His Choice of a Wife

by Heather Moll

The colonel raised his hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me, Darcy, but I have never seen you rant and storm. If I ever thought to see you in such a state, I certainly never imaged overwhelming love for a woman would be its cause!”

  Darcy was struck by the realization of all that he professed and looked away in embarrassment, hoping the heat he felt in his cheeks was not visible.

  “There are harsh punishments for dueling. Should you kill Wickham, you may have to immediately flee to the Continent or to Scotland with no time to return to Hertfordshire. If you are tried for murder, you could be hanged.”

  “We both know that is unlikely even if I do kill him, which is not my intent. Respect for proper conduct is felt by everybody, and I may be absolved should he be mortally injured. This is an affair of honor—at least it is for me. I only hope that Elizabeth will still have me after all is said and done. She will not look kindly on my engaging in a duel.”

  “If she will still have you? Good God, the things you say! Miss Bennet is not a fool. She would never refuse you.”

  Darcy did not feel it necessary to mention a previous outcome when he discovered that his suit might not be acceptable to any lady whom he chose to honor with a proposal. Instead, he asked his cousin about the likelihood of the duel remaining a private matter.

  “There is no way to prevent this from getting abroad! Do not visit the Pump Room today; everyone in Bath is talking of it. Of course, there will be no one on the field tomorrow morning who ought not be there, but do not fool yourself into believing that no one knows that the scheming new husband of the pitiable former Miss Hareton has run afoul of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”

  “Seduction, elopement, illegitimacy, scandal, duels: these are the improprieties the gossiping ton seizes upon.” He hated gossip, he hated this despicable place, he hated George Wickham, and he hated being forced into a position to defend his honor.

  “I must acquire two decent pistols for you before tomorrow morning. I think there is a fellow in the Market Place who sells capital guns. Too bad there is no time to teach you how to use one.”

  “I resent that. Simply because I am not a marksman does not mean that I cannot fire a weapon.”

  “This is not the same as grouse shooting with your dogs! Dueling pistols have a hair-trigger as part of the flint-lock. Let us hope you do not shoot yourself before your duel.”

  “Your confidence in me touches my heart. Have you anything else to propose for my success on the morrow?”

  “Promise me that you will not touch the pistols before I hand them to you on the field in the morning. I will inspect them, I will load them, and all you need do is stand exactly where I say and shoot in the direction I tell you.”

  “I thank you for taking prodigious care of me,” he muttered dryly.

  When Fitzwilliam rose to leave, Darcy called out after him to wait. The cousins looked at one another with a calmness that buried their real attachment. “I am sincerely and forever grateful for your aid.” They shook hands warmly but in silence.

  Darcy reflected on the ordeal he would face tomorrow. He would have preferred to have influenced Wickham another way: encouraging a sense of duty in him, convincing him that he would make his life miserable if he did not acquiesce, or bribing him with a substantial amount of money. But Darcy would face Wickham tomorrow with the same unyielding determination he had faced every challenge in his—until now—well-ordered existence.

  He wondered whether Elizabeth might be grateful for his heroic attention to duty and honor, but he could understood full well her anger for placing himself in the position of Wickham aiming a pistol at him.

  Her eyes would flash in anger, and her entire face would crumble in disappointment when he returned and told her exactly how he had met with Wickham. He sighed heavily and forced himself to think of fonder memories of Elizabeth when she had not at all been cross with him…

  He pulled her towards him and met her lips, delighting in her gentle moan and eager response. Darcy entwined his fingers in her dark hair. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to show her every way he felt about her. Her hands slid from his shoulders, and then she pulled his hands from her to unfasten his sleeve buttons. He tore his lips away to peel the damp shirt off his body and toss it aside. Elizabeth’s skirts were gathered at her hips, and the sight of her stockings and boots peeking out from beneath them was curiously exciting. Darcy bent to kiss her neck, reveling in the feel of her breasts pressed against his naked chest.

  Elizabeth whispered his name as she tilted back her head. He had never heard anything sound so sweet. “I love you.”

  She had said the words many times—as had he—but in this moment, she looked so beautiful, so full of desire for him that he could not find his voice. He pulled her into a crushing, soulful kiss, desperate to express all the love, passion, and faithfulness he felt for her. If he lacked the words to tell her all that she had come to mean to him, then he would be sure that his actions left her in no doubt. He trailed a line of eager kisses down her neck as he made his way towards her soft breasts, savoring every curve of her body.

  Fine eyes blazing with desire, she forcefully brought his lips back to hers, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as she raked her fingernails through his hair. Darcy returned her ardor equally and roughly held and touched her with an urgency that had not felt necessary their first time together. They kissed wildly, their breathing erratic. The low moans she made against his mouth and her instinctive movements against him were almost more than he could stand.

  Darcy relished her sharp gasps of pleasure when he brought his hand beneath her skirts. Elizabeth’s mouth fell away from his, and he saw a look of naked hunger in her eyes before she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath hot and moist as her teeth grazed against his neck. His arousal was nearly painful in its intensity, and out of a baser instinct that had long been suppressed, he begged her to touch him. Elizabeth fumbled for his buttons, and then Darcy felt more alive than he had ever been.

  His lips came crashing back to her mouth with an unrestrained groan; his body burned where she caressed him. He was struck by a fear of never being with her in this way again, and his distress manifested itself in his actions. He kissed and stroked her with an impatient need, whispering in her ear endearments of devotion, how he adored her body, what pleasures she brought him, and how desperately he wanted to be inside her.

  His eyes met hers possessively when she pulled away to look at him in ardent desire. Darcy kept her gaze, and then both of them shuddered at the blissful contact. They eventually fell into slow, rhythmic movements, and Darcy could barely hold on amid the blinding pleasure she gave him. His pace quickened, and he could almost hear the frantic beating of his own heart over her panting cries. Elizabeth clung to him, her eyes closed, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  “Elizabeth,” he gasped, and she met his fiery gaze. “Say it again,” he begged as his hips surged upward, his grip on her waist tightening. “Please, tell me again.”

  Without dropping her eyes, Elizabeth managed to breathe, “I love you,” and Darcy became undone.

  It was some time before their heartbeats slowed and their breathing calmed. Elizabeth’s head rested on his shoulder while Darcy ran his fingers through her damp hair. It was even longer before he was capable of coherent speech. He gently pushed her back to look into her face and took no small amount of pleasure in her disheveled appearance and satisfied smile.

  “‘Love’ is not a strong enough word for all that I feel for you.”

  Darcy’s attention was brought back to the present by the increased noise on the street. Thoughts of Elizabeth’s happiness and their families’ reputation influenced him in everything he had said and done—or omitted to say and do—in the last four-and-twenty hours. As he considered what he would face at dawn, he realized the sad fate that would befall her and her family should he be
bested by Wickham. But now that he was alone, with the remembrance of his betrothed waning and without his cousin’s company, the resolute determination to do what was right, to do his duty as a gentleman, had faded. Darcy was then struck by the first stab of dread at facing a dishonorable man who eagerly sought to kill him.

  Chapter 26

  It had been a week since anyone other than Lady Lucas or Mrs. Philips called at Longbourn and nearly as long since the Bennet ladies had been received elsewhere. Mrs. Bennet sat in the parlor with Jane and Lady Lucas, lamenting the unfavorable lot cast upon her family. Elizabeth was about to enter the room when the tone of their conversation made her hesitate, and she hovered in indecision outside the door.

  “But, Mamma, my reputation cannot in rational expectation survive such a blow as this,” she heard Jane say.

  “Only should you stay in this neighborhood. This trifle with Lydia will be too insignificant to be held against you in London. Lizzy will be in a better position to put you in the path of men far richer than that changeable Mr. Bingley! Darcy is so very rich and moves in much higher circles. I am certain our dear Darcy would be very satisfied to host a ball for several hundred people in his house in London for your sake.”

  “That does not coincide with what I know of Darcy’s nature. He is generous, to be sure, but I do not believe—”

  Elizabeth stepped away to lean against the wall. Although her mother had ceased speaking on ways to bring Lydia home, she had now moved on to securing the future of her eldest daughter. Mrs. Bennet’s plans fluttered between using Fitzwilliam’s influence to introduce Jane to wealthy bachelors or to throw her in the path of Mr. Bingley again in the hopes that match might yet be recommenced.

  “You ought not to lurk in doorways. Mr. Darcy would not want his future wife to act indecorously,” Mr. Bennet teased as Elizabeth jumped in surprise.

  “I think Darcy kind enough to forgive a trivial impropriety.”

  “I suppose you are correct; he has been generous thus far. Although, I would not test his patience as far as your mother is concerned. I would not invite her to Pemberley. As grand as it may be, it will not be large enough for your husband to hide from the sound of her voice.”

  While her mother was a silly woman, there was no reason for her father to be cruel. “You could show her some semblance of respect.”

  “Come now! Your mother is too ignorant and silly for my respect.”

  “And you are too mocking and hurtful for mine!” Elizabeth left without another word.

  The joyfulness of family love had long been subdued in the Bennet household. Kitty grumbled of having no amusements now that the only one who would receive her was Maria Lucas. Mary still sought commendation for her mediocre talents and was summarily ignored. Jane’s spirits were not yet recovered enough for her to shower her family with her usual kindness and goodwill. As for Mr. Bennet, he chose to be diverted by provoking the frayed nerves of anyone who crossed his path.

  Such were Elizabeth’s days while she waited for Fitzwilliam. She had begun, regretfully, to care less about their reputations the longer he stayed away. Every day passed in the same manner as the previous, and the monotony was torture to her active mind. Elizabeth decided to walk to Meryton. She had taken many solitary strolls around the countryside as of late, and even if no one would acknowledge her, she craved to be at least near some society. If her aunt Philips were at home, she could, for lack of any other company, call on her.

  Elizabeth felt the eyes of Meryton’s citizens following her as she made her way to the circulating library. She held her head high and did her best to affect Fitzwilliam’s stern and disinterested demeanor as she passed them by. She had not yet received a reply to her last letter to him, and she was in the midst of composing a second letter in her mind when a gentleman on horseback called her name.

  “Mr. Bingley!”

  He touched his hat in greeting, and Elizabeth saw his eyes glance behind her, as if searching for another Miss Bennet. “I hope I find you well on this fine Saturday morning, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth was glad she had not asked Jane to accompany her into Meryton. The mortification of this encounter was dreadful enough without having to consider her sister’s fragile feelings. “Mr. Bingley, since you are no longer to wed my sister, I must insist you refrain from addressing me informally.”

  He looked embarrassed. “Of course, Miss Bennet, please forgive me. I would by no means wish to offend you. My meeting you here must be something of a surprise.”

  Elizabeth struggled to find something to speak of. She was unprepared for such an encounter, for there was not one article of news to reach her of Mr. Bingley’s being in the neighborhood. Although, given the Bennets’ relative isolation of late, this was nothing to be surprised at. She felt anew all her anger at his fickle nature and her sister’s broken heart.

  “I did not know you were coming down again. I admit that I am shocked you would presume to take residence in our neighborhood.”

  “I was recently in Bath and have only now arrived. My agent has been in contact with a gentleman who seeks to purchase the lease to Netherfield, and I have returned to meet them. So you see, I shall not long be in the neighborhood and have no plans to return again.”

  “I believe that would be for the best.”

  After another silence, Mr. Bingley said, “I saw Darcy in Bath two days ago.”

  “I am pleased to hear that he is well. I have not had a letter from Darcy for several days, and so I do not know what trouble he has gotten in to.”

  Her comment was to be taken as an amusing idea, for Fitzwilliam was not the sort of man to find himself in misfortune. But Mr. Bingley refused to meet her eye, grew visibly paler, and gave every impression of wishing to be elsewhere. Elizabeth was immediately suspicious.

  “Do you know something of Darcy’s movements this past week? Did he encounter Mr. Wickham?”

  “Miss Elizabeth, I must take my leave. You will forgive me if I do not offer my compliments to your family; I fear they would not be well received.”

  Elizabeth threw aside all propriety and stepped in front of Mr. Bingley’s horse, no longer caring a whit what the gawking folks of Meryton would say about her recklessness. “I insist you tell me what you know! Has Darcy seen Mr. Wickham?”

  Elizabeth could have sworn she heard him mutter something about her likeness to Darcy.

  “Yes,” he replied gravely, “they met once Thursday night and…will have a second meeting if they have not had it already, one that was unavoidable.”

  Mr. Bingley could not possibly be implying that the only way for Fitzwilliam to preserve their honor and settle the dispute was with pistols. “What! Will Darcy challenge—”

  “I am certain Darcy could meet Mr. Wickham’s depravity no other way.” With a touch to his hat, Mr. Bingley was gone.

  Elizabeth stood in the street, her mind reeling as passersby looked at her scornfully. Her dearest Fitzwilliam was going to duel Wickham? She did not know whether to be proud of him for his defense of her family or furious that he would place his life in danger. Shock and confusion won out over any other emotion. She was bewildered, and the thought of sitting in her aunt’s parlor now seemed far too stifling. Elizabeth pensively made her way back to Longbourn.

  ***

  At the first appearance of dawn on Saturday morning, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat in Darcy’s landau, the only sound in the cool morning air the occasional rattle of the horses’ reins. As Darcy looked out the left side glass, he could just make out the Green Park Buildings and, through the right, the river towards Beecham Cliff. It was an enchanting prospect if one were not on Kingsmead Field for a duel.

  Fitzwilliam shifted in his seat and gazed across the open field. “I see a gentleman not far off; I believe that is the surgeon. Wickham has not yet arrived, but we are early. Shall we take th
e field?” He reached out to open the door.

  Darcy had been sitting in silence, staring at his moss agate sleeve buttons. Upon hearing his cousin’s voice, Darcy’s hand shot out and clutched Fitzwilliam’s arm as his hand rested on the handle. The colonel looked up in surprise and met the fierce gaze of his cousin. For a moment, Darcy did not speak, nor did he remove his hand from his cousin, his breathing coming in quick shallow intakes of breath.

  “Georgiana,” he said in a harried tone, still gripping his cousin’s arm.

  His cousin interrupted him with a shake of his head. “Darcy! You cannot think that—”

  “Promise me! She is such a lonely child. You must promise me to care for her should—”

  “Yes, I shall make sure Georgiana marries the most vain, self-absorbed, cash-strapped, widowed baronet who comes to call her first Season. Pemberley will be bankrupt in two generations, fear not.”

  Darcy knew his cousin was trying to distract him, but he would not yield and stared intently with a gaze known to intimidate lesser men.

  The colonel nodded. “Georgiana will want for nothing, you have my word.”

  Darcy released his cousin’s arm. Fitzwilliam removed his hand from the handle and sat back to wait for him to speak. Darcy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter, toying with it in his hands for a moment before passing it to his cousin.

  “It is for Elizabeth; her direction is printed on the envelope. You must deliver it to her should Wickham—” Darcy paused and glanced at the field. “Should Wickham kill me,” he finished in a faltering voice.

  The colonel, in a dignified manner, inclined his head and placed the letter in his inner glove pocket.

  “There is more I need tell you.” Darcy looked on his cousin with eyes of glowing entreaty. “I have settled fifteen thousand pounds on Elizabeth, and as you are the executor of my will, I look to you to ensure that she receives it.”

  “Darcy, you are not actually married to her! As generous a man as you are, you do not owe her such a legacy.”