"If it was simply a matter of spending the rest of my days with you I could certainly do so without any reluctance, but marriage is more than that, and I am afraid . . . I am so afraid."
"Tell me what I can to do allay your fears and I will do it at once."
"It is not something you can do. The problem is what you have already done," said Lizzy with sudden clarity.
Darcy gazed at her uncomprehendingly.
"I know I have said that I take responsibility for my choices—for my ruin, and perhaps I have been too quick to assure you I have suffered no harm from this arrangement. I am not damaged—not in the way you think—no one has the power to degrade me . . . but I am hurt.
"I have been betrayed by my own heart. When this began I never thought to feel for you anything akin to affection. I had decided you were a blackguard masquerading as a gentleman and nothing would convince me otherwise. And now—how I feel for you, the honorable man I have seen you to be—I cannot reconcile it with what you have done. You can kiss my scars and tell me you will protect me from further pain, but if it was you who made the cut how can I trust you?"
"Elizabeth," whispered unthinkingly, beseechingly. He had no defense.
"You bought me! As if I was a thing to be possessed. And now, a little more than a month after having done so, you offer marriage—declare you are willing to fight for us. What have I done to be worthy in your mind now when I was not worthy before?"
"You have always been worthy, have always been priceless. The failing lies with me, Elizabeth. You have given me the strength to fight, to overcome my guilt and my pride—my cursed pride."
Lizzy shook her head. "No, it cannot be explained away. It occurs to be that one must think very meanly of a person to make such a proposition. There must be something almost like hatred—no not hatred, hatred requires too much consideration on the part of the one who hates—one must think so little of the other person as not to imagine how she will feel. One must think she is hardly a real person at all." She could no longer keep her emotions in check. Tears poured forth.
"I am sorry."
"I know. I know you are sorry. You have apologized before and it is cruel of me to revisit these old wounds and yet . . . yet to consent to be your wife as my heart wishes me to do would be to betray my good sense. We both began this affair with the intention of hurting one another—."
"I have never wanted to hurt you."
"No more of your pretty lies, Fitzwilliam, we have come to know each other too well for that. I will freely admit I consented to be your mistress with the aim of causing you injury. I convinced myself it was all for the money, but my initial thought when I read your letter and I was still reeling with pain and embarrassment was that my best means of having revenge upon you would be to agree to your proposal. Base passion without affection would not satisfy you. I knew that even then. I must have realized that you loved me, even though I doubted it, even though I am sure you did not realize you did."
"I did realize. All that I have ever wanted was to make you love me as I love you. I went about it rather stupidly I will not deny, but I always loved you."
"I cannot believe it was always love, or only love, that motivated you. For one moment at least some darker emotion prevailed, it caused you to write that letter and I want to know—I must know—you must see that I need to understand."
"I was in my cups, distraught because I knew I should end our acquaintance. Lust made a fool of my judgment—."
"No, not lust. Lust and I have formed a close acquaintance of late. I know the sort of madness it causes. That letter was not written in Lust's hand. It made a few suggestions during the composition I daresay, but your proposition was too coherent, your arguments too competent to blame the affront on lust and drink."
"What do you want of me?" Darcy asked, his tone a mix of exasperation and terror.
"The truth. The absolute worst part of you you will not even reveal to yourself. I need to see it. If I am to marry you, if I am to put myself completely at your mercy, I must meet your vilest self. I must know you have conquered him, not simply suppressed his darker tendencies."
"I don't understand how to appease you. I have confessed my sins. I am sorry. I know not how else to demonstrate my contrition."
"I do not want your contrition. I want the truth. You made a whore of me—."
"Do not call yourself that."
"Why not? It is the truth. I am a whore."
Darcy flinched. "No."
"I am. You are an intelligent man, Fitzwilliam, you must have grasped the reality of it. You have made a whore of me and worse still I have rather enjoyed my ruin. Greed and sadness and loneliness and fear of fading into the dull monotony of spinsterhood drove me to it. Lust kept me at it and yet I have no regrets. No shame. Do you really want to marry an unrepentant whore?"
"You are not—of course I want to marry you. I am the villain here. You have nothing to repent. You have no reason for regrets, no reason for shame."
"If you have only weakness of the flesh to confess, does not a greater share of the blame then fall to me? I accepted your offer with malice in my heart after all."
"I made the offer. What do you wish to hear? That I was miserable and bitter and I wanted to hurt you because even after all you endured you were not? That I wanted to possess you, destroy your innocence, bring you low as I had brought myself? Do you want to hear that I am despicable? You already know this. Do you want to hear that I am unworthy of you? You already know that as well.
"But I always loved you. Even when I thought I hated you, even when I blamed my suffering on your refusal of my hand. Even when I wanted to hurt you, wanted to show you you were not as good as you thought . . . and I have done so. My God, I have done so."
He stood up quickly; the comb, forgotten, clattered to the floor.
"Darcy!" She caught his hand before he could leave. He wiped a tear from his eye and sat back down. He refused to meet her gaze.
"Fitzwilliam, I am sorry."
"No, no, I am sorry. Stop with your apologies they are more agonizing than your accusations."
"I am sorry I made you speak of these things. It was not done merely to cause you distress, I needed to hear it. You needed to hear it. The corruption in our souls has to be acknowledged in order to be truly conquered."
"You think I can conquer it?"
"I do. My heart wants desperately to believe you are an honorable man. My head is a little more cautious, but I am too heedlessly in love with you to mark its warnings."
Lizzy reached for him. She lifted his chin, impelling his eyes to meet her own. "I will be your wife, Fitzwilliam Darcy, if you promise not to make a fool of my heart."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fitzwilliam Darcy was the happiest of men. Excepting one difficulty everything in his life was exactly as he wished.
Excepting a few difficulties, that is.
Several difficulties would perhaps be more accurate. He could think of three offhand without any prompting. The first and most obvious was, while Elizabeth had accepted his offer, she had done so with reservation. Though her hesitation was understandable he wished, oh how he wished, she could feel as certain as he did on the subject.
The second difficulty was that they could not announce the engagement immediately. This was a simple matter of impatience, a failing he thought he had mastered long ago, yet here he was like an eager schoolboy.
And the third was he must get through an evening of frivolity and dancing without Elizabeth and without running mad.
This was just the sort of entertainment he disliked. The ball was so densely packed one could barely move without being in danger of elbowing another guest in the face. Mrs. Haddix, the hostess, had invited everyone with any claim to distinction. Indeed she was a known social climber and none of these people would be here if not for the promise of fireworks to rival Vauxhall.
If her taste in decoration displayed a certain nouveau riche gaudiness, well, occasionally on
e must tolerate such things in order to be properly entertained. Besides deriding Mrs. Haddix's taste would be the favored topic of drawing room discussions for weeks to come.
This was the place to be seen tonight, and Darcy must be seen however little he enjoyed it. He was committed to Lady Matlock's plan to reserve whatever respectability he could, and to do that she insisted they must do all they could to stay in the good graces of Society now before the scandal came out. And so he was here and determined to be agreeable.
He smiled thinking about what Elizabeth would no doubt say about his ability to be agreeable at balls.
"You are going to frighten people if you go about smiling like that. It must be the secret lady who has you grinning like a lunatic again. I will not do, Darcy."
Darcy turned. The first thing he noticed was his cousin was carrying a walking stick which he had never done in the past. Darcy began to ask about Richard's new accessory, but then deciding this was the wrong forum for such a discussion simply nodded in greeting instead.
Richard took his nod as encouragement enough to continue haranguing him, "You must return to your usual look of ennui that is so fashionable. No, yours is better than ennui. You have found a way to make what ought to be pleasure look like pain as if you have a fire poker shoved up your—Mrs. Eustice, Miss Eustice how good to see you." Richard quickly bowed to the ladies and exchanged a few pleasantries.
"Damn this is a crowd. I've never been so hot in April. Might we step into the card room? It may be cooler," Richard said when he had gotten rid of the Eustice ladies.
"I am watching Georgiana."
Richard followed Darcy's eyes to where Georgiana stood on the dance floor awaiting the next set.
"No one is going to kidnap her in this mess. Besides, my mother is here to chaperon her."
"I was thinking of dancing myself. It is the polite thing to do. Why are you not dancing with Miss Madigan? She is here I believe."
"She is, but I've done something rather stupid."
"Are you waiting for me to feign surprise?"
Darcy dodged a blow from Richard's walking stick only to step on an elderly gentleman standing behind him. After making an apology which was received with a murmur of "Young morons these days," he returned his attention to Richard.
"I've had a little tiff with her."
"Already?" Darcy's thoughts went immediately to how this complication might delay the announcement of his engagement. He internally rebuked himself for such selfishness and tried to put on a concerned expression, however, observing Richard's pleased mien he dropped the attempt.
"Yet you seem oddly pleased. Have decided against the match?"
"Oh, I want her. I'm going to have her. This tiff is a minor thing. I can fix it. I am pleased to find myself intrigued by her after—oh God, Celia," Richard broke off, his eyes on Lady Celia who had just entered the ballroom with her mother.
"I would like some explanation about her sometime."
"I've already said as much as I ever want to about her. Damn! She is coming this way. Should we hide?"
"I am feeling particularly beneficent. I will deal with her, you run along and hide like a good boy."
Richard gave him a rather hard tap in the gut with the end of his stick.
"These things are wonderfully useful—should have gotten one sooner," he said, admiring the walking stick with glee. He then limped off using the stick to part the crowd rather than lean on. "Excuse me, pardon me, make way for the cripple."
Lady Celia meanwhile was making her way towards Darcy, intentionally avoiding meeting the eyes of other guests as to not have to stop and converse. Her mother, Lady Bennington, had been thus distracted and was now entrenched in conversation with some acquaintance, yet Lady Celia strode on, chaperonless, no doubt aware of the display she was making by so single-sightedly approaching him.
"See how everyone watches us," she said once she had come up beside Darcy. She preened with pleasure under the scrutiny of the other guests.
"Most likely because you have made a spectacle of yourself," replied Darcy not caring who heard him.
A sharp, insidious look passed over her features but quickly disappeared. She tittered musically. "Oh, Mr. Darcy how droll you are."
So she wants to play it like that, Darcy thought.
"I was just so eager to see you . . . and your cousin. Pray, where has Colonel Fitzwilliam hied off to? It was almost as if he were afraid of meeting with me. I do hope his feelings have not been injured by my refusal. You must know I never intended to hurt him. He is a most charming gentleman, but my affections are reserved for someone else," she said pleasantly, giving him a meaningful glance.
Her speech was meant for those around them far more than it was for him, he knew. With an equally pleasant tone he said, "His leaving had nothing to do with you. He saw Miss Madigan. He is most taken with her, you know. I hope you did not take his attentions to you seriously, I fear he was merely amusing himself until his father found him an appropriate bride."
"I am so happy for him," she said for their audience then leaning towards Darcy she whispered harshly, "Be careful."
"I can assure you I am always most careful, Lady Celia, but what specifically do you mean to warn me of?" Darcy asked in a perfectly audible tone.
Lady Celia narrowed her eyes, displeased he refused to play by her rules.
"You will remember my father is very influential. He could make trouble for your uncle."
"Fond as I am of my uncle, no amount of familial affection could induce me to marry you." Darcy did lower his voice to communicate this point, he could never be so ungentlmanly as to insult a lady so scathingly in the hearing of others.
"I will make you sorry."
Darcy merely raised his eyebrows in reply. He pondered what she imagined she could do to him. His uncle had influence of his own, and Darcy did not think the Marquess of Bennington so much a fool as to risk whatever backlash that might come from meddling in Lord Matlock's affairs on the whim of his daughter.
Lady Bennington finally made her way over. Darcy, who had never been pleased to see the woman in his life, now found himself relieved at her presence. He felt if he had to converse with Lady Celia much longer he might be forced to make a scene.
"What a pretty pair you make," the Marchioness declared. Even as she spoke a critical eye swept over her daughter, as if she were inventorying everything wrong with her.
Then in a tone that could barely be called a whisper she hissed,"Straighten your back, Celia. What is the sense of a good figure if you are forever slumping?"
Lady Celia's face scrunched in a misery then swiftly corrected to a serene expression. Darcy averted his gaze pretending he did not hear Lady Bennington's scold. The woman's constant criticism made him feel a bit sorry for Lady Celia. But not sorry enough to endure anymore of her presence.
"Lady Bennington, a pleasure as always. You must forgive me I am engaged for the next set," he said. It was a poor excuse, the present set had only just begun and he of course had no partner arranged for the next. However he knew if she stayed Lady Bennington would try to force him into dancing with her daughter. Better to be rude now.
He pushed his way through the crowd not having a particular destination in mind other than away from Lady Celia and her mother. Spying the spinsters' corner at the edge of the ballroom he headed that direction.
Though it would seem no gentleman beyond Mr. Darcy knew it, Miss Tulley made for the ideal dance partner. When Elizabeth had made him promise to dance with a young lady wanting to for a partner some weeks ago, he had agreed to the task but dreaded its fulfillment. In his experience the ladies left waiting at the fringes of the dance floor were there for a reason.
Miss Tulley was no exception. The lady was odd. She would make vague replies to pleasantries and then when one had adjusted to her silence and decided she must be shy, she would suddenly launch upon some subject (generally art) and discuss it with too great of interest and depth to be a mere diletta
nte as was fashionable. She spoke in a dreamy manner and seemed not to note nor care whom she was speaking to which was wonderful for it freed Darcy of having to reach for conversational topics.
She was also a lovely dancer and seemed to cherish no thoughts of marrying him. The latter was the most significant point in her favor. As conceited as it might seem, every other unmarried lady he had ever deigned to stand up with had begun picking out her wedding clothes before the set had ended.
Darcy thought it likely Miss Tulley had no thoughts of marrying anyone. There was something dowdy about the lady as if she had already consigned herself to old age. Because of pecuniary concerns she had not made her come out until this spring when her younger sister was old enough to be presented at the same time. At five and twenty most would consider her already on the shelf. Darcy, however, could understand why Mrs. Tulley had delayed, why she had placed her hopes on her younger daughter instead.
Miss Tulley was the faded caricature of her younger sister. Where Miss Charlotte was a golden haired, blue eyed beauty to rival Lady Celia—indeed, the resemblance was familial for Mrs. Tulley and Lady Bennington were cousins—Miss Tulley's hair was so fair it was white, her eyebrows—of the same pale color—were nearly undetectable making her appear constantly surprised, and on her unfortunately over-sized nose were perched a pair of thick spectacles. These defects along with with her social quirks and complete lack of fortune made her a rather hopeless case.
Yet she was a perfectly genuine young woman, a rare find amongst the ton. And she loved to dance though she rarely was given the opportunity to do so. Dancing with her felt almost like a good deed which he supposed was why Elizabeth had wanted him to dance with a neglected young lady in the first place. He also could not help but realize, if not for the accident of beauty and wealth, Georgiana might be sitting at the fringes of the dance floor being labeled a "peculiar oddity" rather than a "sweet, shy dear."
When Darcy greeted Miss Tulley he immediately realized something was different about her though he was not sure what it was. Miss Tulley, it would seem, thought there was something different about him as well. She did not seem to recognize him, in fact. She stared up at him, mystified.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 20
