Turn of Fate: Early Meetings

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Oh, Charlotte,” Elizabeth murmured, pulling her friend aside.

“The assembly has only just begun, and already I am mortified by my mother. Look at her—hovering by the door, eagerly awaiting the party from Netherfield. She fully expects the new tenant to take one look at Jane and fall madly in love with her. And if he does not, she will be right there, practically shoving them together. She has it all planned—they will be married before the year is out. Never mind that no one knows what he looks like, his age, or even a hint about his character.”

“Poor Jane,” Charlotte replied with a sympathetic smile.

The commotion at the door caught Elizabeth's attention. “Look, it seems they have arrived.”

Charlotte leant closer, whispering, “The first gentleman is Charles Bingley, the new tenant. The two ladies with him must be his sisters, and the older man is likely his brother-in-law.”

Elizabeth nodded absently, her gaze following the group—until the final member of their party stepped into the room.

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in her life, she felt as though she might swoon.

She recognised him instantly. He was older now, his features more defined, but there was no mistaking Fitzwilliam Darcy, the master of Pemberley—and the man who had shattered her heart four years ago when he had failed to keep his promise to come for her.

A surge of panic gripped her. Unprepared to face him, she stepped behind her friend.

“What is the matter, Eliza?” Charlotte asked, her mouth agape, obviously surprised by the sudden action.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It is nothing, Charlotte. It is simply that…” She sighed heavily again before finally confessing.

“I met the tall gentleman several years ago when I visited Derbyshire with my Aunt Gardiner. I will explain later – please help me find a way to ignore my mother’s inevitable demand that I join her to be introduced to Mr. Bingley and his party. ”

Before she could do anything, however, Charlotte’s mother summoned her back to their family. Offering Elizabeth an apologetic glance, Charlotte excused herself and complied with the request.

Elizabeth was quickly approached by her sister Mary. “Lizzy, Mama sent me to tell you to join us by Sir William so we can be introduced to Mr. Bingley and his party.” With a reluctant sigh, Elizabeth followed her sister, and together they made their way to where their mother stood.

As Sir William Lucas made the introductions, Elizabeth kept her gaze lowered, barely glancing at anyone. She heard Mr. Darcy’s soft gasp of surprise as he heard her name and glanced up, catching a flash of shock and pain in his expression.

After a moment, he interrupted the matron who was talking to his friend.

“Did I hear correctly, Mrs. Bennet, when you said that none of your daughters have married? I thought I heard from someone that one of your daughters was already married. Or perhaps engaged?” he enquired, looking strangely at Elizabeth.

She could not discern the meaning behind his expression, but she instinctively felt that the unspoken question was directed at her.

Before she could react or respond, however, her mother answered in her stead.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush under his steady gaze, though he seemed to attempt, however poorly, to disguise his interest—or so she thought. Neither of them paid much attention to the matron’s response to his question.

“No, sir, none of my daughters are married or engaged yet, though I do hope that will change soon,” she said, her tone revealing her clear desire to see one of her daughters well-married.

She subtly gestured towards the eldest. “Perhaps you would like to dance with one of my daughters. My eldest, Jane, is lovely and would be delighted to partner with you.”

At a glance from the gentleman, Elizabeth shot him a desperate look and subtly shook her head, silently imploring him not to ask her to dance right then.

“Not at this moment, madam,” he replied coldly. “I rarely dance and do not intend to do so this evening. I arrived from Derbyshire only this afternoon and am here tonight solely at the request of my friend.”

Mrs. Bennet attempted to persuade the gentleman to change his mind but to no avail.

Having had enough, he abruptly took his leave, causing the matron to decry him as a most rude individual.

Elizabeth stared after him for a moment until one of Charlotte’s brothers came to collect her for the next dance.

She went with him, relieved to be away from her mother for a time and to sort her conflicted thoughts.

Did he believe I was married? Or that I am engaged to another? Where would he get such an idea? He has not had contact with me since I left Derbyshire. Not even Georgiana wrote to me as she promised. And he never came! Why would he think those things?

As she danced, her thoughts raced, rendering her far less talkative than usual. The distraction went unnoticed by her partner, who promptly departed as soon as the dance concluded.

It was just her luck that her partner left her near where Mr. Darcy stood against the wall when the dance concluded.

“Elizabeth.” She heard his furtive whisper and felt her heart race still at the sound of his voice. She blinked away tears as she contemplated what they had once been to each other and wondered, again, what had kept him away all these years.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered again, sounding nearly desperate. “Tell me, please, are you truly not married?”

“No, sir. Why would you think that? Four years ago, I believed myself engaged, but the only gentleman I will ever love broke his promise to me and disappeared without a word of explanation. I no longer expect him to come for me—and I do not know what his purpose might be if he were to appear suddenly after all these years of silence.” She could not hide the pain in her voice or the slight catch that broke through as she spoke the final words.

“What do you mean?” he asked harshly. “I wrote to you; I wrote to your father; I wrote to your aunt and uncle. But not once did I receive a response to any of my letters to Hertfordshire, and your aunt and uncle could offer no information. I visited your home to obtain your father’s consent, as promised, but your father said you were away and denied my request. Even though I had not heard from you, I returned to Longbourn a year later and was told by your father you were on your wedding trip. I was heartbroken.”

“What? You came to Longbourn twice, and I never knew of either attempt? My father told you I was married? Why would he do that? I swear, I would never have married another,” she said more loudly than she intended.

Fortunately, the music was loud, and thus far, their conversation had not attracted attention.

“We cannot speak here, not now,” she said after a moment had passed and neither of them had spoken again. “I will walk out in the morning to a place called Oakham Mount. If you ask any of the grooms at Netherfield, they will direct you. I will be there at sunrise; we might speak openly.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered, his voice low and filled with longing.

His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her breath catch, and when she finally looked up to meet his gaze, she saw the anguish there.

“I have missed you desperately. I do not know what happened, but I have never stopped loving you.”

She felt her heart twist at his words, the raw emotion in his voice piercing through her carefully built defences.

Her own voice was barely a whisper as she replied, “Nor I you, Fitzwilliam.” She dared a brief, fleeting smile before she turned and slipped away, casting a wary glance in her mother’s direction, hoping not to draw her notice.

Darcy watched her for several more minutes as he stood against the wall.

Memories flooded him from their time together four years ago, followed soon after with additional memories of the months that had followed.

Such supreme happiness followed by intense heartbreak.

He could not reconcile the two, nor did he understand what could have occurred.

Why did she blame him for not returning when he had?

So absorbed was he in these thoughts that he did not notice someone else approaching.

Miss Caroline Bingley, his friend's insufferable sister, latched onto his arm, clearly trying to give the impression to the townsfolk that they had an understanding. As he attempted to free himself from her grasp, the turmoil of his thoughts led him to respond with less tact than usual.

“Miss Bingley, kindly remove your hand. It is highly inappropriate for you to take my arm uninvited. I do not care for grasping women, and I do not appreciate you attempting to create an illusion of closeness between us that does not exist. You will never be more to me than the sister of my friend.”

His tone was sharp, his composure frayed by the encounter with Elizabeth Bennet after so many years—and by the discovery that she was still unmarried. Questions filled his mind, for her and for her father.

“Mr. Darcy, whatever do you mean? Surely you must realise I am ideally suited to be the mistress of Pemberley,” she cried.

“I know nothing of the sort. We are neither engaged nor married, and we never will be.”

“Mr. Darcy!” she cried again, this time louder and garnering his notice.

“Be quiet!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “If you intend to create a scene hoping to force me into marrying you, I assure you that will never happen,” he said.

Miss Bingley snapped her mouth closed, whatever she intended to say or do forgotten.