Love Unfeigned (Timeless Love: Darcy and Lizzy variations)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

January 1812 Darcy House Georgiana

G eorgiana Darcy watched her brother, concern filling her heart. He had not been himself since he returned to London at the end of last November. His reserved nature, usually absent when in the privacy of their home, seemed ever present. He gazed at nothing as though deep in thought, and his lips often turned down into a decidedly unhappy expression.

If I did not know any better, I would think someone had died. Georgiana wondered if her brother's preoccupation had something to do with her folly. Last summer, she had most unwisely attempted to elope with the son of their father's former steward. It had not come to fruition—her brother had come to the house in Ramsgate unexpectedly, and she had felt compelled to tell him everything.

Never had she disappointed him more, and her shame had compounded until he departed for Hertfordshire last autumn. His letters had been full of the usual tidbits about the neighborhood, and he had mentioned a few of the families more than once.

A strange idea crept into Georgiana's mind, and she almost dismissed it out of hand. No, she thought. It is not possible. My brother? In love? The idea seemed tantalizingly close to the truth. Glancing across the room, she observed her usually unflappable brother. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped beneath his chin. Fitzwilliam stared into the fire, and she thought she detected a look of pain in his expression.

If there was one thing Georgiana could recognize, it was a broken heart. What happened in Hertfordshire? she wondered. Like any good sister, she felt it was her duty to decipher her brother's strange mood. And so, on the following day, whilst Fitzwilliam was out, Georgiana crept into his rooms to have a look around.

The master's chambers had changed very little since her father died. They had changed the rug—it was now green, blue, and tan instead of red and gold. Heavy drapes matched the rug, and the furniture had been reupholstered as well. Fitzwilliam's rooms were in pristine condition—not a thing was out of place. His valet, Brisby, disliked clutter of any kind.

Georgiana drifted to the writing desk, hoping to find an explanation amongst her brother's letters. Carefully, she opened the writing case and leafed through the stack of letters inside. There were a few from Pemberley's steward and one from Lady Catherine that had yet to be opened. She recognized Mr. Bingley's untidy scrawl across one, and she picked it up. Unfolding the papers, she scanned the brief note.

Darcy,

I cannot help but think you are wrong. Miss Bennet surely loved me as I love her. I fear if I do not return to Hertfordshire, my heart will burst. Pray, come with me to Gentleman Jack's tomorrow—you can beat some sense into me.

Bingley

The note was dated the day previous—Fitzwilliam had gone to Gentleman Jack's that afternoon. Georgiana frowned. She recognized the name Bennet. Her brother had written of the family, but she did not recall the details. I shall have to investigate my letters when I am finished here , she thought. Moving Mr. Bingley's letter aside, she continued to leaf through her brother's letters. There was nothing in his correspondence to indicate why he might be suffering from depressed spirits.

Her gaze drifted to a stack of unfinished missives stacked neatly on one side of the writing box. There was one to the steward and another to Richard—Colonel Fitzwilliam. Huffing in irritation, Georgiana moved to stack the papers again. A single sheet slid out from the bottom of the stack and drifted silently to the floor. Curiously, she set the stack aside and retrieved the missive and read it.

Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,

It has been two months since I beheld your face. Never have I known such agony! Your fine eyes haunt me in my sleep, twinkling with mischief in my dreams. How I long to caress your chocolate curls, to feel their silken texture wrapped around my fingers.

Performing my duty has never been the onerous and unwanted task it now seems. I have learned, from infancy, to take pride in my name and position. Being born to privilege comes with specific obligations, or so my mother and father taught me. Now, after so many years, I have cause to resent it all. Had I been born the son of a tradesman, or that of a minor country gentleman, I could have you. But your position in life, so decidedly beneath my own, prevents me from making you my wife.

Many nights I have attempted to convince myself that you and I are equals—I am a gentleman, and you are a gentleman's daughter. But alas, this is not enough to outweigh the drawbacks of offering for you. Your mother and younger sisters behave with an extreme lack of decorum. I know you understand, for I witnessed your mortification at the Netherfield Ball. Even your father could not exert himself to behave with propriety, I am sorry to say.

More than this, your connections to trade are impossible to overcome. What would my parents say if they knew I meant to offer the position of Mistress of Pemberley to one whose blood is so tainted?

If I raised your expectations, I am very sorry. When it came time for me to leave Hertfordshire, I thought it best to depart without bidding you farewell. I could not bear the grief in your eyes as you comprehended the truth of the situation. Dearest Elizabeth, please forgive me. Please understand that if I were a lesser man, I would give myself to you in but a moment. Our respective stations, vastly different, keep us apart.

I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy

Never had Georgiana read something so insulting and romantic at the same time. So, her brother was in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She recalled the name—he had written of her many times, admiring her ability to put Miss Bingley in her place without slinging insults.

What is this drivel about position? she asked. Her brother's explanation about how marrying Mr. Wickham would lower her status rang in her mind. It was not the same in this situation. Marrying Elizabeth would raise the lady's status to that of his own. The connections to trade could not be so easily explained away, but she thought her brother rather hypocritical. His closest friend, besides Richard, was Mr. Bingley, a man whose fortune came from his father's success in trade. Miss Elizabeth held a greater position in society than Miss Bingley!

She would need time to think and plan. Fitzwilliam deserved happiness, and Georgiana would ensure he had it. It was the least she could do after her behavior last summer.