You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
Once the words began, they were difficult to stop. In retrospect, Darcy would recall with acute clarity precisely why he spoke so seldom.
"And this," he began, after swiftly closing the distance between Elizabeth and himself, his blue eyes lighting with a singular sort of desperate indignation, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination -- by reason, by reflection, by every thing. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
The moment he paused, chest still markedly rising and falling from the sudden onslaught of emotion that had propelled his speech, he knew it had been far too much said. Elizabeth might have been regarding a dog for all the compassion he found in her expression. No, perhaps not a dog; a dog would have been afforded a warmer reception, of that Darcy was certain.
When she answered, it was with the sharp-edged conviction that had drawn him to her in the first place. The irony, even in that moment, did not escape him.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."
The breath completely left him, clear blue eyes blinking in astonishment at the object of his most intensely-felt affection as she regarded him with the sort of raw animosity he'd never foresee from even his most loathed enemy. A moment passed, an eternity in mere seconds, and they were close enough that Darcy could swear he felt the warm curl of Elizabeth's breath across his damp skin.
"Forgive me, Madam" he forced out on an exhalation, "For taking up so much of your time." Elizabeth looked surprised to hear it, but lingering any longer or allowing himself hope would be nothing but madness.
Biting back the swell of regret that rose to his throat like bile, Darcy about-faced and beat a swift retreat, back into the rain, back to his solitary lifestyle, back to the home he'd never thought to grow tired of until its halls had begun to echo empty from the lack of her. First, however, he would set the record of Wickham straight, not out of misguided hope that Elizabeth would see reason, but out of a sincere concern that she might be taken in by his guile as Georgiana had done. The fact that he had been refused was immaterial; he would not see her so ruined.
Walking and the bite of the rain, Darcy found, helped to steady his thoughts, although his heart remained entirely more precarious than he cared for. To be refused was one thing, but to be reviled as the worst kind of villain had left him with the sort of gnawing ache that was certain to be difficult to dislodge. Not only did Elizabeth not return his feelings, but she loathed him instead.
Eyes falling closed, he sucked in a slow breath which immediately hitched in his chest as his eyes flew open. The rain had quite noticeably ceased, and the ground was no longer giving beneath his boots. Upon focusing, he found that there was a very good reason for all of this; he was, without provocation or recollection, indoors, and dripping rather mercilessly upon the floor, at that.
[OOC: How this post works: The first tag belongs to Jane. Anyone else is welcome to tag in after she has made that first tag, but it will be timed well after Jane has explained what has happened and he and his clothes have been dried. You may find him skulking about the kitchen. Dialogue from Austen's Pride and Prejudice.]
"And this," he began, after swiftly closing the distance between Elizabeth and himself, his blue eyes lighting with a singular sort of desperate indignation, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination -- by reason, by reflection, by every thing. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
The moment he paused, chest still markedly rising and falling from the sudden onslaught of emotion that had propelled his speech, he knew it had been far too much said. Elizabeth might have been regarding a dog for all the compassion he found in her expression. No, perhaps not a dog; a dog would have been afforded a warmer reception, of that Darcy was certain.
When she answered, it was with the sharp-edged conviction that had drawn him to her in the first place. The irony, even in that moment, did not escape him.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."
The breath completely left him, clear blue eyes blinking in astonishment at the object of his most intensely-felt affection as she regarded him with the sort of raw animosity he'd never foresee from even his most loathed enemy. A moment passed, an eternity in mere seconds, and they were close enough that Darcy could swear he felt the warm curl of Elizabeth's breath across his damp skin.
"Forgive me, Madam" he forced out on an exhalation, "For taking up so much of your time." Elizabeth looked surprised to hear it, but lingering any longer or allowing himself hope would be nothing but madness.
Biting back the swell of regret that rose to his throat like bile, Darcy about-faced and beat a swift retreat, back into the rain, back to his solitary lifestyle, back to the home he'd never thought to grow tired of until its halls had begun to echo empty from the lack of her. First, however, he would set the record of Wickham straight, not out of misguided hope that Elizabeth would see reason, but out of a sincere concern that she might be taken in by his guile as Georgiana had done. The fact that he had been refused was immaterial; he would not see her so ruined.
Walking and the bite of the rain, Darcy found, helped to steady his thoughts, although his heart remained entirely more precarious than he cared for. To be refused was one thing, but to be reviled as the worst kind of villain had left him with the sort of gnawing ache that was certain to be difficult to dislodge. Not only did Elizabeth not return his feelings, but she loathed him instead.
Eyes falling closed, he sucked in a slow breath which immediately hitched in his chest as his eyes flew open. The rain had quite noticeably ceased, and the ground was no longer giving beneath his boots. Upon focusing, he found that there was a very good reason for all of this; he was, without provocation or recollection, indoors, and dripping rather mercilessly upon the floor, at that.
[OOC: How this post works: The first tag belongs to Jane. Anyone else is welcome to tag in after she has made that first tag, but it will be timed well after Jane has explained what has happened and he and his clothes have been dried. You may find him skulking about the kitchen. Dialogue from Austen's Pride and Prejudice.]