A Most Civil Proposal

by C. P. Odom

  Darcy could not determine the effect of his words. She was no longer gripped with the same anger as before, but her face disclosed no hint of her feelings as she watched him without expression. He was embarrassed, nay mortified, at what he had yet to relate, but he did not hesitate. His situation could hardly be worse.

  “There is one part of my conduct in this affair over which I am truly pained, for it does not flow from an honest mistake. That part is that I aided Miss Bingley in concealing from her brother that your sister was in Town. I did not see her, but I knew of it, and Bingley is even yet ignorant of it. It is possible that they could have met without ill consequence, but I judged that his affection for her was not extinguished enough for there to be no danger, so I did what I did and believed it to be for the best at the time. This is the part I have played in the affair, Miss Bennet. It was certainly not my best moment, but I acted to protect my friend on the basis of honest conviction, and though you tell me I erred in my judgment, I did not do so out of any attempt to inflict wanton harm on those involved.”

  Darcy was at an end. Exhaustion and despair overwhelmed him as waited to discover the impact of his confessions. He was afraid even to allow himself to hope, but he was incapable of discerning her present feelings as she sat completely silent and still, her head bowed and her hands motionless in her lap. He believed that her rage had dissolved, but what she might be thinking was beyond his abilities to determine.

  Chapter 2

  In truth, Elizabeth’s feelings could not have been in greater turmoil. She had been offended and enraged beyond measure by the arrogance of Mr. Darcy’s statements, but the whole of his disclosure began to affect her as it continued. She desperately wanted to retain that high state of indignation that she found so pleasurable, but recollections of her own started to affect her composure, and now, as her emotions warred against her judgment, she struggled to resolve the conflicting aspects of his account.

  Unwillingly, she considered Darcy’s statement that he had been convinced of Jane’s indifference, and she could not help remembering Charlotte’s opinion that Jane ought to make her partiality known. She was forced to admit that, though Jane’s feelings might be fervent, there was some justice in his assertion that she did not often display them openly.

  But how dare he act so when he could not know her true feelings! she told herself angrily, but then she remembered his demand that she consider the situation if the tables were turned — if Jane were rich and Bingley were not. She could not help but admit the justice of that. She was so confused!

  After some minutes of silence, Elizabeth finally responded, her voice flat and emotionless. “I confess, sir, that certain points of your . . . explanation . . . do indeed make me question some of my previous opinions.”

  Darcy stiffened as a momentary thrill of hope went through him at Elizabeth’s words, but her chin came up sharply as she looked directly back at him, “But I do have considerable trouble lending your explanations sufficient credence when there are yet other matters that give me cause to question your character.”

  “And those matters are . . . ?” Darcy said, more sharply than he had intended, wounded and angered that she would somehow doubt his character and his honour.

  “One of those matters we have touched on before, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with growing heat, “and that is your treatment of Mr. Wickham. Many months ago, he unfolded your character in his recital of the misfortunes, which have been by your infliction. On this subject, what can you have to say?” She could have continued, but she stopped herself, shocked by the sudden look of fury on Mr. Darcy’s formerly impassive countenance. She watched in horrified fascination as his fists clenched and unclenched, his arms quivering as all his muscles convulsed in a frenzy of emotion and the obvious struggle to gain control of himself.

  Wickham again! he raged. I know not what he has told her, but how could she believe him? How could she have been so deceived? And then he remembered Wickham’s skill at presenting himself, the easy grace of his manners, the way in which he had almost convinced Georgiana to —

  Enough! He was tempted to turn and leave the room immediately, and several minutes went by while he debated furiously in his mind. Surely, in this matter he could defend himself, but should he? It will do no good; she will not listen; she has been poisoned against me! But the part that still loved Elizabeth cried out, You cannot let Wickham do this, for then his revenge will be complete!

  He turned around finally, at least outwardly composed, and he found that Elizabeth had retreated to the other side of the room. He was dismayed by the look on her face. It was fear.

  The realization that she was afraid stunned and mortified him, but it was enough to force him to settle his mind. No matter what happened, he must make her understand about George Wickham.

  “Miss Bennet, I am greatly sorry,” he said gently. She watched him, ready to flee the room if he so much as moved. “I am sorry that I have frightened you. Events of today have sorely tested my self-control, and I let my rage against George Wickham show. Please forgive me.”

  She nodded, but whether in forgiveness or acknowledgement, he could not tell. He sighed. “Madam, I would have wished never to have reason to remember again what I am about to tell you, but the present situation leaves me no choice. It is not only for my justification but also for your protection that I must inform you of what lies between George Wickham and me. May I sit?” he asked, and she jerkily nodded her head.

  He pulled out a chair. “Well, at least you have not yet fled the room,” he said dryly.

  His attempt at humour, feeble as it was, seemed to break the spell that had held Elizabeth frozen, and she moved to seat herself. “I considered it, sir,” she said coolly.

  “I daresay. My sister has commented that sometimes, and I quote her: ‘Your towering presence is quite intimidating.’ I had thought she merely teased me, but now I fear it must true, and I am sorry you took fright.”

  Darcy inhaled deeply. “I do not know what George Wickham has told you about me, Miss Bennet, though I could probably guess based on what you have said tonight and previously at the Netherfield ball. I suspect he claimed that I have ruined his prosperity and denied him his inheritance?”

  “He did.”

  “Further, I would imagine that I stand accused of wilfully and wantonly throwing off the companion of my youth, the favourite of my father, a young man who had every expectation of profiting by the patronage of my family only to see it cruelly denied. Would that be a fair summary of what Wickham has laid at my feet?”

  “It would.”

  “Do you believe this?”

  “I have been given no reason to doubt Mr. Wickham’s word,” she said defensively.

  “I see,” he said. “These actions would undeniably be unpardonable, Miss Bennet” — he paused — “were they true.”

  Elizabeth looked at him fiercely. “Do you deny it?”

  “I do indeed, madam. Most strenuously and in every particular, I do deny it.

  “In order to refute these charges, I will lay before you the whole of Wickham’s connection with my family. I do not know the particular details of what he has accused me, but I will present everything, and unlike him, I can provide testament to the truth of what I am about to relate by providing a witness of undoubted veracity, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is acquainted with all the pertinent details and will corroborate everything I am about to relate.”

  This last staggered Elizabeth completely. She had believed Mr. Darcy incapable of defending himself against the detailed charges provided by Mr. Wickham, and now he had shaken that belief by offering immediate authentication from a source of whom she thought well and who, moreover, would be privy to the private affairs of the Darcy family. She suddenly felt completely unsure of that which she, only moments before, had believed unshakable.

  “As you probably know, George Wickham is the son of my father’s steward, a good and loyal man who for many years managed all of the
Pemberley estates for my family. The elder Wickham was so faithful in his duties that he earned the obligation of my father, who not only made George his godson but also supported him at school and later at Cambridge. George’s own father could not have afforded to give him a gentleman’s education since his own wife kept the family poor by her extravagances. My father was fond of Wickham’s society due to his engaging manners, and he planned to reward that opinion by providing him a living in the church.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Does this correspond with what you have heard, Miss Bennet?”

  At her nod, he continued, “I, however, have had quite a different opinion of George Wickham for some years. I was witness to his behaviour in a manner that my father was not, since Wickham could not conceal his vicious propensities and his want of principal from me, a young man of nearly the same age. I had too many opportunities to see him in unguarded moments, which my father could not have.”

  Elizabeth remembered Mr. Wickham’s countenance as he described the offences against his person with a convincing charm and ease. In contrast, Mr. Darcy showed grimness rather than charm and intensity rather than ease. He looked like a man faced with an unwelcome task that could not be avoided, and she felt her already uncertain understanding weaken even further.

  Darcy continued speaking even as she thought. “What I have to relate may cause you pain since I do not know to what degree Wickham may have engaged your sentiments. But even if you do have some partiality for him, it shall no longer prevent me from unfolding his real character. It only increases my determination, for you would not be the first young lady whose affections he has toyed with as you will shortly hear.”

  To this, Elizabeth could not help but remember how amiably Mr. Wickham had engaged her, even when it had been obvious to her that his intentions could not be serious due to her lack of fortune. She also remembered the warning from her Aunt Gardiner about having affection where the want of fortune would make it imprudent. It was with a decided sinking sensation in her stomach that she listened to Mr. Darcy’s account.

  “My father died five years ago, and he remained attached to Mr. Wickham to the last. In his will, he left him a legacy of one thousand pounds, and he also particularly recommended that I support Wickham’s advancement in whatever profession he chose. He especially favoured the church, and if Wickham did choose to take orders, he desired that he receive a valuable family living when it became vacant. Wickham’s own father died shortly after that, and within a year he wrote to inform me that he had resolved against taking orders. He mentioned his intention of studying law and suggested that he receive an immediate pecuniary reward in lieu of the family living since his legacy of one thousand pounds would not provide an income to support his study. I wished, rather than believed, him to be sincere, but I was quite prepared to agree to his request since I knew he should not be a clergyman.

  “We soon settled the business, and Wickham received the sum of three thousand pounds in return for resigning all claim to assistance, whether the living became available or not. All connection between us was now broken since I thought too ill of him to desire his acquaintance. I heard little of him for three years. I believe he stayed mainly in town, living a life of idleness and dissipation since he evidently had never intended to study the law. But when the family living became available, Wickham again wrote me asking for the presentation of the living. He wrote that his circumstances were exceedingly bad, which I could well believe, and he now stated that he was resolved to take orders. He seemed to have little doubt that I would present the living, and he reminded me of my father’s desires.

  “I trust you can hardly blame me, Miss Bennet, for refusing to comply with this request and for rejecting the subsequent repetitions of it. His resentment was violent in his reproaches to me, and he doubtless was equally abusive of me to others. After that, I had no contact with him and do not know how he lived.”

  Darcy sat straight in his chair with his eyes focused far away as he continued his account. “But Wickham was not done with my family. Last summer, he again intruded into my life in a manner which is the most painful I have ever experienced, and his prey this time was the sweetest, the most innocent heart in the land. I speak of my dear sister, Georgiana.”

  “Oh, no,” Elizabeth moaned, closing her eyes in disbelief. She had reason to know that, whatever else she had believed of Mr. Darcy, his affection for his sister was apparent and sincere. A single tear slid down her cheek as she stared in dismay at Mr. Darcy’s frozen visage. If his face had been grim before, it was chiselled in granite now.

  “Miss Bennet, I must ask your secrecy on this matter, for until this moment, no other mortal knew of these events except the participants and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth managed to nod, for she could not talk, and he continued.

  “My sister is very precious to me, for I lost my mother in my youth and now lately my father. She is more than ten years my junior, and I share her guardianship with my cousin Fitzwilliam. Last summer, Georgiana travelled to Ramsgate with a Mrs. Younge, who was in charge of the establishment formed for her in London. We were quite deceived in the character of Mrs. Younge, who proved to have a prior acquaintance with George Wickham. The two evidently had conspired since she allowed Wickham, who also travelled to Ramsgate, to meet with my sister. Georgiana has a most affectionate heart and could not have been suspicious since she still retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child.”

  Darcy’s dark eyes flashed with remembered fury. “With the aid of Mrs. Younge, Wickham recommended himself to Georgiana to such an extent that he was able to persuade her that she was in love and to convince her to agree to an elopement.”

  Elizabeth could not stand the look of raw pain on Mr. Darcy’s face, regardless of any previous opinion of him, and she cried out, “Sir, enough! I do not need to know more, I do not doubt the truth of your report!”

  Darcy heard her, but he was committed to a full accounting.

  “Georgiana was then but fifteen, Miss Bennet! Fifteen!” He stopped for a moment before continuing remorselessly, “Her youth, of course, is her excuse, and additionally, she herself disclosed this plan to me when I joined her unexpectedly a few days before the intended elopement. She has always looked up to me almost as a father, and she could not face the grief and offence of such an action. She acknowledged the whole to me, and I acted instantly. I wrote to Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was, of course, instantly discharged.”

  This last was too much, and Elizabeth wept openly, her handkerchief clutched to her mouth.

  “Wickham’s chief object,” Darcy said, “was unquestionably my sister’s fortune of thirty thousand pounds, but I am convinced that he hoped also to revenge himself on me. Had he succeeded, his vengeance would have been complete indeed. The thought of what a marriage to such a man would have done to Georgiana’s tender spirit makes my blood run cold to this day.”

  Darcy’s smile was savage as he reflected, “Not that such an event would have long transpired, Miss Bennet. If you thought my temper was extreme earlier, you have not seen that of Colonel Fitzwilliam. He would have called out Wickham immediately, and, if he would not fight, he would have killed him as he stood. It took all my powers of persuasion to dissuade him from that course after Wickham’s plans were thwarted. Had they succeeded, Wickham’s life would have been measured by the length of time it took Fitzwilliam to find him. A man who has faced Bonaparte’s armies on the continent could not be frightened by the likes of George Wickham.

  “This is the end of my report, madam. I had not seen Wickham again until that day in Meryton when I met you on the street with him. My reaction to him you saw, but you could not know the history between us that led me to act as I did. Perhaps I should have made my knowledge of him available at that time, but I did not want to chance any possibility of harm to my sister. Perhaps that is a fault of my nature. It has certainly not played to my advantage with you. But I hope that this faithful narrative will at
least acquit me of the charge of cruelty towards George Wickham. As testimony to the truthfulness of my account, I repeat that I can appeal to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I urge you to consult with him on any particulars about which you still have questions. I will charge him to give full and complete disclosure, since I already have your assurance of confidence in this matter.”

  Darcy was silent. He was spent, exhausted, and he had no idea what the result of his assurances would be. That he had affected Miss Bennet was obvious; her tears attested to that. But she would not look at him, and he could make no estimate of whether he had improved or harmed himself in her regard — except that her opinion of him could hardly have gotten worse.

  In truth, Elizabeth was not considering her opinion of Mr. Darcy at all; her concern was with her own foolishness, and her growing dismay at Darcy’s revelations had translated to a feeling of definite nausea. She wanted to flee the drawing room, not in fear but to take herself to her own room to let loose the tears that threatened to spring from her eyes.

  Mr. Wickham did not deceive me as much as I deceived myself, she thought miserably. I allowed my dislike of Mr. Darcy to affect me so much that I eagerly listened to Mr. Wickham’s tales — nay his slanders. And Colonel Fitzwilliam can attest to this? Surely, Mr. Darcy would not offer such if that assurance was not easily at hand. Oh, foolish, foolish girl! She could not remember ever being as mortified in her life as she was at the present moment.