Folly and Forgiveness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Lizzy Brandon

  Perhaps the dearth of company was at the root of her melancholy. Whatever the cause, she was fast becoming tired of finding herself caught up in self-pity.

  Enough. She had wallowed too much already. Mary was writing to her intended and Jane was visiting with Mr. Bingley again. Elizabeth had not stopped to see if Mr. Darcy had joined his friend. He had visited regularly enough lately that she did not wish to risk checking and find herself forced to join his company. She did not need to sit in a room and speak with others, what she needed was some time outdoors.

  A few warmer days had melted much of the snow along the roads and the sun shone, feebly to be sure, but it was not hidden behind clouds as was typical this time of year. She could go for a short walk. The fresh air and exercise was certain to improve her mood and help her regain the emotional balance she seemed to lack recently.

  Elizabeth stopped to select her black spencer and gloves, then mentioned to Hill that she would be walking toward the old Peabody farm before leaving the house. It was unlikely anyone would even notice she had left, let alone question her whereabouts, but Elizabeth did not want to risk causing further worry to an already strained household.

  As soon as she had passed out of view of Longbourn, Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed deeply, appreciating the silence surrounding her. The remaining snowbanks muffled the typical noises, leaving the area truly quiet. Already she felt more relaxed and knew she had made the correct choice. Winter was always hard on Elizabeth as her time outdoors became limited. Combining forced imprisonment indoors with everything else going on in her life was surely not helping her mental state this year.

  She continued walking, enjoying the play of shadows from the trees against the snow. A cardinal streaked across the path in front of her, providing a bright splash of color to the scene.

  “Miss Elizabeth, whatever are you doing out of doors on such a day?”

  “Good afternoon Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth replied as the gentleman approached from a merging path. “I am enjoying what sunshine is available to us at this time of year, cold as it may be, and escaping my home for some solitude. Where are you off to?”

  “I had considered stopping by Longbourn to see if you or your sisters would like some company. Your limited social interaction must be dreadfully hard on you and your younger sisters especially.”

  “I am quite happy to do without society right now. Some days even the population of my house seems too much to handle.”

  “And so, you are out to find solitude, but I have interrupted.”

  “It must not follow that the interruption is an unpleasant one.” Mr. Wickham smiled widely at this response and joined her.

  “You are too kind, Miss Elizabeth. May I enquire why you felt the need to escape? Have new troubles come to your doorstep?”

  “No, nothing of the sort. Quite the opposite, in fact, as we are beginning to plan for weddings.”

  “Ah, yes. I had heard that your father would be marrying Miss Lucas. How unfortunate for you to lose such a close friend.”

  “I had not thought I should lose her as she moves into the same house.”

  “No, certainly she will be closer in proximity, I only speak of the distance sure to form between you as she takes on the role of lady of the house. I cannot imagine you will be able to speak to each other quite as freely as has been your custom once she is your step-mother. I have no doubt you will continue to be friendly, which should help to bring some of the cheer back to Longbourn, but her time and loyalties will be much taken by your father. And his to her as well. What newly married man does not devote significant time to his new wife? At least you will still have your sisters.”

  Elizabeth’s brows knit as she frowned. Though she had thought much the same thing earlier, the sentiment sounded even bleaker when voiced by Mr. Wickham. She would simply have to work harder at pushing aside her annoyance and self-pity.

  “At least for a time,” Elizabeth offered. “My sister Mary is to marry Mr. Collins and is likely to be leaving for Kent before my father marries.”

  “And your sister Jane will likely capture Mr. Bingley’s heart before long, if she has not secured it already.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head in agreement, but did not reply. The two sisters she relied on the most would be the ones to leave.

  “I am sorry to hear you will find yourself so alone,” Mr. Wickham said as he took her hand. “You must be torn between your sorrow and joy at their news.”

  “I will not be alone,” Elizabeth replied, gently pulling her hand free, as they continued walking. “Longbourn is never empty, and when Jane does marry she will be very close. I expect I will still see her many times a week.”

  “Of course you will. I never knew two sisters who were closer than yourself and Miss Bennet. She will have less time for you as she learns her new role as mistress of Netherfield, but I am sure you are already adjusting to her changing attention.”

  She had already lost much of her time with Jane. Elizabeth would never admit to anyone that she already missed her sister. Jane would be horrified to learn she had caused anyone pain, no matter how unintentional or unavoidable. Still, Mr. Wickham’s presumption irritated her today. He was attempting to offer consolation, she was sure, but her already foul mood would not allow her to hear his words the way they had been intended.

  “Jane and I have ever been close. We will adjust.”

  “Of course you will. You have made so many adjustments lately, I hope they have not placed too great of a weight upon you.”

  They continued walking in companionable silence for a while before Mr. Wickham again spoke. “As cold as it is out here, I fear we may need to find shelter for a bit,” he said, rubbing his gloved hands together vigorously. There is an abandoned barn up ahead. We could shelter there out of this wind. Given the many other strains upon you, Miss Elizabeth, I would not wish for you to take ill from the cold.”

  “We are coming up on the old Peabody farm. I do not think the wind so strong or the air so cold that you need worry about my health, Mr. Wickham.”

  “You have an independent spirit, so I doubt you would tell me if either did concern you. Forgive me for saying so, but I do worry about you, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Wickham stopped as they came upon the smaller path that led to the old building.

  “At least allow me to see to your comfort at this moment and get you out of this wind. I admire your independence, but in this small instance, please allow a friend to help you.”

  Elizabeth felt no need to take shelter, but she could humor a friend who was so concerned. He guided her off the path and towards the building.

  “I fear for your health, and not only because of this weather. I worry that you take too much upon yourself, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Wickham shifted closer to Elizabeth as the path narrowed. “The burdens of grief and guilt you already carry are heavy enough, but the loss of those you depend upon can only further cripple your spirit. Who will you lean on in the future?” Mr. Wickham again took her hand. A faint prickle of unease caused Elizabeth to stop walking.

  “Forgive me for speaking so openly, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, as he stopped and turned to face her. He brought her hand to his chest, bringing her still closer to him. “I hope you will lean on me. I cannot suppress my feelings any longer. I care for you a great deal and I wish you would allow me to help you.”

  Elizabeth attempted to pull back her hand, but Mr. Wickham kept it in a tight grip.

  “Mr. Wickham –”

  “No, please Elizabeth, let me speak. It has pained me to watch you suffer without being able to offer you any assistance.”

  “You have offered plenty of assistance, now –”

  “No, I have not. I have wanted to be able to hold you as you sobbed and let you know that you are not alone or unloved. No matter how great you think your sins, I still love you, have always loved you. You must learn to forgive yourself and find joy once again. Lean on me, let me help you escape this darkness in which you have beco
me trapped.”

  Elizabeth continued to tug on her hand, going so far as to grip his arm with her free hand to provide additional leverage. Had he gone mad?

  “I appreciate your concern –”

  Wickham used his free arm to pull her against him. Elizabeth’s unease turned to fear.

  “I only want to help you, to love you.”

  “That is quite enough –”

  His mouth descended toward hers and Elizabeth jerked her head to the side, causing his mouth to land on the side of her neck. She shivered in revulsion.

  “Please Elizabeth, let me love you.”

  Elizabeth now pushed, trying to create space between them. When he lifted his head, she moved her free arm and slapped him.

  Shock radiated through her body as she struck him and listened as the sharp crack was quickly carried away. She had never before struck another person, had never felt the need to do so.

  Shock radiated through Mr. Wickham as well as she watched him process her action. Gone was the lover-like expression, replaced with one of absolute rage.

  “Let me go!” Elizabeth demanded loudly. She would leave him in no doubt of her feelings, though she feared words would not influence him where actions had failed.

  He tightened his arm around her waist and released one hand in order to grab the one that had slapped him.

  “This is how you repay my attentions?” he snarled.

  The fear inside Elizabeth became a jagged ball of ice, clawing at her as it grew bigger. She tried to free herself, but he had her arms trapped. Stomping his foot would do nothing given the boots he wore. The only option left was to kick, though she was pinned too closely to kick hard. If he attempted to kiss her again she would spit at him, or bite him if he came so close. Elizabeth screamed, though she knew it unlikely anyone was near enough to hear. The snowbanks that provided the silence she sought earlier would now muffle any noises she made. She must get a hand free at least if she were to have any hope of defending herself.

  Elizabeth struggled, heart pounding so loudly it became the only thing she could hear. Wickham turned and Elizabeth took advantage of the moment and slight relaxation of his grip. She kicked her knee as high as she could as she swung her fist free and hit his jaw.

  Wickham released her with a shove and she fell backwards into a snowdrift. Before she could scramble to her feet and run, a man rushed forward and grabbed Wickham by the front of his coat.

  “You go too far this time.”

  What on earth was Mr. Darcy doing here? Where had he come from?

  Elizabeth looked around in confusion and saw his horse tramping down the snow in a sort of dance. Not her heartbeat, hoofbeats. The horse had been ridden hard and was still excited. Elizabeth pushed herself up to her knees, not wishing to be trampled if the horse moved her way.

  She looked back to the men. Mr. Darcy still held Mr. Wickham as they argued.

  “I was not the only one caught by her charms, was I? You should have let me have her. You know you will not marry her. Had you let me be, she might have been willing to accept an arrangement of a different sort from you when I was done with her.”

  Mr. Darcy’s fist flew, a great deal harder than Elizabeth’s had, and far more effectively. He dropped Wickham, now gone limp, and let him fall to the ground.

  Elizabeth gasped. Who were these men in front of her? She recognized neither of them. Wickham was not the honest gentleman she had admired. Darcy was not the cold highbrow she had despised.

  “Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked as he walked toward her.

  She stared at him blankly, for she could not speak.

  “Miss Elizabeth? Are you hurt? Can you stand?” He held out a hand to her, but still she sat, unable to do anything but stare at him.

  “Forgive me, but I must see that you are not injured,” he continued as he reached under her arms and lifted her to her feet.

  Elizabeth stood and looked over at Mr. Wickham.

  “Is he dead?” she whispered.

  “No, though the world would be safer if he were. He is merely unconscious.”

  “What is to be done with him?”

  “Once I see you home, I shall fetch Colonel Forster to get Wickham and put him in irons. He could freeze to death before someone arrives, but I will not delay your comfort and well-being for his miserable life. God will see to him or not – he is not my primary concern at the moment. Can you walk?”

  Elizabeth looked away from the man in the snow to face the stranger who had rescued her. She may know his name, but this was not the Mr. Darcy she had known.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Can you walk, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy repeated slowly, as he watched her, looking for signs of injury.

  “I believe so,” she replied slowly. She tested her belief, and limped a bit.

  “That will not do. Wait here a moment.” Darcy turned and walked toward Thunder, calming the horse as he moved. Thunder was not accustomed to being ridden so hard and then ignored as his rider leapt to the ground.

  Darcy was not accustomed to such behavior either. He tried to calm himself as he calmed the horse.

  The cur had dared to assault Elizabeth, and once Elizabeth was safe he had dared to insult her in the worst possible manner. Darcy had not hit another person in anger since he was a child. If memory served, that occasion had also involved George Wickham.

  Elizabeth had been fighting. As much as the sight of her struggling had incensed him, it had also relieved him in equal measure. She had not succumbed to Wickham’s words. She had realized something was not right with the man and had sought to extricate herself from the situation. He must hold on to that thought. She was not so lost as to have accepted Wickham’s advances, and Darcy was not so late that Wickham had overpowered her struggles.

  She had fought fiercely, and he was pleased. Wickham had been surprised by Darcy’s arrival, enough to allow Elizabeth to land an effective kick. She likely had not seen Wickham’s face lose color and contort as he pushed her away. Darcy focused on that image: Elizabeth defending herself and inflicting intense pain upon the devil who attacked her.

  More certain he could now keep his composure, Darcy led Thunder back to Elizabeth.

  “I cannot ride.”

  “Miss Elizabeth, you cannot walk back to Longbourn with your injury.” She may still be in shock, but she had to see the necessity.

  “I will be fine, truly it is nothing.”

  Still she would not trust him? He would have to make her see for herself.

  “Then walk ten steps,” he replied, “If you are still limping at the end, you must ride.”

  Much as Elizabeth may want to argue, he could see she had not the energy. She attempted to walk, and while she was not limping as badly at the end, Darcy was still not impressed.

  “Let me continue,” she pleaded. “I simply need to move this knee a bit more and I will be fine.”

  Darcy considered. She may need to stretch out her legs a bit more, or further walking could exacerbate whatever injury she had sustained. While his inclination was to order her to be reasonable and follow his instructions, he knew such a path would not work with Elizabeth.

  No, she still did not trust him, but he had no time to be hurt by her refusal right now.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he began softly, “I fear you may have injured yourself more seriously than you realize. Traumatic events have a way of numbing a person in the aftermath. You may not yet feel the pain of an injury you would otherwise recognize as necessitating assistance. Should this be the case, I would not wish for you to cause yourself further discomfort. Would you please ride, at least for a while? Once you are safe at home you can determine if your injury is as minor as you assume. As we have not the benefit of counsel from a physician, prudence would dictate taking the path least likely to cause further harm.”

  Elizabeth looked at him, considering. So long did she continue to just stare that Darcy felt, mayhap, he should attempt a different argument. At le
ngth, she looked away.

  “I spoke the truth, I cannot ride. I do not mean that I do not wish to do so, though that is true as well, but that I have not that skill among my accomplishments. I will agree that I should not walk, but I do not know how to proceed from there.”

  That was a start at least, and Darcy let out a sigh of relief. Problems of logistics he could manage far easier than social ones.

  “If you will allow me,” he began as he approached, “I will lift you onto the saddle. You can hold onto the pommel and I will walk Thunder back to Longbourn.”

  “Thunder?” Elizabeth gave him a weak smile. “Your horse is aptly named, for that is the sound he made as you came riding.”

  Darcy returned the smile as he approached. He realized he was handling Elizabeth in much the same way he would a skittish horse, but he had no other frame of reference. She needed him to be calm and gentle, so he would be so.

  “Lean on me,” he instructed, puzzled as Elizabeth turned white and retreated a step.

  What had he done now?

  “I am sorry, I am being foolish,” she said, looking away from him again. “It is only,” she paused, “he told me to do the same, and –”

  “Do not think on it. I understand,” Darcy interrupted, using all his powers of self-control to not walk over and kick the inert man. “If you can stand on your good leg and put your hands on my shoulders for balance, I will lift you onto the saddle.”

  Elizabeth complied, still looking away from him, and he set her on the saddle.

  He would not allow himself to consider that he was finally holding her in his arms, or the way her hands rested on his shoulders. Elizabeth needed his help, but still had no desire for his interest. He cursed himself for even wanting to savor such a moment, given both Elizabeth’s distress and his own desire to forget any interest in her.

  Once she was seated and balanced as well as possible, Darcy began to lead Thunder back to Longbourn. Elizabeth looked back at Wickham, still lying in the snow, and appeared worried, but said nothing.