His Choice of a Wife

by Heather Moll

  Dr. Lockwood had slowed the bleeding from Wickham’s head, and that man was now waving the doctor off and attempting to rise. He managed so far as to sit upright until his eyes rolled and he tipped backwards. Mr. Kenneth was still holding the unnecessary second pistol and hovering uselessly. Wickham glared as Darcy approached, and tried to lift his head. He might have cursed him more had the attempt to lift his head from the ground not caused him to grimace in pain.

  “Can you not give him something to ease his pain?”

  “He is not suffering exceedingly,” Dr. Lockwood muttered coolly while he replaced the blood-soaked bandages with new ones. “A good drink will suffice.”

  “We are both fortunate that flint-lock pistols are not terribly accurate.” Darcy leant over where Wickham lay.

  Wickham’s eyes blazed with hatred as he tried unsuccessfully once again to rise. “I ought to have aimed for your stomach instead of your heart! I might have had the pleasure of watching you die slowly and painfully.”

  Darcy could no longer be surprised to hear such vitriol from George Wickham. “To do the best only for yourself no longer passes as duty. I shall be in contact with you regarding your duty of maintenance to Miss Lydia Bennet and your child. You will in due course retract and apologize for your slander about Miss Lydia and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You cannot deny in front of these witnesses that this matter is settled.”

  He touched his hat and walked towards his landau, his steps swift and determined until Fitzwilliam caught up to him.

  “You ought to speak to your valet, Darcy. He should not let you out with loose threads dangling from your coat.”

  Darcy’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he followed his cousin’s gaze to the tear on the left side of his dark green coat. With a shrug, he made to carry on, but he was stopped short when Fitzwilliam suddenly grabbed his lapel and spun Darcy around. Before he could speak, his cousin patted at his side and held him still while he frantically tore at his open cutaway coat and attempted to tug it off.

  Darcy tried to step away. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Damn it, Darcy! Take off the coat!”

  He stood stunned and confused as his coachman ran forward and helped to pull away the coat from his shoulders. Darcy’s protests were ignored while Fitzwilliam’s fingers fumbled on his striped waistcoat’s single-breasted buttons. That, too, was carelessly ripped from his body.

  “Unhand me!” Darcy cried, but strangely, no one paid him any heed. He had just shot off a piece of a man’s ear, and now he was stripped down to his shirt on Kingsmead Field by his cousin and his servant. He was about to forcibly remove himself from their grasp when the colonel swiftly exhaled and stepped away, muttering a quiet “thank God” under his breath.

  Darcy’s eyes darted between the coachman, who had retreated to his horses, and his cousin, who was now bent at the waist with his hands at his sides, cursing to himself. He was about to harangue Fitzwilliam for his crazed behavior when he raised his hand to rake it through his hair and cringed at the motion. Darcy looked down and saw the red stain contrasting sharply against the crisp white shirt. There was a ragged tear in the shirt along his left side, and Darcy flinched when he ran his finger across the shallow wound where Wickham’s bullet had grazed him three inches below his heart.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam had controlled his own countenance and handed Darcy his waistcoat. Then he offered him the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

  Darcy focused all of his attention on inhaling and then exhaling. He was light-headed and nauseous, and if he stopped to think about how Wickham had nearly killed him, he might collapse. After several more breaths, it once again became natural. He set his jaw as he took the offered handkerchief to blot the trickle of blood at his side. Methodically, he put his arms through the waistcoat and slowly put each button through its hole before managing to put on his own coat. It was only then that Darcy was able to meet Fitzwilliam’s eye.

  “’Tis only a scratch!” The colonel’s voice was filled with false bravado.

  Darcy righted his hat atop his head, and when he spoke, his tone was grim. “And I nearly would have been a grave man if you asked after me tomorrow.”

  “You are no Mercutio. Let us leave.”

  Darcy adjusted his coat sleeve so he could see the sleeve buttons Elizabeth had given him. He did not regret doing all he could to defend the honor of his future wife and sister, but what he wanted now was to marry Elizabeth and never think of this terrible affair again. He could not tolerate a moment longer on this field. Every sight and sound reminded him how close he had been to death. Darcy squared his shoulders and moved with a hurried air that showed his impatience to be gone. He would never set foot in Bath again.

  They were near to the doctor’s carriage when Darcy saw the curtain flicker and knew more people witnessed this morning’s events than he would have preferred. The knowledge that he had bested Wickham in an affair of honor would be to the benefit of the Bennets’ reputation, but that hardly meant that he was not mortified to have spectators circulate their first-hand accounts. While he resigned himself to this distressing truth, he realized the colonel had stopped walking and was glancing around at the ground. Fitzwilliam absently patted at his pockets, and Darcy walked back towards him. He was about to ask what was the matter before the raised voices distracted them both.

  Dr. Lockwood had stumbled back, and Wickham had managed to raise himself unsteadily to his feet and was quarreling with his second, his voice filled with rage. Darcy started when he heard his own name and observed Wickham wrench his second pistol from Mr. Kenneth’s hands.

  “Darcy, go to the devil!”

  Time seemed suspended as Darcy watched Wickham raise his arm and pull the trigger. The next thing Darcy was aware of was the hard unyielding impact of the earth.

  ***

  Late Tuesday, Jane and Elizabeth were seated on the latter’s bed where they had passed the chief of the evening in spirited and girlish conversation. Elizabeth was thankful for the distraction from fretting incessantly about Fitzwilliam. She pulled a letter from Georgiana from her dressing table drawer and handed it to Jane with a playful grin.

  “She included a drawing of Pemberley so that I might be familiar with my new home. My new sister thinks she does me a service, but all she has done is to frighten me!”

  “How can you say that? It is a fine-looking house. Look at the ridge of high woody hills behind it and the stream swelling in the front. I think such a place will suit you well.”

  “Look at the size of that large stone building.”

  “Perhaps Miss Darcy does not have an eye for scale.” Seeing her sister’s incredulous gaze caused Jane to dissolve into a fit of giggles.

  Elizabeth huffed and rolled her eyes as she fell backwards onto the pillows. “We both know that is unlikely. I do not know how I shall ever become acquainted with all of Pemberley’s rooms. I shall have to tie myself to the housekeeper’s apron strings so I do not become lost!”

  Jane had placed the Pemberley sketch aside and was now eyeing the one behind it. She peered at it and then blushed and set it aside so forcefully that it caught Elizabeth’s attention. “Georgiana was kind enough to include a sketch of her brother since I have no miniature keepsake of my own. She based it on a portrait of him at Pemberley that was drawn in his father’s lifetime. Do you not think it like?”

  “No, Miss Darcy has done well; it is a striking resemblance.” Jane averted her gaze from the paper. Elizabeth prodded her sister to speak her mind. “It is strange to see that expression of Darcy’s fixed on me as the viewer of the picture—that is all.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Darcy is drawn with a very arresting gaze, and he looks that way, with such a smile over his face, when he looks at you.”

  Elizabeth blushed at her sister’s words. She had
become accustomed to the way he smiled at her when they were alone, a heartfelt expression that was openly affectionate. Elizabeth had come to realize that his earnest gazes last autumn, in Kent, and sometimes even now were of fascination and desire; but she was surprised to learn that modest Jane discerned such a difference.

  “Lizzy,” Jane began uncertainly, drawing Elizabeth from her contemplation of Darcy’s likeness. “There is something I should like to ask you.”

  Jane’s serious expression caught Elizabeth’s notice, and she gave her sister her full attention.

  “Darcy said something after he learned about Mr. Bingley’s leaving. He said that he had already interfered far too much. At the time, I did not think on it, but as I have had little else to do of late, I have put it all together. I can perfectly understand why Miss Bingley acted as she did, but I suspect she did not act alone in keeping Mr. Bingley from me last winter. Why did Darcy interfere?”

  Elizabeth felt real contrition at having kept the truth from Jane and hoped her sister would readily forgive her for her silence and Darcy for his involvement. “Oh Jane, he duly regrets it now! He declared himself to have been completely unsuspicious of your attachment to Mr. Bingley. He feared you would only marry Mr. Bingley to oblige my mother, and he did not wish for his friend to make an unequal marriage.”

  “When you first refused him, you must have spoken about his being complicit in separating us.” Jane fiddled with the hem of her nightgown. “I can well imagine your outrage at his presumption. I assume that he wrote his perspective on the matter in that letter you re-read when you think I am not watching. It little matters now, but why did you not tell me that you knew Mr. Bingley cared for me last winter?” Jane looked up at Elizabeth with doe-like eyes that seemed ready to shed another round of tears.

  Elizabeth paled and remembered her decision to keep to herself the contents of Darcy’s letter that related to Jane and Mr. Bingley. “I did not wish to grieve you further, and I assumed, if all was resolved as you wished, that Mr. Bingley might tell you the truth in a more favorable light himself. You would have been engaged and therefore so happy that the truth of Darcy’s interference would be inconsequential.”

  “I do not fault Darcy for his opinion. My feelings are little displayed. As he will be your husband and he loves you, there is only yourself who will be dearer to me. I know you thought it in my best interest, Lizzy, but I am hurt you did not confide in me. I owe all that I know of it to Darcy’s misspeaking, not to you.”

  To know that her private nature and her motives for her secrecy were insufficient to explain herself threw Elizabeth into a discomposure of spirits. “Please forgive me? I could not bear it for you to think that I cannot trust you. I am sorry for not opening my heart to you. My own unsettled feelings were no excuse. I thought I was acting in your best interest, but I should have known you are more resilient than I gave you credit for.”

  Jane could not long be upset at her sister and eagerly agreed to put the entire affair behind them.

  “I shall have no reserves from you, and I know now that I must tell you what happened on Saturday. Mr. Bingley has once again most painfully obtruded on our notice. I encountered him on my walk into Meryton. He is here to sell his lease to Netherfield.”

  Jane made a quiet whimper. “He is here to show Netherfield and then leave forever? I shall not have to meet him, shall I, Lizzy? I could not stand to meet him as an indifferent acquaintance.”

  “No! He was here to show Netherfield to the new family, and he intended to quit the neighborhood immediately thereafter.”

  Jane exhaled and nodded resolutely. Whatever the state of Darcy’s relationship with Mr. Bingley, Jane would never be forced to be in his presence. There was no reason she would have to sit across from Mr. Bingley in Pemberley’s dining room and have to pretend that he never broke her heart.

  Since she was being entirely truthful with Jane, it might ease her mind to confess her fears about the situation Fitzwilliam might have faced in Bath. “There is more. Mr. Bingley saw Darcy in Bath and said that he would be meeting Mr. Wickham in an affair of honor.”

  Jane shook her head, not understanding.

  “Mr. Bingley intimated that Darcy had challenged Mr. Wickham to a duel. And I have not heard from him in days, Jane!” She did not wish to think Fitzwilliam capable of such a thing but at the same time could not doubt that Wickham was a despicable man who would not act honorably.

  “I cannot believe it, Lizzy! Darcy would never entertain such an idea.”

  “At first I believed as you did, but Mr. Wickham has seduced and cruelly deserted our poor sister. You must not forget his treatment of Georgiana, and he slandered Darcy’s reputation shamelessly. Perhaps if Mr. Wickham adamantly defended his conduct, a challenge such as this was the only way Darcy could respond to Mr. Wickham with his reputation and honor intact.”

  Jane sighed over the fancied necessity of this and told her sister so. Elizabeth replied, “I would censure it also, but Darcy would not have challenged Mr. Wickham unless he felt he had no other recourse. Jane, they were to meet on Saturday. I have not had a letter from him!” Her resolve to remain unaffected crumbled along with her countenance.

  “My dear Lizzy!” Jane gathered Elizabeth in her arms. “Have you been thinking on this since Saturday? In the unlikely event such a meeting took place, both gentlemen would return unwounded. I can hardly credit Mr. Wickham or Darcy wishing to severely injure one another.”

  “Do you truly think so?” Elizabeth wished that to be true more than she believed it likely.

  “Certainly! Darcy has had much on his mind. I would expect a letter from him any day now. I daresay Darcy himself will follow soon after his letter arrives!”

  “Now you must think me silly.” Elizabeth wiped away a few tears. “You see how I ought to have told it all to you from the first. You have assured me there is no reason to worry for him, and instead I shall think of how I must vex the man for causing me such a fright. It is nearly unforgivable!” She tried to laugh.

  “You are not at all silly. I think you are cautious with your feelings. In your own way, you are as reserved as Darcy though you are livelier and your manners more welcoming. Although others freely take you into their confidence, you do not seek out the like. I know Darcy has become less severe for knowing you, but do not tease him for this. I imagine he has suffered enough and wants to be assured of your affection.”

  Jane kissed the top of her sister’s head and left with one last reassuring smile. As she settled in for the night, Elizabeth repressed the thought of what her life would hold should Darcy be killed by Wickham. Elizabeth looked at Georgiana’s drawing of him longingly for some time before setting it aside and blowing out the candle.

  ***

  Wednesday morning, Elizabeth awoke ready to let Jane’s assurances remove every doubt of Darcy’s never returning. She wanted to believe her intended would soon return and she would finally be Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy in name. It was a cool July day, and a thick summer rain blotted out the few objects to be discerned from the windows. The sound of the post being brought in was a welcome distraction.

  There was a short letter from Lydia to her mother that was read to a disinterested room. Lydia had parted from the Gardiners and was making her way on the journey to Darcy’s small estate in Ireland. Elizabeth paid little attention as her mother read aloud. She had decided that her wisest course was to put her worries about Darcy’s safety out of her mind. This might have been an intelligent conclusion had her resolution to think on it no more not been continually in her thoughts. Thus she remained until a letter was dropped on her lap as her mother fluttered by in her usual noisy attitude.

  “You have had a letter as well, Lizzy. I believe it is from Mr. Darcy although why it looks trampled on, I am sure I do not know.”

  Elizabeth eagerly caught the letter and noticed its
poor condition. It was written in his familiar hand in neat, sharp pen strokes, but the hot pressed paper did look as if it had been trod upon.

  “Darcy’s other letters were sent by his own rider. Why did this one come post?” Kitty sat in the window seat, blowing on the glass and lazily drawing circles on the pane.

  “Perhaps Mr. Darcy is anticipating the expense of providing for all of you when I die. He is practicing his economy.” Mr. Bennet did not glance up from his newspaper.

  “As if Mr. Darcy would ever need to economize, Mr. Bennet! How could they exceed their income? The man is worth ten thousand a year, and likely more!”

  Elizabeth happily tore the seal to read news from her beloved. News from him in his own hand would end her doubt and suspense. The letter was from Camden Place and dated the previous Friday evening.

  My dearest Elizabeth,

  I have melancholy news to relate and sincerely lament for your feelings under the shock of it. I wish I could better prepare you, but there is no way your mind could forestall the event I have to communicate. Mr. Wickham was not only unrepentant but eager to ruin us all, and as such, my only recourse to preserve our dignity and our family’s reputation was to challenge him to defend his conduct in an affair of honor. If this letter has been placed in your hands, it is because I was mortally wounded in the attempt.

  All that was undertaken by me was necessary and done out of a desire to protect you and your family from being further maligned. I am remedying an evil that has been brought on only by myself, and I accept the possibility of paying the ultimate of sacrifices. My one regret in meeting Mr. Wickham is that I have taken the chance of never again returning to your side. I do not regret challenging Mr. Wickham; however, I do regret that righting this wrong has cost me a future with you.

  Your affectionate heart will be greatly wounded, and I wish the shock of this could have been lessened. I have made arrangements for your future security, and I beg you to accept them. See them not as the actions of a proud and dominating master, but those of a love-struck man who wants to care for you in the only method now available. I have done all that I am able to see you become an independent woman. I wish for you to have the opportunity to be someone of great importance in the world as you have always been so valued by me. I have placed my trust for arranging these affairs in Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I ask that you do the same.