The Many Lives of Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Beau North

Fitzwilliam Darcy was in love.

He could no longer claim to be Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, brother to Georgiana, master of Pemberley. In that moment, he was but a man. A man filled with more frustration than most souls could bear. A man torn asunder by his desperation, his fruitless dreams and desires. He had become, in that moment, quite common.

You have driven me to this! I, who was once a sensible man! These are your arts, to take a reasonable man and reduce him to a wretched mooncalf, a pie-eyed jack pudding!”

Am I stuck here while the world moves on? Or is there another Fitzwilliam Darcy living my life, void of my soul and true being? Or does time continue as I languish in this infernal prison?

lanterns. Not looking out the window, he failed to notice the thick, heavy rainclouds rolling across the dusky evening sky.

Every vase in the house was bursting with yellow

cowslips, the only tribute he could give her without openly declaring himself.