Page 12 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

CHAPTER NINE

BURDENED BY BLOOD

Elizabeth’s hands would not stop shaking.

Blood—Darcy’s blood—had dried in rust-colored patches across her palms and beneath her fingernails.

It stained her morning dress beyond salvation, leaving dark smears across the pale muslin.

She had pressed her hands against his wound for so long that his lifeblood had become part of her.

“Miss Elizabeth, you must let go.” Mr. Bingley’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding her thoughts. “The surgeon cannot examine him while you?—”

“I am keeping him alive,” she said, though she knew it made little sense.

They had reached Netherfield in a blur of panicked haste, commandeering Sir William Lucas’s carriage when they encountered him on the road from Oakham Mount.

Now Darcy lay pale and still on a settee in Bingley’s drawing room, blood pooling beneath him, staining the expensive fabric.

“Elizabeth.” Jane’s gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Let the surgeon attend to Mr. Darcy.”

Staring at the sticky substance covering her, Elizabeth backed away from Darcy, allowing the surgeon to bend over the wounded gentleman.

Her sister tried to lead her out of the drawing room, but she remained rooted, unable to look away as the surgeon cut away Darcy’s bloodied jacket and shirt to expose the wound beneath.

The room spun around her. Darcy’s blood. So much blood. The memory of Wickham’s pistol firing before the handkerchief fell kept replaying in her mind with sickening clarity.

Jane caught her before she collapsed. “Come, Lizzy. Let the surgeon work.”

The surgeon’s examination continued in grim silence. Elizabeth watched with horrified fascination as he probed the wound. Finally, he straightened.

“The ball has lodged in the shoulder, near the collarbone. I must extract it immediately.”

“Will he live?” The question tore from Elizabeth’s throat.

The surgeon’s eyes met hers, his expression guarded. “If infection does not set in, he has a chance. But I make no promises. He has lost a great deal of blood.”

Elizabeth swayed on her feet. If Darcy died, the fault would be hers as surely as if she had fired the shot herself. Her indiscretion had started this chain of events—her thoughtless sharing of his proposal with Wickham, her wounded pride demanding validation at the expense of Darcy’s confidence.

“Miss Elizabeth should retire to clean herself,” Caroline Bingley’s voice cut through the room. She had appeared in the doorway, her face a mask of horror. “She is… distressingly disheveled.”

“I will not leave him,” Elizabeth said, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Surely in your… condition, such stress is ill-advised,” Caroline continued, her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

“My condition?” Elizabeth stared at her blankly. “It is Mr. Darcy who has been shot.”

“Let Mr. Johnson operate,” Bingley said with unusual firmness. “Might I suggest we adjourn to the blue parlor while the surgeon works?”

Jane guided Elizabeth to the blue parlor, where half of Meryton gathered.

“As I was saying…” Sir William’s voice dominated the room. “When that young captain pounded on my door requesting a carriage for the wounded gentleman, I scarcely believed it was Mr. Darcy.”

“Oh, look, it’s Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Long exclaimed. “My dear, are you quite well?”

“How can she be well in her condition?” Caroline sniffed. “Miss Elizabeth, you are entirely disheveled. Let me call my lady’s maid?—”

She was cut off by Mrs. Bennet barging into the parlor. Her cap was askew, her face contorted in distress.

“My Lizzy!” she cried, rushing forward to grasp her daughter’s bloodied hands. “Oh! Is it your blood? Are you injured? We heard the most dreadful reports.”

“It is not my blood, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “It’s Mr. Darcy’s.”

“Mr. Darcy? Whatever happened?” Mrs. Bennet pressed as Mrs. Lucas fluttered to her side.

“Oh, Mrs. Bennet, there was a duel,” Mrs. Lucas explained breathlessly. “Both men were fighting for Miss Elizabeth’s honor, and poor Mr. Darcy was shot.”

“Wickham cheated,” Elizabeth declared. “He fired before the signal was given.”

“But why would Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy fight over my dear Elizabeth unless…” Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit with matrimonial fervor.

“Then it is true. Mr. Darcy proposed to my dear Lizzy, and Mr. Wickham wished to challenge him. How gallant, although, Lizzy, you must not refuse ten thousand a year for an officer without a commission.”

“Mama, it’s not like that,” Elizabeth started to explain, but her mother was unsteady on her feet, as if swooning.

“Mrs. Bennet, perhaps you should take a seat,” Mrs. Lucas said.

“And you, too, dear Eliza,” Caroline added, handing Elizabeth a damp towel. “You must not faint from the strain. There is, after all, another life to consider.”

“The only life to consider is Mr. Darcy’s,” Elizabeth declared, shrugging her arm from Caroline’s grasp.

“Not when you are with child, my dear,” Caroline Bingley stated, her smile a thin slash of malice. “Or so Lieutenant Wickham claimed at yesterday’s garden party. He announced it quite publicly, attributing paternity to Mr. Darcy from your encounters at Hunsford.”

“That is absurd,” Elizabeth retorted, her voice sounding distant. “Utterly absurd.”

“Naturally, you would deny it,” Caroline continued smoothly. “Though Lieutenant Wickham seemed quite convinced. He even offered to marry you himself, claiming the child as his own—for a substantial settlement from Mr. Darcy, of course.”

“This is monstrous,” Elizabeth shot back. “A complete fabrication.”

“Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet hissed, clutching her arm and pulling her slightly away from the others. “If you are indeed increasing, you must not deny it. Think of the advantage. Mr. Darcy may survive, and then he would be obliged to marry you!”

“Mama!” Elizabeth jerked away, horrified. “I am not with child! There was never any impropriety between Mr. Darcy and myself. He proposed marriage, yes, but I refused him. That is all that occurred.”

Mrs. Bennet’s face reflected equal parts disappointment and disbelief. “But why would Lieutenant Wickham claim such a thing if?—”

“Because he’s a liar,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “And a cheat. He shot Darcy before the signal.”

“He wouldn’t fight for you, Lizzy, unless he wanted to defend you and his child,” Mrs. Bennet hooted, her expression a mixture of anguish and triumph. “Oh, if only Wickham hadn’t shot him, he would be asking your father for your hand.”

“But, Mama, I am not with child. He hates me and will never forgive me.”

“On that, I’m afraid Miss Elizabeth is correct,” Caroline said, looking around the room for an audience. “For you see, Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Darcy fought Wickham to preserve his own honor. He denied any impropriety and in fact accused Mr. Wickham of being the father.”

The towel fell from Elizabeth’s nerveless fingers. “He thinks I lay with Wickham?”

“Half of Meryton witnessed Mr. Darcy’s statement,” Caroline confirmed with obvious satisfaction.

“When Wickham made his accusations, Mr. Darcy quite clearly stated that Lieutenant Wickham had compromised you and was attempting to shift blame onto an innocent gentleman. He fought for the Darcy name, not yours.”

Elizabeth felt the chamber spinning around her.

This morning, she had knelt beside Darcy’s bleeding form, consumed with guilt for her role in bringing him to such a pass.

Now she discovered that even facing death, he had chosen to destroy her rather than accept responsibility for their shared scandal.

“I hate him!” she screamed, surprised by the venom in her voice.

Mr. Bennet entered the parlor, red-faced and out of breath. “What is this I hear? A duel with Elizabeth in the middle?”

“Papa,” Elizabeth said with relief. Surely her father, with his keen intellect and skeptical nature, would not believe this absurd fabrication. “You cannot credit these rumors.”

Mr. Bennet’s expression remained inscrutable. “I credit that you have been gravely wronged, Lizzy, though the exact nature of that wrong remains unclear to me.”

“I am not with child,” she stated flatly. “Not by Mr. Darcy, not by Lieutenant Wickham, not by anyone. I have never engaged in… improper relations with any man.”

“I believe you,” Mr. Bennet said, though his tone lacked conviction. “However, belief matters little in the face of society’s judgment. The rumor exists. The damage is done.”

“So I am to accept that my reputation is destroyed by a lie?” Elizabeth demanded.

“You are to accept the reality of your situation,” Mr. Bennet replied, his usual sardonic humor absent.

“Whether true or false, the allegation has been made publicly. Wickham has fled. Darcy lies grievously wounded. And you, my dear, are caught in the middle of a scandal that has already spread throughout the county.”

Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, was conducting rapid calculations. “But if Mr. Darcy claims Lieutenant Wickham is the father, and Lieutenant Wickham claims Mr. Darcy is responsible… well, someone must take responsibility for the child!”

“There is no child!” Elizabeth shouted, her composure finally shattering completely.

The chamber fell silent. Every eye turned to her, expressing pity, skepticism, or barely concealed excitement at witnessing such a spectacular loss of dignity.

Sir William Lucas cleared his throat with officious gravity. “Miss Elizabeth, I fear that whether or not a child currently exists is rather beside the point. The accusations have been made, witnesses have been named, and reputations have been irreparably damaged.”

“Sir William means,” Mr. Bennet said with grim precision, “you are now trapped between two equally unpalatable alternatives. Either you are carrying Darcy’s child, or you are carrying Wickham’s. Society will accept no third option.”

Elizabeth stared at her father, certain the morning’s trauma had affected her hearing. “But I am innocent of both charges!”

“Innocence,” Sir William replied with a tone of ponderous wisdom, “is a luxury that circumstances no longer permit you to claim.”

Mrs. Long leaned forward with the eager attention of a woman witnessing the social event of the decade. “So what is to be done? Poor Miss Elizabeth cannot simply remain in limbo forever.”

“Indeed not,” Caroline agreed with malicious satisfaction. “Some resolution must be reached. Perhaps when the babe appears, we can ascertain whether he has blue eyes or Darcy’s dark brown.”

Elizabeth looked around the chamber, searching for a sympathetic face among the assembled gossips and schemers. Jane’s expression held only gentle sorrow, while Bingley appeared conflicted, no doubt torn between his friendship with Darcy and his alliance with Jane.

“The solution,” Mr. Bennet announced with terrible finality, “is for Elizabeth to assume the role of Mr. Darcy’s nurse during his recovery.”

“No!” She bunched her fists. “That cannot be. He hates me and I hate him.”

“Nevertheless, it is the only possible solution to your difficulties.” Her father was resolute with not a hint of humor in his tone.

“If Darcy survives—and pray God he does—his convalescence will be lengthy. Someone must tend to him. Given the nature of the rumors surrounding you, that someone must be you.”

“Why?” Elizabeth demanded. “Why must I nurse the very man who has helped destroy my reputation?”

“Because you are already ruined in the eyes of society,” Mr. Bennet said bluntly. “Whether you nurse Darcy or not, whether you are with child or not, your reputation is compromised beyond repair. At least this way, there remains a path to respectability.”

“What path?” Elizabeth asked.

“Your presence at his bedside will reinforce the connection between you.” Her father sounded like a schoolmaster explaining simple sums to a particularly dense pupil. “Should he survive, social pressure will likely compel him to offer marriage to preserve what remains of both your reputations.”

“Marry me? He despises me! He will disavow me, even if there is no child. He will leave me to rot in my ruin.”

“Miss Eliza is right,” Caroline interjected, earning her a glare from Bingley. “Mr. Darcy once said that his good opinion, once lost, is lost forever. He will never admit Miss Elizabeth to his confidence again.”

Even though Caroline spoke correctly, Elizabeth nevertheless felt the trap constricting around her heart, along with a perverse sense of wanting to prove Caroline wrong.

“I will do my duty.” She directed her pronouncement at Caroline, knowing that Bingley’s sister would give both eyeteeth to tend to Darcy, but was prohibited because she was not ruined. “On one condition.”

“I don’t believe, Miss Eliza, you are in any position to make demands,” Caroline said, wiping her hands on a towel.

“I may be ruined.” Elizabeth’s gaze went around the room, staring down Lady Lucas, Mrs. Long, and the other arbiters of Meryton society.

“However, my ruin does not transfer to my four sisters. Their reputations are spotless. I will take care of Darcy’s convalescence if and only if my family is restored to good standing with our society. ”

Murmurs and gasps permeated the room as each matron sought guidance at this unorthodox request.

Calmly, Elizabeth picked up the bloody towel and walked by Sir William Lucas.

As he moved aside to let her pass, she said, “Surely, Sir William, you must agree that my arrangement is for the best of Hertfordshire. After all, unauthorized duels underneath your magistracy could be seen as… rustic and uncouth?”

“Most certainly, Miss Elizabeth, most assuredly,” Sir William stuttered.

“Hertfordshire’s reputation must not be stained.

The Bennet family is an eminent member of our local gentry, and their daughters are of fine standing.

These unsavory rumors must not be allowed to denigrate the respectability of our beloved county. ”

Elizabeth nodded gravely, recognizing her victory. If she were to be sacrificed on the altar of social propriety, she would ensure her sisters remained untouched by the flames.

As for Mr. Darcy?

Let him recover under her care, knowing she tended him not from affection, but from calculation. Perhaps that knowledge would be punishment enough for his betrayal.