Disdain, Agony, Hope, and Love #Wattys2020

Chapter 27

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The advantage of fencing was that it occupied the mind and the body. Thus it was that it allowed Darcy to forget his troubles that had plagued him for the past fortnight for a few moments and concentrate on something else.

Before Rosings, Darcy had been only moderately adept at the sport, but now he threw himself into it. He brushed his hair back and looked at his opponent. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked back and nodded. More young men and the fencing master watched from the sidelines.

His cousin made no move to attack; it was obvious he intended to be on the defensive this time. Darcy was happy to oblige and lunged. The rapier was parried and the two moved away again.

Suddenly, unbidden (and most certainly unwanted) rose the memory of that humiliating evening in Hunsford. He had lost that duel - very badly.

Determined that this time he would not lose, Darcy attacked with such ferocity that the Colonel was taken aback and was pushed backwards until his back was against the wall, trying to block the rain of blows coming down on him. Finally, he lowered his rapier in a gesture of defeat.

Darcy took no notice, but slashed down. Thankfully, the Colonel leapt nimbly away and dashed to grab Darcy's sword-arm. He held it tightly until Darcy lowered the weapon.

"Alright, I surrender. You do not have to injure me to win, Darcy," said he in half-jest.

Darcy did not answer. There was no indication if he had even heard his cousin speak.

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The library or his study was his favourite rooms at the present moment. Few dared to disturb him there, and whenever he needed a distraction from his gloomy thoughts he could turn to one of the numerous books that filled the shelves.

Today, he was too tired to reach for a novel. The duel with the Colonel, on top of many sleepless nights, had exhausted him. Too weary to resist, his guilty conscience took hold.

He had nearly seriously hurt his cousin! He had let his emotions rule his good sense and in doing so he had nearly done something terrible. Had he not always tried to dissuade Bingley from that habit, of letting one's heart rule his head? See the consequences of it!

Usually Darcy would never have let such a thing happen. But so many things about him had changed ever since . . .

He knew what - who finished that sentence. But he tried to turn his thoughts away from - her.

Soft footsteps behind him.

"Why are you here in this dark library?" asked Georgiana, touching the back of the chair Darcy sat in. "We are all missing you."

Darcy wished that Elizabeth and his sister could be friends. But if she despised him, then she in all probability wanted nothing to do with his sister.

He said nothing in response to his sister's query.

"What is troubling you, brother?" said Georgiana, voice trembling. "You have been so unhappy ever since your return from Kent. A whole day passes in which I do not see you - you spend the entire day either in your room or study or here. Whenever you do come into our company, you never speak unless it is absolutely necessary. You are so distant - it has been as if I have been living with a stranger." Darcy heard a sob in his sister's voice. "What is wrong? Will you not confide in me?"

He desperately wanted to talk to someone - but he could not burden his sister with his troubles.

"Forgive me if I do not. It is nothing that I should trouble you with." He sighed. "I don't even know myself anymore, if I am a good man or a bad one? is it possible for a man to change his way of thinking? Will I allow myself to change?"

Silence fell. Darcy said no more.

"Come and join us, Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana, laying her hand on his shoulder.

He ignored the gesture.

"No."

Georgiana left. He heard her trying to hold back tears. Out in the hall, he heard her whisper, "Richard, cousin, nothing has changed . . . " The door swung shut, and Darcy got up and locked it.

He tried to read, but he found his attention wandering. Frustrated, he unlocked the door. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy stood there. He ignored them both and brushed past them to his study. Again, he locked the door.

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The best distraction was lying on his desk in a rather large pile. Letters to answer, accounts to manage and so much more were things that required his undivided attention. He flung himself into the chair beside the desk and grabbed a pen.

There were five letters. He answered them as shortly as possible. Bills, accounts were soon all done. Numerous invitations to parties and balls - all answered, all declined.

It was soon all done. With nothing to take up his attention he all too quickly lost himself in his suffering and sorrow.

Her words haunted him wherever her went, whatever he did.

Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner . . . . You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry . . .

He had tried his best to forget them but they were acid-etched into his memory. Even harder to forget was Elizabeth's expression as she said those words.

Darcy stared at the luxurious room. Large, tastefully decorated with expensive furniture and shelves that held many generations worth of books. The accounts and bills, even when all paid, still left him many thousands of pounds. Yet he would trade it all for one kind word, one approving glance from the woman he loved, but who did not love him.

The pile of paper on his desk was a mute testimony as to how dull and empty his life was. In fact, when he thought about it, the most exciting times in his recent life, the times when he had felt the most alive were in Elizabeth's company; talking, dancing . . .

For all his duties and responsibilities, Darcy was still a young man, insecure in the ways of his own heart. He had 'lived in the world' as Elizabeth put it, but he had not lived. He did not know what to do - forget her or remember her, love her or hate her. He did not know how to seperate his emotional problems from everyday life - that was why he had nearly injured his cousin that morning.

He wished he could talk to someone, expose himself and let his shields built around himself down just once.

But the last time he had did that, he had been hurt and humiliated. Never again. He was a man grown and could deal with his feelings himself!

Darcy was tired - for one moment he envied Wickham's indifference to what others thought of him. But it was only for a moment - he did care about what others thought of him. Most of all he wanted them all - especially Elizabeth - to think well of him.

Was what Elizabeth said true? Did his friends and acquaintances see him in such a light? Arrogant, conceited with a selfish disdain for the feelings of others.

Darcy wanted to know - but feared to ask. Scared of what the answer would be.