This is my first "Pride and Prejudice" fanfiction, though I have written many others. This is also my first time attempting to mimic Jane Austen's style of writing, so constructive criticism will be appreciated. Any suggestions as to how to improve my writing and make it sound more like Austen's will also be appreciated!

Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen. (1) I am not dead. (2) I cannot write nearly as well as she did.


She refused him.

She refused him.

She refused him.

She refused him.

No matter how Mr. Darcy rearranged the three words in his mind, their meaning did not change. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the woman he had fallen in love with, had refused his proposal—scorned it, even! Insults were hurled between the two at a rapid pace, and ended only with her exacting the final blow.

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

Clenching his teeth in agitation, Darcy strode back towards Rosings, glowering at everything in sight. Fury emanated from him. Those whom he passed by quickly occupied themselves in their work, not wanting to infuriate the already fuming Fitzwilliam Darcy.

It was not until later that night, when the anger had cooled, that hurt and pain at her rejection set in. She hated him. Wickham had poisoned her mind with lies about his person and character. The favor in her eyes as she spoke of Wickham was obvious. She preferred Wickham to him! If she knew Wickham's real conduct, he was sure, her favor would cease.

But how he would communicate said information puzzled him. He dared not attempt to speak to her much at all after his failed proposal. How, therefore, would he inform her of Wickham's character? How would he clear himself of the two charges she had laid against him?

The answer rose to his mind. A letter.

He strode quickly to his writing desk and scratched out a long letter to Miss Elizabeth. When it was complete, he scanned it quickly before sealing it and retreating to bed.

As soon as the sun rose the next morning, he was about, wandering about the parks surrounding Rosings, searching for Miss Bennet. He hoped to meet her so that he might deliver the letter, but doubt began to permeate his mind. What if she did not come for a walk today? He had already resolved with Colonel Fitzwilliam that they would depart the following day; he could not bear to remain so close to Miss Elizabeth for much longer.

When he was beginning to despair and was at the brink of giving up and returning to Rosings, he spotted a small figure walking his direction. His heart instant recognized it as Miss Elizabeth, even before his eyes registered that it was she. He knew she saw him, for she immediately turned and began to walk away.

"Miss Bennet!" he called, and let out a sigh of relief when she halted. He approached her quickly and held out the letter to her. "I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?"

Before she could reply, he bowed and walked off in another direction. His mind temporarily felt peace before unease set in. Recalling the opening of the letter, he was now certain that those words which had once sounded cordial and polite were hopelessly bitter and angry. He wished that he could recall the letter to his hand and prevent Miss Bennet's perusal of those papers, but it was far too late. She had, most likely, already read his letter.

All he could do now was wait and hope.