Duels of Every Sort

by Sarah Brown

  She looked up at me, a mixture of anger, hurt, and embarrassment in her beautiful eyes. I sat beside her and tried to pull her into my arms, but she stood and moved away from me, crossly dashing the tears from her cheeks. “No, Mr. Darcy.”

  I flinched at her refusal and her use of my formal name. Hearing it from her lips at that moment felt like the point of a sword plunging into my gut. “Elizabeth, please. I am so sorry. I had no idea she was coming or that she could be so horrid.” I did not add that I had a fairly good idea of who had written the letter—it had to be the reason behind Miss Bingley’s altered mood. Aloud, I continued, practically begging, “Please believe me. I promise she will never bother you again. I will not permit anyone to speak to you in that manner. What she did is inexcusable.”

  I reached out and touched her shoulder, but again she moved away from me. She kept her back to me as she said, “Mr. Darcy, you do not need to apologize for your aunt. You are not responsible for her actions, nor have you made me any promises. I have no wish to come between you and your family. Perhaps it is best if our courtship comes to an end. You should go after Lady Catherine and make amends.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing. Yesterday she had kissed me and held me and conveyed such affection and acceptance, and now she wanted nothing to do with me? I felt as if I could not breathe. All I could manage was a curt, “What?”

  She turned to face me, her arms wrapped around herself, and I could see that tears still fell steadily from her eyelashes. She would not meet my eye, but she said, “I think it would be best for everyone if you were to stay away from me, sir, away from Longbourn.”

  I felt myself growing angry again, this time at Elizabeth. Why was she saying this? Had not I defended her to my aunt? Had not I intervened as soon as I knew what was happening? Had not I sent my aunt off, effectively ending my relationship with her? In a tone of forced calm, I asked her, “Why are you doing this, Elizabeth?”

  She did meet my gaze then, and her eyes flashed heatedly. “I told you why, sir. There is no understanding between us, and I have no wish to cause you or your family grief. You are expected to marry your cousin, for God’s sake! And your aunt is right. I have always known I am beneath you. I am a simple country girl and have no knowledge of the circles in which you travel or the duties expected of the mistress of an estate such as yours. Were things to go further with our relationship I would only embarrass you, and you would come to resent me. So, I think you should leave. Go back to the world you to which you are accustomed and leave me to mine before you make a mistake.” She turned on her heel and began to stalk irritably toward the woods, where I knew the path to one of her favorite walks began.

  I was angry and hurt, and my first instinct was to do what she had said and leave. I turned to do just that but froze after only a single step. No matter what she said I could not leave her, especially with so much anger between us. I forced myself to breathe, to think. Obviously, she had been upset by Lady Catherine’s unexpected appearance. And, apparently, my aunt had done quite a thorough job in undermining all the trust and understanding that Elizabeth and I had built together.

  Then I thought about what Elizabeth had actually said. There had been nothing about her actually wanting me to go. She had only spoken about me, about my family, about being insecure with my position, about not wanting to embarrass me. I calmed every so slightly, and the vice gripping my heart eased fractionally. I realized that while we had become very close over the past several weeks, I had not made her any promises or given her any verbal assurance of my regard. I had been waiting until I was sure of her feelings. I now realized that had been a mistake. It had led her to try to protect me rather than act on her feelings, on what she wanted.

  All of this passed through my head in mere seconds, and before Elizabeth could take more than ten steps, I called out, “I am not going anywhere!”

  She stopped and turned back, glaring at me. It was her turn to utter an impolite, “What?”

  I crossed the few steps between us and repeated, “I am not leaving, Elizabeth. Ever. Not unless you go with me.” She stared at me, the anger in her expressive eyes melting into astonishment. I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “First of all, the only person who wants me to marry my cousin is my aunt, who has always believed what it suits her to believe. Secondly, while you may have grown up in the country and be unfamiliar with the ways of town, you are, without question, the most intelligent, charming, beautiful woman I have ever met, and I have no doubt that you are more than capable of stepping into the roll of Mistress of Pemberley and charming all of my friends and family. There is no way you could ever embarrass me, and I am not capable of resenting you. Third, Lady Catherine does not represent the rest of my family, who I am sure will love you once they have the chance to meet you and see how happy you make me.”

  I pulled her closer to me and brushed a stray curl from her brow. She stared up at me as though mesmerized. In a whisper, I continued, “And finally, the only way you could ever cause me grief would be if you were to leave me.” Then I leaned down and kissed her, gently at first and then with all of the love and passion that I felt for her. Her arms went around my neck, her fingers entwining in my hair. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against my body, clinging to her as though she were as essential to me as the air in my lungs, which in fact she was.

  At last, the very need for air forced us apart. I refused to release Elizabeth, though. I pulled her head against my chest and stroked her hair as I steadied my ragged breathing. I kissed the top of her head and whispered into her ear, “I love you, Elizabeth. There is no one in the world that I love as much as you. Please say you will be my wife. Indeed in my heart, you already are.”

  Elizabeth looked up into my eyes, her own eyes over bright again but this time with joy. “Yes, Will. I love you.” Well, there was no other response to that but to kiss her again.

  --- --- ---

  When at last we returned to the house, I made my way to the library. I not only had a question for Mr. Bennet, but I also owed him an explanation for my aunt. I knocked and he called for me to enter. He set down his pen when he saw me and motioned me inside. “Well, Darcy,” he began. I thought it was a good sign that he was still addressing me in a familiar manner. “We had quite a visitor this morning.”

  “Yes, sir. I apologize profusely. I had no idea that my aunt was coming nor that she could ever behave in such an offensive manner.”

  “Do not worry about it too much, son. Mrs. Bennet was in raptures at having such an important personage in the house, but I expect our eardrums will recover.” I smiled weakly at his humor. He removed his spectacles and turned more serious. “Is Lizzy well?”

  I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yes, sir. She and I had a long talk and sorted out a number of things.”

  Mr. Bennet noticed my awkwardness. He smirked ever so slightly and raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you have a question for me, then?”

  I took a deep breath and thought about the pure joy that had suffused my being when Elizabeth told me she loved me, and I felt my nervousness fade away. Instead, I smiled at her father and asked, quite calmly, “Mr. Bennet, may I have permission to marry Elizabeth?”

  Mr. Bennet smiled back at me. I rather expected him to make sport of me again as he had done when I asked for permission to court her, but he did not. Instead, he rose from his chair and extended his hand, which I took. “Of course you may marry my Lizzy. I could not have parted with her to anyone less worthy. Welcome to the family, son.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter Nine

  The next few weeks were a strange combination of utter joy and complete frustration. Elizabeth and I made our engagement known to the neighborhood and congratulations flowed in from all corners. We spent much time in company with the various families in the area. I longed to be alone with her but at the same time, loved to see the delight shining in her eyes as she talked with her friends and
the love that each of them held for her. I knew that in Elizabeth I had truly found an invaluable treasure.

  As a consequence, Fitzwilliam was often in the company of Miss Lucas. He found himself, despite all resolutions to the contrary, incapable of staying away from her, in much the same manner I was incapable of staying away from Elizabeth. Miss Lucas seemed equally content in his presence, and they would often converse for an hour or more with no notice for those around them. Miss Lucas seemed to glow when Fitzwilliam was near, making her prettier than ever.

  I felt for them. My own happiness with Elizabeth made me want to see everyone else equally as satisfied. There had been no progress in the hunt for Wickham; Mrs. Younge either did not know where he was or was a far better liar than even we had supposed. All other avenues had so far proved fruitless as well. The blackguard seemed to have vanished.

  Fitzwilliam’s stay in Hertfordshire was indefinite until we had some sort of solution—his commanding officer had granted him extended leave due to the nature of his business and its connection with the army. Generally, the militia and the regulars were fully separate, but sometimes being the second son of an earl as well as a noted hero of the cavalry had its benefits. Fitzwilliam had leeway to do as he wished most of the time.

  Bingley had invited him to stay at Netherfield for as long as he liked, and his intimacy with Miss Lucas was growing by the day. I felt that, if necessary, Miss Lucas was the sort of woman that could make do as the wife of an officer with little money and make the most of it. Her parents were respectable but not wealthy, after all. But Fitzwilliam’s parents would not be pleased at their son choosing a life of relative poverty. So, I began to think of ways that I might help the pair, should they become engaged.

  Adding to my happiness were the letters I received from my family. I wrote to my aunt and uncle Matlock and Georgiana, informing them of my engagement and the pleasure this circumstance brought me. Fitzwilliam also wrote his parents, praising Elizabeth and her family and describing the suitability of our pairing. The Earl wrote back that he had received a visit from Lady Catherine but that her angry “blathering” had made little sense, and he was glad to hear that she was mistaken as to Elizabeth’s character. My aunt, Lady Susan, wrote of her anticipation in meeting the young woman who had so obviously captured my heart.

  Georgiana sent me four pages filled with her excitement and happiness on hearing my news. It was the happiest communication I had received from her since before the summer. She expressed her hope that she would meet Elizabeth soon. However, Fitzwilliam and I agreed that, while Wickham’s whereabouts were unknown, any travel on open roads—even the relatively short trip between London and Hertfordshire—was too risky. I had made Mrs. Annesley aware of the situation and she was keeping an even closer watch over Georgiana. And, since they could not meet yet, Elizabeth wrote to her instead, expressing her hope that they would come to love each other as sisters. The two began exchanging letters every few days.

  Unfortunately, there were other sources of annoyance and frustration beyond Wickham’s continued evasion of Fitzwilliam’s investigators. Lady Catherine sent Elizabeth and I each letters full of her venom and fury—letters that were vaguely skimmed and promptly burned.

  Miss Bingley, too, was predictably put out by our news, and while I knew she had done it, I could not prove she had written the letter to Lady Catherine. Nor, I found, could I be too angry with her. After all, her letter and the confrontation that followed had led to my current elation. Besides, a much more fitting punishment than any I could have conjured for her soon appeared.

  About a week after Lady Catherine’s visit, an addition to Longbourn arrived. When I entered the drawing room on my daily visit, I immediately noticed a squat little man with an obsequious manner. He appeared to be fawning over Mrs. Bennet. Everyone rose, and Elizabeth came to greet me. She had Mr. Collins, the cat, in her arms, which hissed at me as she approached.

  I gave her a questioning glance—Mr. Collins was not usually aloud in the house, as I had heard he tended to wreak havoc with the upholstery. She shook her head slightly and turned to the rest of the room. The strange little man stepped forward, eyeing the cat warily, and Elizabeth said, “Mr. Collins, may I present my fiancé, Mr. Darcy.” My confusion grew as I glanced from the man to the cat in her arms to Elizabeth. She raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Mr. Darcy, this is our cousin, Mr. Collins.”

  I stared at her, and she stared back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I could not look at Mr. Collins the man until I had stifled my urge to laugh. Elizabeth turned from me and introduced Mr. Collins to Bingley and Fitzwilliam. Once they had exchanged greetings, John appeared at my side and said, “Mr. Collins has recently joined the clergy, Will. He was granted the parish of Hunsford on your aunt’s estate at Rosings.”

  Now, I found myself staring at John in bemusement, as Mr. Collins bowed to me again, saying, “Indeed, Mr. Darcy, my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has been most considerate and attentive to me. My little parsonage, as I am sure you know, is separated only by a lane from that grand estate of Rosings Park. Lady Catherine and her lovely daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, have been kind enough to invite me to dine with them above twice a week. I have heard Lady Catherine sometimes described as proud, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She once visited me at my humble cottage and offered suggestions for improvements to the closets upstairs. She also suggested that I take these few weeks to visit my Hertfordshire relations and advised me also to marry as soon as I can, provided I choose with discretion.”

  I stared at him in wonder as he continued to ramble on and on about how wonderful Lady Catherine was and the excellent advice she had given him and his happiness in his situation. I glanced at Fitzwilliam, who was eyeing Mr. Collins as though he an entirely different species. Bingley merely shrugged and went to join Miss Bennet on a settee on the other side of the room. Mr. Bennet was not to be found. I could only assume he had taken to the library to escape this toadying parson.

  Mr. Collins droned on, and I looked to John and Elizabeth who were watching me, clearly amused. Elizabeth was biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing, the feline Mr. Collins still wiggling and hissing in her arms. At last she cut into her cousin’s monologue and asked, “Mr. Darcy, would you like to take a turn about the garden?”

  “Oh, Lizzy!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Of what can you be thinking? It is far too cold outside to be traipsing about the wilderness, even for you. No, Mr. Darcy would much rather stay here by the fire.”

  “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, you should listen to your excellent mother. You would not want to take ill and—“

  I cut in before he could launch into another absurd speech. “Actually, I believe a turn about the garden would be lovely.”

  “Wonderful,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll just go and retrieve my coat and bonnet.” She turned and handed her furry burden to Miss Lydia, who immediately began tying ribbons from her workbasket in his fur. As Elizabeth reached the door she asked, “John, did not Papa wish to speak to you and Colonel Fitzwilliam regarding that matter we spoke of earlier?”

  John grinned at her. “Yes, I believe you are right, Lizzy. Fitz, would you care to join me and my father in the library?” Fitzwilliam, looking relieved to be offered a reason to quit the room, nodded and followed Elizabeth through the door. John called, “Bingley, you are welcome to come, too.” Bingley declined, preferring to stay with Miss Bennet, and John and I left the room as well.

  Fitzwilliam followed John down the hallway and I followed Elizabeth to the front door, where we collected our coats. Hand in hand, we made our way to our favorite bench, which just happened to be out of view of all the windows of the house. It was quite cold outside, a delicate frost coating the grass and our breaths coming out in steamy puffs. But the quiet of the garden was much better than the absurd noise of the house. Once seated, I gathered Elizabeth into my arms for warmth and asked, “What on earth is going on?”

  She laughe
d that musical laugh that I had come to adore. “Mr. Collins just showed up this morning,” she said. “From what we could gather, I believe your aunt fairly forced him to come after she learned of his connection to us. I think she is under the misguided apprehension that he will be able to talk either you or me out of our engagement. He has been hinting all morning that I would make a much better wife for a parson than for a grand gentleman such as yourself.”

  “I beg your pardon? How dare he?”

  “Do not distress yourself, my love. It is not worth it; believe me. Mr. Collins is the sort of person who will never hear reason when he thinks he is right. And, as he is here at Lady Catherine’s insistence, and person who in his eyes can do no wrong, he will never believe his assertions anything but the most intelligent opinions imaginable.”

  I was incensed, but Elizabeth distracted me for a moment by wrapping her arms about my waist and resting her head on my shoulder. I kissed her curls, and we sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Suddenly remembering the strange picture that had greeted me when I entered the drawing room, I asked, “Why were you carrying about Mr. Collins’ feline counterpart?”

  She laughed again, and I felt it reverberate through my entire being. “The moment my father realized who had arrived, he sent me to the stables to locate Mr. Collins the cat and insisted that I see to it that the cat remain in whatever room his namesake occupied in the hope that Mr. Collins would be offended again and leave.” I laughed and held her tighter. “I must say it was quite something to see when Mr. Collins realized the cat was still alive. He turned quite red and stopped talking for a full five minutes, simply glaring at the cat.”

  “And now Miss Lydia is tying ribbons in the cats fur.” We both laughed again. When our merriment subsided, I asked, “What matter did your father want to discuss with John and Fitz?”