I know this storyline has been done before, on multiple occasions, but the idea won't leave me so here we are. You can assume that everything happens as per the book up until the point where the story starts. Enjoy...

Just keep walking man, just keep walking.

He repeated the mantra in his head, over and over. It was the only thing stopping him from turning around and pacing swiftly back to Longbourn. However, it was in no man's best interest to remain where he was undesired, and that was the fact of the matter, Elizabeth Bennet did not desire his presence.

You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

He threaded a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the memory. It was unfortunately not the first time it came unbidden to his thoughts, and would surely not be the last. If only he could just forget ever having met her. If only he had not acted with such pride and arrogance. However, only the foolish would dwell on things unchangeable, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was not foolish.

His stomach suddenly churned violently, toppling his resolve, and causing him to pause and turn to look back at the quaint Bennet estate one final time. Perhaps foolish was a word that could describe him.

When Bingley burst through the doors to the Netherfield drawing room Darcy set his mind to rights and turned to face his friend with as much happiness as he could muster.

"She has accepted my hand, we are to be married Darce!" The proclamation rushed forth accompanied with an all encompassing grin.

Darcy stepped forward, offering his hand to Bingley. "Congratulations, Bingley. You two will do well together." If possible Bingley's grin widened. "Yes it shall be quite splendid, but Darcy are you sure you cannot be persuaded to extend your stay at Netherfield?" The question brought forth a smattering of memories of fine eyes and hems covered in mud. Darcy shook his head, both in response and to rid himself of the imagery.

"I fear I must return to town and attend to some business with my steward" he replied in his best master-of-Pemberley tone. "Well then, I cannot hold that against you, my friend. However, you shall return for the wedding, shall you not?"

Panic shot through Darcy, the wedding, in his flummoxed state he had not even thought about having to return for such an event, an event where he would certainly encounter her. He inhaled deeply, knowing that there was no polite excuses that could be made, this was one of his closest friends.

"Certainly Bingley" the younger man seemed pleased with the response, flashing a smile and nodding. "Fantastic!" he replied jovially. Yes, fantastic, Darcy thought drolly.

Passing the night with Bingley had not been overly trying, even though the man was incandescently happy; however the trip back to London was nothing short of miserable. His thoughts and memories constantly assaulted him, and caused a dull ache to spread through his chest.

There were times throughout the journey when he would be overwhelmed with a wealth of sadness, so much so it made his breaths come in short rasps and his heart race. The thought of living out the rest of his life without Elizabeth by his side was all consuming, but that was his reality. He would now focus on finding a respectable bride, someone whose influence would do well for Georgiana, he would marry, he would produce an heir, and he would never truly forget Elizabeth Bennet.

Georgiana greeted him upon his entrance to Darcy House, her presence was a bit of a balm to his aching heart and before she could say a full sentence he had drawn her close and kissed the crown of her golden-haired head.

"Fitzwilliam whatever is wrong?" she peered at him with an innocent gaze. "Nothing Dearest, I simply missed being in your company." It was not completely a lie, but she also knew it was not the truth. Hopefully he would reveal himself, in due time.

"Shall I have tea served?" it was an attempt to brighten his spirits if only a little. "That would be excellent, could you have it sent to my study, there are some ledgers I wish to review." Another lie, he was in no mood to attempt any work. "Certainly" she offered before turning to find the housekeeper.

It had been four days, four long torturous days of nothing but the rehashing of old memories. No matter how hard he attempted to redirect his focus, his thoughts always returned to her. Up to this point he had refrained from imbibing, but today his resolve had been pushed.

On his desk sat a letter. He glared at the parchment, willing it to burst into flames as if it had never existed. When his attempts failed his sighed heavily, reaching for the decanter and a snifter, he poured a generous amount and quickly threw the golden liquid back. It burned on the way down his throat and the feeling was nothing short of refreshing. He took another look at the wedding invitation before pouring another measure. The motion was repeated until the decanter lay empty, and he lay sprawled on a divan.

His mind swirled, hazy from the alcohol, before landing on the memory of her bright appearance after walking the three miles to Netherfield. Her eyes shone, and although he had not thought so at the time, there was something endearing about her hem six inches deep in mud. It was too much, she was too much. How could one become so attached to a person who disliked them so fully?

A strangled cry escaped his throat. She was lost to him, completely and utterly out of reach, due to his own misgivings no less. He had ruined one of the best things ever to cross his path. The thought was enough to force a tear down his cheek, which he swiped at furiously; however another emerged in its wake. The tears kept coming, and in an attempt to stymie them he sat up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but it had little effect.

This would not do, surely this would not do. There must be a way to forget all of this nonsense, to once again be the rigid master of Pemberley, unwavering in the face of adversity. However, the burning in his chest suggested otherwise.

Suddenly the distinctive click of the door handle being turned sounded through the room, causing his head snap up towards the would be intruder. A head of golden curls peeked around the ajar door, and he quickly swiped at the tears, hoping she would not see them. His current state, however, was impossible to hide, and she quickly rushed to his side.

"Fitzwilliam" she voiced softly while embracing him. The love and kindness of his younger sister only spurned his melancholy state and tears began flowing freely.

"It hurts Georgie" his whispered, the alcohol pungent on his breath as he relented and laid his head on her shoulder. She slowly started rubbing small circles across his back with the palm of her hand. "Perhaps there is still hope William." It was an attempt to assure him as much as herself, for a while now she had wish to see Elizabeth become her sister.

"No...no I fear not"

So prologue down. First time ever writing in this style, hopefully it went ok, I know this chapter probably felt a little slow (and short), but I felt it was something that was needed to lay some groundwork. I'm not planning on this being too long, no more than 10 chapters, but probably less. The rating is T for now, but it may change.