The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Darcie Rochester

  "I would like a serious reply."

  "I have yet to hear a question," he said more combatively than he intended.

  "Are you a drunkard?"

  "No . . . not to my mind at least. I am inebriated more often than I ought to be and have made a fool of myself more times than I can count, but I can go without out it. I can. I've made certain of that. It is a choice, not a compulsion. Sometimes when the pain is too overwhelming I choose oblivion."

  Primly she said, "Laudanum, I believe, is the suggested remedy for pain."

  "Laudanum is the reason I am so well acquainted with the difference between desperate desire and compulsion. I spent the months between my injury and arriving home in a laudanum induced haze. The stuff makes you its slave. Trust me when I tell you, you would rather have a drunkard for a husband than laudanum tippler. Luckily for you I am neither."

  She considered his words for a long while. He dare not look at her. He did not wish to see the judgment on her face.

  Much to his astonishment she said, "All right."

  "You believe me?"

  "Yes."

  He looked incredulous.

  "One must be able to judge a man's character quickly if one is to be successful in business. My father taught me all he knows on the subject. You give every indication of being honest and I trust my own judgment."

  Richard breathed a sigh of relief. "Right, then. I suppose you have other mortifying questions."

  "Oh yes."

  He gestured for her to continue.

  She did not pause this time. Richard would have appreciated the warning. "Do you have any venereal diseases I should be concerned about?"

  The reins snapped quite out of his conscious control. "Sorry," Richard said, presumably to the horses who had jolted forward a moment but were quickly calmed.

  "Did you hear my question?"

  Quickly he replied, "I did." He had no desire to hear her repeat it.

  "I am well aware most men visit brothels, I have no wish to censure you for your past. I simply want to know if you have picked up anything communicable during your years of wicked dissipation?" She was grinning now, the terrible woman was taking pleasure in his discomfort.

  "I have not," he replied tersely.

  "Are you certain?"

  "I was careful."

  "Do not look so discomfit, Colonel Fitzwilliam, your father subjected me to equally embarrassing queries before agreeing to offer you up."

  "Such as?"

  "He asked if I was capable of breeding given my advanced age."

  "He did not."

  "He did. I could hardly believe it."

  "Oh, I can believe he would ask, just not directly to your face."

  "I do not think he intended to put his questions to me directly, but I told my father from the start my marriage would not be arranged without me in the room. So Lord Matlock had to ask his questions to my face."

  "And what reply did you make to that impertinent question?"

  "I told him from what little I knew of breeding, failure to produce offspring is more likely to be a problem with the stallion than with the mare."

  "Yes, very true. It is the same in dogs as well, unless of course the bitch bites."

  Miss Madigan emitted outraged gasp, but then ruined the effect by laughing.

  "Your father's reply wasn't half so clever. He said, 'Not when the stallion has an excellent pedigree,'" she said, doing a fair impression of Lord Matlock's pompous manner.

  "Compared me to a horse, did he? Excellent pedigree indeed."

  "Yes, Papa found it ridiculous as well. He said it was a lucky thing we were not speaking of horses for a permanently lamed stallion would be shot, excellent pedigree not withstanding."

  Richard's smile vanished.

  Miss Madigan was immediately contrite. "Oh God, I am sorry. It was an unconscionably insensitive jest, I should not have repeated it."

  "Do not apologize. It is only the truth after all." His words were stiff. "Should we perhaps head back? I do not want your father to think I've abducted you."

  "No, I don't want to go back yet. We were getting on so well," said Miss Madigan, observing his unmoved expression she exclaimed in frustration, "Oh, damn my mouth."

  Her words brought some of that earlier amusement back to his features. "Never say that, Miss Madigan. You know how I feel about your mouth."

  She blushed prettily and for a moment Richard thought the afternoon might yet be saved but then she said, "Colonel Fitzwilliam, I do not think of you as lamed. If anything your injury it is evidence of your heroism—."

  "Please, don't."

  Her brow creased in confusion.

  "I was utterly charmed by your frankness and your unladylike cursing, please do not ruin it all by speaking like a mealy-mouthed miss. I am lamed, there is no sense in denying it."

  She looked fit to argue so he gave her no opportunity. He said,"Miss Madigan, I do not think it will work between us."

  "Why not?" There was a hint of indignation in her voice. She was already a little more attached to him than she was willing to admit.

  "People look at my injury with either disgust or pity. The former is much easier for me to bear. You are of the latter type. I cannot spend the rest of my life enduring your pity-filled glances—your sentimental nonsense about heroism. I get enough from my family as it is."

  Her expression hardened. Coldly she said, "If you cannot abide seeing pity in someone's eyes, I imagine looking in the mirror is quite out of the question. You might turn around up ahead, I am thinking I would like to go home after all."

  Darcy was pacing the room as was his habit when anxious. Lady Matlock was perched upon a settee watching him, wearing an enigmatic smile and sipping her tea serenely. Her serenity only served to heighten his anxiety. He wanted an answer. Now. But he knew better than to interrupt her meditations.

  "Well?"

  Or maybe he did not.

  "Well?" Lady Matlock returned, mimicking his stern tone. Darcy generally found her playful nature amusing, but at the moment he was finding it frustrating.

  "Is it hopeless? Is there anything at all that can be done?"

  "I would hardly call it hopeless—not ideal, perhaps—but hopeless is too dramatic a description. And I would think what must be done is rather obvious."

  "Obvious," repeated Darcy almost menacingly. Her flippant tone was really too much to bear.

  "Yes, you must marry Miss Bennet. Sooner rather than later would be best, though I must beg for my own selfish interests that it not be too soon."

  Darcy halted his pacing, turning to her in surprise, "I must marry Miss Bennet?"

  It was what he hoped she would say. The only advice he was open to hearing, but he had never believed it was the advice she would give. Really, he had only told her as a courtesy to his relation expecting she would—with great compassion—tell him he was a fool and save him the trouble of informing Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine of his plans.

  "Yes. Did you imagine I would try to talk you out of it? I know you too well for that. No, there is really nothing else to be done about it. Now we must consider the how and the when."

  He began pacing anew. "I thought—if it was agreeable to you—even if it was not agreeable to you, I would apply for a special license and marry discreetly within a week if possible. I would return to Pemberley with Elizabeth leaving Georgiana here with you. She might yet be able to finish out the Season before the scandal comes to light."

  "Bless you, dear, you have a very innocent mind if you believe such a scandal could be kept quiet for more than a week or two. I should think it very remarkable if it made it that long. Three days before the scandal broke if I had to wager."

  "There would be no reason for it to get out so quickly. We would be wed at a church known to neither of us. Our witnesses would be chosen most carefully—."

  "I would think that in itself would guarantee the news would be all over London by the end of the day."

  Darcy loo
ked perplexed.

  "You are in love, and men in love can never think clearly so that gives you some excuse. Think, Fitzwilliam. If you marry Miss Bennet in a parish where neither of you are known, the first thing the good reverend will do once you have signed your names in the registry is race over to the house of the most distinguished family in his flock and tell them all about the extraordinary thing that has just occurred.

  "The lady of the house will write her old school friend in London, probably send it by express—because, really, these things are only worth knowing if one is the first to know—and not only will your secret be out, but it will be more interesting because of the lengths you have gone to to suppress it."

  "Perhaps Scotland?"

  "No, no. You are going about it all wrong. All this secrecy will only make it shameful. You will be married here in Town. Your uncle and I will hold a ball in honor of your engagement and Georgiana must give you a wedding breakfast—though I will help her plan it. Everything must be aboveboard. Miss Bennet will have to come stay with me, of course, once the engagement is announced."

  "Stay with you? You want Elizabeth to stay with you? I do not think my uncle—."

  Lady Matlock grinned mischievously. "Leave your uncle to me."

  "I never dreamt you would ever agree to meet with her much less invite her to stay with you."

  His aunt gave him a scolding look. "Because she is your mistress?"

  "Yes."

  "Does anyone know she is your mistress?"

  "No—yes, Charles Bingley."

  Lady Matlock waved her hand dismissively. "We are speaking of the ton, dear. If no one knows, it didn't happen. I am sure if you want to marry her she must be quite a lady. We will get on wonderfully."

  Darcy finally ceased his pacing and fell into the chair opposite her. A smile came to his lips. "I am getting married," he whispered in a reverential tone.

  "It is good to see you so happy."

  His brow creased again. Those lines would soon be permanent."You think by making it public the scandal will be lessened?" he asked doubtfully.

  "Oh, no. Absolutely not. Not at first at least," she said with a laugh. "We must all prepare ourselves for a most brutal few months, your Miss Bennet especially. The wedding should be at the end of the Season which will make the gossip easier to bear, but it will also make it essential Miss Bennet it seen as much as possible from the time the engagement is announced until the wedding.

  "I will make introductions. It will be difficult—most will snub her, but there are those who will be sympathetic, and those who value my influence. We will weather the storm. No, no it shan't be that bad. Hardly a storm—more like one of those surprising spring rains, a momentary downpour but once it's over the sun comes out and it is like it never happened.

  "Well, perhaps that isn't quite the right metaphor. The fact that her sister is so flagrantly fallen is not helpful, it will be an embarrassment of a recurring nature any time the sister does anything particularly scandalous. But some will think it makes her interesting. She will receive invites from those who simply want to leer at her as if she were an exotic animal in a menagerie. It will not be a comfortable thing for her to be a spectacle, however it is necessary. I will help her choose which invitations to accept and with time she will make a place for herself on her own merits.

  "Goodness, I am going on, am I not? The point I am trying to make is, while it will be unpleasant at first, by not hiding away you are showing all the gossips they cannot hurt you. They will try to prick you with their sharp tongues, but when you do not bleed they will lose interest and move on to the next poor fool who dares to marry for love."

  "It is that easy?"

  "Easy? Were you not listening? Did any of that sound easy to you? There is much to be endured. But I suppose none of it is as terrible as you have built it up to be in your head. You always were an anxious child."

  Her mention of his childhood brought one of his many suppressed worries to mind. "My parents—," he began.

  "I think ultimately would have wanted you to be happy."

  "I am not certain . . . ." Darcy trailed off. He knew, to his father at least, Lady Celia would have seemed the perfect match. But it had been that lady's behavior the previous evening that had made Darcy certain he must marry Elizabeth immediately whatever the consequences.

  "Nor am I. But there is absolutely no way of knowing. And it does no good to fixate on what might have been or might be."

  "I am getting married," Darcy whispered again, his tone still revealed his amazement, but now it also laid bare his resolve.

  "You are. Though I must ask for a very selfish favor."

  "Whatever you wish."

  "Always so obliging. You will make the perfect husband," Lady Matlock quipped with a chuckle. "Will you delay the announcement of your engagement for a few weeks more—a month at most? I would like for Richard's betrothal to be finalized—if it is to be at all which I think it shall for she is just the sort of lady to intrigue him. I do not think Mr. Madigan would mind a little scandal, but I cannot be sure and I think this marriage is precisely what Richard needs. It will give him . . . ."

  "Purpose?" Darcy supplied.

  "Yes, exactly."

  "I have no wish to endanger Richard's match with Miss Madigan. It will be no great trouble to me to delay the announcement, especially since Elizabeth has not yet agreed to be my wife."

  "She will, dear."

  "She has refused me twice now."

  "She will have you in the end. Stubborn women are always terribly romantic beneath their thorny exteriors."

  He regarded her dubiously.

  Lady Matlock was about to tease him further, but then she noticed a figure hovering uncertainly at the drawing room door. "I see you lurking, Georgiana. Come in and hear the wonderful news."

  Georgiana entered reluctantly, her eyes on Darcy. She had not spoken properly to her brother since their argument earlier that week.

  "It seems this season our family must suffer through an abundance of weddings. Your brother is to be married. I believe you've met the lady—Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

  "Oh, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana cried, her stormy expression instantly cleared. "Oh, I'm so happy for you."

  She raced into her brother's arms and embraced him, all animosity quite forgotten.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lizzy heard Darcy reluctantly making his way down the stairs and wondered what he must be thinking.

  I daresay he expects to find me doing something shocking like laboring over dinner. The notion made her laugh.

  When he had arrived unexpectedly early she had bid Mrs. Walters to send him her way without revealing to him what she was up to. Something told her he would not enter the kitchen if he knew what she was about.

  Darcy crossed the threshold and surveyed the room. It took a moment for his gaze to find her; when his eyes finally landed on her she was satisfied to see them widen, to hear his sharp intake of breath.

  "I've given the servants the rest of the day off, I hope you don't mind. If you want refreshment you will have to make do with what paltry offerings I can arrange."

  He gave no indication of having heard her. His eyes were still locked on her, his expression still comically shocked. One would think he had never seen a naked woman before.

  "You are bathing," he observed in that calm, dry manner he always had when he was anything but calm.

  Lizzy grinned up at him as she luxuriated in the generously proportioned copper tub. It was a remarkable vessel, a significant improvement over the shallow hipbath she and her sisters had used at their Bread Street flat. With her knees bent she could submerge herself completely in the steaming hot water.

  Darcy averted his eyes as if the grin had pushed her over the line into indecency. Her grin widened. "As you see."

  "In the kitchen."

  "It is so much easier for the servants if one takes one's bath in the kitchen rather than have them heft all the water upstairs. It is
how we always did it at home. Is it not what you do?" she asked knowing very well it was not.

  His gaze returned to her. He swallowed nervously, much to her delight. "My house in Town has piped water and Cook would never allow me to visit the kitchens at Pemberley much less bathe in them."

  Again he averted his gaze.

  "You are thinking my bathing habits are gauche, aren't you?"

  "If I have had a coherent thought since entering this room it has certainly not been a judgment of your bathing habits."

  Lizzy chortled, an impish sparkle in her eyes. Soapy water veiled her form, but not well enough to prevent the suggestion of her nudity. He had never wanted her so much.

  "Elizabeth, what are you trying to do to me?"

  "I hadn't the slightest idea when you would arrive, you can hardly accuse me of planning this."

  Unconsciously he took a step forward, closer to the trap. "This is not a seduction, then?"

  She laughed again. She must know what her laugh, her dimpled cheeks, her shining eyes, did to him. "Oh, yes. I think it must be. Is it working?"

  Another step closer. "You know it is."

  Do I know? It had been over a week since they had been intimate. Rationally she knew it must be the epiphany he had experienced in the brothel that had made him unwilling to lie with her, but over the last few days insecurity had crept in. She longed for his touch yet he seemed perfectly capable of keeping things chaste between them forever. She had begun to fear his desire had run its course, his obvious arousal now was most gratifying.

  She was tempted to exaggerate her movements as she washed in an effort to entice him, but she had never been a coquette and had no idea of how to go about it without making herself a fool. Darcy was finding it an enticing enough performance as it was. He silently leaned against the worktable looking like a man at war with himself.

  "When I was a child we would have our baths on Saturday evening right before bed because we could not be trusted—no, truly just I could not be trusted— to be clean for church any other way. All five of us would go down to the kitchen and take our baths one by one in the same tub of water. I was always last because I was the grimiest."