You should note that Gedoena called that Darcy's attitude regarding the relative roles of men and women (which certainly would be fairly typical for the time but which we would call sexist now) would cause him problems with Elizabeth. Darcy certainly isn't perfect and unsurprisingly is a product of his time. While we are only getting a hint at this now, it will be more of an issue in VMC III as Darcy and Elizabeth work out how to get along and make their marriage work. I am not sure if this little hint at that would have come out yet if not for the PMs Gedoena and I had discussing her reviews pointing out how Elizabeth is just not going to accept this lying down.

Credit for part of the response Elizabeth makes to why Darcy should not condemn himself for striking Wickham while he was bound and helpless, and for lying about what Wickham had done, goes to Jpeters217 who was gracious to allow me use of these words when we exchanged PMs about whether Darcy should feel guilty about these actions or not.

Readers, you do make a difference. There is one more thing I could use your help with if anyone is of a mind to help. I would like to edit this story down in draft number three (after I finish posting draft number two, which would hopefully get me to the point of publishing), so if you can point out any chapters or parts where you think the story drags or that you think is simply not needed for the plot or character development, please let me know. I am not at the point of needing editing assistance at the word or sentence level at this point, but if you have noted any inconsistencies in the story that would be helpful, too.

Chapter 45: Self-Recrimination

When we rejoined the remaining guests, Mr. Bennet's wife immediately asked, "Oh Mr. Bennet, why are you and Mr. Darcy come back here alone? I am quite certain the officers were having a delightful time; Mrs. Forster certainly was! And yet you fetched the men and her, too, and now am I to understand that they have all gone?"

Mrs. Philips added, "And why was Mr. Wickham absent so long? Do you know why he never reappeared at all?"

"That would be a question better addressed to Mr. Wickham," Mr. Bennet replied.

"But surely you know, Mr. Bennet," his wife responded.

"And how can we ask him when he is gone?" Mrs. Philips added.

Mr. Bennet gave a sigh and said nothing. "I do not wish to speak ill of any of my guests," he declared. And then just as he had predicted, he was peppered with questions. When all was said and done, everyone in the room knew that Mr. Wickham had tried to steal from Mr. Bennet on this evening, and likely other times besides and that I could not abide such treachery in someone who had long been associated with the Darcys and that I had given him the beating he deserved, but he would also be punished by the militia. But Mr. Bennet did not mention what punishment had been assigned, so the guests all spent the remaining time speculating on how Wickham would be punished and from whom else he might have stolen.

I heard Sir William Lucas and his wife speculating about what might be missing from their house and Mrs. Long declaring, "A hanging at Newman's lift would not be amiss."

Whatever friends Wickham might have had, well if there were any to be had then, they remained silent or joined in with the others. Perhaps I should have felt glad about all of this, and I did in part, for I had long wanted to see his downfall, but at the same time, I felt guilty and sad.

Miss Elizabeth never did rejoin the company, which was both a relief and a source of worry. I wondered if Miss Lydia was well, whether Miss Elizabeth was disgusted with me for having attacked a helpless man, and how things would be when I next saw her. About a half an hour later, the guests began to depart, and I would have been among them, had Mr. Bennet not declared, "Please remain after, there are a few things I would discuss with you."

Later, I met with Mr. Bennet in his book room. He sighed, poured a drink, then offering one to me, which I refused. Then he sipped and reflected. "What a time we have had tonight! Here I only thought Mrs. Bennet screeching in delight would be the most trying part of the evening, but this was certainly eclipsed first by the revelation about Mrs. Pope's past and then my family narrowly escaping ruin and then delivering onto Mr. Wickham what he deserved."

He sipped again and then declared "I am no pugilist, never have been (when I was a young man I enjoyed a bit of fencing, but in large part it was always books for me), but as your fists struck Mr. Wickham, it was as if they were mine, such was my wish to harm him. I am almost sorry that Lizzy stopped you, for though you broke his nose, you did not break his teeth."

I nodded.

"Tomorrow, I hope you will accompany me to search through Mr. Wickham's effects. There may be nothing there, but if there is, I should like to destroy anything that might harm my family."

Naturally, I agreed. We made arrangement to meet at Longbourn at 9 o'clock and ride to the camp together. Then I departed for Netherfield.

At Netherfield, I had a letter waiting for me from Georgiana. Although I was certainly pleased to receive it, I found myself reading it with very little concentration, my thoughts returning again and again to the events of the evening. Such was my distraction, that when I had put it down, I hardly knew more of its contents than when I had begun, save that she had related that Uncle Judge had called on them. I set it down, resolved to read it again in the morning, or perhaps later the next day.

When I took myself off to bed, my thoughts were plagued with replaying all the events and wondering if I had handled myself properly. I found myself questioning all of my actions regarding George, from that evening and from all the years before. I could not help but consider whether I could have averted all that occurred by dealing with George more forcefully sooner. Maybe at school, maybe at university, maybe when he came to me about the inheritance, or when he tried to elope with Georgiana. I had the heavy weight of thinking that my lack of action had hurt my sister and now my beloved's sister.

But I was also plagued with remorse about having lied with Mr. Bennet about what George had done. Was not lying always wrong? Certainly, we could not share what had occurred, but still, what kind of a person did it make me? And how could it be right to let Mr. Bennet steal from him?

Too, I recalled repeatedly striking George while he was tied and helpless and could not defend himself. What kind of man did that? Where was my honor?

Having not seen Miss Elizabeth after these events, I was also worried that my violence toward George might have scared her like Anne's raging at Rosings had earlier. Normally I prided myself in my self-restraint in the face of temptation, and I was uncertain even now if it had been right for me to free the angry beast that lived inside of me.

Yes, I stopped when my soon-to-be wife told me to, but was that the first time she requested that I halt or was it the last of many entreaties I had ignored in my frenzy? Did she even now question whether I was a rational man or a brute? What if she was now thinking better of her pledge to share a life with me? What if when I saw her next there was fear in her eyes? I worried and worried, my thoughts going round and round, treading the same well-worn path.

Once or twice, I tried to imagine what George was experiencing, stuck in the stocks, his back raw and his nose throbbing, becoming wet from the self-same rain I heard falling. I had a feeling that he was spending the night cursing my name and plotting his revenge against me, although I had a notion that it would be somewhat difficult to manage from Brighton.

Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep, but perhaps that was worse as my memories merged into nightmares which flashed from one image to another. I dreamt of punching at George, but then it was not George. Instead, it was my father and I saw his nose almost explode with my blow, but he stood there and took it. Then he shook his head "no" as his nose bled, causing droplets of blood to fling on me. He sighed and told me, "You are such a disappointment, son."

Then substituting for my father was Miss Elizabeth. Fortunately, the blow that I aimed at her did not connect, but she flinched and fled away from me, leaving me bereft. I tried to chase after her, to explain, but she was always a small figure a great distance away and I could never catch up to her.

Next, I continued to hit at a figure who was now George again, but the outcome was worse for Miss Elizabeth was not there to stop me. I punched and punched him over and over and with every blow a small part of his face was chipped away until his face was gone, leaving his neck a blackened, dripping stump.

In another variation, after I punched him, I spied myself in the looking glass and my face was marred by the blows. Then I was the man bound in the chair and George was laughing at me, and Miss Elizabeth and her sisters were binding me tighter.

There were also fragments of dreams in which George did not have Miss Lydia, but instead had Georgiana or Miss Elizabeth; I could watch but was stuck, unable to move or scream.

There was just one semi-pleasant dream, which I awoke from to the barest of light from the impending day. In this one, my face was swollen and bruised, but Miss Elizabeth tended to me, washing my wounds, binding them, doing what she could to ease my pain. There was pleasure in such intimacy, more-so then there had been when she tended to my scraped knees.

Far too early I arose and went for a ride; I wished to be at Longbourn already, but it was much too soon, so I rode about elsewhere. The rhythmic hoof beats and rushing air helped to calm me and I could breathe. I was almost certain, then, that everything would be all right.

Without conscious volition, I found myself nearing the front of Longbourn. It seemed I was inexorably drawn toward Miss Elizabeth like a bee to a flower. As by this time it no later than a quarter until eight and I did not want to disturb the house, I slowed my horse down to a walk and followed the carriage tracks beside the side of the house. I told myself that I just wanted to see that everything was well and perhaps linger there until nine o'clock.

I was approaching the stable when I heard the most delightful sound. It was singing and I was almost certain that I was hearing my darling's voice, though I could not yet make out the words. Without any reflection I dismounted and led my horse, following the sound. Her voice led me past the stables. As I neared, and yet could not see her, I realized the tune I heard was "Black-Eyed Susan" a song in which a lady, Susan, seeks her sailor love, William, and they are reunited only to be parted when his ship must sail. It is a song of hope, love and longing.

However, when I could make out her words, I realized that though the tune was true, she had changed the lyrics to place my name within the song. I heard her sing, "The noblest captain in the British fleet, might envy Fitzwilliam, might envy Fitzwilliam's lips those kisses sweet."

Before she could begin the next verse, I sang back to her with my indifferent voice, placing her name in the song for Susan, "Oh Lizzy, Lizzy, lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain, let me kiss off that falling tear, we only part to meet again."

As I finished that line, I finally saw her, and she saw me. I noted that she wore no bonnet (none would be needed with the sun so low) and had a pelisse over her dress against the chill of the morning). As we drew closer to one another, my eyes focused on the smile which had spread over her face. Neither of us sang more and the song faded away, forgotten for the moment. I paused for a moment to remove my gloves and then led my horse forward as I quickened my pace. I wanted to run toward her, to hold her hand that much sooner, yet still restrained myself, being mindful that it would not do to fall down again in her presence and be proven the fool.

Finally, I reached her side and reached toward her with my free hand. Miss Elizabeth took up my hand in hers. Though I winced when she grasped my hurt knuckles, which were painful from having punched George, I would not let her hand go. In silence, I let her lead me to the stables where she roused a sleeping stable boy telling him, "See to Mr. Darcy's horse."

"He need not be unsaddled, for I shall ride him again soon," I added, "but I should like him to rest in a stall if you have the room."

Unencumbered, I let Miss Elizabeth lead me on a walk off toward the hills, doing my best to ignore how uncomfortable it was to walk in my riding boots (as they rather pinched my toes and rubbed at my heels, they hurt worse than my scabbed knees) and the ache in my knuckles. While I knew her father would likely not approve, I would go wherever my darling led me with nary a complaint. I was silent, enjoying merely being beside her.

After some minutes she stopped walking, so I stopped as well, and she turned toward me and said, "I hope you do not think it amiss that I was walking out so early and by myself. I had some trouble remaining asleep and given the Earl's capitulation and Mr. Wickham being in custody, I did not think there could be any harm, so long as I stayed close enough to the house and the stable to be heard if, perchance, I should have to holler for help (if Mr. Wickham might have some unknown compatriot to his villainy)."

I considered. "I should hope it is rather safe now, for you to walk wherever you might wish, but for the usual hazards. However, I would prefer it if you nevermore walk alone."

"I am well capable of walking unaccompanied, have been doing it for many years," she rejoined."

"But can it not be more pleasant to walk with company? I should be glad to join you every morning if you would be willing. And if I cannot, can you not walk with one of your sisters?"

"Shall my life always be so confined going forward? Shall I not have the freedoms of before? I have no wish to be a bird in a cage. Perhaps my father has been rather a lax guardian, but I have long been used to relying on myself to navigate the paths from my home. I am not a child who must be guarded. And although this is not the case now, at times perhaps I shall need to walk to get away from everyone, especially you if in that moment you are the source of a frustration."

I found myself somewhat amazed that the woman who was soon to be my wife was questioning me in such a way. I recalled how Miss Bingley had criticized Miss Elizabeth for having "an abominable sort of conceited independence" in walking on her own so far to visit the ill Miss Bennet at Netherfield. I recalled agreeing with Miss Bingley that I would not want my sister to make a similar exhibition, but also noting how the exertion had brightened Miss Elizabeth's eyes. How was it that I could both admire Miss Elizabeth for her fortitude and competency in making such an effort, but now worry about her if she should now attempt something similar?

I tried to explain my reasoning, "What is wrong with wishing you to be safe and ensuring that? You are soon to be under my care."

For several long moments she said nothing. Then she responded, "I do not doubt that you mean well with this, but I need certain freedoms to be content, must have your respect that I can well look after myself. Still, let us not argue about this now when the danger of what transpired last night must be fresh on your mind and I doubt either of us slept well."

We walked on at a faster pace that she set, her hand no longer on my arm, and I found myself somewhat discontent from how I had been feeling before, the word "argue" repeating itself in my mind. Had we been arguing just then? Should she not simply defer to me? Had I said something wrong? Was it not my duty to protect her, the weaker vessel? Was not the husband the head of the household?

I wanted to focus on the simple pleasure of being in Miss Elizabeth's company once more, but everything felt off. Our steps were not matching now as they had in Kent, when her five long steps equaled four of my own. Was this a sign that she was angry with me?

But gradually as we walked on, her steps slowed to a more typical pace. And then she grabbed my arm once more and with that connection our steps began to align again. A feeling of contentment came over me. It was right, just being beside her.

I reminded myself how only days ago, I had worried I might never be Miss Elizabeth's husband. And now here I was, acknowledged by her family as engaged to her. I reveled in each sensation, how her hand felt against my arm, the swishing sound of her skirt, the slight tickle as the edge of her skirt brushed against my pants and now and again. Occasionally I sniffed in my breath just a little deeper, not because I needed to from the slight exertion of walking, but so that I could catch the scent of her soap, the scent of her.

After some minutes Miss Elizabeth paused and turned toward me, saying, "Mr. Darcy, I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. While Mrs. Pope, my sisters and I were able to restrain and capture that viper of a man, we had no idea of what to do next, of how to get him from my room and save all our reputations. I am delighted you had the forethought to immobilize him with your fists and worked with my father to determine a way to protect us all. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble to rid Lydia and the rest of us of that scoundrel." The look in her eyes was so wonderful to behold.

"If you will thank me . . ." I replied in all earnestness, losing myself in her eyes for a moment (taking in the blackness of her pupils surrounded by rings of brown with just a hint of green, a color which was the loveliest shade imaginable, because it was hers). Soon, however, the intensity of our shared gaze was too much, and I had to look away. It took me then a moment to recall my unfinished thought, "let it be for yourself alone. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you. And perhaps in your sister, saw my own. But after what occurred yesterday, I worried you would fear me, rather than thank me."

She responded, "I know that once I inquired as to whether you could lose control like Miss de Bourgh, but it has been some time since I realized that you could never hurt me, and your righteous anger would only be unleashed for a proper cause. My affection, love and desire for our shared future is unchanged," she told me.

Still looking away, I told her, "I should hope my anger would always be contained for proper purposes, but I am not wholly certain of it. I doubt and worry at times. And I take no pride in much of my behavior from last night. It does not comport with what I was ever told of honor to strike a helpless man. And, too, while I know your father and I had no choice but to lie about what George Wickham had done (did he tell you what we said?)," I turned back to look at her again and saw her nod, "should not a man always tell the truth?"

"Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts," Miss Elizabeth told me, holding my arm more firmly. "While lying is undoubtedly wrong, in such a circumstance it was not truly a lie. Mr. Wickham was looking to steal. While he was not seeking to steal money, he had something far worse planned, to steal Lydia's virtue, to steal all of her choices away by forcing her and lying about how she wanted such attentions. By doing so, he planned steal the rest of her life and blackmail you out of money. It was Mr. Wickham who forced you and my father both into a situation where you could not tell the truth for her sake, for the sake of us all.

"And was not Jesus himself entitled to express his righteous anger upon the money changers and those others in the temple who were wrongly profiting from those who sought to worship God? Jesus was not meek in the face of unrighteousness. Indeed, I cannot find it unjust that Mr. Wickham's wickedness came down on his own head. He deserved worse than he received. Perhaps in being tied and helpless while you hit him, he might have had a taste of how it was for Lydia when he tried to force himself upon one weaker than himself."

Miss Elizabeth's present assurances after my night of despair, gave me such pleasure that I had no choice but to turn to her there, enfold her in my arms, plant soft kisses on her forehead and then whisper in her ear, "I do not deserve this happiness, Lizzy-Beth, my love."

"Do you not?" she replied. "Let me settle your doubts, Fitzwilliam, we are to be the happiest couple in the world." She then pulled my head down so that our lips could meet. We kissed until I could barely stand, and she seemed to wobble a bit also. When our lips parted, I continued to hold her still. I felt my breath coming fast and hot.

After a few moments rest, she suggested, "Let us walk on," and so we did, this time with us holding hands, her ahead of me for we had by now reached some woods and the path was not wide enough for us to walk side-by-side. For once my mind was not busy mapping the direction we took, instead I walked on without knowing in what direction as there was too much to be thought and felt and said although we were silent for several minutes.

Later, when another trail joined our path and we were able to again walk next to one another, we discussed my upcoming search with her father through George's things. Then she shared her present worries with me. Foremost among hers was whether Miss Lydia could hold her tongue. "It is not that I do not think she knows the perilousness of sharing what occurred with the wrong person, but that she often speaks before she thinks, might, perhaps almost brag about her horrendous experience or let something slip when her feelings burn hot. I believe that Mrs. Pope has a similar worry, and she has agreed to stay close to Lydia, and to intervene if my sister starts to say anything that she ought not."

"It is well then, I suppose, that your father came up with his own tale about what George did, for the one I invented strayed too close to the truth. But what a strange irony that what George said to defend himself was closer to the truth than what your father told Colonel Forster, yet your father was believed, and George was not."

"Likely, it is simply that Mr. Wickham has earned his just deserts," Miss Elizabeth replied. "For had he lived an upright life, as my father has, his word would mean something. The fact that it has no value . . . well he has no one to blame but himself."

"Perhaps," I allowed, "but is it not also true that the word of a gentleman is always given more credence than that of a common soldier?"

Miss Elizabeth shrugged and said nothing. When we reached a clearing, I noticed how much the sky had brightened and pulled out my pocket watch to check the time. "It is almost half past eight. Can we return to Longbourn before nine? I should not wish to make your father wait."

"Yes, but we should turn about now." Miss Elizabeth let go of my hand and set the pace walking before me. This time I was determined to pay attention to where we were walking, to know exactly where we had been. Soon enough I was winded enough that I could not easily speak, while to my amazement she talked on without difficulty, pointing out things along her path and telling small stories about things she and her sisters had done when they were children. We arrived back at Longbourn a few minutes before nine and I was breathing quite hard as I climbed the back steps with her.

To my surprise we found Mrs. Bennet awake and lingering just inside the back entry. "Good morning Mamma," my beloved greeted her. "You are up quite early."

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Bennet responded. "Why, I could hardly sleep, thinking of your engagement to Mr. Darcy, and about what a clever girl you are and all the calls we shall make today, to tell everyone of our good fortune."

Mrs. Bennet then looked over at me and then back at Miss Elizabeth. She said, "Why you sly girl, out so early in the morning with Mr. Darcy!"

Mrs. Bennet winked at me and then asked her daughter with a peculiar lilt in her voice, "Whatever could you have been doing?" and then immediately added, "Never you mind, I truly do not need to know. I can well imagine it."

Mrs. Bennet sighed, a smile gracing her lips, and said, "You are just as Mr. Bennet and I were, so very much in love. I was never the great walker you are, but we lost ourselves in the woods a time or two, when we were engaged." She tittered then, and I was reminded of the gay laughter of the youngest Miss Bennets.

Mrs. Bennet placed her arms tightly around herself as if she were giving herself a hug, swayed back and forth while closing her eyes for a moment. "If you and Mr. Darcy are anything like Mr. Bennet and I . . . I think you should marry before too long."

"Mamma!" Miss Elizabeth cried out, her tone much different than before and the word inflected in a peculiar way.

I was not sure what all she expressed in that word, or what was apparently amiss with what her mother had said, but as I had no objection to proceeding quickly to wed my Lizzy as soon as could be, I suggested, "I am perfectly willing and able to purchase a common license. Perhaps we can marry in a fortnight?"

My darling opened her mouth as if to say something further, to object perhaps, but then closed her mouth and seemed to consider. She looked at Mrs. Bennet and said, "We have done nothing improper being as we are an engaged couple, but if you think it best, I have no objection to marrying sooner."

Miss Elizabeth squeezed my arm and then smiled so sweetly at me. How I treasured each of her smiles, especially those ones directed solely at me! Then she asked her mother, "Can all be prepared so quickly?"

Mrs. Bennet nodded, "It shall be a challenge, but if you and your sisters all work together, I believe it can be done. Oh, the wedding breakfast shall be marvelous, there shall be no leaving from the church as Mr. and Mrs. Collins did. Mrs. Lucas should have been ashamed to send her daughter off without a proper wedding breakfast, but then I suppose Lucas Lodge is a bit small for an event like that. And if, perchance, any of Mr. Darcy's relatives could attend from London," she looked at me and waited, for what I was not sure, but then added, "why even the sons of an Earl would certainly be impressed! I dare say no one sets a better table in all of Hertfordshire."

Miss Elizabeth responded to Mrs. Bennet, "You might ask Mr. Darcy what you want to know. He is not one to take hints. He requires a direct approach."

Mrs. Bennet turned to me and asked, "Will any of your relatives be in attendance for the wedding? I should be honored to host an Earl and his sons, and of course I would dearly like to see Miss Darcy again. And if Lady Catherine, who I understand is your aunt, would but come as well, why it would put those grasping Lucases in their place, for she certainly was never going to attend their daughter's wedding."

I hesitated a moment and then prevaricated. "I believe that neither the Earl nor his sons would be available on such short notice," and thought to myself and I shall certainly not ask them. "As for my sister, Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, I am uncertain, but I shall ask once we have decided on a date. I shall also invite my uncle, Judge Darcy and perhaps a friend." I refrained from mentioning his name for although I dearly wanted Bingley by my side, I did not know whether he would be willing to be in company with Miss Bennet again.