𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐃. ─── ☾ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒
ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ
ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜰɪᴛᴢᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ᴅᴀʀᴄʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D
You couldn't help it: You hated with all your might the lifestyle that your social position, within the enormous chain of power, had afforded you through the surname you were meant to bear with pride, and which you were meant to respect and defend above all else that came your way.
'Hate' was perhaps a word that was a bit out of place with how you felt, not quite the right word to express how uncomfortable being a noble made you. And it wasn't that you were noble either; your family didn't have that exquisite title that only royalty could provide, but your parents were truly wealthy, enough to be considered in every situation you found yourselves in; not so
Wealthy enough to be considered lords or nobles, but not wealthy enough to be considered for your family's presence at every social event, to add your surname to the endless guest lists at every party, or to be required to attend every gathering your mother and father decided to hold. It was that last part you hated the most because, as the sole heir in your family, you were forced to always accompany your parents. It wasn't exactly torture to converse with the guests who attended the aforementioned gatherings, but having to deal with gentlemen whose intentions were anything but friendly was what most discouraged you from talking. Your family's wealth put you in one of the best positions to attract the attention of single men, and you just wanted to show that you weren't just a sum of money.
It was a shame they only saw in you a considerable amount of wealth and not the person you were, but you knew for a fact that in that chain of power, that was all that mattered; gossip and money were what ruled the society you lived in and in which you had had to learn to survive.
Of course, although it seemed very hard to believe, there was a gentleman who seemed to share your mindset, with a slightly different opinion, but one that rested on the same foundation. Mr. Darcy, one of the most desirable men on the market, had at some point, while not dissociating himself, questioned whether single ladies and greedy mothers might have seen anything more in him than a simple surname and the fortune that came with it. Of course, he had a large amount of land that was worked by his tenants and had various businesses that routinely needed his attention so as not to be ruined by some fool, but it was also true that behind all that pile of duties and money was a man like any other; perhaps he didn't actively seek the company of a woman who would make him happy or who would provide him with the children he was obligated to give to the family to continue the legacy, but that didn't mean he kept his intentions a secret from the rest of the women who presented themselves to him.
From a young age, he was instilled with the need to find a lady who met the demands, the requirements, that only a highborn lady could ever possess. Intelligent, haughty, capable of holding a conversation, with knowledge of various subjects that were to be considered mandatory, plus a couple that he had personally added, and who was of his same social status or higher; the latter being the highest of requirements, since it made no sense to marry someone who didn't provide for him and only took advantage of him.
In the end, marriage wasn't exactly a union of love, but a union to provide for each other.
"Mr. Darcy!"
Your mother's shrill voice seemed to alert him. He hadn't been hiding in the least, but he hadn't wanted anyone to find him in that enormous room.
"What are you doing here so far away from the guests?" the same woman questioned again, causing a look of slight embarrassment and discomfort to spread across the guest's face. "You remind me so much of my little girl. You have no idea how elusive that young lady is."
Mr. Darcy could only watch the way the hostess of the party ranted at her daughter, in this case, you. He watched her fling her arms around like a tantrum-ridden little girl who hadn't gotten what she wanted, and even more comical was the way her husband, your father, watched from a distance, across the room while conversing with other guests, his wife's angry attitude. Darcy didn't want to be a nuisance; he didn't want anyone approaching him to bother him, but that didn't seem to have stopped your mother from going blind or ignoring the clear signals the gentleman was sending to everyone. Mr. Darcy wasn't an ungrateful or shy man, but it was true that he didn't warm to people he didn't know at all; he wasn't in his comfort zone, that was all.
"I beg your pardon for my behaviour at your event, Mrs. Pembroke," Mr. Darcy apologised quickly, quickly looking away from the small woman who reminded him of a small, rabid dog; she moved so quickly it was impossible not to remember them. "I'm not good at mingling at events where I don't know the guests."
That excuse, which wasn't a lie, was credible. Anyone would believe Mr. Darcy had a certain fear of crowds because, after all, he always acted the same way wherever he went.
"She reminds me so much of my daughter," your mother murmured, immediately remembering you and, therefore, her main task. "She was the one I was looking for. She's as elusive as you seem, and I find it very strange that you haven't run into her somewhere in the drawing room, given her demeanour," the woman continued, looking around as her hand unsuccessfully grasped Mr. Darcy's jacket sleeve. "She tends to frequent the corners of rooms or the sides, where there are fewer people, which is why I mentioned it."
Mr. Darcy might have smiled a little at your description, but he forced himself to keep his expression serious. He wouldn't be surprised if a young woman seemed slightly distant and reluctant to attend such events; the attention was often not for everyone; most of those present were shy and demure, but they still forced themselves to leave their homes to socialise and prevent rumours from spreading among the guests in the drawing rooms. He forced himself to leave his own home to attend events like this, so it didn't surprise him that someone else might be reluctant.
"Well, never mind, I'll find her," the chatty woman continued. Darcy assumed at that moment that he had stumbled upon a woman who preferred company, and he knew he couldn't possibly get rid of her. "Since you are here alone, and seeing that you have no glass in your hand, I invite you to join me on the terrace, where we can enjoy the cool evening air and a refreshing drink."
Mr. Pembroke, who stood across the room, sighed softly as he watched his wife shamelessly take Mr. Darcy's arm to lead him with her wherever she was going. Inwardly, Mr. Pembroke prayed that the young gentleman would not tire himself too much tonight and that he would be able to return home without a headache.
But those prayers might not have been necessary for Mr. Darcy; he tended to dissociate himself helplessly when a situation became too overwhelming or annoying. It wasn't that Mrs. Pembroke was annoying, which she most likely would be, given the strength she used to drag him through the main hall of the house where all the guests were gathered. They watched in surprise as he was dragged like a small child forced by his mother to greet the newcomers. But he didn't make any fuss or show any displeasure. Mr. Darcy could be many things, including rude when he was most annoyed, but he wasn't cruel to those who had opened the doors of his house to him.
Mr. Darcy only watched his hostess's mouth move rapidly, her body following each movement to emphasise her words. On the other hand, the gentleman's mind wandered to the rest of the guests, to the glasses proudly displayed on some tables or the lights that enveloped the room, even to a small speck of dust he thought he saw on the floor just a few steps away from him, as they were halfway to their final destination.
"You are taller than I had thought from a distance; perspective always plays tricks on me," Mrs. Pembroke commented, to which Mr. Darcy simply remained silent as he tried to keep up with her. Even if he was taller, as the woman had pointed out, and his legs were longer, he was still walking slower than he thought. "If you can find a young lady wearing a white dress, with her hair cropped short, let me know."
Mr. Darcy couldn't help sighing, or rather snorting, at the brief description. All the women at that event were dressed in the same colours, and all of them had their hair cropped short. What exactly was he looking for? Wasn't there something distinctive about her? And besides, why was he bothering to find someone he didn't know? It was abundantly clear that Mrs. Pembroke was referring to her daughter, but he didn't understand why he should be doing the work of a nanny or a lady-in-waiting.
"I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, my lady, but every lady at this party fits that description," Mr. Darcy replied, unaware that he was already on the balcony of the drawing-room floor.
He didn't know at what point the woman's speed had brought them so quickly to the other side of the room so they could enjoy the cool night air, but he was certain of it at the moment when a gentle draft hit his face and slid across his cheekbones and cheekbones, and that his calves had begun to sting slightly from the rapidity with which he had walked to that point in the house. She had travelled a lot of ground in a very short time.
"It's the fashion of the moment, I suppose," Mrs. Pembroke commented, shrugging before looking around, still holding his sleeve. "Where is that girl?"
Somehow, he found the woman's concern endearing. Mr. Darcy wanted to assume it was concern, that she was a protective woman and needed to know where her daughter was, but deep down, he knew her intentions weren't simply to find an elusive or lost daughter; mothers sought to marry their daughters into the best matches, and, given the wealth of the Pembroke family, which he knew perfectly well thanks to the gossip that eventually reached his ears without him being able to avoid it, he was aware that she had dragged him around the great hall of the house not so much to help her, but so that she could introduce them, as all marriageable mothers desired.
"Oh, dear! There you were!"
Mr. Darcy quickly came to, fixing his gaze on Mrs. Pembroke before directing it to the spot where she was staring.
For the first time in a long time, Mr. Darcy could say he'd been breathless.
"Come here right now, young lady!" the woman exclaimed again, looking at her daughter, looking at you. "For heaven's sake, you don't know how much you scared me. I wanted to introduce you to someone."
But Darcy, although he could hear your mother's screams in the background, kept his gaze solely on you. Just as Mrs. Pembroke had put it, you were dressed in white, beautiful and brilliant, like the precious stars on that summer night; you were ravishing. Once again, you had taken his breath away; he couldn't even maintain his serious facade because it seemed all his walls had crumbled at your mere presence.
On the upper floor balcony, perhaps the balcony of your room, you found yourself observing everything below your feet from above, not with arrogance, but with curiosity. The smile on your face showed even more curiosity, like that of a small child who had seen something that had interested him greatly, and your arms crossed over the railing showed that willingness to learn about what had captured your attention. Now it was your mother who had brought you back to your senses, but, just as Mr. Darcy was drawn to your sudden presence, now it was you who was observing him with that genuine curiosity, even attraction, that he had felt.
At a considerable distance from each other, even though there were other people around you, everything felt different. You were surrounded by walls that enclosed you and distanced you from the rest of the world, as if you only had eyes for each other, as if only each other existed.
"Good night, my lord."
The moment he heard your voice, Mr. Darcy knew he would never be able to adore the voice of any woman other than you.
