A Walk in the Peak District: Darcy searches for peace

This short excerpt is based on a deleted section from Mysterious Mr. Darcy. It was meant to be the prologue to the novel, but then I changed it completely.  Since it fits with the theme of the month — Indoors and Outdoors — I thought it might be fun to share it. I’ve expanded it to include Elizabeth, which wasn’t part of the original scene. The section begins the summer before he goes to Meryton, just after he brings Georgiana from Ramsgate to Pemberley. 

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It is fine weather, but I am in no mood to appreciate it. At least it is no longer raining. The remnants of last night’s downpour is squelching under my Hessian boots, messing up the shine my valent took so long to achieve. The stone path is waterlogged in many places. I know I would be better off staying on even ground, but I am too impatient – nay, too angry. I need a challenge, something that will discharge the feelings building up inside me. A walk in the Peak District is my only hope. In my current state of mind, I am worried I might say the wrong thing to Georgiana. She is so easily upset in the wake of Wickham’s betrayal, I have to tread on eggshells around her.

I set out for the high moors. Scrambling up the Peaks has always provided me with some measure of relief. This isn’t the first time I attempt to work off my anger at Wickham. I have a childhood full of these moments. Sometimes, climbing and looking out at the vast valley gives me a sense of perspective, and I see that the trivialities of individual life are nothing in the grand scheme of Nature. At other times, I feel trapped by the emotions that take hold of me. I would like to control them, but they refuse to be tamed. My feelings are sometimes too strong to be contained.

It is a fault of mine, I know. My good opinion, once lost, is lost for ever. I do my best, but there are situations where it is impossible for me to forgive or forget. That was the case with Wickham. I shut him out of my life, and out of my mind. I believed myself free of that bane of my childhood. Then this! This new outrage has opened the floodgates again. How could I possibly forgive the pain he has caused my sister?

I am a finger’s width away from going after the scoundrel and challenging him to a duel. Only the fact that Georgiana would suffer even more holds me back. My consideration for my sister gives me the strength to rein in that impulse. It could only end in scandal, injury, or worse. I am a fair swordsman, and in the heat of battle, it is possible that I could deal a fatal blow.

I am prepared to live with the consequences, if it means I would rid the world of a scoundrel like him. It would save other young ladies like Georgiana from his greedy clutches. All the young innocents he seduced and abandoned – and I knew of more than one – would be avenged. I have always sought them out and provided support if necessary, but it is never easy to deal with such delicate matters.

Enough. The past is not my concern now. There is no point in incensing myself further by cataloguing all the wrongs Wickham has committed.

As I clamber upwards, I try to clear my mind. Stanage Edge appears in sight, the mighty rock reigning over the whole of Hope valley. It is my favorite place to be alone. If anything can bring me serenity, it is this place.

To my astonishment, a young lady is standing there, her hair drifting on the light breeze. To judge by her clothing, she is a well-bred young lady, even if she is not in the flush of fashion. But when I look around, I see no one with her. She is entirely alone.

The Peaks are no place for a young lady to be wandering by herself. The chances of mishaps make it risky, particularly on a day like this, when the rocks are slippery. She is either very brave or very foolhardy. Or perhaps she is simply unaware of the dangers.

“Good morning.” I speak quietly, trying not to startle her.

She turns to me. Her face is ruddy from the outdoors, and her dark eyes are glowing. She is not beautiful, but I am struck by the animated expression on her face. This is not some insipid young lady from the ballrooms of London. Naturally, a lady from Society would never be here by herself. I think of Georgiana. Quiet, gentle soul! She would never do such a thing.

“Be careful not to go too close to the edge, madam. The ground is slippery.”

“You need not concern yourself, sir. I have excellent balance.”

“So do I. But I know these peaks like the back of my hand. They can be treacherous.”

She laughs. “Thank you for your warning, kind sir. I will bear it in mind.”

She turns her back to me and walks away decisively, indicating that our conversation is over.

I stare at her in astonishment. Is she really snubbing me? Me, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, spurned by a young lady with little sense and even less manners? I stare at her retreating figure. Such a thing has never happened in my life. I am used to young ladies seeking me out, not giving me the direct cut.

Vexed, I spin on my heal and head down the path I have just climbed.  Then I grow even more annoyed at myself. Why should I  care about the opinion of an improper young lady like her? Let her fall if that is what she choses to do. It is none of my concern.

I am paying more attention to her than to my surroundings. My foot snags on a root and I stumble. I try to regain my balance, but my foot slithers. My knee twists, and before I know it, I am on the ground.

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Poor Darcy! What do you think? Can he recover his injured pride? What would you like to happen next?