A Man With Faults (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter 1

The room was silent, cold, and dark. Two candles burned to their ends, and the chamber fell into starker darkness. Only a gleam of light found its way around the heavy curtains.

Sometime later, the door opened, its sound shattering the quiet; a man stepped in tentatively. From the armchair by the large wooden desk, a shadow moved slightly.

“Sir…I am deeply sorry for interrupting you…”

“And yet, you did,” the answer came sharply.

“Yes…no…forgive me. I brought a note from the countess, regarding Miss Darcy.”

The servant looked around, undecided, then finally approached the desk and put down the piece of paper in an awkward hurry.

“Sir, it is cold here…and so dark…”

“And? Is it of any use to me that you point out the obvious? Or do you wish us to spend the morning in needless chatter?”

The voice turned more severe, and the shadow seemed to move.

“No…I will light other candles,” the servant said quickly, attending to the task without waiting for approval.

“Leave them on the fireplace. I do not need light.”

“Very well, sir. May I bring you some food? It has been a full day since your previous meal.”

“Wilson, leave me alone —now!”

“As you wish, sir. Would you like to send any response to the countess?”

“Tell her I am fine with whatever she decides. Now leave!”

The door closed again, and the chamber returned to its previously dark silence. The candles, burning now vigorously, were the single sign of life. But they could bring no warmth to the room or to the heart of the man who suddenly left his seat and began to pace.

Fitzwilliam Darcy filled his glass with brandy, took a gulp, and then threw the glass into the empty fireplace.

What answer could he possibly send to the countess?

He was surely in no position to make decisions regarding the most important person in his life.

Not after all his previous failures. Not after he escaped and abandoned her precisely when she needed him most. He was in no position to make decisions regarding anyone else —including himself —since every previous decision was unfortunate and disappointing.

And he could blame no one but himself. He had been a fool —a weak character with a shallow will —forgetting his principles, his education, and his duty.

For more than four months, he had despised himself, laughed at his folly, and dreaded his weakness.

Everything he knew about himself, everything others expected of him, and everything he had been taught meant nothing after that horrible day at the Parsonage. He had made a complete fool of himself and put his pride and sense aside, placing his heart on a plate before a woman who ripped it apart.

Everything he believed about her proved to be wrong, as was everything he believed about himself.

He had been as certain of her feelings as he had been of his own, but events had shown him to be a simpleton.

She not only rejected him, but she cast all the blame on him.

More hurtful than her words was the expression of disgust on her face.

She treated him with disdain, as though he were the last man in the world she could ever marry. And indeed, for her, he was.

“Your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others…”

She accused him of ruining her sister’s happiness and, even worse, of being responsible for Wickham’s “misfortunes”! That was as ridiculous as it was untrue!

How could he ever consider her witty and bright? She was just like the other silly girls who fell for that scoundrel’s charms. And Darcy had asked for her hand in marriage. What did that say about his own wit and intelligence?

She refused him, bashed him, accused him —and yet, he continued to be the same pathetic fool.

He spent the night writing to her, explaining, justifying his actions, and revealing his —and his beloved sister’s —most painful secrets.

Then he waited for her, wandering in the grove on a windy, cloudy morning.

She finally appeared, and he handed the letter to her.

She took it, but moments later, she ran after him and tore up the pages in front of him.

The wind blew away the scraps of paper and carried with them his words, his thoughts, and his torment.

She cared not for any of those things and wished to hear nothing from him. She declared she did not trust him and refused to listen to his arguments.

That new rejection was a slap in the face and broke the last remnant of his self-control. He remembered staring at her, unable to move, fighting the claw that tore at his head and heart. And she ran away from him without a single glance.

He left Kent the same day with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he remembered little of what happened next. His mind was invaded by her words, her gestures, her expressions —no room for anything else —and his state had not changed since then.

In the next two months, he secluded himself from his friends, his family, and his own sister. He carried a pain so deep and overwhelming that it almost paralysed him. He felt ashamed, guilty, and angry. And full of resentment towards himself —and towards her.

Lost in his own selfishness, preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself, and bearing a grudge against what had happened, he never considered for a moment the effect of his behaviour on those around him, especially on the kindest, most loving, and loyal person in his life.

His world was shattered the morning he found Georgiana unconscious, the life almost drained from her thin body and her room enveloped with the pungent smell of opium.

Her pallor, her stillness, and her coldness filled the nightmares that invaded his sleepless nights and tormented his already unsettled mind.

Nobody knew what happened to Miss Darcy, and while she eventually recovered, she pretended to remember nothing.

But doubt seared Darcy’s chest as he suspected his beloved sister had attempted to take her own life.

What could have pushed her to such extreme action?

Why would she have wanted to leave him forever?

He could only imagine. And how was it possible that he suspected nothing?

How could he be completely blind to his sister’s suffering?

How could he be preoccupied with his own self-deception while unaware of his sister’s despair?

The dreadful thought that she might be tempted to do it again frightened him and caged him in fear and agony. He would do anything to protect her, but he did not know how.

Georgiana became more restrained and shy than before, and he felt he was becoming a stranger to her.

She spoke little to him and only smiled politely; she seemed unwilling to increase the bond between them.

She refused to talk —not only of the past but also of the present and future.

She avoided their friends and family —just as he did.

While he spent most of the time in his library, she engaged herself in music, playing all day long.

They barely met at breakfast; at dinner, they were like polite, well-behaved acquaintances.

Their lives and their home turned colder as the summer progressed. Both avoided the sun, light, warmth, and joy of the season. The siblings were trapped in their sadness and loneliness.

And, while he cared little for himself, he felt the blame for his sister’s distress and hated himself for it. Likewise, though to a lesser degree, he blamed and hated Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy startled when the door opened once more —this time without any notice —and an elegant figure, preceded by the superb scent of flowers, approached his desk.

He took her hand and kissed it.

“My lady…”

“How are you, my dear nephew? Still sitting in the dark?”

“No…not quite…I just finished some papers for my solicitor.”

“Liar,” she replied lovingly, gently caressing his cheek. “I just came to see you briefly. I am taking Georgiana for a walk in the park. Will you not join us?”

“I cannot,” he answered hastily. “But I am certain you will have a lovely time. Are you going to Hyde Park?”

“No…she does not favour it today. Too crowded and too many acquaintances.”

“I see. Where then?”

“The same small park we have visited the last two weeks. Georgiana seems to enjoy it. It is very lively but not too noisy. And no chance to be bothered by annoyingly familiar faces.”

He smiled bitterly. “So Georgiana hides herself from our friends and family and prefers the company of strangers. At least I am not the only one whose company she avoids.”

“Nonsense, my dear. She does not avoid you. I have rarely seen a more loving and devoted sister. I believe she is a little intimidated by you. You can be quite frightening at times,” the lady teased him.

“If only I could be a proper brother for Georgiana as she deserves. But I am afraid I have failed and disappointed her.”

“Such a thing to say! I agree you have been in a poor mood lately; you must improve your manners. So I am leaving now before you manage to ruin my day. We shall see you again later. Will we have the pleasure of your company for dinner?”

“Of course. I wish you both a most pleasant day, Aunt.”

The door closed, leaving the delicate scent in the air and a little smile on Darcy’s face —which vanished an instant later.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth finished her cup of tea, listening to the children’s happy voices.

Her Uncle Gardiner had left for his business immediately after breakfast, and she enjoyed a few peaceful moments with her aunt.

“Is it safe for you to leave your bed?” Elizabeth inquired while pouring more tea.

“Do not worry, my dear; I am much better. Besides, three weeks in my room is too much to bear. I feel I took advantage of you.”

“Not at all, I assure you. I do little else but play with my cousins. In fact, we are ready to go to the park —which is as delightful for me as it is for them.”

“Are you certain they are not too tiresome?” her aunt inquired, and Elizabeth laughed.