Dreams, Pride and Prejudice Fanfiction
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Dreams
DNA: This is my first attempt at fiction. I hope you like this very short story. Please keep in mind I am not a writer or historian and therefore there may be errors regarding both. This story is dark, however, it ends happy, I promise! Begin Archiving.
Blurb: A lonely Fitzwilliam Darcy is haunted by dreams of a love he cannot have.
The musicians spun their magical cords through the ball room as couples indulged in the provocative waltz. Fitzwilliam Darcy held his young wife closer then propriety dictated as his hand lightly caressed her slender waist. None noticed. None cared. All were spellbound within the threads of suspended time. Her eyes held his with an emotion as old as the universe and as young as a maiden's first spring. His heart was hers, forever tied to the woman within his arms. No one could cut the invisible thread that united and bound one to the other as surly as the planets circled the sun. He had not known life, nor color, nor love until his heart opened to Elizabeth, his love, his heart, his being, his soul. Looking into the splendor of her eyes she slowly began to fade as her body turned to sand within his arms. Darkness slipped into nothingness as a gray fog pulled her from his hands. A blue white dove flew to the sky, soaring to the heavens. He could not hold her; he could not keep her from disappearing. She was lost . . . lost. . . lost. . . lost . . .
ELIZABETH!!! He awoke to his own screams of torment and desperation………ELIZABETH!!!! He reached over in vain for the soft form of his wife's body only to meet cool empty sheets. The name of a woman unknown, yet known only in sleep came from his lips with a self-proclaimed proclamation of love. Coming to the waking world he realized anew what he had lost, what had never been. She was only his imagination, fantasies created by a desperate and lonely man, old beyond his years. Her eyes sparkled and shined only in his dreams, never in reality. Now he was alone, alone by self decreed desire and need, a need to purge himself from the evils of the world, the evils of man. He rarely saw his old friends. He would not even accompany Bingley to survey his new estate. No, he would not, Miss Bingley prevented that. She was the epitome of the London Misses. He knew of his value on the marriage market and to his misfortune so to did Miss Bingley. Society was infected to its core by mercenaries, fortune hunters and the obsequious, all courting his good graces for selfish greed. He trusted none but those dearest and closest to him. A smile, a kind word, a laugh can deceive and misguide the innocent and unsuspecting. He had learned this lesson all too well the summer of Georgiana’s fifteenth year. George Wickham, a master of lies and deceit, turned his lust for fortune onto the innocent heart of his sister. It was their past, a past that could never be undone. How he wished he could undo that past, make right what he had made wrong, stop the fall of innocent and concur the evil that ensnared sister and brother banishing them both to escape the society that imprisoned them. Alone and silent they lived within the beautiful stone walls of Pemberley, a home that had become a mausoleum, sadness penetrating from its very foundation. How long had it been since laughter and happiness echoed down its ancient corridors? How long had it been since the occupants knew the joys and happiness that a lover, a friend, a soul mate could bring? The servants had grown weary of his nightly screams. His valet now believed it the normal course to ignore his master's sleeping torments. Not even Mrs. Reynolds’s would dare approach. Not even his sister, docile and caring would question him. All continued under the disguised illusion of normalcy. The maids cleaned, the cooks cooked, his steward managed, the tenants farmed and he invested. He invested and watched as 10,000 pounds grew into 13,000 and then 18,000. But what was the purpose of the wealth, what meaning did it hold when the Darcy line would end with him. He knew neither he nor his sister would marry, she because of a shattered innocence, he because of cynicism. Life was only to pass time, an occupation to entertain him until death took his body, just as death had taken his soul.
*********
A fortnight ago he had seen her. He had found her. The woman who haunted his dreams and stole his breathe with her very existence. She was another man's wife, dancing and laughing with the Earl of Claffland, his old friend from Cambridge, her husband. As she floated threw the ball room her ebony curls kissing her checks as the sun kissed the dew of the morning spring, her soft ivory skin luminous in its delicacy shined beneath a thousand candles, her dark eyes shimmering truer than any diamond, she was so much more than the weak imitations of his dreams, she was his heart. Did the Earl know of the treasure within his arms? He watched them glide through the steps at ease oblivious to all. How he hated the Earl at that moment! Jealousy seemed to be all he could feel and think. He watched like a man tormented, a man possessed by demons he could never relinquish. He watched as his heart, his soul, his being cried out to hold her in his arms as his wife, his lover, his companion and his friend. Knowing her to be another man's wife, all honor dictated he should leave, leave temptation before it overflowed his body and mind, before he was lost and knew nothing but the longing to possess her. But, how could he deny himself the pleasure of her laughter, her smiles, her wit, her intelligence and her beauty. He stood transfixed knowing her image would come to him within his dreams. As the waltz ended he was astonished to see that the Earl and his Elizabeth, for she could be no other, were walking to greet him. The words spoken were casual and inconsequential giving him the freedom to gaze upon the sweetness of her face, the sparkle of her eyes and the tone of her melodic voice. Before the next song began he found himself agreeing to visit them in a fortnight. He knew not why he had agreed, yet his heart would not be denied. He must see her. He must know her.
The carriage stood ready waiting for the master to enter and the journey to begin. Kissing his sister lightly on the forehead he said his goodbyes and departed. He stepped into the carriage and opened his waiting book. He noticed not the beautiful country, nor the perfection of summer in nature’s abundance, nor the passing time. His thoughts lingered in the knowledge that soon he would be within her presence. All was trivial and mundane, life without the painted fields of emotions. No not life, merely the pretense of living was his forte. He saw the great stone building rising in pretentious glory among the carefully manicured gardens. She was so unlike the place she called home. She belonged among the flowers and fauna, glorying in God's creation, only there would she rejoice. As William departed from the carriage he looked up at the cold walls that greeted him. A foreboding mist circled the ground enveloping all into its unreality and clouding the mind. The butler approached, showing him into a room filled by people unknown to him. The gray mists seemed to weave its darkness into the house enveloping the small party in its shadows. He saw her. His eyes hungered for knowledge of her reality. His soul cried out to know she was more than a dream. He bid his welcome to his hosts and extended his hand in greeting to the lady. As of their own accord he drew her delicate hand to his lips and looked into the dark eyes that he knew well. He then retired to his chambers and prepared himself for dinner.
Descending the elaborate stairs he entered into the formal parlor to join the party. They dined in splendor among crystal chandlers, silks upon the walls, silver on the table accompanied by fine china and the delicacies of the pallet. Conversation floated as musical chimes reminded their audience of the time. By custom the men separated from the women, parting to drink brandy, smoke cigars and discuss those topics unfit for the ladies delicate ears. William contemplated the gentleman’s discussion with repulsion; it was everything he came to expect from such a gathering. The conversion lingered towards lust: lust of gold, lust of power, lust of blood and lust of women. Did no one ever go beyond? Did no one ever find happiness within? Would he ever find happiness within? When they rejoined the women William sat within a chair that ill fit his tall frame. He was as uncomfortable in it as he was within the company. 'There was only one he wished to be in company with' he thought as his eyes turned to Lady Claffland. The Earl of Claffland, looking intently upon the lovely eyes of his wife begged her to entertain them with music. With soft peach blushing cheeks she acquiesced to his petition. Proceeding towards the pianoforte she caressed the ivory keys as the soft notes churned within the room. Her eyes sought his as the leaves upon a tree sought the sun. Nothing could dissuade, nothing could hinder their unspoken need. In that moment both knew, both understood, their dreams were one. Her song came to an end and so to did the night as all departed to their rooms. He slipped silently between crisp sheets letting the summer night take him once again to the precious dreams of his heart.
He was riding threw the Pemberley woods towards her. A smile tickled his lips, blood rushed threw his veins and heart pounding within his ears as his thoughts lingered towards her gentle embrace. A woman’s painful cry cut the tranquil air as fear gripped his very being, for he knew it was her. He must get to her before she was gone forever. Coming to a halt he heard her screams as a blue white dove flew to the highest tree. Dismounting he ran to her. He saw her within the gray fog, struggling against a man, his long black hooded cloak concealing his face. The panic, fear and horror within her face cut his heart as sure as any knife can cut flesh. He made his move, to save his love, but his legs would not obey. He became stone, his body sinking further into the black earth as he watched the hooded man drag her further into the cold gray mists. Screaming he feel deeper into the unrelenting earth, his mouth tasting the black dirt as his eyes could see nothing but darkness.
Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth. He awoke once again to the sound of his own screams, shaking him from the nightmare and awakening him to a cold lonely room. Throwing his legs over the bed he raised to the darkness of night not yet awakened by the morning sun. Retrieving his robe he stood by the window. His hand held onto the frame, supporting and mocking his tired body. Looking out towards the stars the world seemed gray and foggy without form or reality, slipping and melding into his dreams with contemptuous audacity. Despite the hour he was desperate to leave the sterile room, so without remorse he called his valet to dress.
He stepped from the house running from its stone walls like a man escaping the gallows, away he turned; towards the rising red sun he walked a small ill used path. The gray fog that seemed to envelope the house turned blue, then white, and then as suddenly as lightning streaking a midnight sky the fog was no more. The day illuminated in crystal colors, blue sky opened to an infinite horizon. Green trees filled with summer buds lined the path and birds sang in greeting to all that would venture onto the path. William's heart was light, happy to greet a day that once promised no rewards. With no previous warning, there before him was a house, a house like no other he had ever beheld. Three stories high its wood structure stood, dominating the landscape in shades of blue, a turret on the left side of the house rose five stories. A porch wrapped around the house, accented by elaborate wood work and painted in the darkest shade of blue. Centered within each arch of the porch hung large flower baskets with cascading red, violet, yellow, white and blue flowers. On the porch sat chairs, sofas and tables all in white wicker with comfortable blue and white pillows upon them. He stood taking in the view of the strange architecture that peculiarly enough harmoniously fit the landscape. He found the intricate work, colors and textures of the house pleasing to the eye. Caught in his meditations he was unaware that a woman came out of the dark blue double doors. She stood, leaning against the post on the entry steeps, contemplating the gentleman.
"Good morning"she called to him. "I have been expecting you Mr. Darcy. Please come in and join me for tea."
William looked up at the woman; She was tall with skin the color of coffee with cream, her hair was black, braided with ringlets falling down her back and sides. On her head was a turban, not the types which were fashionable, but the ones that he had seen in books on Africa. She wore a long simple dress of blue white muslin that slightly hugged her voluptuous curves. Her large dark eyes surveyed him with a knowledge he found rather disconcerting.
"Come" she gestured.
His feet moved, as if commanded against his better judgment. He could not have refused even if he felt so inclined. He mounted the steps, his heavy boots sending the third step creaking beneath his weight. Entering the foyer, the mahogany wood was accented with silver, green and blue, a table stood center with a marble top. He stopped as his attention became riveted on the table that held a large vase with delicate black red flowers he had never beheld.
The woman looked at him and smiled her hand lightly caressing the delicate petal flowers. “Roses. A hybrid of the English Rose, beautiful aren’t they?” Pulling three long stems out from the vase she handed the thornless flowers to him. Taking them without comment, he studied their beauty, “thank you” he replied, “they are indeed beautiful and unusual”
She motioned for him to follow her as she entered two French doors into a library. “I thought you would prefer the library for our discussion. Please forgive me while I get the tea. Make yourself at home.”
“Uuuuuh. . . . thank you”. He watched her retreating back and for the first time he realized that her accent was unknown to him. She appeared educated and polite, yet her manners were very different then was custom. She possessed something that was all together singular in her knowledge, posture and demurer. She was unconcerned about being alone with him and appeared to know him, even knowing his preference to take tea in the library. Yet he had never met her before. It was rather puzzling. Looking about him he noticed the light from the chandelier above him. The light came from twelve glowing white balls, each covered by a light blue and silver shade. Shaking his head at the peculiar objects he looked about at his surroundings. The walls were mahogany, accented with intricate carving detailed in silver. On the walls were pictures. Stepping closer to view them he noticed one picture was of London in the present, another was of Roman in about 35 B.C., another was an Oriental scene, another an African tribe and an another a castle from the first century. The picture that caught his eye was of an unknown city. In the picture the buildings towered above the street as pedestrians hurried along their way. Men were dressed in suits that appeared to be a version of his clothes. The women, however, were scandalously clad in skirts and dresses that were far too short. Odd vehicles, without horses to pull them were centered in the street, organized as if by some innate understanding. Shaking his head again he walked over to the bookcases on the far wall. Still holding the roses in his hand he lightly touched the books as he read their titles; The Double Helix : A Personal Account of the Discovery of the Structure of DNA, Principles of Quantum Mechanics, The Chalice & The Blade, Beyond Chaos: The Underlying Theory Behind Life, the Universe, and Everything. The last book caught his attention, he always thought that life was rather chaotic and the idea that there existed a theory relating to the chaos of life and the universe appealed to his belief in the absurdity of reality. Pulling it out he began to read just as the woman entered the room pushing a tea cart. Walking over to him she took the book from his hand and placed it back on the bookcase.
“Please have a seat Mr. Darcy and we will have some tea” she said as she seated herself in a large wing chair.
“I think Madam; before we continue I would like to know who I am conversing with. I do not recall ever meeting you or being introduced” he said attempting to sound casual, normal, authoritative and polite within the peculiar situation he found himself.
“Well, let me reintroduce myself; I am Diotema*. Let us just say you do not recall and leave it at that, shall we? However, we will meet again and perhaps you will forget again. But tell me Mr. Darcy of your travels? Why have you come? Are you in search of something”, she said with a slight laugh to her voice and a small smile upon her lips.
He looked up at her and shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he placed the three roses on to the odd low table in front of the settee, ‘yet another strange thing in this strange house’ he thought. Trying to regain his dignity and pride he took a sip of tea before answering her questions. “Life is full of journeys. And as to what I am seeking, are not all men searching for something? I can only hope for a small crumb of understanding that which philosophers, poets and wise men cannot decipher”. To converse with her thus seemed natural and comfortable, as if seeing an old friend.
“Aaaa” she said in understanding “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool**. How very insightful of you. You are hear Mr. Darcy, therefore I would speculate that your life has taken a singular turn.”
Placing his cup within the saucer he exclaimed “in all lives people experience the unexplainable. My own cannot be that different from others.”
“That may be true; however, sometimes the unexplainable is explainable. And that which has been done for selfish and malicious purposes can be undone, if one knows the proper questions.”
“And what are the questions?”
“What of you’re dreams Mr. Darcy? Tell my of you’re dreams.”
“What of my dreams? Answers are not to be found there in. It is foolish to even try.” He answered her without thought of the oddity of the conversation.
“Foolish you say. Tell me, have you not looked everywhere and found nothing but empty corners. Perhaps it is time to look within. There are answers to that which you seek, even if you do not know you’re quest.”
“And what is my quest?”
“Love Mr. Darcy, love, the most powerful force in the Universe. You are the writer of your own story. That is God’s gift to you just as he created you. With that gift came love. If you close you’re eyes and ignore the gift, nothing but darkness will be you’re companion. Darkness, Mr. Darcy, and there is only but one way out of the shadows. Love. That is the one constant of the Universe. The one thing that cannot be defeated, bought, or sold, that which takes Herculean strength to embrace with the delicacy of butterfly wings. Do you posses the inner strength, the innate knowledge to hold the one soul meant only for you? That is why you are hear Mr. Darcy. That is you’re quest, the quest of all man throughout time.”
“And where is one to find this precious gift Diotema?”
“As with many things in life, it is right in front of you.”
“That is rather simple. You know not of the agony of finding that which you never knew you were seeking only to find there is no hope, only despair and darkness.”
“Do not become saddened. Life is for those that choose to ride through the darkness.”
He shot her a glare only reserved for his closest friends and family.
“There, there. Now why don’t you look and maybe you’ll find something”. She gestured to the low table in front of the settee. On the table, next to the three roses, was an unusual small carving of a woman.
“Pick it up” she said.
He reached over and held the carving in his hand. The ivory was warm as if the carving itself breathed life. Turning it over he ran his fingers over its soft delicate form. The hair of the carving was of ebony intricately detailed into curls. The eyes were deep black diamonds that caught the light and reflected rainbows through the room. Looking at the face of the carving memories of her, of Elizabeth, rushed threw his body.
“The forgotten goddess. Man in their arrogance, conceit and vanity forgot her, pushing her aside for trivialities. Yet she remains, powerful, wise and loving. Have you forgotten her?”
In a whisper, his voice filled with emotions “no never”.
Standing up she said “Good, now it is time to go.”
Looking at the figure in his hand he reluctantly placed it back on the low table. Diotema walked over as he stood up. Reaching down she picked up both the roses and the carving and gently placed them in his hands.
“Take them. They are yours. My gift to you” she said as her eyes held his with compassion and love of a teacher for their pupil.
“I. . . . .I. . . .I don’t deserve such gifts. They are not for me.” he said as he tried to hand back the precious items.
“You are questioning my judgment Mr. Darcy? No, these are precisely what you need. No more. No less. The goddess and her roses. Now go it is past the time for you to leave” she pushed the carving and the roses into his hands and lead him threw the front door.
Before descending the steps he turned and said “Good bye Diotema.” He smiled at her, his heart lighter, happier then he had been in a very long time.
Taking his offered hand she animatedly replied “Good bye Mr. Darcy and God be with you.”
He descended the steps, walked a few paces then turned one last time to bid his goodbyes.
The house was gone.
He stood a moment, unbelieving, lost. Within his hand were the only remnants of what had happened. Looking at the black red roses and the delicate carving the memories of the last hour began to float silently away as he turned towards the house.
*********
She stood within a small assembly her dark eyes laughing, her voice full of mirth drawing him to her, bewitching him with the magic of her spirit and the beauty of her eyes. She stood within an unknown drawing room, her wit challenging him. She stood again opposite him in a dance that mirrored fencing opponents. She sat in a small sparse room rejecting him, firing words that struck his pride, arrogance and heart. She looked at him shyly as they walked the lanes of Pemberley for the first time. She was within the Lambton inn, her fine eyes filled with tears. She was upon his arm in a small country church saying the vows of husband and wife. She was within his arms as he held her close, consummating for eternity their union. She gifted him with a morning kiss as she held their first child in her arms, suckling him to her breast as a blue white dove sat upon the window sill.
He awoke slowly, his eyes lingering on the blue, green and silver pattern of the canopy. He was unwilling to relinquish the pleasantness of the dream, so unlike the past nights torments. Hearing her sweet voice weave the tune of a lullaby he closed his eyes delighting in his vivid imaginings. Sitting up with a stir he realized it was not the workings of a sleepy dream. He was home, at Pemberley, in his own room, their room, within their bed. The Earl of Claffland was their guest and just one of Mrs. Darcy’s admirers. ‘Jealousy’ he reflected can do strange things to a man’s imagination. Slowly as winter snow melting in the new spring sun memories of a past that never was slipped silently away into the darkness from which they came.
A smile graced his handsome face as he beheld her. There within a chair sat his Elizabeth. Looking at her in disbelief fear seized his mind as his thoughts told him that this too was but a dream. ‘No, this is real. This is my life, my love, my Elizabeth. Always to be cherished and loved’ he contemplated. Laying their first born son within the cradle her large brilliant eyes meet his across the room, a smile upon her lips. His eyes drinking in her form, he was at her side taking her supple body in his arms, one hand buried deep in her dark curls, the other tightly held her waist as his lips sought her own. He lifted her holding her close to his heart as he walked to the bed. Laying her upon the large bed his hand touched the silk of her ebony curls, caressed her ivory skin and his soul was lost in the black diamonds of her eyes. Gently he joined her, his lips once again seeking hers as their bodies, spirit and minds merged into one. ‘If this be a dream let me not awake’, were his only thoughts. ‘But this is more than a dream or any imaginings. This is my love, my soul, my heart.’
Hearing the crystal chimes strike seven he felt the delicious weight of his sleeping wife on his chest. Opening his eyes he spied upon the mantel, nestled among three black red roses the carved figure of the Goddess, ebony hair, ivory form and black diamond eyes. Turning his head slightly to the window he saw a blue white dove perched in a tree. With one last glance to the embraced lovers the dove took flight soaring to the heavens and disappearing into the morning sky.
Words from a lost memory spun within his mind “The forgotten goddess. Man in their arrogance, conceit and vanity forget her, pushing her aside for trivialities. Yet she remains, powerful, wise and loving. Have you forgotten her?”
“No, never” he whispered as he woke his wife with a lover’s kiss.
*A priestess of Mantinea who taught Socrates. See The Chalice & The Blade page 106.
** William Shakespeare, As You Like It.
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