Page 33 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Darcy inclined his head, but his gaze remained upon her, the conflict still plain in his countenance. In silence they completed the remaining steps, both exquisitely aware that the difficulty between them lay still without remedy.

Darcy departed Longbourn with a heaviness that seemed to press upon his very frame.

To learn that the vague impressions of embracing her, of confessing his feelings were true memories, that he had behaved in such an ungentlemanly manner, caused a tumult of feelings he could barely endure.

But her refusal, so gently yet firmly expressed, had overturned his every expectation.

Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence, warmth, and the quiet depth in her mind had served to deepen his attraction. Her gentle compassion and her natural ease with the Morrisons strengthened his regard.

He could not fault her in any respect. She had resisted confessing what he had done, when any mercenary lady would have leapt upon the opportunity to force his hand.

Mayhap he had been even more ungentlemanly than she allowed.

He knew now that the fleeting memory of the feel of her in his arms, and more, was true.

In truth, he had acted upon his deepest feelings in a manner no gentleman ought.

He had attempted an awkward, reluctant offer, based not on his sentiments, which were at war with his expectations, but on his honour. No lady of Miss Elizabeth’s discernment, the very quality that so compelled him, would accept a proposal made in such terms?

A more difficult truth presented itself: she had not been wrong.

The inequality between them—of fortune, of connexions, of expectations—was not a fiction.

He himself had hesitated over it, had judged her family with no small severity.

If he had not spoken such scruples aloud, they had been legible in his every look and manner whilst in Hertfordshire.

She had known his mind—and rejected it. And he could not fault her for it.

He had believed that any woman of her situation must be gratified by an offer from one such as himself. His fortune, his distinguished connexions, his name would confer a great honour.

Yet she had declined — with a quiet dignity that wounded him more than he would ever have expected.

Despite all his scruples, even now, his honour cried out for resolution.

He had surely imposed upon her — however unwittingly—and should the truth ever emerge she would be exposed to censure.

As tempting as it was, to withdraw, to abscond to London, seemed the coward’s path.

There was no honourable path before him.

He entered Netherfield, greeted the butler and made his way to his chamber with unseemly haste.

Facing Miss Bingley’s veiled insulations and pretending he was not in turmoil was beyond him.

As he entered his chamber, his mind turned abruptly to the other matter which now clouded his thoughts.

The tale Elizabeth had relayed, drawn from Tibby’s frightened account, grew no less sinister in reflection.

That a ‘gentleman’ had directed the kitchen girls to the poisonous mushrooms and instructed Bet in their use was increasingly difficult to doubt.

. But who would wish to harm anyone at Netherfield?

His lips tightened. The notion was absurd on its face.

Yet … was it truly impossible? The coincidence was too sharp to dismiss.

In Colonel Fitzwilliam’s last letter, he related that George Wickham, at last unable to secure funds or favour, had sunk so far as to consider a militia commission.

A militia regiment had been quartered in Meryton these past weeks.

Could Wickham be among them—the handsome, charming gentleman pursuing a servant? It seemed all too likely.

Wickham in uniform? The very notion was ridiculous.

And yet if Wickham had indeed attached himself to the militia — even briefly — then the matter took on an entirely new aspect.

The large contingent of red coats quartered in Meryton would be an ideal environment for Wickham to conceal himself whilst doing mischief. Or worse.

Wickham had always been quick to exploit every scrap of knowledge for his own advantage.

In the Pemberly woods, they both learned early on what could be consumed and what must be avoided.

Wickham’s old resentments, his thwarted hopes when he attempted to elope with Georgiana at Ramsgate, his rage at Darcy’s refusal to support him further — any one of these might suffice to provoke a scheme both calculated and cruel.

That a servant girl had been likely seduced and employed in this scheme fit perfectly with his customary patterns. The irony that the actions of the man who had made it his life’s work to interfere in Darcy’s equanimity had been the means of causing his current predicament was not lost on him.

Wickham was dissolute, vain, and unprincipled, a man well capable of such deliberate wickedness. It would be the work of a moment for his cousin, the colonel, to determine where Wickham was quartered.

But even that inquiry, urgent though it was, could offer little reprieve from the deeper confusion that reigned in his mind. His duty warred against his affections. His honour demanded one course. Elizabeth’s refusal forbade it.

He settled at his desk, mended his quill and wrote to his cousin.

Netherfield House

Village of Meryton

Hertfordshire

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam

A matter of some delicacy has arisen in this neighbourhood, the particulars of which I am not presently at liberty to divulge. Suffice it to say that certain mischief has been perpetrated which I find myself compelled to investigate thoroughly.

In the course of examining the circumstances of these events, I have been given cause to believe they involve a gentleman who has lately given the name George Wilkins and who purports to hold commission within the local militia stationed here under Colonel Forster’s command.

There is, however, reason to suspect that his identity may be entirely assumed.

This individual bears considerable resemblance to one with whom you are already acquainted, though not, I believe, in connection with any honourable profession.

I would be most grateful if you would undertake such discreet enquiries as might be accomplished without occasioning remark. Any intelligence regarding a gentleman bearing that name, or concerning irregular enlistments or appearances in town, would prove of the greatest assistance to me.

You may direct your reply to me here at Netherfield, where I shall remain until this business is brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

FD

After reporting about their visit with the Morrisons to Mr. Bennet, and seeing Mr. Darcy out, Elizabeth ascended to her chamber with her thoughts in wild disorder.

The conversation with Darcy, whilst not unexpected, had left her more shaken than she wished.

She could not face her mother’s insistent questioning in the drawing room.

After some moments of restless pacing, she sought the comfort of Jane’s company, knowing she could not endure her distress in solitude.

Jane sat at her dressing-table, brushing her hair with her calm grace. She glanced at Elizabeth’s reflection in the mirror and smiled warmly.

“You are very quiet to-night, dearest.”

“I am tired,” Elizabeth replied lightly, attempting a weak smile. “It has been a day of revelations.”

“You have spoken with Tibby, then?”

“Yes. She confirmed Bet’s part in it all. Bet told her where to find the mushrooms and how to prepare them. Both Tibby and Mr. Hegarty mentioned that Bet had been keeping company with a gentleman—and according to Tibby, this man was the one directing Bet in what to gather.”

“A gentleman? How very curious. What could that mean?” Jane paused thoughtfully. “Does Mr. Darcy have any notion?”

“He intends to inquire further,” Elizabeth said softly, and then fell silent.

Jane studied her sister’s face with affectionate concern. “Lizzy … that is not all that troubles you, is it?”

Elizabeth turned away, her composure slipping. “I can hardly speak of it.”

“If it troubles you, Lizzy, you must let me share your burden.”

For a moment, Elizabeth hesitated. Jane’s kind, steady gaze was too much for her resistance. She sat herself at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands.

“You recall the night Mr. Hurst, and the others fell ill.”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Darcy was likewise afflicted, though not so gravely. He was… that is to say, he seemed scarcely master of himself, as one might be when in the grip of fever or… or drink. Yet he bore no signs of having taken drink, Jane.” Elizabeth faltered, selecting her words with care.

“I came upon him in the music room. I felt I must remain to ensure his safety as he appeared so very unwell. I could not in good conscience abandon him to such distress.”

Jane nodded, concern in her eyes. “Of course. What did you do?”

“I remained with him for a moment. In his delirium,” Elizabeth’s voice grew unsteady, “he spoke with such openness as … as no gentleman would display in his right mind.” Her voice faltered.

“He spoke with complete candour. Words which revealed … which laid bare thoughts he would never otherwise express.”

Jane’s brow furrowed. “What sort of words, dearest?”

“He spoke of… of his regard for me. Of feelings he would ordinarily keep private. He revealed his desire to…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Of marriage.”

Jane’s hand stilled on her brush. “Mr. Darcy spoke of marriage? To you?”

“In a… in a manner of speaking, yes. He retains no… that is, I do not believe he recalls his words, nor what… what occurred.” Elizabeth’s hands twisted in her lap.

“He later spoke of his want of memory and… and entreated me to relate what I might remember. I told him merely that he had been unwell and… and must not distress himself.” She paused, her voice trembling.

“But today he grew most… most determined. As we walked back to Longbourn, he would not accept my… my evasions and demanded to know…” She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks.

“No matter how I attempted to turn the conversation, he was… he was relentless. I told him and now he is convinced he has… has ruined me through his fevered…” She could barely breathe the words.

“And thus, believed duty compelled him to… to speak to Papa. I think I dissuaded him.”

Jane’s blue eyes widened. After a moment she asked tentatively, “What did you say to him? About his offer?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with indignation. “I refused.”

For a moment, Jane could only stare, astonishment passing over her countenance. She set down her brush and turned fully towards Elizabeth.

“Lizzy, surely if he has offered now, when he is recovered and in full possession of his faculties—”

“No, Jane, I could not.” Elizabeth’s hands twisted in her lap. “How could I accept an offer born of obligation? He spoke only of having imposed upon me, of what honour demands. Not of genuine affection—only duty. You know I would only wish to marry for love.”

Jane reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “But dearest, perhaps he does care for you. Perhaps he spoke from the heart- surely you are worthy of any man’s sincere regard—”

“It is not a question of regard,” Elizabeth interrupted softly.

“You know as well as I do the disparity between us. He is the grandson of an earl. He has, as Mamma and the Meryton matrons chorused unceasingly, ten thousand a year. His consequence is so far above me,” Elizabeth tossed her head with a huff.

“Our connexions alone should give him apoplexy, even were his regard sincere. Had he been at liberty to reflect, had he not been unwell, would such a man ever have chosen me? The illness broke down his restraint, and what escaped was confusion as much as sentiment. If I accepted him knowing this, what happiness could there be? One day he would awaken and wonder at his folly.”

Jane was quiet for a moment. “You are certain he spoke from nothing beyond mere obligation?”

Elizabeth’s voice trembled. “I cannot think he had any other reason to speak. I could not respect myself if I held him to words spoken in delirium. A marriage built on guilt and duty—what contentment could either of us find in that? A marriage where neither partner loves nor respects the other—cannot be agreeable to either party. As we have daily proof.”

Jane squeezed her hand gently. “I comprehend your feelings, Lizzy. You deserve a husband who loves you entirely.”

“I hope for such a man.” Elizabeth attempted a wan smile. “You know I could never love a man who was out of his wits.”

Jane smiled with her, but her eyes remained full of quiet sympathy. “How did Mr. Darcy receive your declining his addresses? Can you perhaps… find some way to return to civil terms with one another, at least? Can you meet as indifference acquaintances?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot say. He spoke but little, yet I am exceedingly distressed, Jane. I seem destined to meet Mr. Darcy wherever I turn. His countenance bears such an expression of… of self-reproach or contrition, I cannot say what.” Elizabeth pressed her hand to her brow.

“Perhaps, dearest Lizzy, his expression conveys some other sentiment entirely. Might it not be… might it not be genuine admiration?” Jane ventured haltingly. Elizabeth looked up at Jane, then shook her head.

“You are fanciful, my sister. Those admiring glances you describe are Mr. Bingley’s province when he observes you.”

Jane blushed. “Yet Mr. Bingley has spoken of nothing. Not even of courtship.”

Elizabeth took Jane into her arms. “Would you welcome such attention from him? Can you be sure of your own heart?”

Jane was quiet. After a silence, she spoke with deep feeling.

“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good-humoured, lively, and I never saw such happy manners! So much ease, with such perfect good breeding! If I knew he cared for me, I might find myself quite in love with him.”

“Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to fall in love, but only once you are secure in his affections. I cannot have you crossed in love. No girl wishes to have that distinction.”