Mr. Darcy's Destiny

Darcy’s vision suddenly went to black. He could feel nothing but felt as if he were spinning for what seemed like an eternity. Then suddenly he heard Miss Austen’s words. “You want…a destiny.”

He was no longer at Austen Inn, but outdoors. And his hand was no longer on the strange quote carved in mahogany, but on some kind of strange circular button on a wall. He appeared to be at someone’s home…but it didn’t look like a house in Hertfordshire, or any place in the world for that matter. The house was ornamented with a small sign displaying a number sequence…two…zero…two…eight…five. Strange…

Thank God he had slept in his shirt and trousers. What if someone out here were to see him? See him? ‘Out here’? Where the devil is ‘here’? Suddenly a strange carriage with bright lights whizzed through the darkness, scaring the half-dressed Mr. Darcy half to death.

“Oh, God…” Darcy ran his hand through his hair and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He had an agonizing head ache…and this blasted bell wasn’t helping. Bell? His eyes snapped open. He didn’t she a bell anywhere, but he could have sworn he heard one ring…He leaned on the wall once more.

Ding-dong!

There it was again!

”What the devil…”

The sound seemed to be coming from behind him. Darcy turned around, but all he saw was that little button. He slowly reached out to it. Perhaps that was what was making the-

Ding-dong!

Darcy groaned in defeat and leaned against the wall once more, careful not to touch the infernal little bell this time.

“Coming!” Who said that? Darcy instantly straightened and looked about him. No one was near.

“Dang it!” the person yelled. The voice was of a young woman, and Darcy knew she was coming toward the red front door as her voice grew louder and louder.

“I’m coming!” she called again. It would be extremely inappropriate for a young lady to see him in such a state. Perhaps, if he left now-

Too late. He could see the black doorknob on the bright red door slowly turning…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He is not sexy.”

“Yes he is!” 

“The guy is a jerk!” 

“A sexy jerk.”

Madeline Ridgeway sighed and pressed the rewind button on her remote control. She paused the movie again. “Look at him! How is he sexy?”

“I don’t know…There’s just something…intriguing about Mr. Wickham,” her best friend Cassandra replied. 

Madeline laughed. “Well, you can have Wickham. I want Darcy.”

Cassandra gasped with mock surprise. “You do?!” 

“Okay, enough of the sarcasm. One of my favorite parts is coming up.”

“Aren’t they all your favorite?”

“Sshh!”       

Madeline pressed play and continued to watch her favorite movie, Pride & Prejudice. She had first fallen “ardently” in love with the novel when she read it at age thirteen. Suddenly she had found herself reading it over and over and over again. Now she had read it twelve times. Now it practically read itself. Now she had read seventeen Pride & Prejudice sequels and variations.

Now she was writing her own. This was her career, and she was loving it. Already she had written eight books, each becoming bestsellers. She had done all this by the age of twenty. She hadn’t gone to college, she was so busy writing. But why did she need to? She had written a bestseller at fifteen for God’s sake. She didn’t need to go to college. Yet, she was missing something…Was it college she longed for? She had never been able to decide what she wanted. And now she had a severe case of writer’s block! If she couldn’t write a new novel, what would she do? How would she pay for her house?

Madeline absolutely adored her small little home in San Bernardino, California. It was in a small suburban area on Chivam Street that was wonderfully secluded from the filth of town. It was a beautiful but small two story house, painted white with black shutters and a bright red door. It was picturesque, and Madeline loved living in it.

But she was often terribly lonely. Madeline was accustomed to living with her four sisters, Sabrina, Alice, Leandra, and Gillian. And after nineteen years of living in a big, loud family she felt as if a part of her was missing by being all alone.

Madeline was the second youngest daughter in her family. Her three elder sister sisters were all married with children, while she by herself in San Bernardino, her mind a blank canvas without an inkling of creativity upon it.

 She had never had time to date or go out and have fun. She hadn’t even gone to her senior prom. It had all seemed unnecessary at the time, but now Madeline realized just how pitiful she was. She had no life. And no one special. The core of her career was romance, after all. Her job was to write of the wonderful love story of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, whose charming tale she could never tell without becoming envious of the love and mutual understanding they shared.

Madeline had met a great number of “eligible bachelors” but they were all deceit and pretension. She wanted a man who was chivalrous, kind, devoted, romantic, responsible, wise, passionate, while still shy and unassuming. But obviously those men only existed in romance novels. She would never be able to find such a dream man, and sometimes she longed for Mr. Darcy so much it made her heart ache. She had always felt so close to him, despite the fact that he was a work of fiction. And she had always felt that he was hers, and she was his, no matter how impossible such a notion is. But those fantasies were over now. It was time to be a serious, hard-working adult.

Cassandra had always supported Madeline in her Pride & Prejudice obsession, starting from high school, where they had first met, and continuing through Madeline’s career. Cassandra had often helped her with her writing by giving much appreciated advice. Well, usually appreciated advice. There was the occasional, “Write more about Mr. Bingley!” or “Make Wickham do something sexy!” that Madeline ignored. Bingley and Wickham were Cassandra’s favorites, not hers.

Now the two friends were together at Madeline’s little white house on Chivam Street with the black shutters and bright red door having their monthly movie night. This get together was often much enjoyed, but tonight Madeline was a bit out of spirits. Her loneliness and anxiety (and the pressure to write another novel) had entirely consumed her. 

Ding-dong! the door bell rang. Madeline sighed in annoyance and paused the movie once again. Ding-dong! it rang a second time. “Coming!” she called. 

Setting the remote down, she stood up, and accidentally stepped on a book that had fallen to the floor.

“Dang it!” The book now had a large dent in its cover. “Aww…” Madeline picked it up and carefully attempted to repair the damage. 

Ding-dong! the door bell rang again. 

“Mad, go get the door!” Cassy yelled.

“But look at it, it’s all ruined!” Madeline replied with a sob.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and put out her hand. “I’ll fix it, just get the door.” Madeline consented and gave her the book. 

After studying its cover, Cassandra rolled her eyes once more and yelled to Maddie retreating back, “You’re reading this again?”

“It’s my favorite!” was her only excuse. One of her many favorite Pride & Prejudice books anyway. 

“You’ll never stop loving Mr. Darcy, will you?”

“Never.” Madeline began to open the door, but turned back to Cassandra. “I’m telling you, Cass -” She opened the door. “every time I see him in that open puffy white shirt, walking through the mist -” She turned to face the door. “i just m-“

She was speechless.

“Melt,” she finished in a whisper.

There, standing in the January mist and wearing an open puffy white shirt and trousers…was Fitzwilliam Darcy, precisely as she’d always imagined him. He had scruffy, but neat, dark brown hair with bangs that just touched his quizzical brows. And under those eyebrows were his lovely eyes. They were the most beautiful blue Madeline had ever seen, and the shimmer in them was so enticing, she could not look away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here, standing before Fitzwilliam George Leopold Darcy, was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. She had a very fair complexion and very dark brown hair which seemed an eclipse over her pale skin. The rich river of hair was in a long braid that hung over her left shoulder most enticingly, and, not understanding why, he longed to reach out and run it through his hand. His hand opened to catch the majestic locks, and just when he was about to touch the dark strands of loveliness, he stopped and reluctantly returned his hand to his side. 

The young woman had said nothing throughout this entire time. She merely stared at him with her fine dark brown eyes the exact way he was staring at her.

Both pairs of eyes, one brown and one blue, were arrested by the sight of each other. They stood in silence, and all that could be heard was the sound of their soft breathing. 

Finally able to compose himself, Darcy closed his eyes and tried to start again. He reached out to touch the young woman’s hand, but then quickly pulled it back. The touch of their hands had sent a rush of heat through Darcy’s body. His mind suddenly clouded as his pulse began to race. It was as if he were transfixed, under a spell of utter enchantment. 

Resolved to take control of himself, he gripped his hand and tried once more. Their hands touched once more, and Darcy again felt a fire in his veins, but he remained strong and did not retreat. 

“Miss?”

She did not respond.

“Miss, do not be alarmed,” he said, his voice filled with compassion. Compassion toward this woman he didn’t even know! He hurriedly lowered his head, now embarrassed by the awkwardness of the situation. “I am Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire,” he hurriedly finished. The lady’s eyes widened, and for a moment she looked as though she wished to speak. But she suddenly grew very pale, and her breathing very heavy.

She put her hand on her head and took a retreating step, when all of a sudden her eyes snapped close and she began to faint. With great speed Darcy caught the mysterious maiden just in time, just before she hit the floor. 

As he held the lady in his arms, he knew at once that he was doomed. His heart knew that this young woman, whose thoughts and emotions were in no way known to him, would forever be its mistress. Here, in his arms, was the love of his life. He brushed his hand along the now even paler maid’s pale cheek, until civility and common decency returned to him, and he looked up. 

To his utter amazement, there was another young lady in the room! who had obviously, judging by her shocked expression, seen all that had passed. He looked at the lady in his arms once more.

So beautiful… he thought with a sigh. He quickly shook himself. He was doing it again!

Darcy hurriedly closed his eyes and began to concentrate on precisely how to determine what the devil was going on! But even while his vision was black, his mind’s eye envisioned that strange, beautiful fallen maiden whom he so longer to caress. 

  Sleep! Sleep! For the love of God, just sleep! Darcy put his pillow over his head. What was wrong with him? He was devilish sleepy but his mind would not allow him to rest. It was filled with too many questions. Questions he couldn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to ask. They were too outrageous. He had the strong feeling that he was meant to be in this place…but Darcy didn’t believe in such nonsense.

  Sleep! All he wanted was sleep! No, sleep wasn’t the only thing he wanted. He wanted to go home. Back to Pemberley, back to Georgiana, away from this mythical farce. He wished he were home…but Darcy didn’t believe in wishes either.

   Still unable to attain rest, he wearily sat up in the inn’s rock hard bed and rubbed at his temples. He needed to pace. He didn’t feel at ease here. So he did, his bare feet cold upon the floor.

  “Damn Bingley and his country estate.” Couldn’t he go back to Pemberley and see Netherfield some other time? Yes, he could.

  “I’ll go home,” Darcy decided aloud. “No, I’ll stay here,” he said, sitting down. He stood. “But I want to go home.” He sat. “But I can’t disappoint Bingley.” He stood. “Damn Bingley! I want to go home!”

  Surprised at the sudden violence in his tone, Darcy laid down once more and closed his eyes. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly. Finally released of a small amount of his anxiety and frustration, he put his pillow over his head once again and finally fell asleep.

~

  Darcy was suddenly awoken from his well needed slumber by the very loud sound of a door slamming. He quickly sat up but no one appeared to be in the room. It must have been someone in the hall.

As he began to return to his rest, Darcy was suddenly very cold. He turned and discovered the window was open. He didn’t remember opening it… However it was opened, it needed to be closed/ The unusually strong wind was causing him to freeze.

  Slowly and sleepily Darcy got out of bed and closed the window. But as soon as it touched the ledge the window flung back open, allowing an even stronger wind to burst through the room. As the curtains flung wildly about, he tried to stop it but to no avail.

  “Mr. Darcy!” a booming voice yelled, filling the room with its echo. Startled, Darcy fell back against the wall, afraid to speak.

  The wind slowly calmed and lowered to a light breeze. “Mr. Darcy….” the voice called earily. He knew that voice, he was sure of it.

  “M-Miss Austen?” Damn! He sounded like a terrified idiot.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy?” she repled with a tone as soft as cotton, but cold as ice.

  “Where are you?”

  “Mr. Darcy, you are being summoned.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “My dear Mr. Darcy, this is not about what I want, but what you want. You want to help someone do you not?” Darcy could not answer Miss Austen’s enquiry right away. How the devil did she know? “Don’t you!” her voice boomed as the wind picked up once more.

  Darcy’s voice, in response, was extrememly quiet and timid. “Well…Y-Yes.” He couldn’t move he was so paralyzed with fear.

  The great whisk of air that was blowing about the chamber suddenly warmed and relaxed, transforming itself from a strong blizzard to a light summer breeze. “You want…a destiny,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Darcy quickly affirmed. The sureness in his own voice surprised him.

  “Your destiny is coming…” The window slowly closed. “It is now.”

  The beautiful door that had so intrigued Darcy suddenly became even more mystical than before as a little spark of light appeared in the middle of its sun pattern. This spark soon turned a beam of light that spread, turning the beautiful engraved design into a ray of sunshine.

  The light soon appeared at the arch above the door, not yellow like the sun pattern but an icy blue that brought a twinkle to Darcy’s eye. The strange quote written in the mahogany was now glistening in blue light, and he could not look away.

  “Touch the words,” Miss Austen urged him. “Touch them.” Darcy walked toward the bewitching door, slowly, as if he were hypnotized. “Touch them Fitzwilliam George Leopold Darcy…”

  He did.

  “May I help you, sir?” asked the strange sickly spinster who opened the inn’s door.

  “I am in need of a room for the night, if there are any vacant,” Mr. Darcy replied.

  The strange woman smiled at him with a mysterious gleam in her eye. “Right this way, sir.” Darcy and his man were let into a dimly lit room furnished only by a small chair and table. Not a very commodious.

  “I will prepare a room for you, sir,” the woman said in a hollow voice.

  “Thank you,” Darcy said. As the woman turned to leave he continued, “Madam, may I ask your name?” He was surprised she had not offered it already.

  She stopped, and paused for a long time before answering. “My name, sir, is Miss Austen.” Darcy was about to give this Miss Austen his name but she spoke before he had the chance to introduce himself.

  “You need not give me your name, sir. I already know it. I shall find you a comfortable room, Mr. Darcy,” And with that she left.

  Darcy was bewildered. How on earth did this woman know his name? Perhaps this was all a big crazy dream. Lord, what he really needed was a good night’s rest. Darcy then began to pace the length of the room (as was his habit when he was nervous, anxious, worried, or upset) until his eyes came to rest upon the little table in the center of the room.

  On this little table were six books stacked into a straight, neat pile. Darcy ran his fingers along their spines. They were just ordinary books, were they not? Yet, for some singular reason, one particular novel seemed to be calling out to him, the second from the top. Not knowing why, he picked it up and stared at it’s title; it was mesmerizing. Pride & Prejudice. He longed to open it and read its pages, why he did not know. He held the book tightly in his gloved hands, his eyes still arrested by the title. Slowly, he turned to the first page and began to read aloud. “It is truth acknowledged th-“

  “Mr. Darcy!” Miss Austen’s voice rang out, startling Darcy and causing him to drop the novel in his hands.

  Recovering himself, he bent down and picked up the spell-bounding book. “I am terribly sorry,” he said with unfeigned repentance. He rose to find Miss Austen standing before him. 

  “It is quite alright, Mr. Darcy,” She firmly pulled the book from the his grasp. But you should learn to control your curiosity…Come.” Miss Austen then a door which led to a long, drafty hallway. “This way,” she said in a cold whisper as she began to usher Mr. Darcy and his valet down the hall. As they walked, Darcy could not help but notice the strange paintings that ornamented the walls. There were six portraits of ladies on the left and six portraits of gentleman across from them on the right. And each portrait’s frame had a shining gold plaque that was a beautiful contrast to the dark, gloomy hallway. Despite their glorious glimmer, Darcy kept his eyes straight ahead and did not look at them, fearing he would upset the odd Miss Austen again.

  She walked with great stride and great energy, but despite this still bared her sickly appearance. She was moving very quickly, and Darcy and Kendall were finding it difficult to keep up with her till she stopped, turned around, and walked swiftly back to the first portrait on the left. Darcy chose not to follow, but instead stared at her quizzically from where he was.

  She was looking at the painting in a strange way. A way that made Darcy’s skin crawl, though he knew not why. It was as if she was communicating with it.

  It was a portrait of two young ladies, and it seemed that Miss Austen was (he assumed) having a conversation with them, by the way she attentively nodded her head. His assumption was proved correct.

  “Dear Marianne,” Miss Austen said with concern, “you really must stop going out in the rain!” She paused listening to this “Marianne“‘s reply, a reply neither Darcy nor Kendall could hear. She spoke to the portrait again, apparently irked with it. “Don’t you remember the last time you went out in the rain? You were dreadfully ill.” She paused again, then sighed. “Well, I shall have to depend on the colonel to keep you out of trouble. Keep an eye on her, Elinor.”

  With that she continued to walk down the hall once more, but the gentlemen did not immediately follow her. Darcy was intrigued in a way he could not explain, and he didn’t like it. “Come along,” Miss Austen urged them. “Make haste.” Ignoring the anxious feelings in the pit of his stomach, Darcy obeyed and his valet followed him till they reached a large, blue door.

  “This will be your chamber, Mr. Darcy.” As Kendall was taken to his room, Darcy stared in wonderment at the door before him.

  It was truly beautiful. A bright blue the color of the ocean that seemed to shine through the frame. And above it was a mahogany arch with a strange quote inscribed in it:

  “My good opinion once lost is lost forever…”

  He could not stop looking at it.

  “Wouldn’t you like to go in, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Austen said as she suddenly appeared behind him.

  Darcy did not reply. He simply opened the beautiful door and went inside. The room was nowhere near as majestic as its door, but it would do. He was absolutely exhausted. But he was also so puzzled by the night’s events he doubted he could sleep.

  Miss Austen curtsied to him and said, “I hope you will find your room to your liking, sir,” and turned to leave.

  “Miss Austen!” Darcy stopped her. She turned back to him. “Miss Austen,” he began cautiously, “if I ask you a few questions, will you freely answer them?”

  “That would depend upon the questions, sir.”

  The blunt answer he had received did not discourage him. “The novels on the table in your sitting room.”

  “What about them?”

  “I would like to inquire after one in particular, Pride & Prejudice. The name alone left him tingling.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said firmly, “I desire no further discussion on this subject.”

  “Pray, forgive me if I have insulted you in any way-“

  “You are forgiven. Good night, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Austen slowly curtsied once again and left the room, firmly closing the ocean blue door behind her.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had always been told he was born for greatness. “You are going to achieve many wonderful things and do many wonderful deeds,” his father would say. “You are going to make someone’s life better.”

   “How?” the young Fitzwilliam would ask. But his father never gave him a satisfying answer. He simply said, “You’ll know.” At the age of eight and twenty Fitzwilliam Darcy still didn’t feel that he had greatly benefited anyone’s life. He was simply “Mr. Darcy”, a respectable gentleman who owned a large estate in Derbyshire. Yes, he gave to charities and took good care of his tenants but had he truly helped one special person? He did not think so. Although, there was his sister, Georgiana.

  Mr. Darcy truly loved little Georgiana with all his heart. After their parents died, he became more of a father than a brother to her. Long ago (or was it very recently? He could not tell for it seemed like only yesterday.) they were playing games and chasing each other around Pemberley…Now he was having to save her from ruination by malevolent young men! But Darcy did not want to think of that now. Thinking of Wickham would only make his pounding headache worse. The thought he then chose to focus on was this: Had he truly done something to make Georgiana’s life better? She had been acting very distant and shy lately, never speaking above a hush. Dear God, had he eternally embarrassed her? The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his dear sister.

  But enough of this constant worrying. It was not Georgiana whom he needed to be concerned about. It was Bingley.

  As the carriage, yet again, hit another bump in the road, Mr. Darcy closed his eyes and sighed, trying to release the anxiety he’d developed during his long journey to Hertfordshire. Good God, Hertfordshire. Why had he ever agreed to this agonizing trip? And why was he asking himself this? He knew why. Bingley depended on him. Always wanting an estate in the country, Mr. Bingley had recently rented an estate near Meryton. “Darcy, you must come out to see the place and give me your honest opinion of it,” he had said. “Please say you will!” Darcy could not refuse. How could he refuse him? He had become so excited Darcy feared his head would pop right off his body.

  “You may come out to Hertfordshire next week, and Netherfield Park shall be ready for your arrival,” Bingley had said with the brightest of smiles.

  Yes, but would he be ready for it? Darcy sighed once more. Hertfordshire. Far removed from polite society. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be in constant contact with these people.

  You are going to make someone’s life better…the late Mr. Darcy’s crossed through the current Mr. Darcy’s mind once more. Had he truly helped Bingley by encouraging him to rent Netherfield? Should he have warned him against it? Had he done the right thing? His father’s words often possessed his thoughts, but now? Now they seemed to be racing through his head in all directions in a manner that made him want to scream. You are going to make someone’s life better…It reeled through his mind and soul again and again. You are going to make someone’s life better…He could not take it.

  “No more!”

  “Did you say something, sir?” the valet’s inquiry interrupted Darcy’s turmoil.

  “No,” Darcy softly but firmly replied. “No, Kendall. I didn’t.” He stretched and tried to shake off his discomfiture, but found he was in dire need of a rest. “Kendall?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you have any notion of where we are?”

  “I believe we have just reached Meryton, sir.”

  Darcy yearned for a comfortable rest. So much so he didn’t want to wait till they reached Netherfield. “Well Kendall, I am longing for a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight. Is the feeling mutual? he said with a sleepy chuckle.

  “Very much so,” the valet assured his master with a laugh.

  Darcy smiled. Kendall wasn’t only his valet. He was his good friend. “Then I think we should stop at an inn for the night. Bingley can wait till morning. Notify the driver will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The carriage soon stopped at a dark and desolate establishment with a large wooden sign hanging in front if the door. Darcy could not help but notice how odd it was. It merely said,

                           AUSTEN INN

in big bold letters with a small picture of a book beneath it.

  “A singular looking place,” his valet observed.

  “Indeed,” was Darcy’s only reply as he knocked on the door. He was so tired he could sleep anywhere, no matter how singular.