little painfully, mirrored the entirety of their acquaintance.

The evening drew to a close, and saw their carriage ordered before any others. He cursed the promptness of his own footmen, what use were solicitous servants, he thought, if they work against one's needs?

As the gentleman sat together in the carriage on their return to Netherfield, one joyous, one thoughtful, silence, punctuated by a happy sigh, reigned. At length Bingley spoke, drawn by the serious look on his friends face.

"It is ironic, I think, that you are suffering the same fate that I was so many months ago and yet if I perceive correctly," he paused, his tone gentling somewhat in deference to his friends distress, "there is to be no last minute reprieve for you."

Darcy looked at him for several long minutes, pondering the true meaning of his words.

"You believe her to be indifferent to me then?"

"I must admit that I had little attention for anyone but Jane, but I saw no look of peculiar regard, and she was unusually quiet. Much less spirited than when we were at Pemberley. Then you might have had hope, but now? You must have noticed it surely, you spent most of the night staring at her."

"Did I? I hardly know where I looked or what I did," he replied disconsolately. And they spoke no more.

He arrived home to find a letter from his steward. There were papers of business awaiting his signature in London. Promptness was required lest he lose the opportunity. He did not wish to leave when she was so near, and yet perhaps it was for the best. For how healthy is a love that renders its owner mute and stupid and its object perpetually embarrassed? He had fought this demon for nearly a year, he had come with hope, and found it crushed. It was time to move on. Bingley's words had only confirmed what he already knew. He had seen her twice, and there was no sign of affection.

Darcy returned to London the next day in a lowness of spirits the likes of which he had rarely known. If he had been distressed following her rejection at Rosings, he was positively wretched by her marked lack of interest now. It was a feeling that persisted for several days; unshakable in its intensity, pervasive in its occupation of his mind. And yet there were moments when he recalled that perfect but all too brief time at Pemberley. The occasional look, the even rarer smile, the moments of comfort in each others company. It was a time like no other of their acquaintance, there had been no disagreement, there had been understanding, and she had looked on him with a regard that he was quite certain spoke of something more than respect.

He had been sure of it, sure enough to have him riding to Lambton at his earliest convenience with a ring in his pocket and a desperate wish in his heart. But for the timing of the mail he may have yet had his answer. Had he been earlier, had she not read the letter, had Wickham not seduced her sister. What ifs he tortured himself with until every conceivable possibility had been considered. Yet it was a fruitless pursuit, for considering how she had received him at Longbourn, if only a month of absence had cured her of any partiality, then it must have been a rather thin sort of inclination to begin with. Hardly enough to sustain a marriage of the truest affection; a situation he desired above anything else. And yet how was he ever to achieve that if Elizabeth did not care for him?

There were moments of weakness when he told himself that her love did not matter, that he could have her at any cost, if only he revealed his involvement in her sister's marriage. It was testament to the weakness of his mind to even consider the degradation of accepting a love born of obligation; desperate measures for a desperate man. Would he stoop that low? Did he want her at such a price? But how could he feed his selfish love on her gratitude, his heart satisfied, and hers yet untouched. What an agony for them both to endure the constant burden of guilt and the mortification of purchased feelings.


Part Three - A Proposal

The morning of his return to Longbourn was a good one. The weather favourable for walking, the air warm and dry, despite the time of year; his hopes elevated from the blackness of despair to expectation beyond anything he had yet known. It was but the space of a mornings work for his aunt. Never had she been of so much use to him! For her lecture, so ill-applied and mis-directed, rather than discouraging him as was her intent, gave him cause to entertain that feeling, where previously all had been disappointment.

"She absolutely refused to oblige me. Obstinate, headstrong girl. Do you know what she said to me Darcy, when I insisted she not accept your offer? I shall tell you it exact for never have I heard such impertinence ' she was resolved,' she said, 'to act in the manner which constituted only her own happiness.' She absolutely refused to assure me that she would not accept your offer."

What elevation, what purpose, what hope, had these words inspired. He was on his horse within the hour and at Netherfield by nightfall.

The proposition of walking out had been previously discussed; Bingley willing to assist in any scheme that would aid his friend and allow him time alone with Jane. No sooner had they arrived, than it was decided, Bingley's influence was invaluable.

They strolled in uncomfortable silence for the most part. The wishes of the ladies he could not determine. Catherine he could not have cared less about, but Elizabeth neither looked in his direction, nor uttered a word in encouragement of a conversation. At length, the youngest Miss Bennet on reaching the Meryton road declared her intention of visiting some acquaintance in town, and skipped happily away, undoubtedly glad to be free of the oppressiveness of a forced arrangement.

It was not above many minutes later, when turning toward him she said in a clearly agitated voice.

"Mr Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."

He started at her declaration; as pleasant as it was to hear her voice, this revelation was the one he least desired. "I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," he replied gravely, "that you have been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs Gardiner was so little to be trusted."

"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion, which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them."

He paused, his mind full of a thousand thoughts at once, and yet before he had decided on a course of action, his heart, encouraged by the earnestness of her look, seized the opportunity.

"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you."

She received these sentiments with a flush of consciousness, and yet he could not stop; for however much his words might cause her distress, he had said too much to go back, and not enough to be secure.

"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

When the words were out of his mouth, he chastised himself for the insensibility of his declaration. If his first proposal had caused her offence, then this one was like to do no better.

But to his great surprise she raised her eyes to meet his, the brightness of them showing a happiness which he could not misunderstand. She looked down again just as quickly, finding occupation in the examination of her hands while she spoke.

"My feelings, I scarcely know what I then said," she stammered, "but my feelings are so different," and then looking up at him with a smile and a single arched brow, her voice at last was clear and steady, "in fact they are quite the opposite."

He started, he gaped, he looked at the ground, and eventually he looked at her, too overcome by the expression of those sentiments he had so long wished for, to know what to do.

He spoke, and knew not what he said, expressing himself as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do, which if he had possessed any penetration at all at that moment, he would have discovered that it was not very sensible at all. At his words of love, she smiled at him with such honest and open affection that he felt his heart swell until it felt ready to burst. And it was a genuine affection, it was the same look she had bestowed on him at Pemberley, it was not gratitude.

With the expression of her feelings he soon discovered that loving was only half the sensation of being loved. The reciprocation of such sentiments as he had harboured these many months in an agony of fear and desperation, gave over to such an overwhelming alteration, for whilst he thought he knew his heart, how ignorant was he of how simply it could be transformed by that one look, that one arched brow, that simple declaration? If it had been full before, now it was now overflowing.

Had Elizabeth not taken that exact moment to turn her face away, Mr Darcy was sure that he would have lost all control of his senses, ignored his own strict sense of propriety and actually taken her in his arms. The urge to do so was painfully strong, and it was with the greatest exertion of restraint that he held his hands still. That the object of so many hours of painful reflection and misery now accepted his love was almost too much even for him to bear. His feelings were too great for rational expression; any attempt to do so would not do them justice.

With no outlet for this surge of emotion, Darcy did something he rarely did. He smiled. A smile of such pure, spontaneous heartfelt delight that had never been seen before and would likely never be seen again. But she did not see it, her eyes were turned away with the consciousness of her own feelings.

Is there never a greater joy in a person's life than that one moment when you realise those feelings of love so strong to overrule all reason are returned? He contented himself by swelling his chest, admiring the gentle turn of her cheek and placing his own hand over her own where it rested on his sleeve. He wished to kiss her, he wished to hold her, and yet the desperation and intensity of his love he knew to be too strong; and although he felt the certainty of hers, as sure as he felt her warmth beneath his fingers, it was an affection too new for such an expression. He remembered that she had yet to learn the passion of desire, and he felt it rather too early to begin.

Copyright held by Kerry - 2002