It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a lone Darcy in dispossession of his wits and his reserves, must commit a crime against Venus herself.
The man in question slouched in the brocaded armchair in Auntie Catherine's drawing room, his face hidden in his hands. The last time Richard saw his cousin being so red with shame was when they were schoolboys in Eton still. Fitz used to get in all sorts of trouble, because he was of the firmest belief that honesty was virtue in all circumstances.
(Needless to say, the habit did not bring him many friends.)
"I have made a complete fool of myself."
"That is one way to describe it," Richard offered.
"She hates me."
"She very well might." Fitz shot him a glare. Richard shrugged. "What do you want me to tell you? That describing her family as a complete disgrace would make her swoon and fall to your feet? Whether or not it is the truth does not matter. It is her family; it is from where she comes." He let that mysterious idea sink in. "Quite frankly, had she accepted that disaster of a proposal, I would have to lower my opinion of her. No one with a pinch of self-respect would accept being reduced to a shamefully kept whore with none of the freedom. Stop glaring, I did not call her that. You did, almost."
Fitz turned his glare to the wall behind Richard's shoulder. "You are purposefully misrepresenting my intent."
"No, Cousin. I am explaining to you, what most people would take from your idea of proposal. Your intent might be pure but your words? Goodness, Fitz! First you vomit all the reasons why she is unworthy of your name and then you mercifully offer her that? Either the name is not worth much or you have so little restraint you would trade it for the legal access to her body. If I did not know you, I would have thought you were purposefully trying to make her lower than low."
The deafening silence was cut into pieces by the pendulum clock.
"She told me –, " Fitz said after a long while, " – she told me knowing me for a mere month was enough to dislike me to such degree she would never…" He paused, his voice trailing off, as if he recalled a detail of the conversation. "I hurt her," he mumbled. "I hurt her. Bingley. Her sister."
"That was her sister? You idiot." Now, Richard could feel nothing but pity for his cousin. "You meddlesome, besotted idiot."
"I will write – explain…" Fitz was disturbed enough he could not even finish his sentences properly. For someone who considered A Grammar of the English tongue to be the ultimate prerequisite to any reading, it was the proof of the utmost emotional upheaval.
"That would be for the best."