Agony and Hope – Chapter 1

Guess what! I am eager and a bit terrified but this is so close to hitting that home stretch! I am putting up chapter 1 now, and have scheduled chapter 2 for next week. I am still editing, so if you catch something, that’s why. I still have one more read through by the editor and proofreading. Sorry! That’s all on me. All I can say is hold on! We’re in for a bumpy ride!

Chapter 1

February 10^th 1813

The earl’s eye twitched as he prodded the desk with a pointed finger. The mannerism was one that never failed to occur when his uncle struggled or someone tested his ire. The habit did nothing to help his uncle’s ill-favoured appearance, and at this moment, his irritation drew out the worst in his countenance. “I will brook no opposition to my scheme, Darcy. You require a wife, and you shall find no better candidate than Lady Prudence.”

Darcy pulled in a deep breath while his uncle spoke, measuring the draw of air into his lungs to maintain an illusion of calm. He was by no means ill-at-ease, yet his uncle’s demands had grown wearying. How many times had the man sat in that very chair and made the self-same demand? He was in no mood to entertain his uncle’s selfish dictates tonight. If only he would leave so Darcy could spend the remainder of his evening in peace.

“Uncle—”

The earl wagged his finger at Darcy’s chest. “No, I will accept no excuses. Georgiana requires a sister, a lady to teach her and guide her and to prepare her for marriage. Your sister, with her thirty-thousand pounds as well as her status as the granddaughter and niece of an earl, should expect a splendid match—one worthy of the first circles. She must be prepared for the future. Lord Denbigh has expressed an interest, though he understands, of course, that he must wait until she is out.”

Darcy fisted his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms, while he struggled to prevent his eyes from rolling towards the heavens. Why his uncle assumed Darcy would accept his advice for Georgiana when he refused under any and all circumstances to consider it for himself was a mystery. “Lord Denbigh is thirty years her senior and an unrepentant rake. Georgiana would be with child and diseased within a year. I would prefer her to make a love match, which in my opinion, is of greater importance than the gentleman’s standing within the ton.”

“Enough of this.” His uncle’s voice emerged at a low growl. “You will wed Lady Prudence at the end of the Season.”

“No, my lord. I shall not.” Darcy endeavoured to keep his breathing even. He would not lose his composure. “The lady I court will be of my choosing and no one else’s.” Darcy had been fending off his uncle’s matchmaking schemes since he left Cambridge, though the earl’s determination proved more tenacious as of late. His excuse that Georgiana had need of a sister had been previously employed; however, the lecture on how the simpering, fawning daughter of another earl would make an exemplary model for his sister was new, but made no difference to Darcy. He would never marry, though he had no intention of revealing that resolution. His uncle would never understand because the man lacked the depth of feeling required to experience any empathy and kindness—even love.

The earl rose and proceeded to pour himself a generous glass of Darcy’s best brandy. Lord Fitzwilliam’s manner had always been officious. Darcy’s decision not to offer refreshments was to ensure the visit remained brief, yet his uncle appeared prepared to visit until Michaelmas if afforded the opportunity. How the man tested his resolve! Darcy still prayed his uncle could be persuaded to depart before too long. Otherwise, the patience he strove to maintain would be drawn so thin the fragile cord might snap.

“I care not for your preposterous notions,” said the earl. “This family has always married for money and connections, and you will be no different. I shall inform Lord Seldridge in the morning of your grateful acceptance.”

Darcy shook his head, his fingernails burrowing further into the tender flesh of his palm. Did his uncle not find these futile arguments as tiring as he did? “Uncle, I shall never capitulate to your wishes. For years, you have proposed dismal candidate after dismal candidate—”

The earl’s shoulders stiffened and his chin hitched back. “I have never proposed a ‘dismal candidate’ as you suggest.” His voice drawled in a manner not heard thus far during this evening’s call.

“If you remember, Lady Cecilia wed a mere fortnight after you forwarded her as a potential match,” said Darcy. “The lady then entered her confinement no more than six months after she wed. Bingley’s older sister could not cease gossiping of how rosy and robust the child was for one born so early. Lady Cecilia was fortunate her husband’s age and desperation for an heir allowed her to raise the child. Another man would not have accepted a cuckold with such grace. He would have found a suitable home rather than allow the child to inherit his title and his estate.”

His uncle gave a dismissive shrug. “I admit to being misled by Lady Cecilia’s father, but the inconvenience of the child would have been but a small price to pay for her fifty thousand pounds.”

Darcy pressed his hands atop the dark, polished oak of his desk. The piece had belonged to his father as well as his grandfather before him and was as much of a Darcy tradition as the inheritance of Pemberley. “No amount of money could persuade me to accept a lady of your choosing. I refuse to sully the Darcy name and reputation by accepting one of the insipid daughters of your political allies.

“And since disease has been mentioned, I would be remiss if I did not ask of Carlisle? Does the mercury seem to have cured the pox?”

Lord Fitzwilliam sucked in as much air as his chest would accommodate, holding the breath until he changed an interesting shade of puce. He then released it all at once. “You dare use my son’s condition against me? I could not have known his wife—”

“No, you could not have, could you?” Darcy kept his tone light as if discussing a trivial matter and not a topic his uncle took great pains to conceal. “Particularly since you made no effort to discover why her father was so determined to be rid of her. I have not forgotten Carlisle’s blind acceptance of his bride.”

“You dare—”

“Have you visited Carlisle of late or have you neglected to inconvenience yourself?” Yes, his manner was harsh, but the truth of the matter was the earl’s lack of attendance at the sickbed of his eldest son and heir was due to appearances. He would not want to be seen entering or exiting the hospital. God forbid someone recognized him!

Spittle flew from his uncle’s lips. “I am the head of this family and a peer! You will afford me some respect! Your mother would be appalled at such horrid treatment of your nearest relation!”

“She would be appalled at your attempts to elevate your own importance at the expense of her children. You arranged Carlisle’s union to that woman with nary a question of her father. The mercury failed her too, did it not? Rumour has it she has been ill after the loss of a child, but I imagine when she still showed signs of disease, you hid her away in the country.” Darcy’s voice stayed flat and calm while he delivered the accusation.

His uncle sniffed and brushed non-existent dust from the leg of his breeches. “If you will not have Lady Prudence, she will do for Richard.”

A bitter laugh burst from Darcy’s chest. “I would not count on Richard’s agreement.”

“I can and will disown him,” said his uncle, his hand shaking while he stared into his glass.

“After Carlisle’s illness, he will never provide an heir, and that is even should the mercury be successful and he live to be an old man.” How many times had Darcy relaxed in this very chair while he and Richard shared conversation over Port or brandy? They had spoken of the earl’s selfish and conniving nature on many occasions. Instead of the earl, Richard had long thought of Darcy’s father as his own, regardless of how the sentiment angered Lord Fitzwilliam. “You cannot disown Richard since you have no one after Carlisle to inherit not only the title but also your estate. Protecting your younger son’s life should be your objective over all else.”

Darcy rose and rang the bell. “I beg you not to importune me further on this matter as I shall never be amenable to any suggestion of a wife from you. I shall further warn you not to so much as mention Georgiana as a possibility to your allies. My father knew better than to entrust you with her future, which is why Richard and I share her guardianship. She will have a choice in the man she weds, and we shall ensure her choices are suitable.”

His uncle slammed the brandy on the desk, the liquid splashing. Thank goodness it did not spill onto Darcy’s nearby ledger. “You dare treat me with so little respect! I can ensure you marry a lady of my choosing. A well-timed letter to the papers—”

“And the condition of Carlisle’s wife as well as Carlisle become fodder for society.”

After a gasp, his uncle stood, brandishing a quivering finger in Darcy’s direction. “You would humiliate your cousin?”

“You forget that under your lifelong tutelage, Carlisle has been a menace. He is cruel and has been since he was a child. I care little for preserving his reputation when he has never afforded me one ounce of respect, and since I have no interest in maintaining any appearance of ease between us, I have no reason to give consideration to you or your eldest son.” He had not told a falsehood. Carlisle had always been a menace, yet Darcy would never reveal the nature of Carlisle or his wife’s maladies, but would his uncle apprehend that he was prevaricating?

The door opened and Watson stepped inside. “Yes, sir?”

Darcy glared at his uncle. He could not waver or allow any hint of weakness to be evident in his manner. “Pray, escort Lord Fitzwilliam to his carriage. He will be leaving.”

His uncle’s chest puffed and his cheeks reddened. “This conversation is not over.”

“In that, sir, you are mistaken. Good evening, Lord Fitzwilliam.” Darcy stepped around his desk to stare out the window, turning his back on his uncle.

“My Lord,” said Watson, pressing his back to the door so the earl could depart.

Heavy footfalls stomped from the room. They paused for but a moment before the front door slammed. Darcy did not sit but waited until Watson entered. “Did he not put on his coat?”

“No, sir, Lord Fitzwilliam ripped it from my hands before rushing through the door. The weather is frigid. I wager he will stop to don it soon. Otherwise, he will catch his death.”

Darcy rolled his shoulders to relieve a certain amount of the tension from his uncle’s call. “In the future, I am not home to Lord Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Watson departed to see to his duties, the overwhelming silence of the empty room swallowed Darcy whole. The heavy and suffocating silence squeezed with a painful pressure upon his chest and prompted him to rub the oppressive ache.

At one time, he had not minded his own company, yet he had changed. He was not the same man he was a year ago. Blast! He was not the same man he had been a mere month ago. How often could one find themselves altered yet still recognise themselves? It was as if one day he would stand before the mirror and not know the man reflected back to him.

He downed the remnants of the brandy he had poured before the earl’s unwelcome call and rose to pour another generous glass. Perhaps two or three more glasses full would be enough to fall into a dreamless abyss where he could no longer hear the bubbling laughter that haunted him, that brought to mind a pair of fine eyes that still captured him with their intelligence and sparkle.

The owner of those fine eyes had ruined him with her challenging repartee and intelligent opinions. Her teasing smile and humour had pleased him in a way no other woman could hope to duplicate. She freed him from those expectations that had been heaped upon him since his parents’ deaths, representing a future he had never before considered possible. He could never love any but her, thus he could never marry. His heart was no longer his to give. She possessed that fragile organ that still beat so faithfully in his chest and she always would. His eyes burned, and his throat itched as though it might squeeze closed. No other lady was her equal. He had ruined his one chance at happiness, his one chance to have her as his bride.

No other woman could be Elizabeth Bennet, and he could not have Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet was dead.

Ruh roh!

Dun dun dun! Any comments?