#Elizabeth/Darcy

[lothiriel84]

So Pure in Thought and Word and Deed

He was, in short, the spitting image of her husband, and she felt all the joy she had longed to share with him slip through her fingers and shatter to the ground at her feet.

A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Darcy/Elizabeth, with Georgiana featuring prominently in her own right.

Not five months into their marriage, Elizabeth began suspecting that she might be with child. Thinking it prudent not to give her mother cause for any premature excitement, she wrote to her aunt Gardiner instead, and promptly received confirmation that, while it was still too soon to tell, all the signs pointed in that direction.  

Her heart full of joy at the prospect, she elected to take a long walk to steady her nerves before breaking the news to her loving husband. As she skirted the small farm at the far side of the park, she was surprised to find Mr Darcy’s favourite mount tied to the large oak tree standing in front of the house. Given that her husband had announced he would be away on business for the entire day, she was quite puzzled as to what his horse could be doing there, and without much consideration on her part, she found herself taking a turn around the modest yet well-kept garden. 

What she found there left her floundering in confusion at first, and then outright dread as the full implications of the scene presenting itself before her eyes started to sink in. There stood Fitzwilliam, bouncing a small child in his arms; the boy could be anywhere between one and two years of age, with a head of dark curls and the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen. He was, in short, the spitting image of her husband, and she felt all the joy she had longed to share with him slip through her fingers and shatter to the ground at her feet. 

Scarcely knowing where she was going, she fled as quickly as her legs would carry her; it was hours later when she eventually found her way back to Pemberley, where she immediately locked herself inside her chambers, ignoring Georgiana’s worried entreaties that she at least consented to have a tray sent in.  

If her husband had come to check on her upon his return later that evening, she did not know, as she had finally succeeded in crying herself to sleep. In the morning she took herself downstairs with something akin to bitter resignation, feeling as if all the happiness they had shared up until that moment had been nothing but a lie, and there was nothing left for her to look forward to anymore.  

“Elizabeth, my dear, have you been unwell?” Fitzwilliam enquired, ever solicitous of her, and it was enough to stoke the embers of her anger once more, despite her better efforts. 

“It is none of your concern, Sir,” she replied with an icy coldness that verged on dangerous. “I would not have you concern yourself on such trifling matters as your wife’s health.” 

Mr Darcy looked as if he had been slapped, and could not seem to find the words to express his confusion at such an abrupt change in her manners towards him. “If I have done something to offend you, Madam, I am deeply sorry for it – though I confess I am thoroughly in the dark as to the nature of my offence.” 

“Then let us talk about it no more. I find I have lost my appetite, so please excuse me if I retire to my rooms.” 

Not ten minutes later, there was a knock at her door, and she once again expressed her wish to be alone, even in the face of Georgiana’s clear distress.  

“Elizabeth, please,” her sister-in-law pleaded through the door. “Whatever the nature of your quarrel, I feel sure it is nothing but a misunderstanding. And you have not eaten since yesterday morning, you cannot go on like this, especially – in your condition.” 

That sweet, innocent Georgiana would figure out her secret before anyone else was something Elizabeth could not have anticipated. Still, she felt entirely too frazzled to face her new sister’s concerns, as well-meant as they were, and merely repeated that she required some rest; Georgiana, she felt sure, was too well-bread to reveal anything of so delicate nature to her brother, and that was the only think that mattered at the moment. 

She did not emerge from her voluntary seclusion for the next two days, though she accepted the trays that were sent to her rooms with absolute punctuality. The mere notion of food revolted her, but she needed to think of her child, if nothing else; it would not do to visit the sins of the father upon such an innocent creature as she was, in all likelihood, carrying inside herself.  

Fitzwilliam looked as startled as she had ever seen him when she finally made an appearance for tea. Still, she refused to meet his gaze, taking her place beside Georgiana instead.  

“Am I allowed to enquire how much longer do you plan to refuse to speak with your own husband, Elizabeth?” he asked of her in a low voice, barely waiting for his sister to excuse herself from company, after pleading a headache that would have scarcely fooled anyone.  

“That’s rich coming from you, Sir,” she shrugged, turning the full force of her irritation onto the slice of bread she was buttering. “I would have thought it congenial to your sensibilities, as you clearly appear to have kept something of much import from your own wife.” 

“I wish you would stop speaking in riddles, Madam,” Fitzwilliam replied, with a touch of his old temper. “Speak plainly, and I promise I shall address any concern you might have about this marriage.” 

Elizabeth considered him for a long moment, wondering how he could act the part of a gentleman with such well-practiced ease when he clearly was not. “Why have you never told me about the child? I think I could have born the proof of your past conduct much better, had I been informed of it directly, rather than having to discover it for myself.” 

All colour left his cheeks, and he stood up abruptly, glancing down to her in something akin to fear. “You have been to Mrs Goddard’s farm, have you not?” 

“I see you are not even making an attempt to deny it,” she stated with a sort of forced calm, clutching at her teacup so tightly that a detached part of herself wondered whether it would shatter in her grip. “I should be grateful for that, I presume. Tell me, is his mother so below you in station you could not bring yourself to act as any honourable man would, or were you so concerned about losing the good opinion of society as to abandon your own flesh and blood to protect your reputation?” 

“It is not as you think it is, Elizabeth,” he forced out with some difficulty, and there was something so pained about his countenance that she almost felt sorry for him. 

“Enlighten me, then. How, pray tell, are you going to explain the presence on your own estate of a child bearing such startling resemblance to yourself?” 

She had the momentary satisfaction of seeing her husband, always so in command of himself, falter before her very eyes. And yet, she did not feel so much vindicated as she felt utterly devastated in the face of such blatant disregard for her natural feelings on his part. “The secret is not mine to tell. I cannot, I will not betray their confidence, not even for your sake.” 

“That’s a very pretty excuse, Sir, but you cannot seriously expect your wife to content herself with letting matters slide, as if it was nothing.” 

“Nor can you expect me to go back on my own word,” he pleaded with her, to no avail. “I am not guilty of the sin you’re so keen to ascribe to me, but that is all I am allowed tell you in good conscience.” 

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other, I find. Good day to you, Sir.” She pushed away from her chair, and was halfway across the room when she very nearly collided with Georgiana, as pale as a ghost, who had apparently rushed in at that very moment. 

“I will not stand for this a moment longer,” she cried out in such anguish that gave even Elizabeth pause. “If you will not tell her, Fitzwilliam, then I shall, and you cannot stop me.” 

“Georgiana,” her brother entreated her, crossing the room in two swift strides, and reaching out for her arm as if to command her to silence. 

Georgiana, however, would not be swayed. “Robert is not Fitzwilliam’s son.” Her voice broke quite pitifully, yet she bravely soldiered on. “He’s his nephew. There, I have said it – despise me, if you will.” 

It took several moments for the full import of her sister-in-law’s words to register with Elizabeth. When they did at last, she found she was very much in need to sit down, and was only able to do so thanks to her husband, who very firmly escorted to the nearest chair. 

“I am so very sorry,” was the only speech she could manage, as Fitzwilliam pressed a glass of water to her lips, coaxing her to take small sips until her fainting fit had passed. “Oh, I shall never forgive myself, for as long as I shall live.” 

“You could not have known,” Georgiana shook her head, and although she still looked very pale and distressed, she offered Elizabeth the faint suggestion of a smile. “I could not bear to be made to marry his father, not after learning of his true intentions towards me. Fitzwilliam has been so very understanding throughout all this; he has done what he thought best to preserve my reputation, all the while ensuring that the child is well looked after, and he shall never want for anything in his life.” 

“You see now why I could not tell you, Elizabeth? I do own that it did not sit well with me, to keep such a thing hidden from my own wife, and that I had not stopped to consider what sort of conclusions you might reach, were you ever to find out – but I admit I had hoped you would trust my word as a gentleman, if nothing else.” 

“I beg your forgiveness, Sir,” she spoke very quietly, much ashamed of her earlier assumptions. “I allowed my fears to run away with me, and I have no excuse for accusing you so unjustly, save perhaps – but now is not the time, not when you have every cause to be displeased with my conduct.” 

Georgiana surprised them all by throwing her arms around her neck. “He shall be so very happy, I feel sure. I know that I am, for both of your sakes.” 

With that, she fled the room for good, leaving a very bemused brother to search his wife’s gaze for anything in the way of an explanation. What he found there, Elizabeth did not precisely know, but it seemed enough for his entire countenance to light up in a manner even she herself had seldom had the good fortune of witnessing before. 

“Oh, my love,” he all but choked out, gathering her to himself and pressing his lips very tenderly to her brow. “When?” 

“Next winter, I believe,” she told him in a voice much trembling with emotion, giving herself up at last to the comforting warmth of his embrace. 

[dresupi]

To whom it may concern:

I am currently writing an Elizabeth/Darcy ABO novel...

I am loving every second.

And I just hit 10k words, which is where my inspiration usually dries up.  So I’m holding myself accountable. Gonna see this one through and finish it!

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

"Chat what do I do the guy I hate just confessed their unyielding love to me"

Pride and prejudice screenshot redraw but not really, I drew them like how I felt like it ¯_(ツ)_/¯

[dinosaur-mayonnaise]

obsessed with characters who were written for one another. like, what do you mean the reason for my existence is to be by your side? what do you mean our divine purpose is to belong to one another, for better or worse?

[blessyouhawkeye]

the fact that we as a society have the muppets and they are not everywhere in our cultural consciousness is appalling. why aren't the muppets hosting the oscars. why aren't the muppets commentating the olympics. why aren't the muppets coming to a theatre near me every year with a new adaptation of a classic novel. genuinely what are we doing.

[linusbenjamin]

Pride and Prejudice 2005 ☼ dir. Joe Wright

[duhaerith]

watched pride & prejudice a few weeks ago its so haikaveh coded

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Pumpkin

@flufftober

Pride and Prejudice, set shortly after the end of the main events of the book...

“Goodness, how have those pumpkins grown so large?” Elizabeth asked as she walked toward the kitchen gardens. 

“Our gardener has been working on them for years,” Darcy replied proudly.

‘Indeed.  Ours never got them quite that large, but I don’t think he particularly took an interest in them, either.”

“These pumpkins are yours, now,” Darcy reminded her.

“Of course,” she said, still getting used to the idea in her mind. It had been a week since she had arrived in Pemberley as its mistress, and many days she still caught herself thinking of herself as a guest, or worse, intruder.

[doomed2repeat]

I need people to hear me out:

Colin Bridgerton is NOT this type of male lead:

He is this type of male lead:

And I love that.

[dubiousculturalartifact]

do you ever think about how darcy's perspective of the visit to rosings is just... a completely wild time. so like. he and his favourite cousin goes to visit with his weird aunt, and ends up running into this hot girl, that he's really kinda increasingly into? she's staying in the area for a while with her bestie. so like. he was expecting a boring social obligation visit & getting pressure into marrying his other, less favourite cousin. instead, he watches the hot girl hold her own with his aunt in conversation. she banters with him over the pianoforte and they have a Moment™. he keeps going over to the house she's staying at, just to awkwardly chill there, even though he doesn't like the other people there. has a whole conversation with her about how she wouldn't mind living far away from family, as long as she could afford the travel. he extends his visit so he can keep seeing her. when he runs into her on a walk, she makes a point of detailing the exact route she prefers to take while out walking, clearly encouraging him to join her, so he does. he has a really nice time on these walks, they spend a lot of time in companionable silence, but he manages to flirt a little by implying some stuff about the future & what their married life could be like, and they have some conversations about that. and sure, she has some family baggage, but none of them are around so it's a lot easier to ignore, y'know? so eventually he just can't take it anymore, and he shoots his shot. she clearly values honesty so he explains his scruples as well, but he thinks she's been dropping some favourable signals, so he's got a good chance, right?

and then not only she turns him down she ROASTS THE FUCK OUT OF HIM. she insults him. she insults his honour as a gentleman. she flips the fuck out about... oh yeah crap the sister thing, turns out his cousin blabbed, and then I'M SORRY YOU SAID WHAT? ABOUT WICKHAM? THIS IS ABOUT FUCKING WICKHAM, MY FUCKING NEMESIS? HE FUCKING SAID WHAT ABOUT.... OH MY GOD. oh fuck. I've fucked up so badly I need to reevaluate my entire life & risk sending a letter to an unmarried woman who hates my guts, just so i can explain shit. fuck.

[dearemma]

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) dir. Joe Wright

[lothiriel84]

On the Other Side from You

In the early days of her marriage, she had used to daydream of a world in which Mr Darcy did not exist, and she was still the carefree girl roaming the fields around Longbourn, with no prospect of becoming a wife and a mother anytime soon.

A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Darcy/Elizabeth. AU to the near-kiss in the rain from the 2005 film adaptation.

Still trembling with righteous indignation from their explosive fight not two hours prior, Elizabeth marched into his study, quickly dismissing the fleeting pang of guilt at the impropriety of rifling through one’s husband correspondence without permission. After everything he had done to stand in the way of Jane’s happiness, she was most certainly not prepared to take him at his word on this matter; she needed to see Mr Bingley’s letter for herself, if only to be reassured that any undue interference on Mr Darcy’s part was entirely over.  

By now, she had long resigned herself to a lifetime with a husband she could not respect, for the sake of the child she was carrying if nothing else; but she could not, would not stand for the same fate befalling her beloved sister, and if that meant betraying her future brother’s confidence, then so be it. A rather coarse word escaped her as she struggled with the uppermost drawer of his writing desk, which appeared to have become stuck rather firmly. Eventually, she managed to extract a somewhat wrinkled envelope from underneath it, and was about to toss it in with the rest when her eyes fell on her own name – her real name, as she thought of it, though she had been forced to relinquish it in favour of her husband’s – penned very neatly in Mr Darcy’s own elegant hand.  

She stared at the letter for a good five minutes before she could make up her mind whether she should open it. For all that she had come in here with the express intention to peruse some private correspondence that was never meant for her eyes, this felt like a graver transgression for some reason she could not fully explain, not even to herself. For all that it was unmistakably addressed to her, it had also very clearly been sitting at the bottom of a drawer for the past few months, and she could not surmise Mr Darcy had truly meant for her to read it.  

In the end, it was the uncomfortable suspicion that its contents might relate to her greatest shame that prompted her to tear the seal open, and unfold two sheets of paper covered in her husband’s handwriting which Miss Bingley had once praised at some length. Whatever she had been expecting, it had been nothing like this; by the time she reached his final blessing and flowing signature, she was crying bitter tears of regret for how sorely she had misjudged the way things stood between Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham.  

Her heart ached for her new sister – poor Georgiana, how much she had suffered at the hands of one she had considered a friend her entire life – and swift on its heels, a renewal of her shame at how unpardonable her conduct had been, and with far less inducement than a sweet, innocent fifteen-year-old had been subjected to. Not for the first time since their hasty marriage, she found herself revisiting her memories of that fateful morning, when she had spurned Mr Darcy’s offer of marriage so vehemently, only to immediately succumb to a physical longing so potent she had never known the likes of it before.  

The ungentlemanliness of his conduct back then paled in the face of her own shocking wantonness in allowing him such liberties with her person, against all reason and judgement. When she had been forced to seek him out, later, as the reality of her condition became more and more apparent, she had been tempted to put all the blame on him, only to discover that she could not, in all conscience, allow such deceit to take place. She might despise him and resent the consequences of his actions, but she could not forget how in the madness of the moment she had not only failed to refuse him, but rather fully encouraged his attentions.  

And now Jane and Bingley were about to marry, while she had perhaps ruined her every chance at finding some modicum of happiness in this marriage she had been forced into by circumstances alone. Arms wrapped protectively around her growing midsection, she sank further into her husband’s particular chair, and prayed that there was still time for her to make amends, perhaps even begin anew in the arduous task of carving out a life for themselves, together.  

.

“Do not fret yourself so, Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Reynolds was vainly trying to soothe her, as she had been attempting to do for the better part of the day. “The Master will surely arrive in time for dinner, or at least send word if he finds he’s unable to.” 

Still, dinnertime came and went, with no hide nor hair of her husband to be seen, and nobody the wiser of his whereabouts except that he had sent for his horse as soon as she had declared their argument to be over, and rode out in a temper in no clearly discernible direction. Elizabeth was beside herself with worry by then, and could not be persuaded to take any sustenance, not even for the sake of her child. In the early days of her marriage, she had used to daydream of a world in which Mr Darcy did not exist, and she was still the carefree girl roaming the fields around Longbourn, with no prospect of becoming a wife and a mother anytime soon; but now, she found she could not bear the thought of any harm ever coming to her husband, who had been nothing but unflinchingly kind to her in the face of her barely disguised animosity, and had placed no demands whatsoever on her, save for what little he deemed necessary for the sake of their unborn child.  

She remembered how she had very nearly shouted to his face, before he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, that he had better pray for this child to be a boy, for she would rather die than let him touch her ever again; how she wished her cutting words unsaid now, as she paced from room to room with a distressed Mrs Reynolds in her wake, who vainly begged her mistress to lie down and get some rest, for it would not do to overexert herself in her condition. As angry as Mr Darcy had undoubtedly been upon leaving the house, it was not like him to disappear in such a thoughtless manner without informing anyone of his staff, his faithful housekeeper most particularly; therefore, Elizabeth could only surmise something must have happened to him, and she knew she would never forgive herself if her earlier outburst had caused him any harm, directly or otherwise.  

When it became clear that there was very little which could be done in the way of locating Mr Darcy considering the lateness of the hour and the unfavourable weather – autumn had brought dense mists all over Derbyshire, and Pemberley in particular – Elizabeth allowed herself to be escorted to her chambers, where she proceeded to cry herself to sleep until the early hours of the morning. By breakfast time, she felt like she could not bear the wait any longer, and was resolved to join the search party that had been scouring the grounds since the break of dawn; she was in the middle of arguing her right as the Mistress of the house to do as she pleased, disregarding each and every one of Mrs Reynold’s perfectly sensible objections to such an imprudent course of action on her part, when the groundskeeper burst in to announce that the Master had been found, badly injured and still unconscious from his fall, with his faithful horse standing guard to him – but that he should live, God willing, and the doctor ought to be sent for posthaste.  

Elizabeth had a fortifying cup of tea pressed into her hands before she was finally allowed into her husband’s chambers just as he was being laid with great care on his bed; she gasped at the sight of the deep gash cutting through his temple and cheek, and though she had never uttered his Christian name before, it came naturally to her lips in a cry of heartfelt concern as she rushed to his side. She would not leave the room even when the doctor came in to examine him, could scarcely breathe until she was reassured that, though his ribs were bruised and his right knee very badly sprained, he was in no immediate danger; though only time would tell what damage his head had sustained in the impact, and for that, they needed to wait until he regained consciousness.  

The doctor then took some pains to impress upon Mrs Darcy that she ought not distress herself overmuch in her condition, and that it was her duty to look after her own health for the child’s sake. Elizabeth thanked him, though she felt no particular inclination to take his advice that she should seek bed rest for herself, and instead took what she now considered her rightful place at her husband’s bedside. As she watched over his recumbent form, unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of his chest with his every breath, she realised she had long stopped hating him – perhaps she had never truly had, not in the way she thought she did up until now.  

It was not until she was about to succumb to her bone-deep exhaustion, despite her better efforts, that she realised the nature of her feelings for him might have undergone such a fundamental change she could not have seen coming when she had found herself in the unwelcome position of having to swallow her pride and beg him to rescue her from complete ruination.  

.

By the time Mr Darcy regained full consciousness, Miss Darcy was on her way to Pemberley, accompanied by Mr Bingley and Miss Bennet. Mr Bennet’s objections to such an arrangement had not been entirely quelled by Mrs Annesley’s assurance that she would be acting as a very strict chaperone to the young couple; Elizabeth, on her part, could not entirely fault her father’s anxiety, as she knew only too well they were founded in the sharp disappointment she herself had caused him with her scandalous conduct, but was only too happy at the prospect of soon being reunited with her beloved sister, as she felt much in need of her comforting presence after the past week’s ordeal.  

As soon as the doctor had ruled out any lasting damage to Mr Darcy’s faculties, she had cast herself at her husband’s mercy, begging him for his forgiveness for everything that had transpired between them since their disastrous confrontation at Rosings, and expressing her sincere wish for a fresh start between them, for the sake of their child at least, if he could not bring himself to consider it for her alone.  

“I am only sorry to have caused you so much distress, Madam,” Mr Darcy shook his head, and winced as it only seemed to sharpen the lingering ache to his temple. “I shall endeavour to do better in the future.” 

Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered those dreadful hours she had spent fearing for his very life, and she squeezed his hand with more vigour than strictly necessary. “No more horses from now on. I forbid it.” 

“That would be hardly practical, as you may very easily surmise,” Mr Darcy sighed. Then, in one of his occasionally ill-timed stabs at humour, he offered with a small, wry smile. “Either way, might I remind you that Pemberley is not, in fact, entailed, and that by the terms of our marriage settlement you and your family will be amply provided for, regardless of whether I am survived by any child of my own?” 

Elizabeth drew back as sharply as if she had been slapped. “How can you speak so!” she cried out indignantly, placing both hands on her midsection as if to seek reassurance of her child’s continued wellbeing. She was immediately rewarded for her trouble with a firm kick to her ribs, and she doubled over as much for the surprise as she did for the pain, causing her husband to throw away his bedcovers in a bid to rush to her aid.  

“I am well,” she said decisively, pushing at his shoulder until he lay back down against the pillows. “Your heir is just as troublesome as you are, that is all.” 

“I feel sure it is a girl,” he promptly shot back, though his manner was far from confrontational. “A little Miss Darcy, with her mother’s liveliness and her sparkling eyes.” 

“Then I shall be sorry for you, Sir,” she told him demurely, for she longed to resume their previous conversation about the matter, though she did not know how to go about it.  

Mr Darcy quickly averted his eyes. “You need not be. I may not be proud of the reckless, ungentlemanlike manner in which I imposed upon you, but you may rest assured that, boy or girl, this child will be loved most fiercely, regardless of the accidents of its conception.” 

“I know,” she nodded, a soft smile touching her lips. “I can tell from the way you look at Georgiana, when you think no one can see you.” 

A pained look crossed her husband’s features, and he ran his fingers through his hair in a somewhat agitated manner. “You would not believe so, if you knew to which extent I failed in my duty to protect my poor, abused sister. And if she were ever to learn the truth about the way I conducted myself with a gentleman’s daughter – it does not even bear thinking.” 

Elizabeth once more took her place at his side, gently reached for his hand and held it between her own. “I do know of it, Fitzwilliam. I found your letter, the one you wrote after – Rosings. I know I should not have, but I’m glad that I did, and I will not have you blame yourself for something that is entirely Mr Wickham’s fault.” 

“He did not – not in the way I did to you,” Mr Darcy felt the need to explain, and she held firm when he made a half-hearted attempt to extract his hand from her grasp. “My sister is still an innocent, and I am a worse cad than Wickham himself for taking such liberties with a woman who had just expressed the true extent of her disdain for me so clearly.”  

“You did nothing I did not allow you to – encouraged, even, in my brazen unmaidenliness. I am not so bitter that I will let you shoulder my own share of the blame, Mr Darcy.” 

Her husband closed his eyes, just for a moment, his fingers threading through hers in the boldest display he had allowed himself in all the months of their marriage. “Elizabeth, I – I will have you know I had never once conducted myself in such a manner before, and though you may not care for my promise, I shall not, ever, with another woman.” 

“I should hope so,” she arched her eyebrow in as haughty a manner as she could contrive, though she found it difficult to sustain the charade in the face of the earnestness in her husband’s gaze. “You may even find, in time, that your bride is not so averse to the renewal of your attentions as she previously considered herself to be.” 

For a moment there, he looked just as startled as when she had first sought him out to inform him of her increasing state; then she saw his eyes darken, and the gaze he turned upon her was so full of unrestrained longing she felt herself grow weak at the knees. “This is very cruel of you, Madam,” he stated, very formally, though the hoarseness of his tone betrayed his manner. “To make such a confession at a time when you know very well nothing may come of it, as I am still injured and you are growing ever larger with my child.” 

“I am not so large yet that my husband should find the prospect of kissing me too unappealing, I hope,” she could not help but tease him; and then she let out a small, undignified squeak as he resolutely tugged her off her chair, and very nearly caused her to topple straight onto his bruised ribs.  

This second kiss – for she was determined that only the first instance of his lips touching hers should count, though he had kept his mouth on her for the duration – came as much less of a surprise than their first, yet was considerably more pleasurable an experience for all parties involved. And if the young Darcy decided to make her presence known by wedging an elbow in such a manner as to cause maximum discomfort to both of her parents, it was quickly forgiven, her bad manners rewarded with her own share of her father’s kisses placed with diligent care on her mother’s stomach.  

[pemberlaey]

“hey what’s the vibe for the fall?” great question!!

it’s actually this image for the 18th year in a row

[besotted-with-austen]

Jane Austen: so, you go to Mr Collins' house and Elizabeth is there alone. She welcomes you politely, but she looks---troubled.

Colonel Fitzwilliam: and of course she does, after everything I said to her-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: do I sense if she is mad at me specifically or it is just her headache?

Jane Austen: roll an Investigation Check.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *grimacing* it's a three.

Jane Austen: just her headache.

Caroline Bingley: *derisively* she only looks like she wants to stab you, Darcy.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *shrugs* I guess I am too nervous to really give her a proper look.

Jane Austen: what do you do next?

Fitzwilliam Darcy: well, I-I tell her, "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Jane Austen: Elizabeth blushes. She is absolutely stunned.

Georgiana Darcy: that is good, right? Right?

Fitzwilliam Darcy: I tell her that even if her family is--not ideal-

Charles Bingley: *making a face*

Caroline Bingley: *playfully disgusted frown* and I made my character romance you?

Fitzwilliam Darcy: -and I might be acting impulsively, I just have to let her know that I love her. That's it.

**Silence**

Jane Austen: *smacks her lips* okay-

Charles Bingley: *histerical laughter* I don't like the way you said it-

Colonel Fitzwilliam: it's an immediate natural one, yes? Please tell me it's immediate.

Georgiana Darcy: shhhh!

Jane Austen: give me a Persuasion Check-let me tell you, you have to roll very high.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: figures-very well-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *beat*

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *flatly* natural one.

Colonel Fitzwilliam: JUSTICE!

Jane Austen: *claps her hands* you make your grand love confession, but Elizabeth stops you and immediately rejects you.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: ouch.

Jane Austen: she tells you that she could never marry the person that hurt her sister and destroyed Wickham's future-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *dawning horror* I had forgotten they had talked, fuck-

Jane Austen: and, finally-

Charles Bingley: there is more? He is already dead-

Jane Austen: Elizabeth looks at you dead in the eye and says: "From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

Fitzwilliam Darcy: damn.

Caroline Bingley: *dying of laughter under the table*

Charles Bingley: I do not know if I can resurrect you after that.

Georgiana Darcy: I knew it, I should have given you Bardic Inspiration-

[laurenillustrated]

“She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Pride and Prejudice illustration based on the book.

[whetstonefires]

You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.