An Ever Fixed Mark

Authors' note: This is the first and only piece of fiction I have ever written. I am eager to get opinions. Please comment. That's the only way I will know if it's good

An Ever Fixed Mark 

At Elizabeth's feet lay the scattered pages of a letter. A letter surrendered to her in an abrupt transfer from his hand to hers, a letter torn from its envelope and its now shattered Darcy seal, a letter that negated nearly every single one of her argument. She rested her head on her knees as she sat at the base of the tree and hugged her legs close to her body. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. Her every thought increased her distress and soon she gave way to sobs. She squeezed her throat but could not stop them. What have I done? I am a foolish, foolish girl. She seized the pages from the cold ground, smoothed them out, inhaled deeply, and read them again. 

His words, scrawled in neat, straight lines on the fine linen stationary, summoned anger, disbelief, shock and shame, each one battling for prominence with every reading. Humiliation won. She used her hands in a futile attempt to dry her eyes. Why did I ever listen to a single word Mr. Wickham said? A true gentleman would never have told such a story to a new acquaintance and a wise person would never have listened!  

She ached anew at how horribly she had misjudged both men! She, who prided herself on being a great judge of character, had allowed her own vanity to promote the scoundrel and disparage the gentleman. All anger fled in the face of her overwhelming shame, and that red-hot burning sensation grew rapidly on her cheeks as she considered the lack of propriety exhibited by her family in front of him. She, too, had found herself mortified by the poor behavior of her mother and younger sisters. But she loved them and could overlook their conduct. It was not reasonable to expect the same of a stranger.  

She glared at his words jumping up out of the letter: "I also watched your sister...her look and manners were open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them with any participation of sentiment..." His motives may not have been evil, but the pain Jane suffered because of his meddling was real.  

She consoled herself with the thought that she would never again lay eyes on him. She was determined to devise ways to avoid him until he stepped inside his carriage and returned to London. Elizabeth let a small sob escape.  

Not twenty feet away stood Fitzwilliam Darcy.

********

Darcy stood straight, his hands clasped behind him, shaking his head. She had refused him. The enchanting Elizabeth Bennet, whose wit and intelligence had drawn him in, had refused him.  

He cursed himself for wrapping a marriage proposal in insults. He wondered how he could have been so stupid as to tell the woman he loved, a woman perfect for him in every way, that her family was not good enough for him.  

No. As he thought about it, he did not blame her for rejecting him - what choice had he left her? The fact was, by the time he had decided to propose, he had already overcome all of his doubts about her family's lack of connections and dearth of propriety, so why had he even mentioned it? He was a fool. He felt he could scarcely breathe, so great was his distress.  

Though he had walked briskly through the paths in Rosings Park, giving no consideration to his direction, he had been drawn to her favorite spot. He had thought only of the letter he had written to answer the charges she had hurled against him. He had penned it while he was angry and with a great bitterness of spirit, and now he regretted having given it to her.