Belle - Part I

1.

When his eyes met hers across the grand hall, he didn’t think of it much at first.

There was the hasty music of bagpipes filling the room with cheer, the tap-taps of energetic feet dancing on the stone floor, the aroma of meat and mead and smoking candles, and the intermittent “Hear! Hear!” erupting through the air every time someone offered a toast.

Lord Darcy lifted his mug and added his voice to the latest one. Then he drained the drink in a single chug. More “Hear! Hear!”

But then his eyes met hers again. And he noticed.

She was wearing a green dress with leather cuffs on her forearms and what appeared to be a belt with a small knife handle jutting out of a leather sheath. The latter was partially hidden by the pleats of her skirt. He began to make his way towards her.

It was only once he reached her that he realized he had nothing to say. But by then, she had noticed him.

“My Lord,” she dipped an elegant—albeit short—curtsey.

“Dance with me,” he said.

An elegant eyebrow peaked up her forehead, but she smiled and accepted with another short curtsey.

He led her to the dance floor, palms suddenly sweaty. And there they joined the dancers already leaping, and tapping, and swinging to the music. She was beautiful. And he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

And he couldn’t say anything.

Not a word.

Usually, he did not wish to say anything. Though he could be called on to utter a few words if it was unavoidable or if he was immensely irritated. But that day was a first. It astounded him.

And then it made him angry enough to break his silence.

“You carry a knife in a gathering of friends,” Darcy said.

The lass danced around him, her steps light and nimble. Like a nymph. Her eyebrows peaked again. He had the sudden thought that he liked them immensely. That was another first. He had never noticed the eyebrows of a woman before.

“What makes you say that, my lord?”

He glanced pointedly at the bone handle just visible among her pleats. She laughed suddenly. He was stunned once more. Her laughter went all the way to her eyes, crinkling them as if she did so often.

“It is not a knife,” she said.

A gentle smile was on her face as they arranged themselves in a circle with the other dancers. One of his arms was around her waist, and the other around whoever was on the other side of him. Her dainty arm was around his waist too. They skipped and hopped, round and round, shouting cheers every so often.

“What is it then?” he asked once they had disbanded into smaller groups again, and then once more in pairs.

She smiled mysteriously as their palms brushed.

“A lady is entitled to her secrets,” she said.

An intense heat swept through him. If he did not have years—decades—of experience controlling himself, he believed he would have drawn her close and kissed her right then.

…and then he would have to apologize to her kin and ignore the gossip that would race like wildfire for weeks on end. Darcy sighed. The heat cooled.

When the dance ended, they exchanged a bow and curtsey before he beat a hasty retreat, leaving her to be swept up in the arms of another willing dancer. There were enough of those for him not to worry about leaving her behind.

2.

It was three weeks later that he learned her identity.

It astonished Darcy that he hadn’t wondered about it until then, though she had graced his mind every time he saw a woman in green or an energetic dance floor. There was a sudden realization.

He had wanted her to be the mysterious maiden. Her aura preserved forever in his mind.

The reality was like an icy immersion in Lake Bevkal at the turn of the seasons, right before the frost froze its surface.

She was the daughter of a nobody.

Her father, a local minor gentility who rarely ventured out of his homestead and forests. And worse, her mother was a merchant’s daughter. And not one of the mannered ones either. He had watched the woman screech excitedly about the marriage prospects of her fairest daughter—the eldest, Jane.

She was Elizabeth.

But he liked her eyebrows still.

3.

The next time they spoke was at a dinner.

Darcy had not wished to attend but had eventually allowed his friend, Charles Bingley—his brother of heart if not of blood—to convince him to go.

Bingley wanted to meet the fair Jane. Dance with her. He was utterly besotted. Darcy chose to go to nip the attraction in its bud.

…but then he lost his purpose when his gaze fixed on her—Elizabeth—as soon as they stepped through the doors of the hall with the announcer proclaiming their titles from behind.

Of course, mothers of unmarried daughters swarmed them immediately. And so did those who wished to curry his favour. So he lost sight of her.

But when he glimpsed her next, she was standing by the table of refreshments, laughing with a friend.

She was wearing a blue dress. His jacket was blue as well.

“Why the grin, Darcy?” Bingley asked.

The smile slipped from his face immediately. He hadn’t realized he was grinning like a besotted fool. Ire rose within him.

“I…uh, excuse me.”

His feet led him to the refreshments. And their eyes met again.

“My Lord.”

She and her friend dipped a curtsey.

“Ladies,” he said, trying to extend the common greeting and nod to both, but his eyes refused to move away from her. Elizabeth.

Her eyebrows were climbing up her forehead once more. He smiled suddenly.

“Would you care to reserve a dance for me?” he asked her.

She glanced at her friend and then back at him. Surprise was writ on her face. And as it should be. He was not one to dance with the same maiden twice if he could help it.

“It will be my pleasure,” she said.

He walked away.

Then they were dancing.

And his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. Enough to receive discreet glances from those around them.

“You are wearing your knife again today,” he said.

She laughed as they skipped around each other, the music of bagpipes loud and merry. “It is not a knife, my lord.”

“Would you share your secret with me?”

He had never flirted with anyone before. It astounded him enough to fall silent for a moment. But not enough to stop himself from smiling again as her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. He wished to brush his fingers along their curve before he kissed her.

Darcy suddenly grew red in the face and stumbled a step. But he quickly recovered.

“Hmm, there are only three who know what it is,” she said, stepping lightly around him.

He matched her eyebrows with his own.

“May I be the fourth?”

She laughed. “I am afraid not, my lord.”

“What if I were to command you to?” he asked. He knew he was smiling like a fool. There were more glances directed their way.

She watched him for a moment as they danced, a thoughtful look on her face. And then countered, “Would you?”

“No.”

He had his pride and principles. Divesting womenfolk of their secrets through unsavory means was not one of them.

It was a singular eyebrow now gracing him with mirth.

“Then I thank you, my lord, for your consideration,” she said. She dipped a curtsey in the middle of a step, making it effortless and nimble. She was a nymph and he could not look away from her dark eyes.

He suddenly wished to challenge her.

But not like a brute. Like a man who wished to hear what she had to say. He swallowed, suddenly nervous. But also exhilarated.

“What if I had commanded you?” he asked. “What would you do?”

The eyebrows again. He really wished to caress them. Darcy looked away from them, only to find her studying him with a teasing smile.

“Perhaps I would disappear into the thick of the night and take my secret with me.”

He really wished to kiss her.

Bingley passed by them right then with his fair Jane. Darcy felt his face heat.

“Would you leave your sisters and parents behind?” he asked.

“Certain secrets may necessitate such a sacrifice,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. Then she suddenly grew sober.

“You must forgive my whimsical words, my lord,” she said. “I believe we both know what I would do if you truly did command me to divulge the truth. But the revelation may turn out to be somewhat commonplace and utterly disappointing.”

He wished to brush the frown away from her face. Make her smile once more. But all he managed to do was draw her closer by her waist, just a smidgen beyond the distance of propriety. It surprised her enough to make her eyebrows peak up her forehead.

“Then forgive me for pressing you, madam,” he said. “Your secrets are yours to share with whomever you please.”

She smiled at him, but it was guarded.

When the dance ended, they exchanged a bow and a curtsey. But this time he escorted her to her mother at her request.

4.

By the time they met next, he knew he wished to marry her.

It was absurd.

But also not.

They stood and conversed for a brief moment in the company of her two youngest sisters in front of the haberdasher’s shop.

Darcy had been on his way back from the smithy—his horse’s hoof having come undone unexpectedly in the middle of his morning ride. And he had almost ridden past them on his way back to Bingley’s house. But then he had glimpsed her and drawn up short to turn back.

She was still guarded around him. But she had not shied away from answering his whimsical reflections with whimsy of her own. It had made her sisters roll their eyes.

But she was not so whimsical the next time.

In fact, she was utterly dull. He knew it was an act right away.

It exasperated Darcy, but he knew why she was being so.

Word had spread that a local lass had caught his eye, but that he had no intention of offering matrimony. The gossips called her a “country nobody” and “an over-reacher”. It ashamed him to think he had thought the former of her as well when he wished to dismiss his infatuation and attraction. Before he had utterly failed at both.

It made him decline all social invitations for two weeks.

Not even Bingley’s announcement that he was going to propose to Jane during the next dinner where the Bennets would be in attendance could draw him out.

...and then he stumbled across her, one day, on the banks of the river that flowed through her county.

continue reading: part II

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WRITTEN BY MORGAN BLAKE

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Pride & Prejudice variation with a peerage twist.

Mr. Darcy is Lord Darcy. Elizabeth is the fair maiden who captures his heart
(unsuspectingly; and against his wishes). The setting is a mix of medieval, Irish, and Regency. ✨

Based on the prompt: Find me a man who will change the world for you!

POV of Mr. Darcy

part 1:
8 mins read

Author’s Note

This Pride & Prejudice variation literally sank its claws into me on one partly rainy day. And then I wrote and wrote…and wrote some more… until the entire thing had poured out of me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Though, I’ll be honest, Darcy’s redemption arc in this story had me on the edge until the very end.

Also, please note: Mr. Darcy is part of the peerage in this story. So Lord Darcy. But I have chosen not to reveal what kind of peer he is. I have also intentionally kept the setting of the story a bit ambiguous. Almost a mix of Scandinavian, Irish, and medieval European cultures alongside the Regency Era.

🌺