Accept No Evil （First Person） #3
We were curious what the changes in management might entail, but not overly so.
It was well known that Anne was away in America with Elizabeth and she was the heir.
Lady Catherine still looked as stout as an oak and likely to outlive us all, so nobody was particularly worried about the next few years.
From what I heard, however, Anne was not likely to marry, nor was her health equal to the task, so she seemed unlikely to care for the generation following.
Perhaps it was time for Lady Catherine to see to the matter.
Mayhap she planned to make Mr Darcy the heir, or perhaps another family member.
Stranger things had happened, and she could do worse.
Mostly, we did not worry. I met Mr Darcy most days on my morning rambles, and I liked him more and more as time went on.
By the Saturday he was due to depart, I liked him a great deal.
It was unfortunate that his association with Elizabeth had been cut short by Mr Bingley’s horrid sisters before it had a chance to establish itself.
I believed they could have been the best of friends, if not more.
In character, knowledge, and disposition, they were so suited that they could have spent many happy hours in each other’s company.
I certainly counted the man as a friend, which was surprising but not shocking.
~~~
“Miss Bennet, I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.”
I started at the unexpected, and frankly unwelcome, interruption.
I had been reading my last letter from Lizzy, which contained the wonderful news that she would be returning to England in a few months.
I imagined Elizabeth’s homecoming, and the colonel’s interruption was not particularly welcome.
The colonel was not an unpleasant man, but I had never really developed any particular rapport with him.
He was merely another of those tolerably handsome, moderately flirtatious, passably acceptable, yet not particularly serious men, one meets from time to time.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
The man looked agitated, which was surprising. I had seen him in any number of states, but never one of agitation. I held my peace. If he was agitated, he would either say what he meant or he would not. Neither was of real concern.
“Miss Bennet, I have momentous news. Lady Catherine will make me her heir.”
That was surprising news. I knew nothing particularly bad about the colonel. He did not seem an especially serious man, but I imagined Lady Catherine knew what she was about. She certainly did not need advice from the likes of me.
“Congratulations, Colonel.”
With that, the colonel did the most surprising thing I could have imagined. Nay, I do not think I could have imagined what he did next. The colonel paced in circles for a few moments with an agitated air, then looked earnestly at me and said the oddest thing.
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. I have been captivated by your beauty, your wit, and your liveliness since meeting you. As you know, I have always had the need to wed with fortune in mind, but now that limitation has been lifted. Miss Jane Bennet, would you do me the supreme honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”
My astonishment was beyond expression. I stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for me, immediately followed… and followed… and followed.
Of course, he had only known me about three weeks, so ‘long felt’ overstated the case by a vast measure.
He carried on for quite some time, and most of it made no sense at all.
He spoke of his struggles in accepting somebody with so little fortune and such low connections, and how lucky he felt that he could now disregard such drawbacks, and promised faithfully that after we were married, no word of my low fortune or other unsuitable attributes would ever cross his lips.
This debacle went on for some time, and it was frightfully confusing, for I had difficulty determining whether he sought to propose marriage or insult me.
It was absolutely the most horrendous proposal in the history of speech; I am quite certain.
I did not know if he was overly nervous, thought too highly of himself and his station, or was simply stupid.
When he was finally finished, he looked at me with anxious expectation, as if he had already made up his mind and my acceptance was the only thing left to be accomplished.
Who after all could possibly turn down the son of an Earl and heir of Rosings—especially someone with such poor prospects and low connections?
I tried my best to think of something Lizzy might say when she was not spitting with rage.
She really was good at coming up with words of reconciliation when she chose to.
She was also entirely capable of taking the hide off a bull at fifty paces with her tongue, but I thought that was probably not the behaviour to emulate in such a delicate situation, even if I did have the capability.
My normal demeanour had always been so accommodating and mild that people felt they could impose upon me.
I thought in this case I should better emulate Lizzy, just to make sure the message was understood.
The colonel reached for my hand, which alarmed me, so I quickly backed away and replied quickly.
“You are too hasty, sir. You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do so without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them.”
I was immensely proud of myself with that reply. It seemed firm enough to overcome any resistance, clear enough to be a definitive no; I thought it a particularly good effort. Rejecting a proposal was bound to be unpleasant, and this seemed like it should be as gently as a man could be let down.
I was congratulating myself on the efficacy and innate kindness of my refusal when the colonel did the unthinkable.
Apparently having paid not the slightest attention to what I said, he simply stated, “I am not to be denied, Miss Bennet.”
A touch of fear seized me. The man’s amiable countenance had hardened to an alarming degree, and he stepped the few feet separating us, grabbed me firmly about the waist, and kissed me—hard.
It was not an affectionate kiss, or a gentle kiss; not the sort of thing I expected as my first experience.
It was predatory. It was a man who thought he could claim his place with impunity, and a man who thought what I had was his to take; or more likely, his ego and pride insisted I would appreciate what he had to offer if he gave me a taste, and his manly charms would easily overcome my maidenly modesty.
Perhaps it was an attitude soldiers are taught or learn among their comrades, or maybe the son of an Earl felt it was his due, or maybe battle and killing had made him hard, or maybe all men thought that way. I did not know and did not wish to.
I was nearly petrified with fear and rage, and since he had the imprudence to grab me around my waist leaving my hands free, I wound my arm back as far as I could and slapped him across the face hard enough to dislodge teeth.
In my panic, I may have forgotten to uncurl my fingers, and it is entirely possible I left four deep bloody scratches down his cheek.
This only made him angrier, and he raised his hand to swing at me.
At that point I was truly frightened, and started trying to back away while glancing around seeking relief.
I was taken completely by surprise when a fist appeared from the side of my vision only to smack the side of the colonel’s head like the fist of God smiting a sinner.
The colonel staggered back, releasing me, and I jumped back a few feet and prepared to run.
My feet were glued to the ground because I could not bear to miss what was happening in front of me.
The fist to the side of the colonel’s head was followed quickly by another to the other side, another to his face, and yet another and another.
Mr Darcy’s calm and serene countenance was entirely gone.
He looked like a madman, and I wondered if he would kill the colonel…
and briefly considered whether that would be a good thing or bad.
After delivering his third or fourth blow to the colonel, Mr Darcy stepped back a pace, looked at me, and asked if I was well. I simply nodded, and he said the strangest things.
“Miss Bennet, I would prefer you not witness what is about to happen here.”
“I have already witnessed quite enough. I will see the rest.”
“I beg of you. Things will get very ugly.”
“Things are already very ugly. Pray proceed.”
Our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the colonel staggering up, eyeing Mr Darcy warily, still with a half-mad look in his eyes, clearly ready to fight.
As he advanced, I saw at least two gardeners watching, no doubt believing this to be the year’s greatest entertainment.
At that point, my reputation was in tatters, whether I deserved it or not.
I would be a fallen woman before nightfall, no matter how the two cousins settled their differences.
It was far too late for them to settle it privately, so there and then seemed as good a time as any.
I should have been in a panic over the approaching scandal, but I could not summon the emotion at the time.
I was certain that would come sooner or later.
My only real concern at that moment was for Mr Darcy’s health, as things did indeed look as if a frightful bit of ugliness was about to ensue.
Mr Darcy looked carefully at the colonel. “Injury or death, Fitzwilliam. Make your choice.”