Update: Someone asked if this story is in print and for sale, and the answer is negative. This story is only in electronic version and to be read for free only here at FFN. Please allow it to inspire you to create your own stories, and if you do, be nice and shoot me a message so I can read how my creation grew on you.

If technicalities are to be observed, it should be under Creative Commons license of the following type: "Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported"

A/N: Story first published during October / November 2012. Edited, corrected and republished in December 2012 with the input from readers.

Premise of the story: Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth part ways after he hands her his letter in Rosings, and don't meet again until many years later. The Wickham and Lydia affair has carried out without his interference (or knowledge) and the consequences have been quite dire for the extended Bennet family.

This story explores what would it take for Mr. Darcy to consider marrying Elizabeth again, given that he had expressed his misgivings in her previous social standing. It was inspired by another story here, 'The Reawakening' by easternbandit (story ID: 8161786), (thanks to reader A-Song-For-You for the reminder). While 'The Reawakening' is quite realistic, this story attempts to be more loyal to the characters as they were depicted in the novel.

Everyone who stopped by and left a comment has my gratefulness, but some readers' input was particularly important: they were fia-blue, LotsOfLaundry, darcysfriend, Bonbonnett, jytte, TheChocoholicofAusten, Nuingarién, justlovefanfiction2901, GreenRibbon, Ally J., barnabus67, coldie-voldie, fishistix, Lady Forrest, makaem, janashe and allboyshouldhavelonghair.

I hope you like it. It's finished, but don't be shy to leave a comment or PM letting me know of your thoughts!

Thank you for reading me, neska-polita

The dawn of a new day had brought light to his room but not to his soul. The previous night he had undressed and put on his sleep clothes, but his bed was untouched. He had passed the many hours thinking, and writing, and nervously walking around his room, occasionally staring in disgust at his reflection on the looking glass, all of this, actually, in an attempt to remove himself from the state of complete shock the previous evening's events had pushed him into.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a delightful and intelligent lady well beneath his station, someone who could only benefit from marrying him, had not only rejected him but had also wounded him so deeply that he thought he should hate her. Instead (he couldn't help himself), he admired her even more for her straightforwardness. She had reservations against his character and the prospect of his money and status hadn't changed them; if anything, he respected someone so true to herself.

Hours later and in the privacy of his bedchamber in Rosings, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, winced time and again at the memory of her description of him. Was he so arrogant, conceited and disdainful of the feelings of others? True, he was of a taciturn nature much unlike his friend Bingley and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he didn't take any pleasure in inflicting pain to anyone, whether in his situation of life or any other. Until then he had actually thought he was quite generous and attentive, how come she believed the opposite?

Had Wickham, once again, managed to make him miserable by meddling with the women that meant the most to him? How did he do it? Was this Wickham's doing, or only his own?

For a second he thought he never really knew her at all, that all the little signs he had taken as encouragement were anything but. But the mistake was relatively small, as she didn't expect his attentions. Everything else was true. She was unique and he was more in love with her than he thought his heart was capable of.

The sun was up and the letter, the only means his battered pride and wounded heart had found to attempt, if not to win her love, at least earn her respect by defending himself against her wrong accusations, was signed and sealed. His valet brought his breakfast and helped him dress, not saying a word about the untouched bed, and he set off and out to reach her one last time. The letter in his hand contained the words he wished he could deliver in person, but he was sure, it couldn't be.

After a while he found her, as he knew she would, walking down the well trodden path near Rosings' gate. She saw him, he could tell, and she turned hoping to avoid him. Ashamed of producing such reaction but forcing himself to do what we had come to do, he called her and quickly stepped over and handed her the letter, his letter, with a perfunctory salutation. She took it in her hands and nodded, without a word, and then he turned and left.

Days became weeks and months went by, and soon summer was hot and shimmering all over England. And other summers followed that one, the summer after the last time he saw or heard of Elizabeth Bennet. If there was a moment when he thought more of her, it was around Easter week, inevitably it always seemed to him, and only then it was when he allowed himself to wonder where she was, whether she was happy and, very selfishly, if she had read his letter and believed him. He wanted to know if he had been forgiven.

He was fairly certain she had had to be married by now; he could hardly believe he had been the only one to notice her, and she couldn't have had reservations to all her suitors. He tried to smile at this thought but seldom succeeded. He had no way to know for certain, however; Bingley never went back to Hertfordshire, and Mr. Collins didn't ever mention her. The wife, Mrs. Collins, whom he vaguely remembered to be friends with Elizabeth, never spoke in his presence. His hopes of seeing her again in Kent were steadily crushed until one day, years after that fateful evening and sleepless night, he hoped no longer.

His life was far from idle, though; there were plenty other business commanding his attention. Although he was no businessman he owned and managed land, which took a great deal of his time and he gave it, freely and willingly just to be occupied. His sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy had come out splendidly a few years ago and had been engaged, and then married, to young Lord Cavendish, and had recently produced a heir to Pemberley, young Darcy Cavendish.

As for himself, it was a matter he knew was still pondered and discussed in some circles, he had decided not to marry. Miss Anne de Bourgh was very ill and evidently unfit to be anyone's wife, even in her mother's view. Miss Caroline Bingley had given up her marital hopes on him and had married a diplomat, currently the British ambassador in Greece, and her brother Charles, widowed less than a year after getting married, losing wife and child the same night, had accepted their invitation to live with them.

In truth, one could say Mr. Darcy of Pemberley was a little lonely. But then, he had been so most of his life.