His Choice of a Wife

by Heather Moll

  “I am a man of honor! This is not a conditional recommendation. It is my explicit wish that Elizabeth receives it.” His cousin stared, disbelieving. “I cannot allow her to remain at Longbourn and be neglected by her irresponsible parents. She has a thousand pounds to her name only on her mother’s death and no connections of any consideration. She is so lively, so intelligent, but if she remains in that neighborhood, there is no doubt in my mind that she will waste away. With fifteen thousand pounds, she can stay in town and be someone of consequence, no matter what damage Lydia has done to her reputation. Elizabeth will likely wish to have her sister Jane with her. I trust you to help her arrange things to her satisfaction.”

  “I know you are immovable, so I shall agree to aid Miss Bennet. I must suggest to you, however painful it might be, the probability that she will not long retain the name of Bennet. With such a fortune, her family’s reputation notwithstanding, a pretty and vivacious woman like her will not remain single in London.”

  It was exactly what Darcy had hoped he would say. “Yes, of that I am well aware.” After a lengthy pause and with an unwavering stare, Darcy repeated, “Elizabeth will have fifteen thousand pounds.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded and waited for Darcy to continue. When he did not, it did not take the colonel much longer to comprehend Darcy’s presumption. “You cannot be in earnest, Darcy!” He pulled back into his seat, trying to create more distance between himself and Darcy’s idea.

  “You admire her, and she will be a very wealthy—”

  “It is quite a leap from admiration to matrimony!” Fitzwilliam interrupted. “Your betrothed is diverting, but I would prefer a sweeter, milder-natured woman to keep my home. More importantly, I reserve the right to make such a choice for myself!”

  “You have always said you needed to marry with consideration to fortune, and fifteen thousand pounds should suit you both very well.”

  “I know how your mind works! I suppose the fact that I am the only man in the world who would still have her if she is carrying your child has factored into your plan? Not to mention she is no longer intact and therefore unmarriageable should the truth be known?”

  “You are being needlessly crude.”

  Darcy felt the awkward intensity between them as if it were a living and breathing thing. It brought Darcy no pleasure to discuss Elizabeth marrying another man. But he could not think on his own comfort at a time such as this.

  “Her father will mock her and her mother will criticize her, and she deserves better than that. She will have no prospects should she remain penniless at home with one sister a jilt and the other fallen. How worse would it be should Elizabeth also be with child? The Bennets’ ruination would be complete. I am not telling you to marry her. Elizabeth would certainly not marry without affection, and I know she would resent being spoken of in this way. I am simply doing all that I can to preserve her respectability and offer her a future beyond what Longbourn has to offer.”

  “You are giving me your blessing to marry your intended, to provide a name for her child if necessary? How gracious of you,” Fitzwilliam sarcastically replied as he glared. “You are too accustomed to arranging matters to your own liking!”

  Darcy sighed and then covered his eyes as he leant against the side of the carriage. He would have to speak plainly and admit his shortcoming. “I cannot walk onto that field and take my life into my hands without knowing she will be provided for.” He considered his moss agate sleeve buttons again rather than meet his cousin’s eye. “I could be dead before the sun is fully over the horizon, and my greatest fear is that I leave Elizabeth vulnerable.”

  When in his life had he ever admitted to being afraid? The desire to put one’s affairs in order before facing death was justified, and he always did take prodigious care of those he loved. Although he said his greatest fear was leaving Elizabeth to an uncertain fate, Darcy was at last feeling anxiety about his own.

  “I swear to you that your sister and Miss Bennet will be provided for. I shall do what is necessary to ensure their comfort and shall protect their good names at whatever the cost.”

  Darcy closed his eyes; when he opened them, he was in control of his emotions. Before he could speak, before he could further think on Georgiana and his dearest Elizabeth, Colonel Fitzwilliam brought his attention back to the present.

  “A gentleman defends his honor with a cool head in a controlled manner.” He leant forward and stared into his cousin’s eyes. “You are to alight with your head held high and conduct yourself with the same discipline and respectability that you always command.”

  His cousin threw open the door and stepped out, and by the time Darcy stood beside him, he once again gave every appearance of being a stern, respectable gentleman. The early morning fog was burning off, and some thirty yards away stood a man fidgeting with a bag as he stared at the river. A modest carriage was behind him, its blinds drawn against the rising sun.

  “That must be Dr. Lockwood.” Fitzwilliam retrieved the cherry box containing Darcy’s pistols. “Excuse me, but I shall check your weapons again.”

  “I ought to greet the surgeon.”

  “There is no need.” Fitzwilliam’s gaze was still on the finely crafted weapons. “The only person on this field you need to speak to is me.”

  “I cannot be in close proximity to the man and be silent. My approaching him would not be an impertinent freedom.”

  Darcy walked over and bowed to the doctor, whose eyes darted around with worried energy as he shifted his bag. He was a frail-looking man a few years older than himself. “Forgive me for speaking to you without an introduction. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. May I presume you are the surgeon Colonel Fitzwilliam engaged for our meeting?”

  “Dr. Edgar Lockwood, sir, at your service,” he answered pleasantly with a bow. “Although, I must say that I hope you do not require my services, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Our opinions coincide, Dr. Lockwood.” Darcy considered what he ought to say to continue their conversation. They seemed in danger of sinking into silence. Darcy supposed he must be a sociable man because he took pity on Darcy’s inability to continue the conversation and volunteered that he had been a surgeon in London but, upon receiving his accreditation, now treated patients as a physician in Bath.

  “Most of my patients take the waters for the benefit of their joints. I have been treating Miss Hareton, for example, for rheumatic fever for several years.”

  “The lady is now Mrs. Wickham,” Darcy corrected politely.

  “Yes, I suppose that is her new title.” He dropped his gaze. All discourse was now at an end, and after several moments of uncomfortable silence, Darcy took his leave and returned to his cousin, who was admiring the matched set of dueling pistols. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked his impression of the surgeon.

  “I am hesitant about forming an opinion. He spoke well and appears to be a genteel, if docile, sort of man. At the first he was affable, but then he grew silent. I could not catch the tone of his conversation.”

  “You are not the most talented at understanding people. In all honesty, I am surprised you took the trouble to make yourself known to him at all. Who would have thought not so long ago that Fitzwilliam Darcy would voluntarily recommend himself to a stranger beneath him in consequence?”

  The rumbling of an approaching carriage caught their collective attention. It was undeniably new, pulled by a team of six horses, and glistened in the early morning sun. Fitzwilliam chuckled at the sight of the impressive, four-wheeled vehicle struggling to roll across the uneven field.

  “Does Wickham think this is a social call at the height of the Season? I did not know this was a formal occasion that required a town coach! My, you should be flattered by Wickham’s consideration.”

  “What an ostentatious show of wealth.” Darcy shook his head as the large carriage came to a stop. “Most residents of Bath
do not even need to keep carriages.”

  The doctor stood nearby and did not remove his gaze from the man who stepped out of the ridiculous carriage. George Wickham gave every appearance of enjoying himself as he took the field, bowing with a flourish towards Darcy and Fitzwilliam. He was followed by another man carrying a pistol case under his arm, who then engaged Wickham in hurried conversation.

  “Darcy, remember there is no need for you to speak with Wickham. That is why I am here—to represent you. I shall make one final attempt to resolve this peaceably with his second.”

  Fitzwilliam was speaking with Wickham’s second, Mr. Kenneth, when Wickham turned his attention down the field.

  “Come now, Darcy, let us speak plainly!” Wickham called to where Darcy stood next to his pair of horses. “Will you apologize for calling me a liar and a rake?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Your second may speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “I find your attention to propriety a dead bore!”

  “It is you, Mr. Wickham, who must recant! You attacked my integrity as well as the reputations of the ladies of my family.” Fitzwilliam caught his eye and shook his head, but Darcy paid him no mind as he stared Wickham down.

  Wickham swiftly crossed the distance between them, his face full of enjoyment at seeing Darcy’s countenance set in barely restrained anger. “I have no intention of apologizing! I shall proudly tell anyone who cares to listen that the future Mrs. Darcy is a whore like her youngest sister. Your sister by marriage will always be a whore, and I can look forward to the day when polite society will question whether your wife’s children have Darcy blood.” In a quieter voice, Wickham continued so only Darcy could hear. “Exposing you and those you care for to gossip and contempt is second only to the joy of looking at you over the barrel of a gun. I have little other means of revenge at my disposal, and I do so wish to see you suffer as you have left me to suffer all these years!”

  “Your trials are due to your own extravagant ways and dissolute habits. I shall not stand by and allow you to ruin the reputation of ladies under my protection.”

  Wickham merely shrugged his shoulders. “You ought to know: Lydia’s lovely person could not but please me. I endeavored, by every means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her without any design of returning her affection.”

  Darcy’s immovable will was what kept his revulsion from appearing in his features. Darcy refused to allow him the pleasure of seeing him angry. Wickham winked then continued to insult him. “Now that I further reflect, the same could be said about our fetching Georgiana,” he said with mock consideration. “I do hope that, when I left her in Ramsgate, she felt as though she would never be happy again.”

  From someplace deep inside Darcy’s soul, he found the fortitude not to strike Wickham for speaking of his sister. “For the sake of your own selfish interests and convenience, you would perpetuate any cruelty or any treachery. You have no feelings for others. If you refuse to apologize and seek reconciliation, I have no recourse but to see you meet my challenge.”

  “With pleasure,” Wickham bowed and made his way across the field. After several paces, he called loudly over his shoulder, “Your future bride and I were at a time such good friends. ’Tis a shame she did not go to Brighton instead of her sister. I would have enjoyed taking a flyer on her. Lizzy would have enjoyed it too.”

  Fitzwilliam crossed the field back towards Darcy and gave Wickham a stare of unrestrained loathing as he passed him. Darcy’s feelings changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.

  Fitzwilliam told him how the barrels of Wickham’s weapons were smoothbore, not rifled, and they had been loaded with only single charges. The firing distance was twenty-four paces, and after asking whether all was ready, the signal to fire would be the drop of a handkerchief. It took all of Darcy’s self-control not to pace with volatile energy while he glowered at Wickham.

  “Once begun, you will both fire one time. If Wickham does not offer an apology that you wish to accept, you both will fire once again unless, of course, one of you takes a severe hit after the first round. Your second pistols will be at the ready, but I do hope you will not need it. Darcy? Darcy!”

  Darcy dragged his eyes from Wickham and looked at his cousin. “I heard you.”

  “I never imagined saying these words to you, but do not allow your emotions to master you. You are a gentleman preserving yourself in an affair of honor. If there was ever a time for your propensity for steady purpose, single-mindedness, and impassivity, it is now.”

  Darcy nodded once in agreement. Fitzwilliam went on as he marked out the firing distance. “You and Wickham are merely tolerable shots, so the distance is short. I shall hand your pistol to you already cocked and ready to fire. You will salute one another after you approach your mark. I know you do not wish to be told what to do, but your life may depend upon it; I want you to turn sideways as you extend your arm and offer the smallest target area possible. Wickham is not going to admit his fault by deloping, nor is he going to aim to inflict a non-fatal wound. He will fire with the intent to kill. You must stay on your mark until both pistols have been fired, and whatever you do, do not lower your arm until both shots are fired.” He handed him his pistol.

  “Is there anything else you wish me to do or not do? I have never been given so many orders in all my life.” Darcy watched Wickham take his weapon. His own pistol felt surprisingly heavy in his hand, and he had to forcefully close his fingers around the handle so as not to drop it.

  “Only one: do not get killed.” With that, Fitzwilliam walked thirty yards back to stand with Wickham’s second and the surgeon. A neutral third party, agreed upon by their seconds to preside over the matter, stood between them and held the large white handkerchief. Darcy watched Fitzwilliam speak to the doctor, who nodded and turned his back to the proceedings.

  Darcy stood at his place, his implacable resentment for Wickham pushed aside only far enough to allow him to think on his cousin’s instructions. With cold civility, he inclined his head towards Wickham, who only smirked. His heart rate felt too rapid, and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears. Darcy’s eyes widened despite the early morning sun rising in the east. He felt cold, resolved, tense, but he only felt a brief flash of dread when they both raised their arms.

  The handkerchief dropped, and the sound of two pistols firing at once blasted through the quiet tranquility of the morning.

  Chapter 27

  Darcy’s fingers were still shaking when Colonel Fitzwilliam took the pistol from his hand. The world had shifted out of focus after he pulled the trigger, and it was not until his cousin clapped him on the back and congratulated him that Darcy could take stock of his surroundings. The doctor stood motionless with his medical bag in hand away from the others although he had turned back around to face the assembled men. Wickham’s second was leaning over that gentleman in uncertainty.

  The roar of the pistol blasts finally dimmed in his ears and allowed Darcy to hear the string of curses coming from Wickham’s mouth. The man was flat on his back in the grass, his left hand up at the side of his head, and his neck cloth soaked in bright red blood. Wickham’s head rolled from side to side as he spat invectives against Darcy’s character and lineage in between hisses of pain. Darcy realized the surgeon still stood back.

  “Doctor!” Darcy called when he finally found his voice. Dr. Lockwood continued to watch Wickham suffer. “Your services are required, Dr. Lockwood.” This provoked him, and with a heavy sigh and shake of his head, he took up his bag of instruments and knelt down next to Wickham.

  The whole of the morning’s events seemed too fantastic to be real, and Darcy was not yet master of himself enough to clearly reflect on them. He tried to regulate his breathing as his cousin and Mr. Kenneth conferred. Fitzwilliam spoke animatedly and gestured at Wickham while the other man only nodded
. The doctor had pulled out bandages, and he was attempting to dress Wickham’s wound though the sight of so much blood caused Darcy to feel ill. What have I done? Fitzwilliam talked briefly with the surgeon and then trotted back to his cousin’s side.

  “You can leave the ground with your honor, Darcy. I congratulate you!” Fitzwilliam gave an unrestrained grin. “Wickham is not in a position to retract and apologize at present, but his second has done so on his behalf. One certainly could not argue after seeing your shot.”

  “How is Wickham?” Darcy asked in a strangled voice as he stared across the field at his adversary.

  “There is always the risk of infection, but the poor excuse for a man ought to recover.” Darcy’s stomach turned at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages, and he looked at his cousin in disbelief. “Dr. Lockwood says the bullet tore off most of Wickham’s left ear. He will carry the proof of today’s punishment for the rest of his life. A brilliant shot, Darcy!” Fitzwilliam was positively beaming.

  “You will not wish to know for what I was aiming,” he muttered dryly.

  Fitzwilliam’s jovial countenance fell. “Do not ruin this for me! I shall proceed in the belief that you intended to inflict such a precise, non-fatal injury.”

  Darcy could just acknowledge within himself the possibility of ending the life of George Wickham. That truth made him shudder at the idea of the guilt at taking another’s life that must have followed. Had he been responsible for Wickham’s death, Darcy would have been plagued for the rest of his life by both the memories of their shared childhood and the sight of Wickham, as undeserving as he was, dying at his feet. Had he killed him, he doubted Elizabeth would ever forgive him. He was unsure whether he could have forgiven himself.

  “Let me speak one last time with Wickham and settle this. I wish to leave for Hertfordshire within the hour.”