Votes and comments, please :)
Time passed as time does, slowly or fast at times. Darcy's twenty-eighth birthday came and went - it was celebrated very quietly with nothing more than congratulations and many happy returns of the day given by all his friends and family.
He himself could find no joy on the day. It was unhappy - he wished he could have seen his birthday with Elizabeth at his side.
It seemed that ever since their return from Kent, Darcy's life had been one continuous spiral downwards. He could not break out of it - and he did not know what he would find at the bottom.
Three weeks it had been since their return; three weeks in which Darcy's moods unpredictably swung from depression, irritable (usually when Miss Bingley was around) anger and despair. He was short-tempered and found fault in everything and sometimes could not refrain from snapping at everyone.
Darcy could not see Bingley without being reminded of how he had hurt Jane Bennet (unintentionally but done all the same) nor could he face his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam without a surge of jealousy at how Fitzwilliam had enjoyed Elizabeth's company and she his. When he saw Georgiana he remembered Wickham and how he had helped turn Elizabeth against him.
But the worst was that there was not a single minute in the day that he did not think of her, and his behaviour towards her during their acquaintance. Reflecting upon all their meetings together he realised that Elizabeth's accusations were not without foundation.
In fact, he sometimes wondered how he could face himself everyday with the knowledge of all that she had said.
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It was late evening. The curtains were shut in the library and the only light was from a dying fire. Darcy sat in a large chair by the fire, his face hidden in the shadows. He was not concerned - the shadows seemed to reflect what he was feeling.
He sensed, rather than heard, his sister come in. Nowadays, it was something of a routine for Georgiana to try to persuade her brother to join their company. She had had no success.
"Will you be joining us tonight?" she asked.
Silence for sometime.
"No."
Darcy heard Georgiana stifle a sob. Suddenly she walked determinedly away in the direction of the piano. He heard her sit and open it.
Though it was dark, he knew his sister needed no light if she was playing from memory. Darcy gave no thought to his sister's actions until she began to play.
Mozart's Sonata in A, 1st movement. The piece Elizabeth played at Rosings. Though Georgiana played beautifully, he could not bear to hear her play this particular piece.
"Stop!" he cried.
The music broke off abruptly. It was replaced by stifled sobs, and then running feet. A door slammed and then silence returned.
Darcy felt guilty about what he had done to his sister but that feeling was soon eclisped by anger. How dare she play that piece! It was Elizabeth's piece.
Suddenly the door opened again and was shut decisively. Darcy did not know who had entered but the mystery was soon cleared up as the one who entered spoke.
"Are you alright?" asked the Colonel in a tone of impatience, as if he knew what the answer would be.
"Yes," replied Darcy shortly and tightly from his position in the chair.
"No you are not." The Colonel came around to face Darcy, trying to see past the darkness shrouding him. "You have been in a foul humour ever since Kent. If you have to take your bad temper out on someone, take it out on me and not Georgiana! Can you not see how worried and upset she is?"
Darcy made no answer to this outburst, which had obviously been building for sometime. He merely stared in to dying flames.
"Everyone is worried about you and I myself am beginning to tire of this!"
Again, no response. Darcy saw his cousin take a deep breath, as if taking the plunge.
"What happened between you and Miss Bennet?"
His head jerked up and life returned to his eyes.
What on earth does he know?
Seeing his reaction, the Colonel went on. "Don't try to deny anything, cousin; I have eyes. What happened between you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
Regaining control, Darcy retorted, "It is none of your business and I do not want to talk about it."
"If you will confide in me I can help you and - "
"I don't want to talk about it!"
He would never ask for help. His pride would not let him.
The Colonel sighed, frustrated. Darcy wished he would leave him in peace to nurse his wounded pride. But the loneliness also made him wonder and worry if what Elizabeth had said of him was true.
He did not want to know the answer to that - but he couldn't spend the night worrying about it.
As his cousin was leaving, he asked, "Fitzwilliam, tell me truly and honestly, do you think me guilty of pride?"
"What do you mean?" came the confused response.
"Exactly what I said, cousin," said Darcy impatiently. "Am I arrogant, conceited, with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others?"
"At the moment, I think yes!" came the near-shouted answer.
So it was true.
Depression and self-loathing fell over him. His face contorted with hurt and pain. As his face was in shadow, the Colonel could not see what effect his words had on him.
"For the last three weeks, you have wrapped yourself up in your own . . . self-pity, hurt pride and sorrow and you are taking it out on everyone else without a single thought as to how you are hurting them! Even your own sister - you should be ashamed at how you have neglected your responsibility to care for her!"
Darcy literally flinched with each word. Everything his cousin had said had opened up half-healed wounds. It was true, everything Elizabeth had said was true. Even his own cousin was telling him so to his face.
"Why you behaving so? What happened with you and Miss Bennet?"
Darcy did not hear him. He refused to let his cousin see how deeply he was hurt. He looked up and imagined he saw Elizabeth standing behind Fitzwilliam, looking at him. Darcy choked back a sob but made no answer to his cousin.
The Colonel looked down at him, waiting for Darcy to speak.
"I wash my hands of you. Solve your problems yourself if you will not ask for help."
Colonel Fitzwilliam stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him in his frustration.
Darcy sat there, frozen to his seat. Though it had been nothing in comparison to that evening, nevertheless what his cousin had said stung.
There was some wine on the side table near by. Darcy poured himself a glass and drank it quickly. He looked at the empty glass for a while and toyed with the notion of getting himself well and truly drunk. It would numb the pain at least.
But that would make him as bad as Wickham, and he had seen the man with too many hangovers to relish the idea of finishing the wine off. That would certainly be ungentlemanly behaviour.
Bed was the only attraction the night held. He replaced the glass and walked slowly upstairs to his room.
___________________________________________________________
Darcy slept uneasily - he had another nightmare. It was the same as the first one he had had, the night of their return to London.
Again, he was in a dark but moonlit room. There was a lady sitting by the window in the shadows. Darcy fell to his knees and apologised over and over to the figure he imagined to be Elizabeth.
Again, he asked for her forgiveness.
The figure stepped into the moonlight.
"I forgive you," said Lady Catherine.
She reached into the shadows and pulled Anne into the moonlight.
"I have waited a long time for this day, nephew," said she with a laugh.
Darcy woke up, gasping.
How much longer would he have to endure such pain and torture? When would he conquer it?
Would he ever conquer it?