anghraine: watercolour of jane austen; text: intj (jane austen (was an intj))
[personal profile] anghraine
[personal profile] wyncatastrophe  prompted me to write a fic about one of my anti-ships, and I don't think I anti-ship much more fervently than this one - inspired by a recent debate I peripherally participated in, but I've always hated this ship:

Colonel Fitzwilliam was fond of dancing, and fond of flirting, and would have very much like to attend carefully to the young lady at his side. However, just at that moment, a certain gentleman of his acquaintance—unfortunately of his acquaintance, as Sir John Wilcox was a blackguard and worse—made his way across the periphery of the ballroom. Various groups of people backed out of Wilcox's way, rather than be run down in his determination to reach his object.

The object in question was a pretty girl of eighteen—modest in demeanour, quietly and pleasantly well-looking rather than striking. Her chief beauty was an abundance of richly coloured dark hair, well set off by a pale green gown in the latest fashion (the colonel had five sisters, who kept him well apprised of these matters). Her features were regular, rather too severely so for her otherwise mild, soft face; her brother bore them to greater advantage, as did the colonel’s brother, two of his sisters, and his father and aunts before them. Still, nobody could call this girl plain, even were she not an heiress.

Colonel Fitzwilliam alternated his attention between the girl and the lady with him, hoping the latter would not notice his distraction. Alas! He could not quite keep the grim expression off his face, and her gaze followed his, to Sir John dancing attendance on the girl. She frowned, then smiled up at him.

“Oh, is that—I believe it must be Miss Darcy! Such a handsome girl, and so accomplished.”

Fitzwilliam winced. “Forgive me! Are you acquainted with my cousin?”

“No, indeed. I did not know of the connection until this moment; I have never spoken to her, nor heard a word out of her mouth.”

Despite himself, he laughed. “Many of our closest friends would say the same. You need not feel slighted. She and her brother are very reserved—Georgiana particularly, for she is a timid little creature into the bargain.”

“You seem very fond of your cousins,” she remarked, after a turn in the dance.

“Immensely,” he replied. “We were all brought up together, at Pemberley and Ecclesford, and I cannot imagine a better friend than Darcy. I have always had the highest opinion of Mrs Darcy, and Miss Darcy has a particular claim on my affections—her brother and I are joined in responsibility for her upbringing.”

“Joined in—” His companion’s expression cleared. “Oh!—Miss Darcy is your ward?”

He nodded.

“Even now? By the look of her, I would have thought her of age.”

“She is but eighteen, last July.”

“Eighteen? I had no idea of her being so young.” She glanced over at Georgiana again. “Good heavens, is that Sir John Wilcox prattling at her? Perhaps we should go rescue her. No, we must. I cannot imagine how he got his reputation, you know. He is the most frightful bore.”

“Thank you, Miss Crawford,” he said, drawing her out of the set. “I am sure she would find your company much more pleasing.”
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anghraine: from the 2005 p&p: darcy standing at a piano while georgiana plays it (Default)

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