Susan Adriani - Truth about Mr. Darcy

Elizabeth struggled to pull her hand from his grasp, but he gripped it tightly—almost painfully—his gaze boring into her in a most offensive manner before he finally released her, but not before muttering in her ear, “He is a very lucky man, Miss Elizabeth. Please be sure to give him my best compliments when you are next with him. And if you should ever change your mind…”

In alarm and disgust, Elizabeth broke away and fled from Wickham. If there had been any doubt in her mind about the credibility of Darcy’s information regarding Wickham’s character, the offensiveness of his address and his repulsive behavior had just removed it completely. She saw Jane in avid conversation with Charlotte Lucas on the other side of the room. Bingley, she was certain, had very likely been attending them, though at this moment he was moving quickly and deliberately in her direction with a frowning countenance. Elizabeth found herself extremely grateful that, for once, Jane had not succeeded in monopolizing his attention. When he reached her, Bingley drew her quietly aside into an unoccupied corner and addressed her with great concern. “Miss Elizabeth, are you well? Forgive me, but I could not fail to notice your distress as you were speaking with Mr. Wickham. Did he impose himself upon you in any way? Did he insult you?”

Elizabeth struggled to regain her composure. After a minute, she was able to find her voice and said shakily and with revulsion, “I believe, Mr. Bingley, were you to reveal to me at this very moment prior knowledge of Mr. Wickham’s intent to come here with the express purpose of insulting me in a most vulgar and offensive manner, I would not be at all surprised to hear it.”

Grimly, Bingley then asked her to relate to him the entirety of her conversation with that gentleman, but Elizabeth, feeling far too mortified to think upon all that had been said, let alone repeat it to Bingley, adamantly refused. Wickham’s disgusting manner and offensive implications of an intimacy between her and Darcy made her agitation extreme.

Offering Elizabeth his arm, Bingley scanned the room. Wickham had been observing them before sauntering over to Mrs. Phillips to take his leave. Once he was out of the house, Elizabeth visibly relaxed. Bingley was most solicitous as he steered her to Jane’s side before politely excusing himself to speak privately with Colonel Forster.

When Bingley arrived home that evening, Darcy was engrossed in a book in Netherfield’s library. “How was your evening, Bingley?” he asked absently as he turned a page. “I hope Mrs. Phillips’s society was to your liking.”

“An excellent question, Darcy,” he responded heatedly as he threw himself into a chair by the fire, “but perhaps you might do better to inquire after the pleasure of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s evening, of which I can most heartily assure you there was none.”

Darcy closed his book immediately. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? To what do you refer, Bingley?”

“I refer, Darcy, to the disturbing and insulting behavior I witnessed toward her this evening at the hands of your so-called friend George Wickham!” Darcy’s blood ran cold. Had he heard Bingley correctly? His Elizabeth accosted by Wickham? Bingley’s expression told him all. Darcy leapt to his feet as his anger took a firm hold over his senses. “What in God’s name did he do to her? Damn it, Bingley! You must tell me you protected her! Please tell me she is unharmed!”

Darcy was incensed and, in his rashness, took several threatening steps toward Bingley, a maneuver that caused his friend to jump from his seat and retreat several paces. Raising both hands to Darcy’s chest, he replied in earnest, “Yes, she is safe! She is safe, Darcy! Calm yourself, man! She was only in conversation with him and not long, though I must tell you it was most distressing to watch. I believe he must have said such things to her that would never bear repeating in polite company, for she refused even to tell Jane—er, I mean Miss Bennet—what they were. At one point, she actually attempted to strike the libertine.”

Darcy looked at Bingley with incredulity. “Elizabeth struck Wickham?” His unguarded use of her Christian name was lost on his friend.

“No,” Bingley stammered. “He caught her hand before she could make contact, and that scoundrel kissed it, not at all inclined to release her, I might add. It was then when I went to her.”

Darcy raked his hands through his hair, utterly sickened by the prospect of Wickham touching any part of Elizabeth’s person. He began pacing the length of the room, praying for some modicum of control to return. “And what of her father? What of her uncle? Colonel Forster and the other officers? Did no one else do anything in her defense? Surely, you could not have been the only person to go to her aid? I find it impossible to accept an entire house full of people, including members of her own family, could be blind to such a scene!”

Bingley shook his head. “I could hardly believe it myself, but I was absolutely the only person aware of the nature of the exchange between them. Mr. Bennet was not present, her mother and sisters were engaged, and not even that half-wit of a clergyman, who has all but glued himself to her for the last five days, had any knowledge of the insult. I did happen to speak to Colonel Forster, though. He was most disturbed when I informed him of the incident and has promised most faithfully to personally look into the matter. I plan on riding to Longbourn tomorrow to speak to Mr. Bennet. I feel he should be made aware of the events that have transpired.” He hesitated a moment. “I have been thinking, Darcy, perhaps it would be best if you were to accompany me, given your past dealings with Wickham and your insight into his character. I believe Miss Elizabeth’s father has a right to know of what he is truly capable.”

Darcy strode to the window and leaned his forearm against the casement, staring out into the night. Several minutes passed in silence before he finally spoke, his voice ragged with feeling. “I should have been there with her. This never should have been allowed to happen. She would not have left my sight for a moment.”

Bingley shook his head. “Darcy, it was only by chance I caught the exchange between Miss Elizabeth and Wickham. I fail to see how you could have prevented what you may not have noticed yourself.”

It was simply too much. All the frustration he felt from his endless struggle against his overpowering feelings for Elizabeth caused Darcy to explode. “I would have been aware of it, Bingley! I, who am most excruciatingly conscious of her every movement when I am in her company! I see every smile she bestows, every expression of tenderness, every breath that fills her lungs—none of which is ever for me!” He swallowed hard and tried desperately to compose himself.

Bingley’s mouth dropped open. After a moment, he closed it and said, “I must confess I am at a loss. I had no idea you had tender feelings for Miss Elizabeth. Pray, how long have you felt this way?”

Striving to collect himself, Darcy muttered, “Forgive me. It has been so for many weeks now. I am only surprised you failed to notice it, because it was most easily discerned the other day in very little time by George Wickham.” He let his forehead rest against the glass, allowing its coolness to soothe him.

“Does Miss Elizabeth know?”

Darcy sighed. “That I am in love with her? No, and I would be most grateful if it were to remain that way.”

“But surely you mean to tell her?”

“No, Bingley, I assure you I do not.”

“But why, Darcy? Why would you endeavor to keep such extraordinary feelings hidden from her? What could ever be gained by it? Do you not think Miss Elizabeth would welcome your addresses?”

“No,” he said evenly, “she would not. She does not return my regard, and I would be lying to myself if I believed differently. Even if, by some stroke of exquisite good fortune, Miss Elizabeth were to love me, it would in no way change our circumstances. I cannot make a fortuneless country beauty the mistress of Pemberley, no matter how desperately I may desire it. Duty to my family—to my position in society—strictly forbids such a union between us.”

“Duty to your position?” Bingley cried. “Duty to your position be hanged! What about your duty to yourself, Darcy? Would it not bring you incredible joy and comfort to make Miss Elizabeth your wife and to see your children running through the halls of Pemberley? Would you not truly be content to grow old with her by your side? Do you honestly expect me to believe your family and your friends—all those who most desire to see you happy in life—would wish instead for you to spend your days alone and in misery, or worse, married to another in a loveless union, simply because the one woman you happened to fall in love with does not move in the same social circles as they do? I cannot accept it. Elizabeth Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman, and she is in every way a lady. You are equals; no one can deny that.”

Darcy turned away from the window and faced him. “But what of her mother, Bingley? What of her younger sisters, her aunts and uncles? Certainly you must recognize their behavior and low connections must materially lessen the chances of one’s marital felicity. Anyone who chooses to align themselves with such a family would be shunned in London society. Her family would never even be acknowledged, never mind accepted. I would not wish that upon Miss Elizabeth. I would not wish it upon anyone whom I hold dear.”

“And this should be of significant consequence? The insipid opinions of the London ton, whose favor and disfavor, approval and censure, are so easily bought and sold like tradeable goods? No one who conducts themselves in such a manner could ever esteem a man of your impeccable character and intellect in the first place, Darcy! And, surely, your family would not be so insensible and unfeeling as to follow their example. Would you have me act in such an irrational manner? Would you have me make myself unhappy—expect me to give up my Miss Bennet—for no better reason other than Caroline’s and Louisa’s selfish disdain for the connection?”

Darcy did not respond.

“Do you not approve of my relationship with Miss Bennet, Darcy?”

Darcy winced. He had not wanted it to come to this, especially tonight. “I am sorry, Bingley, but I cannot. You clearly do not understand the consequences and the disgrace you will suffer should you continue in your endeavor to align yourself with such a family. It would be your ruin. I cannot speak any plainer than this.”

Bingley was angry; Darcy had never seen him more so. “You are correct, Darcy, I do not understand anything of the sort! I do, however, comprehend the wretchedness Miss Bennet and I would suffer were I to allow myself to be so disgracefully persuaded from following the counsel of my own heart on such a matter! No, Darcy. That is a consequence I am most unwilling to suffer for any person, be they relation or friend, and most especially for any damned, misguided notion of duty!” He turned then and stormed from the room, leaving Darcy alone with much to consider.

Elizabeth had been disturbed by Wickham’s behavior toward her the previous evening, more particularly so because they had not been alone together, but in public, among her family and friends. What she found even more distressing was his vulgar allusion to a clandestine arrangement between Darcy and herself. She was completely baffled as to where Wickham could have gotten such a notion. Thoughts of it plagued her for hours before she finally succumbed to fatigue and was able to sleep.

Her slumber was fitful at best, filled with disturbing dreams where Darcy sat staring intently at her, much in the same manner he had when she had stayed at Netherfield to nurse Jane. But rather than the usual haughtiness and criticism, his dark eyes held a burning desire that penetrated every fiber of her being and left her body aching in anticipation of she knew not what. The sensation remained with her long after she awoke.

When Elizabeth arrived downstairs for breakfast, she was disconcerted to learn Bingley and Darcy were locked in conference with her father in his library. She could only imagine one reason for it—the events of the night before. She sat heavily, suddenly feeling not at all hungry. She had hoped Bingley would have kept the mortification of such an encounter between her, Bingley, and Jane. She had not wanted him to worry her father unduly, and she certainly had not wanted him to bring Darcy into the fold. She was now thoroughly relieved she had not yielded to Bingley’s demands that she tell him all Wickham had said to her. How would she ever be able to face Darcy today if he had been made aware of it, as well? The recollection of Wickham’s disrespectful behavior, coupled with the distracting tingles from her dreams, brought a deep flush of mortification to her face.