Folly and Forgiveness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  “We will send help for him once you are safely home. Do not concern yourself with his welfare.”

  “My only concern is that we would face a magistrate if he dies.”

  “Do not fret. We are seeking help for him. I cannot help both you and Wickham at the same time. You are unable to walk, so I must use my horse to assist you first. We will send someone to see to him as soon as we are able, which is more charity than he deserves.”

  “I do not wish to be responsible for his death.”

  “You are not. He made his own choices and reaped the consequences. Would you have sacrificed yourself and succumbed to his advances in order to save him discomfort?” Darcy ground his teeth, seething that the blackguard should cause Elizabeth any additional worry. They still had hours of daylight remaining, he was not concerned for Wickham’s life.

  “You are not the cause of his injury,” he continued, “merely part of a chain of events preceding it, a chain that Wickham put into place. Do not blame yourself for the consequences of another’s actions after he attempted to impose upon you.”

  Stopping the horse, he looked to her. “Do you not believe in free will? He exercised his own, and must accept the result. You are not to blame.” He held her gaze for a moment before Elizabeth looked away. Darcy resumed their walk.

  After several minutes of silence, broken only by the sounds of Thunder’s feet and breath, Elizabeth at last spoke.

  “I must thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy. I am grateful that you arrived when you did.”

  “I came looking for you. When your sister returned to the parlor and mentioned you had gone for a walk, I was concerned.”

  “Because I went for a walk?”

  “Because you were alone and I knew that Wickham was outdoors,” he snapped, then paused. He must better control his anger, lest she assume it directed at herself. In a calmer voice, he continued. “I had passed him out walking not long before and was concerned he might find you.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened and she looked down again.

  “I must apologize for my previous words. Mr. Wickham was not the man I thought him to be. I wish I would have given your warnings greater weight.”

  “Do not apologize, Miss Elizabeth. Wickham has tricked every person he has met in his entire worthless life. I have yet to meet a single soul that immediately recognized the blackness of his. My own father believed only the best of him until his dying breath, and he had the benefit of a lifetime’s acquaintance with the bounder.”

  “I have always prided myself on being a superior judge of character.”

  “So was my father, in all people save George Wickham. Wickham learned at an early age to act the part of a gentleman. When his own father died, my father took him in to live with us and be educated as a gentleman. Wickham was able to practice his skills and happy manners, but they were never more than an act. I believe he could have had a splendid career on the stage, had he the capacity to devote himself to anything other than seeking his own comfort.”

  Elizabeth hung her head.

  “Please do not blame yourself. I am sure he spun you a fine tale of his unfortunate circumstances, casting himself as the hero struggling to overcome the injustice of a convenient villain.”

  When Elizabeth blushed deeper, Darcy chuckled sardonically. “How else could you view me after our first encounter? We had not even been introduced when you overheard my unforgivable description of yourself. I did not know you could hear me, I only hoped to make Bingley leave me be as I was in a most foul mood. Had I realized anyone was within hearing distance I would have found a different way to discourage him. Not only were my words cruel, they were also untrue. I must beg your forgiveness for using you in such an abominable manner to avoid further discourse with my friend.”

  It was Darcy’s turn to look away. He did not wish to view her expression, whatever it may be.

  “Already having a convenient villain at hand, how else were you to view his story? He has ever been a skilled story teller. He takes a true tale and removes enough facts to change the narrative in his favor. He can sound sincere because the majority of his tale, save the conclusion drawn, ends up being truth. I have no doubt he told you how our hero was denied a living designated him by the villain’s father, solely due to the villain’s jealousy over the father having loved the hero more than his own son.”

  Darcy glanced to Elizabeth and saw he was correct.

  “Yet I am quite certain he failed to mention the hero was a wastrel, ill-suited to being a clergyman, and was compensated for the value of the living. Having wasted three thousand pounds over the course of a few years, our hero returned and demanded the living when it fell vacant, though of course he had not bothered to study to become a clergyman.” He heard the shocked gasp next to him and nodded. “Yes, he went through that much money in such a short time. He had also accrued a great many debts, both gambling and with shopkeepers, so I have no idea how much he actually spent in that time.”

  He looked to Elizabeth. “I hope you can forgive the villain if he refused to allow our hero the care of the souls in that parish.” Elizabeth bit her lip and gave a small nod before dropping her gaze again.

  Grateful for any acknowledgement of Elizabeth’s trust, Darcy continued.

  “Had this been the end of the story, the villain could have lived content in the knowledge that the hero was gone. He may not have felt warnings to others about our hero to be warranted. But that is not the end of the story.”

  Darcy took a deep breath. Did he really need to go on? Elizabeth already knew what Wickham was. She would never again allow herself to be persuaded by him.

  No, he would not take even the smallest risk with her safety. She must know everything. To ensure her safety he would lay bare his own failures.

  “Our villain had a sister, more than ten years his junior, over whom he had guardianship. She was a shy girl who looked up to our villain almost like a father. Last summer she went to visit Ramsgate with a companion. There, through the assistance of her companion, she again met our hero. Remembering him only as a friend to her older brother, she saw no reason to distrust him. In a short time, our hero had convinced her that he was in love with her. Furthermore, our hero persuaded her that our villain would only try to separate these star-crossed lovers, so they must elope to have any hope for happiness.”

  Darcy ignored another sound of surprise from Elizabeth. He needed to finish. For some reason, the history was easier to relate when told as a fairytale. He had no need to speak the names, and the illusion of anonymity made the telling less painful.

  “By sheer happenstance, as is often the case in such fairytales, our villain arrived early to visit his sister. She related the entire plan to him, certain that once the villain understood the depth of their love, he would relent and allow our hero to marry her. It should come as no surprise by now that our hero had no interest in our villain’s sister, save her dowry of thirty thousand pounds. The sister refused to believe the hero could be so dishonorable and insisted the villain was wrong, much to the hero’s delight. Our villain was left with no choice but to hurt his sister and show her the hero’s true character. He informed them both that they could marry if they insisted, but her dowry would not be paid until she reached her legal majority. As she was but fifteen at the time, our hero decided he was no longer in love and left. The villain’s sister, naturally, was devastated.”

  “Please, Sir,” Elizabeth said in a wavering voice, “please cease referring to yourself as a villain.”

  “But we have come full circle now, for as I said, his sister was devastated and blamed herself, which hurt the villain all the more as he was certain all blame was his own. After traveling away to provide his sister some time to heal in privacy – for she still blamed her brother for opening her eyes and causing this heartache, no matter what she may have said – our villain received his first letter from his sister. Where he had hoped to hear she was improving, instead he read a letter full o
f self-recrimination and guilt.

  “In a foul mood, he attempted to stay at home that evening, but was pressed by his host to attend an assembly. Not being comfortable in company, he hoped to avoid speaking to anyone and deliberately avoided being introduced to anyone in attendance. His host, however, was adamant that he partake in the festivities, so our villain lashed out with unpardonable rudeness to ensure he would not be bothered again. As is the case in many tragedies, our villain’s own actions set in motion the events that would later ensure anyone who heard the hero’s story would believe him and despise our villain.”

  He looked over to Elizabeth to see tears shining on her downcast lashes.

  “Do not waste your tears, Miss Elizabeth. You could not have known, and I had done nothing to earn your trust. I am sorry your eyes had to be forced open to see Wickham’s true nature. I am sorry I could not stop him sooner.”

  “You take too much upon yourself.”

  Darcy smiled, despite himself. Some of the steel was back in her voice. He would much rather hear her angry than sad.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, indeed. You may be responsible for your sister, but you are not responsible for the well-being of the rest of the world. Do you not believe in free will?”

  “Using my own words against me?” He hid his smile as it grew, pleased that she would defend him.

  “If they were true for me, then they are true for you as well. You are not responsible for me.”

  Darcy’s smile disappeared. No, he was not responsible for Elizabeth, and never would be. He must keep as much in mind.

  “Perhaps you are correct, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied hoarsely. The wind was picking up and he began to feel the cold much more than he had previously. “We are nearing Longbourn. Can you direct me to a path that will lead to the back of the house? I would not have you seen in your current state should anyone be calling upon your sisters.” Elizabeth paused, but Darcy did not look over. After a few awkward moments, she began to direct him.

  Darcy nodded mechanically as he led Thunder down the route she dictated. He would return Elizabeth to her father, and then head to town to find Colonel Forster. Her father would see to her safety and well-being. As she had said, such was not Darcy’s responsibility. She was safe now, so he would leave Hertfordshire. There was truly no reason left for him to remain.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Papa, really! I am fine, you must calm down.” Elizabeth expected no change. Her father had been in high anxiety since he had rushed out of the house to get her.

  When Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had arrived at Longbourn, Mr. Darcy had gone to the back door and asked to speak to Mr. Bennet, leaving Elizabeth to wait on Thunder.

  Her father had rushed out shortly thereafter with one of the servants to carry her inside. Elizabeth had been ready to glare at Mr. Darcy for needlessly worrying her father – had they not agreed that once she was home she could test further whether she was indeed injured? – but Mr. Darcy had not looked at her. Once she was inside she had looked for him to repeat her thanks, but he did not enter the house. He rode away on Thunder without another word to her.

  The servant carried Elizabeth to her room and Jane followed closely behind. Once Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the strain of the day caught up with her and Elizabeth began to weep.

  “Oh Lizzy,” Jane soothed as she held her sister. “Please tell me what happened? Are you injured? Did you fall?”

  “No, Jane, nothing so simple as that,” Elizabeth replied between sniffles, not knowing where to start. First, she must see to Jane’s worries. The rest of the tale could wait a bit. “I am not injured, at least I do not believe I am. I was limping a bit, so Mr. Darcy insisted on my riding his horse home.”

  Elizabeth laid her head on Jane’s shoulder and let herself purge the tears from her system. Jane, content to know her sister was not injured seriously, would wait for Elizabeth to continue in her own time.

  Where to start? Elizabeth almost wished she were injured. She would appreciate a physical reason she could assign as the source of her pain, because she was in pain. Elizabeth hurt like she had when her mother died, but this was somehow worse.

  Shame was riding high in her emotional overload at the moment. It jockeyed with guilt for top place. Humiliation was not far behind, along with betrayal.

  How could she not have seen Mr. Wickham for who he was? He had seemed so trustworthy, so open and honest. Looking back with her newfound knowledge, she could see the impropriety of his actions that she had overlooked at the time. Had she believed him because he flattered her? No, that could not be true. Mr. Collins had flattered her, and she had not considered him a trustworthy man.

  But if Mr. Collins had related the same story regarding Mr. Darcy, she would not have believed him. She would have looked for the logical fallacies in his argument. She would have asked him why he would relate such personal matters to a new acquaintance. Of course she had the benefit of some previous knowledge of Mr. Collins, not much to be sure, but her father had known his father. She had known of his existence for some time even if she had not met the man. What had she known of Mr. Wickham other than that he looked dashing and spoke well?

  If Mr. Collins had told her the same tale, she would have asked why he did not search for another living elsewhere. Why would a man waste such an education without looking for other opportunities?

  Despite her own pride in her acumen and judgment, Elizabeth found she was just as gullible as her sisters when it came to a handsome man who behaved prettily. Even her own father had not been impressed by Mr. Wickham and thought him a bit of a dandy. He had not believed him dangerous, but he had not thought so highly of him as everyone else did.

  Jane continued to hold Elizabeth and Elizabeth knew she must tell her sister what had happened. Sitting up straight and placing her hands in her lap, Elizabeth began to relate a factual account of what had happened when she went on her walk. She did not relate all of her words with Wickham. She did not want Jane to think she had believed anything he had said regarding her loneliness or guilt.

  “But I do not understand how he was able to assume such intimacy,” Jane said in confusion.

  Elizabeth crimsoned, but forced herself to continue. “He tried to take advantage of my grief. I see that now, though I thought he was being a good friend and looking out for me. As time went on something felt wrong about it, but I tried to ignore that feeling. His emphasis on how terrible I should be feeling began to irritate me. Had I not been irritated, I may not have realized his intentions when he began telling me he loved me.”

  “He loves you?”

  “No, he does not. But he used those words, to soften me I suppose, and then he attempted to kiss me. I slapped him.”

  Jane sat back, but Elizabeth could not be certain if she was shocked by the kiss or the violence of Elizabeth’s response.

  “That was when I became afraid,” she said, looking down at the handkerchief in her hands, unsure where it had come from. “He glared at me in such a way that I did not know what he might do next and I could not get away from him.” Elizabeth’s words came faster as she twisted the handkerchief around her fingers. “I fought as best I could but could make little impact until he became distracted and I kicked him. That is when he shoved me and I fell.”

  Elizabeth risked a glance at her sister. Jane had turned white.

  “Mr. Darcy had come, that is what distracted Mr. Wickham. He had come looking for me, concerned I might run into Mr. Wickham.” Elizabeth dropped her head again. “He knew what Mr. Wickham was. He had tried to warn me, many times now that I think back on it. I did not believe him. I chose instead to put my trust in a man who would attack me in such a manner.”

  Jane laid her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and fresh tears sprung to her eyes. Elizabeth grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

  “How despicably I acted,” she
cried as she threw down her handkerchief and rose to walk about the room. “I, who prided myself on my discernment. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind,” Elizabeth stopped pacing momentarily as she took a breath and slowed her speech and her pace.

  “But vanity, not love, has been my folly. I was pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance.” Elizabeth stopped walking and turned back to her sister, head bowed. “Till this moment, I never knew myself.”

  “You could not have known, Lizzy,” Jane replied as she took her sister’s hand and led her back to sit upon the bed. “Why, none of us ever suspected such a fine countenance could hide such a despicable person. Had I heard a tale of him involving anyone but yourself, I do not know that I could have believed such a story. I would have been certain there was some miscommunication or misunderstanding somewhere.”

  “Poor Jane,” Elizabeth replied, gently squeezing her sister’s hand. “You would not have believed such evil could exist in the entire world, let alone in one person. You would have tried to find some way of salvaging his character.”

  “Do not tease me, Lizzy.”

  “I would rather tease you than feel ashamed of myself, for that is what I feel. I am ashamed that I placed my trust in so undeserving a man while blinding myself to the good in a decent one.”

  “But after Mr. Darcy’s treatment of Mr. Wickham –” Jane stopped. “I suppose that tale is untrue as well, is it not?”

  “Not untrue, but misleading as he left out that Mr. Darcy paid him three thousand pounds in exchange for the living, which was squandered in a few short years. Mr. Wickham returned and asked for the living when it fell vacant, and Mr. Darcy did indeed refuse to grant it to him at that time.”

  “But such an amount could have set him for life.”