Chapter Text
The Moses analogy proved to be most accurate since, in Lizzy’s mind, Mr. Darcy had reached the potential for a disaster of biblical proportions.
Because not only she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with this party of snobs expecting her to perform the role of a court jester or, even worse, a blind follower. Now, to cap it all, on top of the pyramid, leading the wolf pack was him. This man… As Lizzy watched him walking in their direction, Mr. Darcy felt like a force of nature, inexorable; literal doom sent by the Horsemen of the Apocalypse to plague her, something she couldn’t escape even if she tried.
Lizzy began to reexamine her whole existence. Why had she accepted Lou’s invitation to begin with? What had she done in a past life to deserve such a fate? But most urgently, almost in a frantic way, she went through her entire conversation with Charles Bingley. Was there a possibility for Mr. Darcy to join them on their date the following day? In her despair, Lizzy went as far as wishing her suspicions about Charles were true. If only the next bad thing could prevent her from spending time with Mr. Darcy as she dreaded would happen from that moment on—even if it meant Jane hiding at the hotel spa for the rest of their sojourn—she would take it.
As her mind went into overdrive, Mr. Darcy only drew closer, his arrival becoming more and more imminent. The crux of the matter with him had nothing to do with beauty or the absence of it. It was about an aura he projected, the manner in which he carried himself, for Mr. Darcy was indeed a most intimidating wonder of a man. Gaze of steel that could melt rock. Back as straight as a Greek column. Cadence and symmetry in his gait. White buttoned-up shirt clinging to a solid chest. Tight-fitted slacks in some shade of beige that left little to the imagination regarding his impressive physique. Jet-black hair styled to the side, a reminder of the importance of finishing touches. How could Lizzy dispute that, especially now, when he had some tidbits that could destroy her laid-back reputation in one single blow?
But contrary to what one would expect in circumstances such as these, Mr. Darcy’s steely expression didn’t alter as he stood in front of what Charlotte considered his friend. Lizzy could bet her life the feeling was far from mutual. Wasn’t his demeanour enough proof? “Well, hey, there, Darcy. It’s been too long…” Charlotte surprised her by throwing herself around his neck, going in hard for a hug. The entangled bodies switched positions as they met in their embrace, pushing a dumbfounded Lizzy to a blind spot from where she could only spy at the intimate, almost seductive way his arm came to encircle her companion’s slender frame, one hand falling to the small of her back and tugging in. She was stunned out of her wits. Had they dated too?
“Sidebar Char…” Mr. Darcy’s face could continue well hidden because of Charlotte’s height and gorgeous natural hair, but Lizzy wouldn’t hesitate but classify his tone as anything other than downright flirty. And yet, she could see his expression remained unchanged as they let go of one another a second later. Only when his eyes darted towards Lizzy they went from emotionless to a sharpness that rendered her short of breath.
“Have you two met before?” Charlotte questioned him, finally remembering there was a fool standing right next to them. At the mention of them meeting, a shadow seemed to cross Mr. Darcy’s gaze, eyes losing their resolution for a fraction of a second.
“No, we haven’t,” Lizzy intervened before he spoke, taking advantage of his hesitation. If it was up to her, their encounter at the hotel reception had never taken place, and that was the hill she wanted to die on. Her tone wasn’t dissimilar from what she had employed then, which had managed to silence him. She could only hope it would work again. The moment Mr. Darcy held her stare with much more steadiness than anything she had ever experienced, she knew she had made life difficult for herself to the nth degree by getting on his bad side. He won’t back off. Lizzy simply couldn’t look at him anymore, nervous he’d call her out on her bullshit right on the spot. She breathed in deeply, squaring her shoulders, as she threw a hand forward. How could one handle a man like Mr. Darcy if not by pushing harder than he did? “Elizabeth Bennet. How do you do?” A gentleman—even if only in pretence—would never dare to outright reject such a gesture of civility. Their palms met, hands closing around an unexpected warm ember that seemed to spark between them. And they both squeezed. Who had even started? It didn’t matter, for, most importantly, it wouldn’t stop. They only gripped tighter and tighter. Lizzy didn’t know why she insisted when his hand was huge in comparison, and he was a man so she would never win this row. Her stubbornness just refused to stop as long as he carried on. The warmth in their touch turned into heat, but also pain, as if they had separately decided to quell whatever that had awakened at their contact by force.
“Is that so?” Mr. Darcy intoned with the barest hint of irony, the phantom of a grin hanging at one corner of his lips, the closest she’d seen him not being stern. All of a sudden, the idea of this man engaging his mouth in something other than carrying a displeased grimace became almost enthralling. “Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Lizzy could feel her hand losing grip little by little, but before she would let go completely, he did.
“She was telling me about a pop-up bistrot she’ll be opening in London soon,” Charlotte explained. Mr. Darcy looked rather perplexed, but what else could he do, when the last thing he presumed about her was that she was physician with a knack for flaunting her tittle?
“Are you a…” Ugh. Mr. Darcy definitely put the ‘ass’ in assumption.
“A chef, yes.” Lizzy continued to assail him with her coldest tone.
“Don’t listen to her, Darcy; she’s not only a chef. She’s also a non-practicing PhD in Art History,” Charles suddenly shoved himself in the conversation, startling everyone except Mr. Darcy, as he handed Charlotte her glass of Aperol. Why would he even bring up such a subject? “But she never boasts about her academic achievements, pretty much like you…” Lizzy watched in horror as Mr. Darcy bit a side of his lip to prevent himself from scoffing, the shadow of a dimple appearing in his right cheek.
“Should I address you as Doctor, then?” Mr. Darcy said in absolute seriousness, and Lizzy’s body burned from head to toes. He could play innocent, but she could tell he was having a field day at her expense, which she hated. She realised Mr. Darcy wasn’t planning on exposing her in front of anyone. He wanted to establish his superiority over her alone. This was just between them, but she would never acquiesce.
“That won’t be necessary…” Lizzy needed to pull herself together. She readjusted her posture, right hand still throbbing at her side. But that wasn’t the only part of her anatomy affected by Mr. Darcy, for her heart was also racing out of control for some reason she couldn’t fathom, but could only dare to attribute to the heat of the battle.
“I see you’ve been already introduced…” Charles complained when he spoke again. Why would he care? “Lizzy; here, Darcy has been my most loyal friend since childhood. We attended Eton together,” he explained, throwing an arm around Mr. Darcy’s broad shoulders with difficulty, as he was at least one head shorter.
“How appropriate,” Lizzy remarked to herself, hoping Mr. Darcy would hear. By the look in his eyes, she knew he did. “I mean, how fantastic…” She amended her words in case anyone else had too. She would dare him to judge her for thinking like this, for he couldn’t be as disingenuous as to ignore what Eton represented to others. That was for the likes of Charles Bingley, not Mr. Darcy, hyperaware of everything surrounding him. Maybe he’d get the message loud and clear now. “If you excuse me, I need to check my phone,” she muttered, motioning to step away. Lizzy needed to steer clear of this man’s influence, for his scrutinising gaze was beginning to unnerve her. With her networking plans frustrated as she had feared, if she pretended Jane was calling maybe she could—at least—leave and never return.
“Is it your sister?” Charles prevented her escape by keeping her still on her spot. When he glanced into the screen of her phone, Lizzy knew her strategy was ruined. “They’re travelling together, but exhaustion made her fall asleep,” he explained to his friends regardless if they cared or not about the information. Good to know he had paid actual attention.
“A long trip from London?” Mr. Darcy enquired, surprising Lizzy, as he picked up a glass someone handed at him. The motion he engaged in unwillingly dragged her attention towards the carefully folded sleeve of his crisp white shirt—fastidious as hell—and at the end of it, a toned, strong forearm. Lizzy shook her head, not sure if she was just denying or also trying to remove her eyes from his unsettling sight. The phone fell to the bottom of her clutch bag like a judge gavel against a sound block.
“We’ve been in Italy for a week.” No, Lizzy refused. She wouldn’t feel intimidated by him.
“Rome?” Mr. Darcy brought the drink to his lips, his hand covering its entire surface, so Lizzy couldn’t even figure out what he was having. As his fingers tightened around the item, eyes fixed on her, her hand clenched into a fist at the vivid memory of his touch. Was he doing this on purpose? Those looked like very powerful fingers; fingers that could shatter actual glass. Long, gnarled, perfect for…
At the intrusive thought, Lizzy cleared her throat to be able to speak. “And Milan prior to Rome, yes,” she tried to sound assertive. Mr. Darcy assented, more compliant than she was comfortable with. Wouldn’t he let her be? There were plenty of people at the party dying to be pestered by him. The dimple reappeared as he pressed his lips together after a sip. “We arrived in Bari…”
“By plane?” Mr. Darcy spoke again. Lizzy nodded. If this was how things were going to be, then she would need another drink. At this rate she would end up an alcoholic before she even returned to England. “You cut the travel time significantly compared to the Frecciargento train, but you added three transfers and unnecessary airport time. Considering you are an Art Historian you mustn’t have lodged close the railway station, but somewhere near Piazza Navona…” Lizzy couldn’t help but gap at him. His deduction was spot on. She had selected a b&b in one of those sixteen-century Roman palaces with many courtyards in Governo Vecchio. Her room even featured a hand-painted fresco. “In consequence, you had to take a cab or a bus to Termini, then the Leonardo Express from there to Fuimicino; switch to the plane; then a bus or a cab to Bari; another regional train, with an extra transfer from the station to Ostuni.” How did he know the journey from Rome to Puglia in such detail? And that she had arrived by train, and not by, let’s say, rental car from Bari? “This means you’ve been up travelling since very early in the morning—I’d say six or seven, depending on your habits—. Being in transit for such a lengthy period of time is indeed exhausting, so no wonder your sister has fallen asleep. The question is how you are still up…”
“I have an endless source of energy,” Lizzy retorted, choosing not to confirm or deny anything so she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. How did he manage to turn something as mundane as this into rocket science? Because she wasn’t the only person in their party staring at him in awe. Who was this man? Freaking Dupin from Allan Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morgue? Had it all been an extremely convoluted way to call her stupid for her choice of transportation? And yet, the ultimate question concerning Mr. Darcy remained the same. Why was he such a pain in the ass?
“What about you, Charlotte?” The sudden loss of his attentions left Lizzy out in the cold.
“London-Brindisi Airport with Lou and Charles.”
“What are your impressions of the country so far, Miss Bennet?” Something twinkled in Mr. Darcy’s eye as he addressed her again. Or is it Doctorezza Bennet? Lizzy could hear him in her mind. Did his censorious streak have an ironic side to it? Could this mean he wasn’t completely dull? “Do you like it?” Mr. Darcy insisted at her stupor. Why was he so chatty out of nowhere? It didn’t suit him at all. Was he testing her? Because it could look like he was trying to be amiable, but the words coming out of his mouth didn’t match his aura towards her at all. Mr. Darcy was far from being open or receptive, no matter how many questions he asked. That was the fundamental reason behind addressing her with such unnecessary formality. It felt as if an emotional dam had been built between the two of them, and he was keeping her at an arm’s length; as if he was inspecting a horse in an animal fair, just toying with her. Was he trying to prove a point by making her sound pretentious as he had assumed she was? Because, in that case, she would give him exactly what he wanted.
“In fact, it’s my first chance travelling the country at my leisure…” Lizzy straightened her back. He wasn’t going to silence her with his display of wits. “In the past I’ve joined in events, or visited with my parents, which is never the same,” she admitted to elicit sympathy from the party. “More than anything, I’ve enjoyed strolling about Rome in the early hours, when there’s the less amount of people possible, or waking up before anyone else to go out for a walk and a cup of espresso behind the Pantheon, waiting for the doors of a random church to open and visit by myself.” Mr. Darcy’s impossibly straight eyebrows shot up as if he knew the precise cafe she was referring to. Sant Eustachio. “The light of the city at that hour, before the sun hits, is almost blue…” As soon as she said the words, Chet Baker’s lyrics appeared in her mind. Such yearning, such longing, such heartbreak. Nothing she had ever experienced first hand since she’d never been in love. Yet it didn’t fail to tug at her heartstrings, being the empath she was, the complete opposite to this narcissist YouTuber in front of her. “The haziness; and, then, the silence…” Lizzy carried on, enrapturing the party in her own non-scientific, illogical, narrative way. “But, suddenly, some steps in the pavement, and you don’t really know what direction they come from because of the confused echos in the vacant streets; the city is slowly waking up too; roller shutters, motors; then, inadvertently finding an intersection with four adorned fountains of the sixteenth century…” Everyone marvelled at her vibrant description; everyone, except Mr. Darcy. He always seemed to be the exception to everything. Did he know that corner of Rome too? She needed to double down her bet. “One morning I was strolling near the temple of Hercules Victor when, on a square, I came across a group of very young girls in uniforms, with their dark blue pinafore dresses, and neckerchiefs and the little berets,” Lizzy reenacted their clothings with her hands, with an emphasis on the hat. For some reason she believed this overbearing, manic pixie dream girl attitude would positively annoy her nemesis. “It’s a mystery why it caused such an impression on me; maybe because they were playing so symmetrically and harmonically, with all of those Mediterranean pine trees and the orangey buildings in the background. It was so aesthetically pleasing… But, at the same time, it gave me such comfort,” she admitted, astounded at herself, hands coming to prevent her mouth from trembling. She had started this tirade to piss him off, but being the way she was, it had backfired on her. Lizzy felt moved to the core at the recollection, tears rushing to make her eyes burn. “I couldn’t really explain…”
“Young future vestals,” Mr. Darcy said, three simple words rendering her completely speechless, and almost upset. Because, by some strange manner, he knew. Mr. Darcy knew the meaning behind the scene she had conveyed, the exact lingering feeling she hadn’t managed to define by herself. Before she reigned on her emotions, Mr. Darcy asked again, his gaze somewhat softer. “Do you plan to see more after the wedding, or are you returning to Britain?” Was she hallucinating? Part of her brain registered Charles throwing him a quick glance.
“We have more or less an extra week,” Lizzy collected herself enough to reply. It would not do to let Mr. Darcy suspect he affected her in any way. “We plan to do something. Not really a closed deal…”
“It is even more beautiful the further South you go…” Mr. Darcy said with that voice of his. Lizzy’s legs almost gave way as she thought his eyes—a pair of eyes that weren’t like hers; the epicanthic fold offering no crease, no accident; a clean curve from brows to lashes—had flicked to her lips, and then, downwards, to her cleavage. The only thing she could swear had dropped for certain was his tone, for it was an octave lower, as if he was speaking to her alone, a sort of confidence; as if they were the only people in the terrace, and it wasn’t an actual challenge to catch his meaning. What was happening here? The moment Lizzy’s gaze began to mirror his, going from the eyes all the way down the straight, elegant nose to Mr. Darcy’s pleasing mouth, the spell was broken.
“Look, there’s Caro!”