Page 30 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

D arcy’s only wish this morning was to leave the teeming market without being noticed, especially by one pair of eyes, however fine they might be.

He had done his duty to the locals—inspecting each stall and handing over coin for anything he thought he might use—and now he desired nothing more than to retire with a book, a brandy, and an attentive cat.

Ah, the library—what a sanctuary that had become for him.

Always comfortable and warm, full of good wine and intelligent conversa— Gah!

He could not even escape her without running right smack into her the next moment.

It was while he was looking over a sea of straw hats and silk bonnets and lamenting the sluggishness of his exit that he did just that.

He walked straight into Elizabeth Bennet, treading on her gown and pinning her to her spot.

She had evidently been seeking him out, as his presence was not nearly as surprising to her as hers was to him.

Still standing upon her hem, he looked upon her in distaste, despising the fact that, in all this crush, he could not deliver the set-down playing upon his tongue.

Instead, he stared past her ear as he tendered a cold and clipped, “Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr Darcy, I am relieved that I caught you,” she began before he interrupted her.

“No, Miss Elizabeth.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “Mercifully, you did not.”

At this, he forgot his gentlemanly manners and forced his way through the crowd and into a narrow alley situated between two shops.

Darcy strode across a grassy clearing to reach the far tree where his horse was tied.

The chestnut whinnied in the distance at his approach, clearly as eager to escape the vicinity of Meryton as his master.

The din and clamour of bartering buyers faded with each footfall, and soon he was out of sight as well as earshot of the crowd.

As he was mounting the beast, however, he heard Elizabeth’s voice behind him call out, “Mr Wickham.”

Darcy pulled his foot from the stirrup and strode towards her, careful not to give way to any feelings of concern for the wretchedness of her countenance.

He looked about them, unwilling to become sport for curious locals.

The trees hid them well, and it seemed most of the villagers would be returning home by way of the High Street.

When his gaze shifted, he was almost face-to-face with his beautiful Judas.

“You take an eager interest in that man’s concerns, do you?”

“No. But I do take an interest in yours, sir,” she bit back, a battle raging in her eyes. “He has made such horrid accusations, Mr Darcy.”

“ He accuses me . That is rich. I suppose I should not be shocked that he gravitated towards you so quickly; peas in a pod you two are.” He turned his head with a sneer, then looked back at her with mock curiosity. “Tell me, of what does he accuse me?”

“He told me that you dishonoured your father’s wishes and refused him the living he was promised.”

“I refused him the living? He refused to take orders. I will have you know I paid him the value of the living—out of respect for my father’s wishes, not because the degenerate deserved it, mind you.”

“A paltry sum, he claims,” she retorted.

“A paltry sum? Paltry ?I may not have the same perspective as others, Miss Bennet, but I believe most would find four thousand pounds a touch better than paltry.” Now he was being sarcastic.

He hated himself when he resorted to such pettiness, but his hackles were up; he was faced with a deceiver accusing him based on the word of another such.

Both had hurt him, this one more deeply than he was willing to admit.

“Now, if there is nothing else—” He gave a nod before turning back to his horse.

“That is not the worst of it,” she said breathlessly.

“Dishonouring my father’s dying wish and robbing an innocent man of his rightful living is not bad enough? I am to be accused of blacker deeds than this?” he asked, not ready to give up his intent to mount his steed.

“He says you wish him dead.” She darted her eyes left and right as she spoke this, as if afraid others might overhear. “That you tried to kill him.”

He fixed her with a hard stare, the rage he felt for the man glaring through stony eyes. “Then, for once, George Wickham has told the truth.”

“You admit that you circulated a rumour so dastardly that you were able to call him out for it? You lied to everyone you knew so that you might have the excuse to murder him in a duel?”

“Is that what he told you?” He once again closed the distance between them, speaking quietly.

“George Wickham was given everything. Everything ! And it was never enough for him. It took him less than three years to squander his inheritance—I will not mention his preferred entertainments, but suffice it to say, he did not spend it on profitable pursuits—and when it was gone, he came back for more. Thirty thousand pounds more.”

Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled in incomprehension.

“Only last summer, Wickham engineered a plot to stumble upon my fifteen-year-old sister unprotected, convince her that she was in love with him, and elope to Scotland, thus securing her dowry.”

“Of thirty thousand pounds,” she breathed.

“When I caught him in the middle of this cruel, mercenary scheme, yes, I wished him dead. And, yes, I called him out.”

Elizabeth stood in shocked silence.

“I would have got him, too, but the contemptible weasel had spent the night before rigging his boot so his heel would slip out from under him when he turned; lost us both a good two inches,” Darcy explained with no little resentment.

“And his bullet caught you in the leg,” she noted softly.

“Missed the bone and the artery, thank God. Still hurt like— At any rate, you observed how much pain I was in at the assembly,” he said more gently, remembering how cared for he had felt when she had approached him and how every eye brightened as it met her that evening.

Then, his countenance darkened. “Was that when you decided to make me your target? ”

“My what?” Her brow was furrowed again, but her eyes were wild with outrage.

“I wonder Wickham should have tried to ply you with his lies; he should have recognised artifice like yours at first glance.”

“You truly believe that? I have been only a friend to you, sacrificing my own enjoyment for your comfort, at your service at every party and assembly for weeks. And, why? Because I felt sorry for you. I thought you needed my help so badly that I was willing to be at your beck and call. I pitied you.”

Darcy winced at that. It was a blow to his pride, which took the reins as he resorted to recriminations.

“Oh, I know your type. Simpering and flattering, making yourself indispensable,” he said.

“Simpering and flattering? I believe you are confusing me for Miss Bingley. I would never,” she claimed, her colour high and her delicate hands balled into fists at her sides.

Darcy had never seen such fire in her, and she was radiant. How he had enjoyed bantering with her. This would sadly be their last tête-à-tête; he would drink in her furious glare as long as she favoured him with it.

“And how convenient that, just when you think I might be reeled in, your sister becomes ill at Netherfield, and naturally, you had to come stay with her. Masterfully done, both of you.” His volume was increasing as he spoke over her to make his sentiments clear.

“You accuse my sister of pretending? Jane would never do such a thing! And if I were guilty of what you are accusing me of, she would tell me plainly how wrong it was.” Elizabeth scoffed, her face a study in disgusted disbelief.

“You should have heard her defending your honour against Mr Wickham’s claims, and this is how you view her.

” Her volume was rising to match his until, pleadingly, she concluded, “You know neither her nor me, sir.”

“You are correct. I do not know you. I thought I did—you played your part exquisitely: sparkling and vulnerable and selfless, so charming and handsome, casting glances my way and nuzzling that blasted cat.” This he punctuated with a mirthless laugh before going on.

“Oh, you had me through and through, every fibre of my being. To think, I was about to go against my family, society, and I hardly need add my own better judgment. You must have seen how close I was; that is why you orchestrated that little scene in the library the morning before you left.”

“ Orchestrated ? You were told I was there alone.” She stepped towards him, lifting her chin. “You invited yourself into the library. You walked up to me .”

“And you were completely innocent, were you?” He was towering over her again, only now in a stature of anger rather than the longing he had felt in the library that morning.

“Standing in the middle of the floor, the light of the fire glowing through your skirts, revealing your shape to me so brazenly.” He stepped closer and spoke quietly, intent on calling her out for her shamelessness while she listened, mortified, her colour rising.

“Drawing me closer, fluttering your eyelashes, your lips inviting me to…”

“I did not— I was— I thought you?—”

“Oh yes, I am sure you hoped I would,” he said, his face so near hers he could feel the heat emanating from her flushed cheeks.

“And you would have let me too. That would have played right into your devious little plan. Tell me, was Martha stationed outside the door to conveniently walk in and see us? ”

She turned her face away sharply before turning back to him and spitting, “You blackhearted cur. If you think I could devise such a thing?—”

Her nearness, her lavender scent, her fierce gaze undid him.

“And even now, now that you know what a bitter, mistrustful wretch I am,” Darcy continued throatily, as if he had not heard her. Her shoulders were square in glorious defiance of his accusations, her head bent back in her refusal to relent, and her mouth— her mouth .

Time slowed as they observed one another, face-to-face, their bodies inches apart.

The heaviness of her breathing matched his own.

Her eyes went from afire with fury to wet with anguish as he bore into them with his own.

Then, he made the mistake of looking at her mouth.

Her full lips were parted as if in readiness to receive his, and he thought he felt her hand light upon his chest.

His ire deflated, his shoulders fell, and a yearning like nothing he had ever experienced overwhelmed him. He leant towards Elizabeth, her kiss less than a whisper away, and gave in.

“ For ten thousand a year …” he breathed as he closed the distance between them.

The sheer force of her palm as it met his face jarred him from the daze he was in and left a ringing in his ear. His hand immediately rose to rub his red cheek, and he flexed his jaw in pain. “I thank you, Miss Bennet, for saving me from my ill-advised passions.”

“How dare you, sir!” she cried, stumbling backwards.

He expected her to walk away from him without another word, but within five steps, she stopped, turned back, and stated with tears in her eyes, “I admit that I misled you, and I am sincerely sorry. Though none of my words were untrue, I let you come to an erroneous conclusion, and in that I was wrong. Despite what you believe, however, I had no designs on your person. Or your despicable purse. Though my motive may seem insufficient to you, it was in the service of a friend.”

“Oh, the service of a friend, was it? You thought you could gain my confidence by deceit and then lead me towards one of your Hertfordshire spinsters? Which friend, I ask. Miss Lucas? Miss Long?”

He chose not to regard the pricking voice in the back of his mind telling him he was being unjust. That, perhaps, everything he had said had been unjust.

“No, Mr Darcy, you . You,” she said with a heavy exhale, her countenance falling as if something inside her were giving up, “needed a friend, and I wished to be that for you. My mistake,” she added, clearly plucking up her shredded courage.

“I should have left you to the solace of your bitterness and disdain. You deserve one another.”