A/N: This plot bunny originally freaked me out when it reared its ugly head, but it wouldn't leave me alone unless I played with it. Here is the result!

Blurb: George Darcy has been a widower for twenty-eight long years. The deaths of his wife and newborn son have left him lonely and content to be so. A chance meeting with a spirited young lady will change his life forever.

A/N 2: In more direct terms, Elizabeth falls in love with the Mr. Darcy who would have been our Mr. Darcy's father. Weird, right? Trust me, it's better than it sounds. Hey, Collin Firth is still a fine-looking man, right? ;)

Mr. George Thomas Darcy was a terribly lonely man, and had been for so long that he had completely forgotten what it had been like to not feel alone in the world. Eight and twenty years. Eight and twenty long, empty years had passed since his sweet, young Anne had been taken from him while trying to give life to his infant son, who had also been taken from him that fateful day. Though he was yet a young man when he was so cruelly thrust into widowhood, he had never felt the slightest inclination to remarry. Yes, he was lonely. Yes, he was starved of love and affection. Yes, he desired female companionship. However, he hadn't, in eight and twenty long years, found a woman whose permanent company he desired.

That is, until the day he met Elizabeth Bennet.

She was so young, so full of life, that falling head over heels in love with her was as easy and natural as breathing. Somehow, when in a rut of boredom and exasperation Darcy had finally accepted the long-extended invitation to visit his late wife's widowed sister and her sickly daughter at Rosings Park, the woman who would breathe life into his drab existence had come strolling into his path one clear April morning.

Darcy had tipped his beaver hat to the etherial creature, acknowledging her presence as much as he was able without an introduction. She had smiled and nodded her pretty head in return, her glossy curls bouncing charmingly around her lovely face with each movement. It was with great effort that Darcy gently spurred his horse onward, away from the enchanting smile directed his way. Darcy didn't have long to wait for an introduction to the lady, as the party from the parsonage was invited to dine at Rosings that very evening.

He had been surprised to discover that his sister-in-law's rather obsequious parson could be in any way related to such a charming, well-spoken young lady as Miss Elizabeth proved to be. She had served as a source of endless amusement for Darcy during dinner. Each obtrusive and overbearing question and remark leveled at her by Lady Catherine was answered with an uncommon degree of wit and intelligence, tempered with perfect grace and poise.

When the party retired to the drawing room after dinner, Darcy discovered that he was not the only male member of the party to take interest in Miss Elizabeth's lively manners and pleasing countenance. His nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had made it his personal charge to remain close to the young lady throughout the evening, making friendly conversation and turning the pages for her while she played the pianoforte at Lady Catherine's insistence. Though Elizabeth was, by no means, a proficient, she played with great feeling and expression that rendered Darcy, and his nephew, quite captivated throughout her performance.

Darcy had watched silently as Richard had helped Miss Elizabeth on with her wrap as the parsonage party had made ready to depart later that evening, thinking that, had he his nephew's youth and zest for life, he would make it his task to secure the affections of such a bright, rare gem of a girl that was Miss Elizabeth. He sighed deeply at the thought. His youth had long been wasted in pain and regret. He was now approaching his fifty-third year, and was sure that he was now a conformed widower, and would be until his final day.

The next morning, fate once again saw fit to bring Elizabeth across his path as they were both out enjoying their morning constitutionals. Now that they had been formally introduced, Darcy saw no reason to forgo the pleasure of her enlivening company, and offered her his arm. She happily accepted, and, thus, began a ritual of morning walks in each other's amiable company that would add greatly to the enjoyment of his stay. They discussed many topics, and discovered that they had much in common. They shared much of the same taste in books, much to Darcy's surprise and pleasure. Elizabeth was well-versed in history, philosophy, and even many of the critical current events and happenings of the day. She was, he was certain, the most intelligent woman he had ever encountered, as well as the most attractive.

Though Elizabeth's figure wasn't fashionable, he found much to admire in her graceful curves. Her eyes sparkled with wit and vivaciousness, and her creamy skin appeared as soft as spun silk. Darcy was surprised, and a little dismayed, to find himself achingly aroused whenever he was in Miss Elizabeth's presence. He fought to keep his wayward thoughts in check, to think of her as the daughter he never had; but all efforts in this direction proved in vain. He found himself unable to sleep at nights, his member more aroused than it had been in years, throbbing, aching, and begging for relief. It had been years since he had taken himself in hand for such respite, but the advent of Miss Elizabeth's entrance into his life made it suddenly necessary.

After nearly a month in company with Elizabeth at Rosings, Darcy began to realize that his feelings for her transcended anything he had ever experienced. He had fallen deeply in love with her, a young woman of only twenty years from a country gentleman's family somewhere in the south. If only he were younger, then he could, perhaps, dream of making this angelic creature his; but his youth had been spent long ago. He could never burden such a deserving young woman with a husband over twice her age, even if she could find it in her kind heart to accept him. She deserved better.

So, it was with a heavy heart that Darcy boarded his fine carriage and headed home to Pemberley. As his eyes beheld the familiar sight of his ancestral home rising up from the valley floor, he couldn't banish the wish that he could bring Elizabeth here with him as his wife. In the long months to come, he would imagine her everywhere - across the dinner table, seated next to him in the parlor, tiptoeing into his study to interrupt his work with tender kisses, and, most frequently of all, in his bed and in his arms each long and lonely night. Despite the persistent yearning of his heart, he knew that such a beautiful dream could never be realized. One day some young, charming gentleman would discover the treasure that was Elizabeth Bennet, and she would go on to have a family and a long, happy life with someone worthy of her love and affection. Though the thought of her in another man's arms cut Darcy to the core, he truly wished Elizabeth every happiness that she unquestionably deserved.

Elizabeth smiled happily as she took in the wild beauty of the Derbyshire countryside from the carriage window.

"So this is where Mr. Darcy lives", she thought with a longing sigh.

Nearly four months had passed since she had met the handsome gentleman from Derbyshire, and, despite the passage of time, he had never been far from her thoughts. Even now she could perfectly recall his face and the cut of his fine, imposing figure that she had come to admire above any other. It had all started one morning at Rosings when he had happened across her path. She had smiled genuinely at the handsome stranger, who tipped his hat gallantly as he passed.

Elizabeth was a lady, but she had eyes that recognized a fine-looking man when they beheld one, and Mr. Darcy was certainly a fine-looking man. She could not help but spare an appreciative glance at the strong thighs that gripped the flanks of his horse as past her. Surely riding boots and buckskin breeches had never served a man so well. Elizabeth had the grace to blush at her scandalous thoughts.

That night at dinner, she was able to observe the intriguing stranger more closely. By the end of the night, she was convinced that he was the handsomest man she had ever beheld, even surpassing his dashing nephew, the Colonel, despite being twenty years his senior. Mr. Darcy, as she learned he was called, had very lovely dark eyes framed by thick lashes, fine, high cheekbones, and a pleasing mouth. His head was covered with thick, dark curls which only showed smatterings of grey around the temples. She was sure he must be nearly her father's age, though he appeared perhaps a bit younger than he was, probably due to frequent exercise and a healthy diet. Most men, it seemed to Elizabeth, developed quite a prodigious belly by the time they reached forty. Mr. Darcy, however, seemed as vigorous and trim as his young nephew.

Though Mr. Darcy had been quiet and enigmatic at dinner, when he happened, once again, across her path, - on foot this time - Elizabeth was pleased to discover that he actually had quite a bit to say when discussing books, history, or politics. She enjoyed his conversation greatly, and found great delight in being the sole object of such a man's exclusive attention for several minutes a day. She admired his intelligence and dry wit, as well as his noble baring and physical beauty. His deep baritone always sounded pleasing in her ears. She listened with rapt attention even when he spoke of the weather and the state of the roads.

Several weeks into his visit, Elizabeth began to realize that her heart was very much in danger from Mr. Darcy. She hardly knew whether to laugh or weep at the thought. If anyone had told her that she would fall in love with a man nearly her father's age she would have laughed heartily at the idea, but here she was, pining for his presence like a love-struck mooncalf! Her levity would always wane, however, at the thought that she would always appear a near child in his eyes. Surely such a man of the world would never see her as desirable in the way she did him. He was probably just bored of his relatives' insipid company, and she was his only alternative.

But, there were times when she would see something in his eyes when he would look on her, and sometimes there was a particular softness in his voice that spoke of a special regard and tenderness. Elizabeth had almost allowed herself to hope by the time she received news that Mr. Darcy had departed Kent for Derbyshire. Her heart sank into her boots at the realization that the only man she could ever love was gone, never to be seen again.

Not being of a nature typically inclined towards melancholy, Elizabeth indulged her heartache for only a few days, then pushed her feelings for the man from Derbyshire into a remote corner of her heart reserved for impossible dreams and useless hopes. Her feelings for Mr. Darcy were a girlish whim, nothing more. Surely she would soon be able to look back on their conversations in Kent as very pleasant memories without feeling this terrible heaviness around her heart.

Despite Elizabeth's best efforts to forget Mr. Darcy, he was always in her thoughts. She found herself laying awake at night thinking of him, and wondering, childishly, if he ever thought of her. The days dragged into weeks, the weeks into months. The spring had passed on into full-blown summer, and, yet, Elizabeth still found herself longing for Mr. Darcy's presence at every turn. She was always quick to chastise herself for such thoughts, knowing that they were all in vain. He didn't care for her, and she would never see him again.

Her sprits were lifted by an invitation to travel north with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner towards the end of the summer. The original plan was to tour the Lake District, but plans had altered in such a way as to take them into Derbyshire, near a fine estate with an eerily familiar name.

Elizabeth looked upon the impending visit to Pemberley with a mix of anticipation, curiosity, and trepidation. She knew without a doubt that this was the home Mr. Darcy had spoken so fondly of to her back in Kent. Perhaps she would be able to find a measure of ease for her wounded heart by visiting his home, a place more connected with him than any other. At the very least, seeing the estate would serve as a reminder of just how foolish any hope that such a man could ever care for the likes of her was.

When Pemberley House came into view, Elizabeth was awestruck. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful home she had ever beheld. It was fine without being overly ornate or ostentatious. The design seemed to fit perfectly into the setting, almost as if the house was as much a part of the natural landscape as the peaks in the distance and the glistening pond that lay before it. Elizabeth's heart raced faster the closer their carriage came to the house.

Her trepidation was lessened by the housekeeper's assurances that Mr. Darcy was not at home. Though a part of her longed to see him, her better judgement told her that it would only make it that much harder for her heart to recover if she did. Resolutely, she applied herself to attentively studying every aspect of his lovely home, adding every detail to her collection of memories associated with him.

Only once during her tour of Pemberley did Elizabeth's composure threaten to unravel, and that was when she beheld Mr. Darcy's portrait hanging in the gallery. The housekeeper informed them that it was painted when he was a young man of only three and twenty years of age. It was commissioned upon the occasion of his engagement to the Lady Anne. Elizabeth stared in awe at the visage depicted in vibrant color on the large canvas, reminded, once again, that Mr. Darcy was, without doubt, the handsomest gentleman of her acquaintance. The years had not diminished his appeal in the slightest. In fact, he appeared, in very painting, very much the same as he was in the spring. The housekeeper smiled knowingly at Elizabeth, and moved the tour forward.

Elizabeth welcomed her escape to the outdoors to clear her mind and settle her emotions. The sight of Mr. Darcy's dark, brooding eyes staring at her from the gallery wall had almost completely destroyed what semblance of equanimity she had gained in the past months. A quick amble over the lovely lawn and formal garden would surely lift her spirits.

She stepped around the high garden wall and found herself face to face with a startled, and slightly disheveled, Mr. Darcy.

TBC

Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review and stay tuned for more. Before you go, here's a little snippet of what's to come:

"Elizabeth, you make me feel young again," he whispered breathlessly in her ear.

"You are not so very old, George," she replied with that arch smile he loved so much. "I find you...quite pleasing."

"You are an angel, Elizabeth."

Darcy crushed his lips against hers, which parted to allow him entrance to her sweet mouth. Elizabeth sighed and moved both her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to pull him onto the bed with her...