Mistaken (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Cataclysm

To avoid weaknesses which exposed a strong understanding to ridicule had ever been Darcy’s resolve, but Elizabeth Bennet was his greatest weakness.

It followed that he should have made himself ridiculous on account of her.

’Til a few moments ago, he had believed it was their marriage that would make him so, but he knew better now.

It was her refusal of any such alliance that had rendered him an inglorious fool. She would not have him, did not even like him, blamed him for her sister’s misery and her favourite’s straitened circumstances—and now here he stood before her, exposed, rejected and ridiculous.

Never in his life had he felt such bitter mortification, such roiling indignation.

There could be no greater shame than the furious disapprobation of one to whom he had surrendered so much.

All possible arguments and pleas, all rational thought eluded him.

Everything shrank to insignificance beside the urgent need to be gone from her presence, for he could tolerate the humiliation not an instant longer.

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

The parlour door, then the front door, then the parsonage gate all closed behind him, adding layer upon layer to the distance between them.

It was not enough. On he walked, retreating as far from the scene of his utter debasement as daylight permitted.

Dusk brought him to a halt, and he railed at it, for he had no wish to stop and allow his thoughts to catch up with him.

He considered continuing all the way to the sea, but the demands of his empty stomach, mundane in the midst of such ruin, cautioned against it.

He turned back the way he had come, so far that neither the house nor even the park was visible on the horizon.

He was stationary too long; a swell of appalling emotion overtook him. With fists clenched, he roared his anguish at the darkening sky.

Was it all for nothing, then? The torment of withstanding her charms week after week in Hertfordshire.

The wretchedness of separation as the succeeding months proved her impossible to forget.

The agony of coming to understand he loved her yet still could not have her.

The painful hours deliberating the dereliction of duty to his family any union with her would entail.

The terrifying decision to allow his heart to run this far with its absurd fancies.

The unbearable discomposure of making the damned offer—a more truthful declaration of his private feelings than any he had condescended to give another soul.

Had all his violent struggles these past six months been for naught?

He set off in the direction of the house, resentment fuelling his pace such that every footfall jarred his bones.

Night fell and settled a queer stillness upon him, a stagnant fury that required no further outpouring of passion, only cool, calculated action.

In his bedchamber, he wrote a letter that would settle the matter unequivocally.

She could read it or not, believe it or not, he scarcely cared.

Unbidden, another surge of emotion gripped him, forcing a lump into his throat and tightness into his chest. Elizabeth would not have him.

Oh, God! He shoved his chair away from the desk and after several circuits of the small chamber threw himself onto the bed in disgust. She did not deserve him!

He no longer wanted any of her—not her vulgar family, not her city-dwelling relations, not her pert opinions or bewitching eyes.

Would to heaven he did not love her.

He squeezed his eyes closed, determined to sleep. He would deliver the letter tomorrow, after which he would never see Elizabeth again, and all such weakness would soon be overcome.