A Dishonorable Offer

by Timothy Underwood

  “That girl, the one from Hertfordshire that Georgiana is convinced you’re in love with, what if you imagine being married to her?”

  Darcy sputtered. “What! Georgiana told you about the conversation? I told her, repeatedly, I’m not in love with Elizabeth.”

  “Your sister was quite annoyed with you, and she needed someone to rant at. Since Madame Perrin is visiting her cousins in Shropshire, and Father is absorbed reminiscing about the good old days with Radnor it fell to me to listen. Would it feel ‘not right’ if it was her you were considering marrying?”

  "I couldn’t marry her — she is penniless, and her sister married a blacksmith.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. She is dashed unsuitable. But if she were she, except she had decent connections and a plump enough purse to serve as an excuse, would it feel wrong?”

  “She is a dear friend who is very clever and has opinions of her own. She is not only a sensuous object I enjoy looking at. I like talking with her. It wouldn’t be a burden to talk with her every day. It is different — I am not in love with her.”

  Richard blinked. “No? I never said you were. But you do not dislike the idea of being married to her. I can say that?”

  “There is no way I can marry her — it is irrelevant.”

  “So you keep thinking about her?"

  Darcy sighed. “It is an infatuation, and irrational sentiment that will dissolve with time. I am not in love.”

  “Darcy — you never kept more than one mistress. Are you perhaps unwilling to marry Lady Margaret because it would be disloyal to your would-be mistress?"

  "She refused me — I would have no cause to be loyal even if your theory was not absurd.”

  “No rational cause, but reason is oft the slave of the passions.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes.

  "You’re a fool. Suppose she had become your mistress; would you even consider marrying anyone? You wouldn’t.”

  “Of course I would. A mistress and a wife are different things."

  Richard quirked an eye at Darcy.

  Darcy’s hand wavered. He imagined having Elizabeth. He wouldn’t have let her go. But he could have still married.

  The words of the marriage ceremony flashed through his mind: Will you, forsaking all others, be faithful so long as you both shall live.

  In his drunk state Darcy knew with a complete certainty he would never break his marriage vows. If he swore them to a woman who believed he was serious, he would keep to them.

  He suddenly realized that Elizabeth had been right to demand he swear that before living with him.

  “I…I think I would have married her eventually. At least if she ever became with child.”

  Richard nodded. “You need to banish that girl from your mind. It is fortunate her character kept her from going with you.”

  “She has sat on my mind this past month and a half. She will not simply leave it. Nothing but time will efface her.”

  “You don’t have time. She is why you won’t marry Margaret. Will you admit that now?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “We won’t find a better match for Greta than you, and you won’t find a better girl than her.”

  Darcy blinked. His drunken brain had a great deal of difficulty understanding what Richard was suggesting. “I have decided I won’t marry Lady Margaret.”

  “Only because of your infatuation. There is a way to get rid of such things quickly. Tomorrow evening, we will ride to Derby. There is a brothel there with a large selection of girls. It is a very rich place. The Earl of Derby uses it exclusively when he is at his seat. The Madame keeps everything clean, a physician inspects all of the girls each week. You are going to find a bit of muslin who looks just like this Elizabeth, and spend the evening enjoying her favors and pretending she is Elizabeth. Then you will come back in the morning and do the right thing and ask Margaret to marry you.”

  “That is disgusting.”

  “It is not.”

  Darcy leaned forward, suddenly angry. “She refused me. I will not use her image in my mind in that way. I respect her too highly. Damn you, Richard.”

  His cousin flinched back at Darcy’s shout.

  “Even if I tried… Elizabeth is unique. It is her mind, her voice, her way of laughing at me when I use those silly tricks to charm women that you taught me. The bright light in her eyes. No Derby whore could have that light. It is Elizabeth I want."

  Richard’s eyes popped.

  Saying it aloud let him understand. It was obvious now. Darcy slumped back and looked at the ceiling.

  “Damn. I do love her.”

  They were both quiet.

  The candles made a dizzying circle, and Darcy’s stomach churned. Damn, damn, damn. He wanted to ride back to Hertfordshire and tell Elizabeth.

  Richard sighed. “You can’t marry her. It would make all of us a joke. Father would be ashamed of you. Think about Georgiana.”

  Darcy pushed the glass towards Richard, who refilled it for him. He drank the new alcohol in one swallow. Darcy realized he was becoming very drunk. “I could marry Elizabeth.”

  “Damnation! No! A blacksmith instead of an earl for a connection. Are you daft? Control yourself. You are a rational man, not someone to be carried off by feeling for a ladybird.”

  “Elizabeth is a respectable woman.”

  “No she isn’t. She perhaps has a good character but nobody could ever respect a blacksmith’s sister. Or his brother. Do you want to become that? Damn it, Darcy, think.”

  The candles were whirling and whirling. Darcy threw up onto the floor. He unsteadily looked at the bits of pinkish matter as his throat burned from the acid that had just come up. Richard was right. He’d sworn to stay away from this insanity. All his realization meant was that his affection for Elizabeth went far deeper than he’d realized before. It didn’t change anything else.

  Darcy wiped his hand over his numb, sweaty brow. “You are right. After all your father has done for me…if I married Elizabeth it would be like spitting in his face.”

  “Then will you marry Margaret?”

  Darcy looked back down at where he had vomited. His mind swirled and everything was clouded with a hazy film. Then he impulsively decided.

  “By Jove, I will marry her. By Jove, I will. Then it will be impossible to marry Lizzy!” Darcy leaped to his feet, with a vague plan of banging on Lady Margaret’s door until she came out in a nightgown and asking her immediately. It would be a bad idea to give himself time to change his mind. He then stumbled and nearly fell on his face.

  Richard grabbed Darcy’s arm to steady him. “Don’t you think you should wait until morning?”

  “No! By God, no. By Jove, it is now or never!”

  Darcy struggled to get away from Richard. When Richard didn’t let him go he punched his cousin in the stomach. A vague bit of his mind remembered now why he never let himself drink too much.

  Richard tackled him to the ground and held him down. Darcy threw up again, this time over his coat, and decided to watch the swirling lights.

  “Tomorrow morning we’ll have John clean you and make you presentable, and you’ll ask for an audience with her before breakfast.”

  The next morning, while still unsteady from drink and the worst hangover he could recall, Darcy found Lady Margaret and led her to a secluded part of the garden.

  He absolutely refused to consider the possibility he was making a terrible mistake until the deed was done. But he needed to act fast before his drunken resolution disappeared.

  He deliberately bent on one knee and took her hand. His practice let him call up his smile despite his headache and the way he felt like he’d stumbled and was falling down a flight of stairs. A good English stiffness let him speak the words.

  “Lady Margaret, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Chapter 18

  There was an assembly ball in the last week of January. The presence of the militia meant this time Elizabeth had a partner for every
dance she wished. It was a whirling, fun set of hours. Even though no one like Darcy was there, Elizabeth enjoyed herself. She did always love balls. Jane and Bingley danced twice, as they had stopped avoiding each other after the New Year’s Eve gathering.

  Near the end of the evening, Elizabeth remembered Darcy and how he had never come back for her. She begged the partner she would’ve had to let her sit down for half an hour and take the last set instead.

  Elizabeth went to the same chair she had used in October. Mr. Darcy had said he was entranced by the melancholy look on her face. Elizabeth smiled at the dance floor.

  She was happy.

  He had examined that portrait of the King. Ten feet away from her. She had imagined Bingley had been a man who could love Jane. And then their voices had interrupted her reverie.

  “Miss Elizabeth, do you mind if I sit next to you for a minute?"

  “Mr. Bingley, of course not.”

  Bingley plopped into the chair and frowned at his gloves. He fiddled with his sleeves, bunching the wool together and pulling it straight again.

  An unspecified anxiety twisted in Elizabeth. “Is there something specific you wish to tell me?"

  “Yes, yes — I think you need to hear."

  Elizabeth frowned impatiently at him as Bingley sighed again. “I just received a letter from my friend, Mr. Darcy. He has settled at his townhouse in Grosvenor Square for the Season. He shall be very busy as…as Mr. Darcy is engaged to be married.”

  Everything froze. It felt like her heart was being squeezed in a tight fist. Elizabeth knew this was a second she would always remember in perfect detail. The room was stuffy and stunk of spilt wine. There were the scratches in the wooden floor. The violins clawed out their endless tune. Bingley’s voice was kind. Darcy’s portrait of the King hung just a few feet away.

  Bingley described the woman. Lady Matlock’s niece, the daughter of the Earl of Radnor, an enormous dowry. Elizabeth was sure she was reputed to be a great beauty, Darcy after all could marry whoever he wished, but Bingley delicately refrained from saying that.

  She should claim she had no particular interest in the matter, and that she was very happy for Mr. Darcy.

  It was impossible to speak.

  Bingley took Elizabeth’s forearm and softly squeezed it. “Do you wish me to find your sister? I could bring her out of the dance.”

  “No! Oh, no. Please don’t interfere with her enjoyment."

  “I know there was a…discussion between you two which is why he needed to leave."

  Elizabeth looked sharply at Bingley. “He told you what happened between us?”

  Bingley shook his head. “No, of course not. He only confirmed the matter related to you when I guessed. Do not think too poorly of my friend — he liked you very much. What am I saying is, don’t be too unhappy.”

  “I want… I need some time alone.”

  “Of course.”

  As Bingley walked away, Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

  Why had she always believed he would come back?

  Elizabeth tried to pretend she was Lady Margaret: beautiful, rich, the daughter of an earl — the woman Mr. Darcy was in love with.

  He wasn’t in love with her. The damn man would not be faithful to her.

  He probably had been planning to marry Lady Margaret while he made her fall in love with him. He probably had found a different mistress in the two months since she refused him. All this time when she was swept daily with longing, he had not thought of her a single time.

  Damn him. Damn Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  When the music for the dance ended Elizabeth opened her eyes as she knew she needed to look about for her partner for the final set. Jane and Bingley were in a corner of the room. Jane was red-faced as she whispered furiously to Bingley. Probably they were talking about her and Darcy.

  Elizabeth had always sworn to never let herself be unhappy. The damn man never thought of her, and he decided to marry less than two months after he talked about how dearly he cared for her and how he felt more affection for her than any other woman. He was a fool. He would regret it eventually.

  She would dance and smile.

  Elizabeth kept a fixed smile on her face during the last dance. She spoke flirtatiously with the young lieutenant, and she thought her mixed pain and rage did not show.

  Once they returned home, Elizabeth climbed the ladder into her attic bedroom with Jane and stripped to her nightclothes and crawled into bed next to Jane. Elizabeth was seized and embraced tightly.

  “I am not unhappy.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, you are.”

  “I hate him. He was planning to marry her, or someone just like her, while he flirted with me. While he pretended to become my friend. While he made me tell him everything about myself. I loved him. All that time, he wanted to make me his whore and then marry an earl’s daughter.”

  Jane continued to hold her.

  “I hate him. I despise every bit of him.”

  Jane kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. “You do not.”

  The sobs came then. She wept into the blankets and Jane’s nightdress. She had been so damned stupid.

  He had never seen her as anything but a girl to bed.

  “Just two months. Couldn’t he have waited longer than two months?”

  When Elizabeth finally stopped crying and was on the edge of sleep, Jane whispered, “I would have loved you exactly the same if you’d become his mistress.”

  *****

  Two days later, Elizabeth took a long stroll before breakfast. The more she thought about Darcy’s behavior, the angrier she became, and as being angry was not being miserably unhappy, she saw no reason not to dwell on the callousness with which he treated women.

  Despicable man.

  Two months. Just two months.

  She wished to talk to Jane. She would complain about Darcy, and Jane would say something kind and comforting.

  Jane though was not downstairs, bustling about. Hoping to talk to her sister she went to their room to see if Jane was uncharacteristically still abed. But she wasn’t there either. Elizabeth grabbed a book from the bedstand and went downstairs to the drawing room. She saw the maid and asked, “Have you seen Jane at all?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and plopped on the sprigged sofa. Jane must have gone out for a walk, and she would back any minute now. Elizabeth filled her mind with the silly adventures of a young sheltered Miss meeting the ton and making a terrible mess of it. It was a very amusing comedy, but Elizabeth’s mind kept convulsively going back to Darcy. She felt sick and rejected. But she shouldn’t because he was just a rake.

  Breakfast time came, and Jane had not returned. Elizabeth sat at the table with Mama and Mr. Phillips and his family. The bread and ham was brought to the table, and Mr. Phillips said, “Where is Jane?”

  Elizabeth replied, “I think she went out this morning, and hasn’t returned.”

  “I won’t delay eating for her. If she wishes to go hungry, I do not care. She needs to slim down in any case. You too.” He gestured at his wife and her sister. “You both are getting fat.”

  Mrs. Bennet replied, “You are fatter than me and my sister put together.”

  “Women are supposed to look attractive. Men have real matters to attend to. Just looking at how fat you are makes me want to vomit.”

  Mr. Phillips was a decidedly horrid man. In addition to his insult against Jane, he was just saying that because he wanted to be rude. As a simple matter of fact, while Mrs. Phillips had lost her figure, Mrs. Bennet was still almost as slender as she had been as a girl.

  After breakfast Elizabeth went back to her book. She refused to worry. Jane had met a friend, and they were talking. Perhaps someone needed help.

  When time came to help the cook, Elizabeth became really worried. For ten minutes she buried her fingers in the flour and worked. She anxiously glanced towards the door again and again. The only time it swung open was
when the cook brought the rest of the supplies in and sat next to Elizabeth.

  The heavy middle-aged woman phlegmatically began to ladle the filling into the crusts Elizabeth had prepared.

  Elizabeth rubbed a floury hand over her cheek, “You are certain you know nothing of where Jane has gone?”

  She looked up, unworriedly, “No, Miss.”

  This was so unlike Jane. What if something had happened to her? No. Nothing had happened. She was visiting someone, and some emergency had required her presence.

  “I must go look for her. I cannot just sit here.”

  The cook frowned, but shrugged.

  Elizabeth ran outside into the bright cold street. It was a cloudless day. She would first see if Jane was visiting Charlotte and Mary at Longbourn and then systematically work her way through every nearby house.

  Elizabeth half ran down the mile-long road to her childhood home and entered the house by a back door. When she burst into the drawing room, Charlotte and Mary put down their work. “Lizzy! What is the matter?”

  “Have you seen Jane? I’ve not seen her since I woke this morning. Has she been here? Did she just leave? Maybe by a different way?”

  Charlotte tapped her chin. “That is most unlike Jane.”

  “I know!”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure there is a neat explanation. She must be calling on someone whose child fell out of a tree and in the rush didn’t think to send a note. Or something of the sort.”

  “Do you think? That is why I am going around.”

  Charlotte patted Elizabeth on her shoulders. “If it was you, no one would think anything of it at all.”

  Mary stood up and offered to call around the houses in the opposite direction from Meryton and send word back if Jane was found.

  Elizabeth then went to Lucas Lodge. As she trotted up the lane, she saw Sir William just leaving the house and walking towards Meryton. She hurried next to him. “Sir William, Sir William, have you seen Jane? Is she calling?”