Title: Dare to Refuse Such a Man
Rating: K+ (PG) – because I can't think of anything at this point which would constitute a higher rating. Should be sweet and clean.
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Regency

Summary: It had never occurred to Fitzwilliam Darcy that, once he had chosen a bride, her father might dare to refuse his consent. However, a woman worthy of being pleased is also worth fighting for. DE, Regency, clean romance.

"He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask."

– Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice Volume III, Chapter 17

Prologue

Hertfordshire,

October 18, 1811

Fitzwilliam Darcy completed his third circuit around the assembly room, his impatience growing with each unfamiliar face that smiled in his direction. He cared nothing for any of these country bumpkins and their stage whispers – "ten thousand a year! Is he not the handsomest man you have ever seen, girls?" – and his nerves were rubbed raw from being in proximity to so many of them. The heat, the odor, the closeness of all these strangers was as equally irritating as it was disheartening. Darcy's disappointment with the evening was increasing apace.

His search for anyone passingly recognizable led him to regard the visages of his current hosts, scattered around the hall and engaged in their own pursuits. Bingley was currently dancing with some pretty girl with a serene expression who was presumably an "angel" come to earth, his horrid sisters were swirling around the dance floor with their own partners and Hurst was practically drowning himself in libations on the other side of the room. Nothing noteworthy or surprising.

As unappealing as some members of his own party were, the rest of the attendants to this little countrified soiree were even worse. He saw little beauty and no breeding at all. In some respects, this gathering was much the same as those he forced himself to attend in London, – and it bore more than a passing resemblance to those of Lambton which he avoided whenever possible – but there was a certain lack of decorum here that would not be tolerated in the capital city. At least, not amongst his circle.

Young girls – far too young to even be present, in his opinion – flitted about the room making spectacles of themselves in front of the gentlemen, giggling and shrieking in a most unladylike manner. Two of the worst appeared to be sisters, if their resemblance to one another could boast such a connection, and they made him quite glad that his own sister was not present. Georgiana would never drag a gentleman onto the dance floor against his will, fluttering her eyelashes and bowing low enough to allow him to peer down her dress. How could the girls' parents countenance such behavior? Were they even bothering to watch them at all? Darcy turned away from the spectacle they were making on the dance floor in disgust.

Against one wall sat a cluster of chairs which were occupied by the matrons of the neighborhood, fanning themselves and clucking like fat hens amongst one another. This was a familiar scene, even in Town, but the din coming from that corner of the room was unusually loud and largely due to one woman in particular. She gesticulated wildly about her as she spoke incessantly to another woman, who appeared to only listen with grudging politeness as her neighbor expounded upon one vulgar topic or another. The current source of discussion made his lip curl upwards in disdain; they were speaking of him.

"Oh, yes, ten thousand a year!" squawked the grating voice of this particular matron. "And a great estate in Derbyshire. You know, that's where my..."

Darcy prowled away from the gaggle of gossiping women, disgusted with the way they were measuring his worth as if he were a prized stud in a stable. Next they would want to check his teeth, undoubtedly. He had met a few ladies who were unimpressed by his riches, most of them titled beyond his reach, but only –

"Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner."

Darcy halted his pacing to turn and face Bingley, who had approached him from behind to slap his dour friend upon the shoulder in his usual congenial way. Normally, being greeted in so friendly a manner by such a great friend would have lifted Darcy's spirits, but he was currently not in humor to give consequence to Bingley's machinations.

"I certainly shall not," Darcy replied, setting his expression in its most stubbornly grim aspect. "You know I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At an assembly such as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

Darcy did not bother to resist the urge to roll his eyes and they arced upward in an exasperated rotation before he said, "You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room." She was not nearly so handsome as some ladies he could think of, but there was nothing amiss in her appearance that Darcy's discerning eye could spot. She smiled a bit much, but perhaps he only thought so because his own mood was so dark this evening. He was ready to disparage anything and everyone that he saw, his disappointment was so great.

Bingley continued to rattle away, like many young men do, about the charms of his partner. "Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

Wonderful. Bingley hoped to impress the pretty sister, no doubt, by throwing the uglier one at his head and force him to dance with her. Well, he was not about to acquiesce to any such scheme; a young lady slighted by other men would not be a welcome replacement for the one who haunted him.

Still, in order to humor his friend and move this farce along, Darcy inquired lazily, "Which do you mean?"

"Just there, behind you."

Darcy pivoted his body so that he might glance over his shoulder, intending to take only a peek of the young lady in question before rejecting her pretensions in a way that could not be misunderstood. He had no patience for –

Darcy's heart stilled in his chest. His lungs, likewise, suddenly refused to draw in air as a taunting vision appeared before him in a light blue gown that he remembered fondly, her dark ringlets piled upon her head and bound in place by small white flowers. She was seated in a chair against the far wall, her fine eyes disinterestedly roving about the room while one slender foot tapped to the beat of the music beneath the hem of her skirt. As he watched, those same eyes completed their rotation around the hall to land upon him and froze there, stretching wide with the same surprise that had paralyzed his own functions.

It could not be. After all his inquiries, all his searching, for her to simply appear at this insignificant country assembly as if out of thin air was...Darcy could not name the emotion that swelled within him, exactly, though it was wondrous. Of course, if anyone could perform such a magical act, it would be she.

"Elizabeth," Darcy said, her name expelled from his mouth like a deep breath of fresh air and his heart stuttered back to life. His eyebrows, so frequently fixed in a scowl lately that Mrs Reynolds had warned him they might stick that way, raised up toward his hairline. He blinked in an attempt to dispel what could only be a hallucination brought about by his longing, but Elizabeth did not dissipate into mist as if she had never been there at all. 'She is here.'

Elizabeth – his Elizabeth – was rising slowly from her chair, those fine bright eyes shimmering in the candlelight as she beheld him. A tear dripped from one and cascaded down her cheek without her seeming to notice.

"Darcy?" Bingley's voice was distant, nothing but the buzzing of an insect in Darcy's ear, as he took one step, then another in Elizabeth's direction. She remained in place for half a second longer than he did, as if frozen in shock and disbelief, before her own feet began to propel her forward.

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed some silly, offended matron as Darcy side-stepped her, she having stepped into the path between himself and his beloved Elizabeth. He ignored the woman's huff of affront and increased his pace, now merely an insignificant number of strides from the woman he had feared he would never see again. His arms rose as he came nearly close enough to touch her, spread wide to capture the elusive elf whom he had been searching for these many weeks. She would not escape him again.

Elizabeth practically collapsed into his outstretched arms once she was within range to do so, exclaiming "William!" in a sob of visible relief as soon as their bodies made contact with one another. Darcy could feel it too and gathered her close to his chest where his heart, far from being frozen now, beat rapidly as a tempest of emotion swirled within his breast.

"How did you manage to find me?" Elizabeth asked, struggling free of his grip just enough to look up into his face. Her own was split apart by that smile he so cherished.

"By accident," Darcy admitted, raising one hand to stroke the tears away from her flushed cheek. The other remained firmly planted upon her lower back, pressing them together and preventing any further escape from his hold. "I might never have had Bingley not invited me to stay with him at Netherfield, though I had not yet given up hope."

"Oh, William," Elizabeth buried her face in the crook of his neck, "tell me this is not a dream."

"If it is, I shall be as disappointed as you."

Around them, scandalized whispers were beginning to intrude upon their reunion, but Darcy steadfastly ignored them as he had all evening. He would not allow anyone to tear them asunder again.

It occurred to him then, with a startling jolt of fear, that simply finding Elizabeth again might not be enough to keep her with him always. There were larger things at work than their own inclinations forcing them apart and, if they were to overcome all objections to their match, he would have to make absolutely certain that to do so would be injurious to all.

With that thought in mind, he made a decision which was most unlike him. In a slightly strangled voice, he called to his love, "Elizabeth?"

As he had hoped, Elizabeth pulled back again and raised her chin, perfectly positioned for his plan. "What is it, William?"

Darcy replied by dipping his head, drawing tentatively forward with each hurried breath, and pressing his lips delicately against hers. She inhaled sharply, either from pleasure or surprise, he could not be sure which, and then relaxed against him.

The quiet murmurings of the crowd now rose to a fever pitch, none even bothering to lower their voices as they witnessed the compromising scene. Good; there should be no doubt that a marriage between them was of absolute necessity. The more people that witnessed the infamy, the better.

" – in the middle of a ball – "

" – always thought it would be Miss Lydia – "

" – Oh, Sister! Ten thousand a year – "

The chatter rose to a great swell as the shock of the moment wore off, loud and intrusive upon the embracing lovers. The musicians were not even bothering to play any longer since all the dancers had stopped to watch the spectacle, but that only dimmed the volume of the room slightly. Darcy wasn't sure if the tone of all the onlookers was more offended or delighted, but he couldn't be bothered to care with Elizabeth now firmly entangled in his plot.

"Unhand my daughter at once, sir!"

Though slightly intoxicated by the feeling of Elizabeth's rose petal lips, Darcy heard one loud, angry voice rise above the others, commanding them to stop. He had barely lifted his head when his beloved was ripped from his arms and snatched into the protection of another's.

Darcy was immediately inclined to reach out and retrieve Elizabeth, but withheld the impulse once he had belatedly deduced the identity of the interloper. He addressed the man before him in a tone which would have made any person within his circle cower; "Mr Bennet, I presume?"

Mr Bennet, his hand gripped so forcefully upon Elizabeth's elbow that she winced, glowered at Darcy. He was rather shorter than the younger gentleman, though at least significantly taller than his second daughter, and his gray hair was thin up top. Indeed, his cranium shined as much as his spectacles in the candlelight as he castigated, "You would be correct, sir. I suppose that you must be the rich man who trifled with my Lizzy over the summer?"

"Papa, please – " Elizabeth tried to interject, but Mr Bennet lowered his head to glare at her above his spectacles and she fell silent.

"I have trifled with no one," Mr Darcy denied, bristling at the unjustified accusation. "Elizabeth and I – "

"Miss Elizabeth to you," corrected Mr Bennet before swiveling around to speak with someone in the crowd. "Mrs Bennet, gather the rest of the girls. We are leaving."

"But Mr Bennet – "

Darcy recognized the shrill exclamation as one of the matrons who had been bandying about his prospects all evening. He flinched a little to realize that such a woman would be his mother-in-law, but quickly reconciled himself to the thought; Elizabeth was not someone he could give up, even had he not just compromised them both publicly.

"Now, Mrs Bennet," her husband commanded, jerking on Elizabeth's arm so that she would follow him toward the exit. Darcy grit his teeth as he witnessed Mr Bennet manhandling his beloved, but forced himself to say nothing for the moment. He would step in only if necessary.

In the meantime, Darcy quickened his steps in order to trail after Elizabeth and her angry father, the crowd parting for them like Moses splitting the Red Sea in twain. "Mr Bennet!" he called out to the man, but was ignored. "Mr Bennet! Please, I wish to speak with you."

"There is nothing to speak about, young man," replied Mr Bennet with impatience as he emerged into the corridor beyond the dance hall and made for the dark staircase which would allow them access to the lower floor. Elizabeth trailed behind him, still captured by her father's grasp upon her elbow, and looked pleadingly over her shoulder at him. Whether she was begging him to save her or apologizing for the situation was unclear to Darcy.

Elizabeth stumbled as Mr Bennet began his descent on the stairs, but Darcy reached out to steady her before she could take a dangerous fall. "Papa, slow down!"

"Quiet, Elizabeth. Go down to the carriage," snapped Mr Bennet, ushering her in front of him and away from Darcy. Elizabeth had little choice but to grudgingly move forward under her own power.

Darcy moved to skirt around Mr Bennet as Elizabeth disappeared into the bowels of the building, but he was halted by an aggressive hand upon his chest, shoving him backwards. As he regained his footing, Darcy glared at his future father-in-law and said, "I understand that you are upset, Mr Bennet, but we can resolve this issue between us. I am perfectly willing to accept responsibility and marry Elizabeth."

"You will not come near my daughter – or any of the rest of my family – again, am I understood?" Mr Bennet countered, holding his index finger aloft just beneath the younger man's nose. It reminded Darcy greatly of being scolded by his Aunt Catherine.

Darcy took a deep, steadying breath to cool his temper before saying, "I know your wishes on this matter as they were very clearly expressed to me in your letter, but surely the situation has now changed. Moreover, I had never intended to trifle with your daughter last summer; I was intending to make her an offer just before you whisked her away from Derbyshire."

"Your offer is neither wanted nor required," spat Mr Bennet, "and I would thank you to take your attentions elsewhere. You may be the richest man in Derbyshire, but that means nothing to me. Consider this as an absolute refusal."

Mr Bennet turned to proceed down the staircase after his daughter, but Darcy's quick steps brought him before the elder man and halted his progress. "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting!" cried Darcy, with more feeling than politeness, "I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, my suit is thus rejected. But it is of small importance; Elizabeth has now been compromised in front of the entire neighborhood and must marry."

"And I might as well inquire," replied Mr Bennet, "why with so evident a design to circumvent my authority in regards to my daughter's future you would even bother to ask my permission now. Was this not some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? Why not simply spirit her away in the middle of the night to Scotland if you are to have your way without first speaking to her family?"

Darcy had little to say in his defense other than his own selfish feelings of desperation, but Elizabeth's father would surely not accept any such thing as a valid excuse for marring the reputation of his family in a public forum. Perhaps Darcy would have judged better to more formally request Elizabeth's hand in marriage in the usual form of a private interview with her father, but Mr Bennet's curt letter from the summer and his further injunctions that had kept the lovers separated had caused a deep and abiding fear to grow within Darcy's heart. He had pressed the issue out of concern that he would be thus rejected again.

"Moreover," continued Mr Bennet, not pausing long enough for all of his previous statements to fully sink into Darcy's mind, "she will be married. As you have previously been informed, Elizabeth is already promised to another so your deplorable behavior is of no concern to me. Good evening, sir."

Author's Note: Somewhat against my better judgment, I'm posting the prologue to this story before the entire thing is completely finished. I'm almost halfway there with chapters already written, however, putting me approximately four to six months ahead of myself, so I'm risking it.

This is my first real attempt at a novel-length JAFF work, so the chapters will likely be shorter than my normal range since I don't have to squeeze quite so much into each one. Bi-weekly updates, every other Friday between updates of "Under the Influence" (also available in my profile; rated M).

Also, completely random yet fascinating, I discovered that the calendars for year 1811 and this year (2019) correlate. For instance, at the time of this writing it's Friday October 4th; it just so happens that October 4th in 1811 was also a Friday. Completely useless information, yet I love coincidences.

Next Chapter: October 25, 2019
Expected Completion Date: Fall 2020

– MrsMarySmythe