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alias_sqbrA little ficlet set during Elizabeth's visit to Pemberley. Part of a longer AU which is refusing to let me write it, but this scene fits into canon and stands alone, so I thought I'd post it to make myself feel better.
EDIT: First chapter of Mistress of Pemberley now up at AO3.
In the Portrait Gallery: Pride and Prejudice, 350 words, G. Elizabeth Bennet, some Elizabeth/Darcy subtext.
Elizabeth was beginning to suspect that Mr Darcy was not the man she'd thought he was.
His portrait stood out from those of the other Darcys, and not only because of Elizabeth's familiarity with him. They were all tall, but many of the other Darcy men had an almost hulking quality that Darcy did not. Even his sister was an imposing figure, though the shy sweetness of her smile undercut any intimidating effect her statuesque figure might otherwise have inspired. Darcy, however, was of a moderate build, despite his height. He looked more like the descendant of scholars than of the sword wielding soldiers and grizzled patriarchs lining the walls of the gallery.
Looking at Darcy's portrait, Elizabeth felt able to examine his features in a way she would never have dared with the real man. Larger than life, his painted features smiled at the world with an expression both good natured and slightly restrained, as if he felt a little self conscious in front of the painter and his intended audience. An audience which did not, one assumed, include Elizabeth.
How strange to be in this house as a tourist, almost a stranger, and yet to know that she could have been mistress of it. And how unexpected the glowing account of him they had received from his housekeeper. She made him seem...almost human. Elizabeth did not know what to think. And what would Darcy think of her, if he knew that she had walked these halls, examining his personal possessions as if they were objects in a museum? Elizabeth had never felt the sting of rejected affection, nor was Netherfield grand enough to attract outside visitors, but she still felt a deep sense of unease imagining Darcy's feelings if he was made aware of her presence.
Elizabeth reminded herself that the housekeeper had said he wouldn't be back until tomorrow at the earliest, and tried to not to feel like a voyeur. After one last, conflicted glance at his portrait she rejoined her aunt and uncle and left the house, never expecting to walk it's halls again.
EDIT: First chapter of Mistress of Pemberley now up at AO3.
In the Portrait Gallery: Pride and Prejudice, 350 words, G. Elizabeth Bennet, some Elizabeth/Darcy subtext.
Elizabeth was beginning to suspect that Mr Darcy was not the man she'd thought he was.
His portrait stood out from those of the other Darcys, and not only because of Elizabeth's familiarity with him. They were all tall, but many of the other Darcy men had an almost hulking quality that Darcy did not. Even his sister was an imposing figure, though the shy sweetness of her smile undercut any intimidating effect her statuesque figure might otherwise have inspired. Darcy, however, was of a moderate build, despite his height. He looked more like the descendant of scholars than of the sword wielding soldiers and grizzled patriarchs lining the walls of the gallery.
Looking at Darcy's portrait, Elizabeth felt able to examine his features in a way she would never have dared with the real man. Larger than life, his painted features smiled at the world with an expression both good natured and slightly restrained, as if he felt a little self conscious in front of the painter and his intended audience. An audience which did not, one assumed, include Elizabeth.
How strange to be in this house as a tourist, almost a stranger, and yet to know that she could have been mistress of it. And how unexpected the glowing account of him they had received from his housekeeper. She made him seem...almost human. Elizabeth did not know what to think. And what would Darcy think of her, if he knew that she had walked these halls, examining his personal possessions as if they were objects in a museum? Elizabeth had never felt the sting of rejected affection, nor was Netherfield grand enough to attract outside visitors, but she still felt a deep sense of unease imagining Darcy's feelings if he was made aware of her presence.
Elizabeth reminded herself that the housekeeper had said he wouldn't be back until tomorrow at the earliest, and tried to not to feel like a voyeur. After one last, conflicted glance at his portrait she rejoined her aunt and uncle and left the house, never expecting to walk it's halls again.
