"Elizabeth—."
"Don't do it. I am not ready for farewell yet."
"Nor I. I came here with the intention of letting you go. After what I have seen at that brothel . . . those women. I cannot do that to you."
"You aren't doing that to me! It is not at all the same thing." She hadn't the slightest idea what a brothel was like, but she could guess well enough.
"Is it not?"
She shook her head vehemently.
"I had intended to end this, but I cannot. I love you. I need you. Marry me, Elizabeth."
Chapter Fifteen
Lizzy squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her brow wrinkled as if she were experiencing the worst sort of headache.
"Will you marry me?" Darcy asked again, his voice soft but sure. Her pained expression troubled him but then he took her hand and she did not pull away. A surge of hope swept incautiously through his heart.
Yet again the serpent tempts me, Lizzy thought. She allowed herself to imagine briefly the opportunities she might have if she assented. The security, the comforts that would be available to herself and her sisters if she became the right and proper Mrs. Darcy.
Then she imagined the opportunities Miss Darcy would lose, the censure Fitzwilliam and all his relation would face. Their union would be joyful at first, but it was doomed to fester into a grotesque nightmare. No decision made in selfishness and desperation could lead to anything else.
She opened her eyes and let the regretful tears pour forth. "You know I cannot."
"I do not know it!" There was no softness to his voice now.
"What of your sister?"
Darcy looked away moodily. He could have no answer for that.
"You are not thinking clearly. You are tired and upset."
"I am always tired and upset." He was instantly embarrassed by how petulant and defeated he sounded.
"Fitzwilliam—."
He could not stand her composure. The apology—the pity in her tone. "I know it is selfish of me. I will be selfish, I need to be selfish. I want this agony to end and you are the only one who soothes it!"
"Fitzwilliam, listen—."
She reached for him, trying to take his hands in hers, trying to pull him back to reason. He shied from her grasp. "And I have wronged you. I have wronged you grievously. I must make amends. We cannot go on in this manner and I cannot give you up."
Her hands stopped reaching, falling limply in her lap. "Ah, so we get to the crux of it. You think me broken, you seek to fix me."
"No, Elizabeth—."
"I am broken. We are both shattered people in need of repair. You seek to gather all the pieces and put me back together, make me the virtuous Miss Elizabeth you knew in Hertfordshire, but she doesn't exist anymore. I need to remake myself. As do you."
Darcy sighed soulfully.
"You do not need a wife. You need a friend, a confidante."
"Can a wife not fulfill that role?"
"Perhaps . . . perhaps she could in the right circumstances, but these are not the right circumstances. If you marry me in order to recompense for my lost virtue I will be yet another responsibility to you, a duty— a beloved duty perhaps, but a duty all the same. Friendship cannot thrive where guilt and obligation reign."
"Yet friendship is not possible between us in our current circumstances either."
"I do not see why it is not."
"How can there be true friendship, true love when one partner has degraded the other?"
Now it was Lizzy's turn to sigh. "You must abandon this mistaken belief that I am somehow damaged. I do not feel I am a victim of your lechery. I did at first, perhaps, but no longer. I came here as a willing participant. I am as vulnerable to the effects of lust as you are."
"You should have never been put into a position where such vulnerabilities could be exploited."
"When you insist on taking all the blame you make me into a defenseless creature. I had education and sense and some little money. I had choices. Not good choices to be sure, but choices.
"It might surprise you to know a man proposed to me the very day you and I became reacquainted. He was old enough to be my father and uncultured, but respectable. I thought to myself, 'It will not be so bad. He can have no more than twenty years to live.' Such vile, shameful thoughts I had and yet before your offer I had nearly convinced myself to have him.
"After I read your letter I asked myself if it would be any more virtuous, any more respectable to marry a man I could not love, a man whose life I was already counting down by the day, rather than become your mistress. I concluded it wasn't. I chose ruin Mr. Darcy, make no mistake."
"That does not change the fact I should have offered you marriage from the start."
"You will recall you did."
"That is not what I meant—."
"Yes, I know. But you must see it doesn't matter. Even if I did believe I was in need of redemption through marriage I could never agree to it. It do so would be to forfeit your sister's respectability for our own happiness. And a fleeting happiness it would be if it were marred by the guilt of such selfishness."
Darcy drew breath as if to argue then finding nothing he had not already said, let it out in a defeated whoosh. Lizzy nestled closer to him. She wondered if there was any part of his abused face she might bestow a comforting kiss to without causing significant discomfort, finding no promising spot she settled for a bit of neck left exposed by his loosened cravat.
He jerked away, leaving Lizzy to think she had jolted some unseen injury but then he seized her arms. His expression was wild. "We could leave England. Travel the Continent, settle in Italy perhaps. I trust my steward well enough to manage the estate in my absence. If we abandoned society and Georgiana gave off the appearance of having cut me, she would be safe. She would understand it was what I needed to do for my conscience—for my happiness."
"Do you not hear yourself? Run away, abandon your duties, give up your place in society! How could I claim to love you and then allow you to make such sacrifices for me?"
There was a long silence while both parties attempted to process their astonishment at this unexpected announcement.
Darcy recovered first. "You love me?"
"I—yes, I do . . . I think."
"You think?" A question asked with both desperate hope and gentle mockery.
"I love you . . . probably."
"Your insistence on qualifying your statement leads me to wonder at its veracity."
The sideways glace she threw his way told him she found his fastidiousness a little trying, but the grin that quirked at the corner of her lips told him she found it charming as well.
"I love you, though I have not the slightest idea why."
Darcy grinned back at her, though it hurt a great deal to do so. He thought he might never stop smiling, but then—
"You love me, but you will not marry me."
"Because I love you I will not marry you."
Something in her tone must have convinced him of the futility of further argument at present, for the next words he spoke were, "This is not the last you will hear of this."
"I did not think it would be. You are a very determined man."
"Good God, Darcy, I had hoped it wasn't as bad as I had imagined," the Colonel said as he fell heavily into the chair opposite his cousin's desk. His eyes surveyed Darcy's bruises with regret.
"Don't trouble yourself," Darcy said anticipating his apology. "I undoubtedly deserved it. It had been a long while since I'd had a proper fist fight."
"Yes, your face does tell the story of a man rather out of practice."
"I got at least one hit on you so says your cheek. . . .Unless the boy did it."
"I would like to think it was you."
"As would I," said Darcy with a grin.
Despite his worry for Richard, he was grinning like a maniac. He had spent the remainder of the morning with Elizabeth. They had taken their breakfast in bed and she had told him every amusing tale she could
think of then he had told a few in turn and, though he was certain they were far less amusing than hers had been, her eyes had danced encouragingly. No further mention of marriage had been made, yet at least she knew—knew he did not think her a passing distraction to be used up and tossed away, knew he was willing to sacrifice everything for her.
He had promised to return that evening and she had promised to kiss every inch of his skin that was not bruised upon his doing so. Her promise, though most invigorating to think about, would have to be broken. He had no intention of taking her to bed again until she was his wife. And she would be his wife. He did not yet know how, but he would find some way for them.
Richard's voice brought him back to the present. "Why are you smiling like a lunatic? I hope I did not inflict permanent damage."
"I am merely pleased with life."
This statement appeared not to have assured Richard of his sanity in the least.
Mostly to give himself time to order his thoughts, Darcy set about selecting a bottle of port from the nearby cabinet and filling a glass midway. He offered the glass to Richard who declined it with a nauseated grimace.
"I am never drinking again."
"I will hold you to that."
"I hope you will. I count on you to never let me make such a fool of myself again."
You expect too much of me, thought Darcy, but he held the quip back. Richard hardly needed ribbing at a time like this.
"Out with it. You are nobly trying to hold back a sardonic remark. That countenance, so often remarked upon as being stoic by unobservant fools, is tattling on you."
"I'm sure whatever wit you might attribute to me is far cleverer than anything I've been thinking. Riposte as you see fit, I will say 'touché' and we shall carry on as friends rather than opponents."
"Cousin, while I cannot deny that I bawled like an infant in your presence not eight hours ago, you must not think me so soft now that I cannot take a little mocking. Your evasion is far more insulting than any insult you might have come up with."
Richard snatched the glass Darcy had left untouched upon the desk and took a sip. He immediately turned a sickly shade of pale green. "Hair of the dog—nonsense," he spat in a harsh whisper.
Darcy feared for the carpet. "I can ring for more wholesome refreshment."
"No, no, I'm fine."
Whatever he was, it wasn't fine. Darcy intended to discover the source of his cousin's bereavement. But not quite yet. He had a few preliminary questions before he dared plunge into to the heart of the matter.
"What were you trying to get at last night with all your talk of mistresses and Miss Bennet?"
"I was merely tossing stones into your placid waters to see what sort of waves I might produce. Is there something I ought to have been trying to get at?"
Darcy observed his cousin carefully. Sensing no duplicity in Richard's manner, he shrugged. "Not at all. It simply seemed a most personal attack. I wondered what had brought it on—if I had done something in particular to anger you."
"No. It is nothing you did. I—."
"Yes?"
"I'd rather not discuss this."
"Might I at least know her name?"
Richard feigned ignorance.
"The name of the lady who has undone you so completely," Darcy pressed.
"Her name doesn't matter. Suffice it to say her father does not think me equal to her and she will not defy him, not if it means being stripped of her dowry and living on my measly allowance. She said it was ghastly of me to have asked her to give it all up and I suppose it was. Damn selfish of me, it's true."
"Sometimes we all must do selfish things for the sake of our sanity."
Richard looked at him sharply. "What would you know of selfishness?" The Darcy he knew was a man so bound to duty he would sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of family honor.
Darcy laughed darkly. "More than you can ever know."
"You have your secrets too, I see."
Darcy nodded. His earlier joviality had evaporated completely.
"A woman?"
"Is there any other kind of secret worth having?"
Before Richard could answer, the study door burst open.
"Gad, it is worse than I imagined!" cried the Earl of Matlock upon laying eyes on Darcy. He hobbled with surprising alacrity to his son's side and none-to-gently grabbed Richard's chin. "Well, yours is not too terrible at least. You might be presentable in a day or two."
"Good morning, Father. Dreadfully good to see you. What the hell are you doing here so early and presumably uninvited?"
"It is past noon, boy."
Richard's reply was interrupted by the arrival of the butler, who was urgently gasping for breath. "Lord Matlock to see you, sir," he announced between wheezes.
"Yes, I see him, thank you, Barnes," Darcy said as solemnly as he could manage.
"Now, account for the state of yourselves!" the Earl demanded before Barnes had finished closing the door.
"We were set upon by footpads."
"At least ten of them."
"More like twenty, I should think." Darcy said, with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.
Richard understood the game perfectly. "If Charles Bingley had not come to our aid our carcasses would be feeding the rats of Seven Dials by now."
"Charles Bingley fought off twenty men?" asked the Earl in a tone between disbelief and admiration. He did, not as a rule, approve of Bingley. He felt Bingley's family was not yet far enough removed from trade for him to be an intimate of his nephew.
"Yes, he is an expert at fisticuffs."
"And the rapier. My God, what that man can do with a rapier."
"Bingley carries a rapier, does he?" Lord Matlock's tone was now entirely of disbelief.
"He keeps one secreted in his walking stick."
The Earl harrumphed. "Are the two of you quite done now?"
"I think we could fabricate more if pressed," replied Darcy.
"Catherine says you were fighting in a brothel."
"Us? Fighting? In a brothel? Unlikely. I do wonder where dear Aunt Cathy gets these things. It pains me to say this, but I think it might be time to find a place for her. I am not necessarily suggesting Bedlam— though it might prove the last resort for such a hard case. I've heard there are several pleasant homes in the Outer Hebrides for the chronically irritating, forgive me, chronically ill."
The Earl cracked a smile at his son's wit, but quickly stowed it. "I know the truth of it. She had you followed."
"Of course she bloody did."
"Now, you must find me a chair, Richard, as my nephew has apparently lost all sense of hospitality."
Darcy rose before Richard could trouble himself. He picked up a chair and shoved it at his uncle, nearly knocking the man over.
"An ottoman as well. My feet are killing me."
Darcy pretend not to hear and returned to his chair. The Earl whimpered.
"Oh, shut it, you gouty old goat. I've got French lead in my leg and you don't see me forever propping my feet up."
"You will not insult me, boy. I am your sire!"
"Only if you believe what Mother says."
"You will not insult your mother!"
"Quite right. That was too far. Lady Miranda Fitzwilliam is the very example of feminine perfection. Who knows what the poor woman did to deserve either of us."
The Earl was appeased by Richard's contrition. "I know you've had difficulties adjusting to your . . . your condition. And I know the rejection of a lady can be hard on a man. I told you he would never allow it."
"Yes, you told me. Are you very pleased to be right?"
"I am not. He is a foolish man, but he is a foolish man with a lot of power."
Darcy attended their conversation feeling very much like an eavesdropper. He wasn't about to excuse himself from his own study, however. That the Earl should know the identity of the lady who had snubbed Richard was most surprising and Darcy was curious to hear whatever might be reveal
ed.
"There are other women, Richard. Lady—."
"I do not wish to discuss this, Father," Richard interrupted his eyes shooting towards Darcy in warning. "I made my offer, I was rebuffed on grounds of want of gold and excess of lead. It is a pity alchemy is only a fantasy. And it is a pity I did not mark you when you told me to join the clergy. The proper place for second sons—you would have us do everything properly. With your influence I might have been a bishop by now. I would be whole and perhaps distinguished enough to have deserved a lady such as her."
"I wanted you for the clergy because I didn't want you maimed or murdered! But I knew to instruct you would do no good. You were always too spirited, too stubborn, and too brave for your own good!"
At the conclusion of the Earl's speech, father and son looked in every direction but at each other. Those words had come as close to being an expression of affection as Richard had heard his father utter in reference to himself in a good twenty years. The moment was awkward and Darcy regretted not having given them privacy.
Lord Matlock cleared his throat, not in his general affected manner but as if to banish the emotion from his voice. "Everything is as it was meant to be, and you are whole enough. She is a stupid chit, you will forget her when I tell you the news."
"What news?"
"I've found your wife."
"Good god, not that harridan! It took all I had to sneak out of Spain without her."
"Your delightful sense of humor is a credit to someone I'm sure, but it certainly isn't me."
"Don't worry, Mother will claim responsibility for my wit with great pleasure. And Wellington was much laxer in my supervision than you ever have been, I might well have a papist wife and a dark eyed child for all you know."
"Richard," Lord Matlock ground out between gritted teeth.
"Fine, I will be serious. Who is this female you propose to marry me off to?"
"Miss Tessa Madigan," replied Lord Matlock, looking exceedingly proud of himself. Darcy searched his mind for any knowledge of Miss Madigan and came up blank.
Richard was equally clueless. "Who?"
"Tessa Madigan, daughter of Giles Madigan one of the richest men in Britain."
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 12
