The boy launched himself at Richard, who effortlessly maneuvered him around and into a chokehold. Lizzy screamed and the crowd broke out in utter chaos. Darcy pushed his way through the madness.
"Richard, let him go before you kill him."
Much to Darcy's relief, his cousin obeyed his command, loosing his grip upon the youth. Unfortunately the boy was not yet ready to surrender. He brought his elbow sharply into Richard's gut. That blow he might have withstood, but it was followed by a strike to his bad leg which sent him toppling onto the floor. The youth jumped atop him, fists flying with inexpert vigor.
Darcy grasped the boy by the collar and tossed him easily at Bingley who restrained him. One amateur pugilist secure, Darcy turned his attention to the more dangerous aggressor. On the floor Richard was safely out of play. The Colonel had too much pride to carry a cane, but his lame leg made him incapable of rising from a prone position without assistance.
Darcy offered his hand and Richard took it, his expression a mix of shame and despair. Once he had hauled his cousin to his feet, Darcy said, "I think we've had enough excitement for one evening, let us go home."
In reply, Richard decked him. The blow caught Darcy in the mouth and sent him reeling backwards, crashing gracelessly into a table. Richard was on him before he had time to rebound. Darcy had the advantage in height, but Richard was broader built and more experienced at fighting. They grappled for several moments before Richard arose the victor, pinning Darcy down and delivering a quick succession of blows to his face.
The injured leg was Richard's obvious weakness, but Darcy refused to take advantage of it. He also refused to be beaten to death by his cousin in a second-rate brothel.
With swift vengeance, he brought his knee up ruthlessly between Richard's legs.
The effect was immediate.
"Buggering son of a whore!" the Colonel swore as he rolled off Darcy.
Darcy stood up shakily. The room spun.
"That was a dishonorable shot. You are no gentleman," Richard said, still curled up on the floor, holding his groin.
"First rule of fighting: protect your bollocks. You taught me that when we were children, do you remember?"
"Christ, I could kill you right now."
"You already nearly did."
Bingley shoved through the onlookers. "Good lord," he cried when he saw the state of Darcy's face.
"It is not as bad as it looks," said Darcy, though he was not at all certain he spoke truthfully. "Help me get this sot off the floor. We're leaving."
"Darcy, I'm sorry, man, I don't know what came over me," Richard said once they were outside. Bingley had walked up the street in search of a conveyance for hire, leaving Darcy to support his cousin and he was struggling to keep them both upright.
"A goodly amount of gin, I should think."
"It's not only the drink. I think I'm bound for Bedlam. I get so angry—I can't control it." Darcy studied his cousin with a worried mien. Since returning from the war Richard had had several episodes of belligerency—yelling, cursing, but never actual violence. Until tonight.
Before Darcy could think of something comforting to say, Richard began to weep.
"She was the one good thing I had left, Darcy, the one good thing. Why couldn't I have just one good thing?"
Darcy felt certain his cousin was not speaking of Lizzy the red-haired harlot.
Richard's quiet weeping turned to wracking sobs. "A broken man," he blubbered, "He'll have no broken man for his daughter, that's what he said. Damn him. Damn her. Damn them all."
A carriage stopped at the curb and Bingley descended. Shock was evident on his face as he beheld Richard wailing unabashedly. It was not done for a gentleman to show emotion so openly, but at that moment Darcy dearly wished he might forget his dignity and sob along with him.
Chapter Fourteen
It was a fool thing to do, coming here, Darcy thought as he beheld Elizabeth. She was upright in bed, sound asleep, the book she had been reading on the floor. She would have a powerful neck ache come morning.
Perhaps it would be a mercy to wake her. He faltered at the threshold, unsure what he should do. One light of the candelabra by her bedside guttered out, drowned in its own wax. He wondered how long she had held off sleep before it had overtaken her. It was only an hour till dawn.
Richard's agitation had proven difficult to calm. Darcy had taken him back to his townhouse not wanting to expose his cousin to the Earl's censure. Unfortunately Richard's howling woke Lady Catherine who insisted on summoning her physician. Dr. Mead, true to his type, prescribed laudanum which Richard would have nothing to do with, not being as he put it, "a hysterical old hag." The good doctor then became a little forceful in his tactics and the night almost erupted in violence once more. Darcy was obliged to escort the seething physician out with obviously insincere apologies whilst the little man called Richard a madman and swore never to come to the address again.
By this time most of the household staff had been roused by the noise. Cook took over Richard's care, plying him with chamomile tea and sweets until he was quite docile again. With Richard at rest, Darcy had hoped to make his escape to Elizabeth's before the hour was dreadfully late, but the disturbance had given Darcy's face enough time to blossom into a beatific display of black and purple bruises and Simon had refused to grant him a clean shirt until his wounds were treated.
He ought to have waited until a respectable hour to call on her, but he had wanted to see her before he lost his resolve. But as soon as he had laid eyes on her all resolve was lost. He couldn't speak the words he needed to say.
As if feeling his eyes on her, Elizabeth suddenly jolted awake. Her hand shot to her neck and she massaged the stiffness there then, noticing his presence, she regarded him curiously through sleep rimmed eyes.
"Have you been brawling?"
"No. Well, yes, in a manner of speaking, but I was not a willing combatant."
Lizzy gasped as she approached him, now fully appreciating the extent of the damage. She grasped his chin, carefully caressing his cheek.
He winced. "My valet has already fussed over it. No need to stir your compassion."
In reply to her expectant stare, Darcy considered giving the answer he had given everyone else: that he and Richard had been set upon by footpads. However, he could not lie to her. This woman who had seen the worst of him would always have the truth.
"I went to a brothel."
Shock—confusion—hurt crossed her features then her expression became blank. "Ah."
"I did not . . . patronize the establishment—well, I did but only a drink. This is coming out all wrong." Lizzy was reminded of Miss Darcy's blundering apologies. It almost made her smile. Almost.
"You need not explain yourself to me."
"Yes, I must. I absolutely must."
He sat down heavily upon the bed and Lizzy took a place beside him. After a moment to gather his wits he continued, "My cousin, Richard—Colonel Fitzwilliam—was . . . distraught. He insisted I visit a club with him, which turned out to be a brothel though I had no notion of it being so when I agreed to accompany him. Once we were there he was provoked into a brawl by a stupid lad who was jealous over the favors of a . . . young lady."
"Yet somehow you are the one with the battered face."
"Bingley and I were forced to intervene to keep Richard from killing the boy."
"Mr. Bingley has been brawling in brothels as well?"
"He has," Darcy replied, glad of the amusement in her tone.
"I'm all astonishment."
"Indeed."
"So you are telling me a mere boy did that to your face? You are not much of one for brawling are you?"
"No, Richard did this. And no, I'm not."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam beat you? Goodness, he seemed so amiable."
"He is. Rather, he was. He was deployed to the Continent—Spain, during the last of the war. Only a few regiments of the Horse Guards were sent, he was . . . unfortunate."<
br />
"He was injured?"
"Yes, and not only in body."
Lizzy gently squeeze his hand, not knowing how else to respond.
"Elizabeth, I must tell you . . . I have realized tonight that I must—."
Lizzy interrupted before he could finish. She could see the goodbye in his eyes and could not endure it. Not yet. "There is something I must tell you as well."
With relief disguised as chivalry, he let the lady speak first. Lizzy outlined how she had met with Miss Darcy on her walk the previous morning.
"You did not see the letter?" Darcy asked when she had finished her account.
"No, from what you have told me and the reaction she displayed, I thought it likely her improper suitor had decided to be noble and end the association, though of course that is only an assumption."
"A credible assumption."
"She gave no indication of her heartbreak yesterday?"
"No, she kept to her room, allowing only the servants and the physician entry. Dr. Mead said it was an egregiously sprained ankle. I attributed her refusal to see me to the injury. I should have been more insistent."
"I hardly think it would have helped. Give her time, I am sure she will speak to you when she is ready."
"Will she? She has been exchanging letters with someone, presumably Friedler, for God knows how long—."
"Or perhaps she will not speak to you," Lizzy said, with teasingly applied censure.
"Quite right, I do have the tendency to play the officious older brother."
"I have found it is nearly impossible to balance the roles of friend and guardian to one's younger siblings. Falling to much to one side or the other leads to resentment in both parties. It would be better if parents lived to a ripe old age and allowed siblings to simply be siblings, but alas life is terribly imperfect. I am sure you have done your best. And I am sure this correspondence was very innocent."
"It does not matter if it was innocent, if it had been anyone but you who had spied her—."
"But it was me, and speaking of spying she seemed to think you had hired me for that very purpose."
"To spy on her?"
Lizzy nodded.
"Me—not our aunt?"
"Your aunt was her second guess."
"I must be very officious indeed if she thinks me capable of that."
"To be fair you have hired me, but for a very different purpose."
Darcy was not at all amused by her attempt at humor. His eyes went woeful at the corners, he began his farewell anew, "Elizabeth—."
"Your sister did mention something I wished to ask you about."
Lizzy began worrying the sash of her dressing gown. Darcy clasped her hands to stop her. "Ask me whatever you wish."
"Why have you not told me about your son?"
A shade passed over his countenance. "I have no son."
"I am to understand Miss Darcy has another brother I am not aware of then?"
"Lewis is not my child, though he is Anne's."
Darcy paused. Lizzy struggled to take her own advice and wait until he was ready to speak.
"Before our marriage Anne had a romance with Mr. Blake Essex, as was then. Now he is the Earl of Linton and is the heir to his grandfather the Duke of Edgecombe, but at the time he was a known scoundrel with no money and no prospect of inheritance.
"I know not why he came to Kent or how he gained entry to Rosings, but Anne was charmed by him—fully taken in—hardly surprising given how little interaction she had with gentlemen—with anyone really. As you might expect Lady Catherine did not approve of the match and told him he would not be allowed to marry Anne."
"Allowed? Had Miss de Bourgh not reached her majority? Wasn't her choice of husband and, indeed, Rosings itself hers?"
"You met Anne, could you imagine that demure creature standing up to her mother?"
"I cannot, but from your earlier assertion I must assume she did something much bolder."
"Is it bold? Lust I think is so easy to give into—the consequences so easy to forget. Or to not comprehend at all, as I think was Anne's case.
"Essex was easily dissuaded by my aunt, he was never one for anything that looked too much like work. He went off to London and within the month was in pursuit of another wealthy young lady, whom he married. Anne was inconsolable. She wrote me pleading for me to honor our betrothal, a betrothal I must add that was entirely the invention of her mother.
"Nevertheless the urgency of her letter moved me, I traveled to Rosings. There I found myself playing the fool in a scheme contrived by Anne to guilt me into marriage. Lady Catherine, I believe unwittingly though I have not been able to forgive her regardless, played her part well. She took my sudden arrival as a sign I had finally come to my senses and decided to make an offer to Anne. Anne's manner towards myself, meanwhile, had changed completely. Previously she had never shown any partiality towards me, indeed she was always fonder of Richard and I thought she perhaps had hopes he would make her an offer someday.
"She used every opportunity to press the point of our engagement and to tell me how much she looked forward to being a wife. I felt trapped. I had never imagined she had any expectation of the sort. Though she was very reserved and fragile, I had always known her to be sensible. I had assumed she knew the engagement to be one of Lady Catherine's delusions.
"As you know her scheme worked. I felt terribly guilty that I had not done enough to suppress this notion of a promised engagement, and so, as I had no attachments and no hope of being with the one I truly loved, I surrendered.
"Lady Catherine wanted to make the wedding a grand event but Anne insisted—that should have been a warning to me—Anne insisted against her mother's wishes on a short engagement and a simple, private wedding.
"On our wedding night Anne confessed her perfidy. The next morning I sent her to London and I did not lay eyes on her again until five months later, the day she died. The marriage was never consummated—I considered an annulment but the shame that such an ordeal would bring upon our family . . . and the child . . . I knew child would be left a bastard. Thus Anne died a Darcy and Lewis was born a Darcy."
"I am so sorry," Lizzy whispered.
"Do not be sorry, Elizabeth. I deserve none of your pity. For all Anne did to me, I did far worse to her," Darcy said savagely.
"What do you mean?"
"I killed her."
He looked up to find her eyes wide with disbelief. "I killed her," he repeated.
Lizzy waited.
"She tried to apologize, all she wanted was forgiveness. She wrote letter after letter, trying to explain. I finally wrote her back. I told her all of her letters went immediately into the fire, unopened. I would hear no apology from her, there could be no forgiveness for such deceit. The letters stopped.
"Two weeks before her death she wrote again. She was convinced she would die in childbed, would I not come to London and allow her to make her apologies face to face? I did not write back. Believing she needed my forgiveness to find peace in the next life—nine months pregnant in the heart of winter—she undertook the journey from London to Pemberley. She arrived exhausted and weak, already in labor. She was dead before the next morning.
"If I had but answered one of her letters, if I could have put aside my own injuries, my pride, she would have never done anything so foolish."
"You are not responsible for her choices."
"She was my wife. No matter her sins—she was my wife. I had a duty to her and I failed. I failed and all I have done is fail since. I have never even seen the child. Lewis. I cannot face him. How can I possibly explain?"
He frantically searched her face for an answer. A tear coursed down her cheek.
"Now I have made you weep. I am sorry."
Lizzy pulled him closer, folding herself into his chest. She knew he was close to weeping himself and wanted to give him privacy, give him permission to let his tears fall.
"It was not your fault, Fitzwilliam. None of it."
> Darcy shook softly and she knew he had finally allowed himself to cry. She held him in silent comfort until dawn began to peek through the windows and Darcy stirred. She lightly kissed his cheeks, smudging away the tracks of his tears.
"You are an angel, Elizabeth Bennet. Your ruin might be the worst of my sins."
"No, that is all my own, you cannot claim it. Choices—people make them and even in all of your magnificence you cannot control them."
He shook his head.
"How can I ease your suffering?
"You cannot. I deserve my suffering."
"You relish your suffering. You think you deserve punishment, and since no one is else is holding you responsible for your crimes you seek your own penance, but you take too much on yourself. Yes, it might have been better for you both if you had given Anne the forgiveness she sought, but one cannot demand absolution from another. She has put this burden on your soul and I think it the worst of her sins.
"Perhaps you have too much pride and perhaps you hold too fast to your resentment, but you are not a murderer. Her sad tale is entirely of her own making. Indeed, if you had had less honor you might have been spared your role in it."
"Less gullibility, you mean."
"I think you should visit Lewis. That should be your atonement if you have anything to atone for."
"I cannot face him. Not yet."
"Think on it," Lizzy urged, "I believe it will do you both good. He is just a child, Fitzwilliam."
Darcy nodded.
"Do you think perhaps you should get some sleep now?"
"No, my valet insists if I sleep I will sleep the sleep of the dead and then be dead in my sleep."
Simon had cheerfully told him, "I had an uncle who got banged up like that, went to sleep, never woke up. I wouldn't go to bed unless you're ready for your holy reward, sir." Darcy considered it the soundest medical advice he had heard all evening.
"Wonderful, I have all manner of ridiculous stories to tell. I've been waiting for an audience who had no choice but to listen to them."
Lizzy helped him pull off his boots, then she herded him up onto the pillow she had vacated.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 11
