Chapter Four
Disclaimer: No, I don't own the characters, settings, etc. I only own the unique way in which I torture them.
Author's Note: A big thank you to all of my readers for their patience. I hope that I won't keep you waiting so long for the next installment. Also thank you to my fabulous beta, Juliet, who inspired a rather large addition to the end. As always, please do review; I really enjoy reading everyone's opinions and reactions. Cheers, Aurelia Calliope
Chapter 4 – A Turn for the Worse
"I was only trying to help you." Fitzwilliam Darcy sighed, burying his head in his hands. They had been in the ditch for twenty minutes at least, and all they had done was argue, or rather she had berated him while he tried to defend himself. He was frustrated, wet, exhausted, and on top of it all was almost positive that the slight jarring pain coming from his ankle meant he had twisted it. "You could be a little more appreciative."
"Oh, yes! Excuse me, Mr. Darcy; I am sure that without your help I never would have ended up back in this ditch!" Her voice was half sarcastic, half full of rage. She was back to square one, and stuck in the mud with the most haughty, proud, disagreeable man in the universe. He had presumed to carry her, without her permission, interrupt her, and then had landed them both in this blasted ditch. He had better start to atone for his mistakes. "The least you could do is to get us both out of this ditch and into some shelter."
"I am trying, Miss Bennet. Perhaps you could try to be a little more patient." He clamored to get up, and felt his ankle give way as he tried to stand to survey the situation. He gripped the edge of the ditch for support and cursed under his breath, but loud enough for Elizabeth to hear.
"Well, I am sure you are trying Mr. Darcy, but trying won't be enough to get us out of this situation, which, may I remind you, you put us in." Her tone conveyed anger, frustration, and near hysteria. She was gradually resigning herself to this awful situation, and she had to strive to suppress her rising tears. She was resolved not to appear weak in front of him. "Unfortunately we are both stuck here, together, until help arrives." She wished for nothing more then to be as far away from him as possible. She sighed rather audibly, as she heard him take a breath and prepare to speak further. Couldn't the man just let her alone for a little while?
He was almost back in Meryton, the land of naïve women and shopkeepers, and for the time, his residence. He liked it there. He could use more places where the people were that trusting of a stranger. He was amazed that Darcy hadn't stepped forward yet, and revealed his true character. But then again he only ever thought of preserving his honor. Another mistake, Darcy, he thought, another mistake which has let me get the better of you once again.
He had heard that Mr. Bingley was gone to town, and he knew Darcy and the others would follow. "A perfect time for my return," he spoke with the well- satisfied smile of a victorious man, "and another story to impress the ladies with. Not every man would ride through a rainstorm to be back by their sides all the sooner."
He was quite close to Netherfield now, and his interest was sparked by two voices arguing rather heatedly with one another, one male and one female. There was no one in sight but he saw a horse, and then noticed a huge ditch in the ground. He dismounted, tied up his horse, and went over to satisfy his curiosity. It had better be worth it to stop and risk further damage to his new suit.
"However much you dislike being with me, Miss Bennet, I assure you that it is no great pain for me to spend time with you. Although some people, who lack judgment, would prefer Mr. Wickham's lies to my company, they have been sorely mislead." As soon as he spoke those words he knew it was a mistake. But the truth of the matter was her preference of Wickham had been eating away at him more and more readily with every harsh word she uttered towards him.
"I cannot imagine what you mean Mr. Darcy, when it's obvious that you are the one who abused Mr. Wickham so shamefully. I cannot believe that even you would stoop so low as to refuse your father's wishes just because of jealousy. But then, what could I expect from someone who is so arrogant and such a narcissist that they will not even dance with people they deem only 'tolerable'."
"What nonsense are you speaking of now? More lies you were all too eager to believe?"
"I am speaking, Mr. Darcy, of your refusal to dance with me at the Meryton Assembly." She knew she shouldn't have said that. It made her look petty, common, and jealous of not being asked to dance with him. She wouldn't want to dance with him anyway. And yet she could not comprehend, if indeed she didn't care if he danced with her, why she would let it eat away at her so. She decided to make a quick recovery, after that slip up: "But it is not that which angers me. I never wished dance with you, and sincerely hope I will never have to again." She said with a triumphant smirk, "Your treatment of Mr. Wickham it what truly proved your abominable self-centered nature. You refused to give him what was rightfully left to him in your father's will. You are so..."
"I never refused him anything that was left to him. And I'm sorry you have to believe slander about me because I refused to dance with you, once. How could you be so presumptuous as to believe anything that liar told you?" He was furious; she trusted that thing more than she did him. Darcy was also a little gratified; it was his foolish refusal of her that had sparked her dislike of him. He felt a little flicker of hope burst to life within him. He would just have to set this account straight. He would have to tell her. "Miss Bennet, you must know the truth about Mr. Wickham. I ask you to listen to my story as attentively as you listened to his false one. Wickham is a scoundrel, a dissolute, base, vile..."
"Listen to YOU! I don't care if I kill myself trying to get out of this pit. I would much rather die than listen to your, so called, truths." Elizabeth hobbled as quickly as she could to side of the ditch, and struggled as she tried to pull herself up and out. She sighed when her first attempt failed, and decided to try once more.
"Now wait just a minute! You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met!" He yelled. He was resolute that she would hear him out, even if he had to physically restrain her. "You will, please, stop trying to escape, and hear me out!"
"I don't think so Mr. Darcy! Now, if you'll be so kind as to remove your hands from my arm, I can get home much more quickly." She used an overly polite tone, and accompanied it with a completely false smile. With a burst of strength she managed to pull her torso up over the ditch and perch herself precariously on the edge. Just as she was about to swing her legs out of the ditch she felt a firm grip on them. She looked down at Darcy with a murderous glare.
"Miss Bennet, if you think I am going to let you walk away with your bad opinion of me intact, you are most sadly mistaken. You are mistaken if you think I am going to let you think that that lying, conniving, lecherous BASTARD is a good man!" Her eyes flew wide with his words, and Darcy himself could not be anything but shocked. He had lost control. He wasn't even sure he'd ever sworn that loudly. Never the less, he seemed to have shocked Miss Bennet into silence, and this was an opportunity he was not about to miss. He took a deep breath, and, feeling somewhat calmer, proceeded: "Mr. Wickham, you see, was the son of my father's steward. I liked him well enough before." Just speaking of that... thing was making his blood boil and he was trying very hard to remain calm. Unfortunately, it just wasn't working. "That was before he tried to put his lecherous, grimy little hands..."
"Now, now, Darcy," said a cold, sneering voice from above the ditch, "We wouldn't want to tell Miss Bennet any falsehoods involving me. It would be very ungentlemanly."
Darcy's eyes flew open in shock. This was unreal. He took a step back, without letting go of Miss Bennet, whom, for the moment, he forgot was there. Just as she was about to fall into the ditch she felt to strong arms being placed firmly on her waist, preventing her from another tumble into the mud-laden pit. She looked up, and was not surprised, but at least a little relieved to find it was Mr. Wickham. Then he did something very shocking, and, at least she thought, lacking propriety: he winked at her. And all she thought of were Mr. Darcy's words: lecherous, grimy little hands. So, she was stuck on the edge of the pit; a rope in the tug of war between two men: the one infuriated, the other seeming to enjoy himself all too much.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own the characters, settings, etc. I only own the unique way in which I torture them.
Author's Note: A big thank you to all of my readers for their patience. I hope that I won't keep you waiting so long for the next installment. Also thank you to my fabulous beta, Juliet, who inspired a rather large addition to the end. As always, please do review; I really enjoy reading everyone's opinions and reactions. Cheers, Aurelia Calliope
Chapter 4 – A Turn for the Worse
"I was only trying to help you." Fitzwilliam Darcy sighed, burying his head in his hands. They had been in the ditch for twenty minutes at least, and all they had done was argue, or rather she had berated him while he tried to defend himself. He was frustrated, wet, exhausted, and on top of it all was almost positive that the slight jarring pain coming from his ankle meant he had twisted it. "You could be a little more appreciative."
"Oh, yes! Excuse me, Mr. Darcy; I am sure that without your help I never would have ended up back in this ditch!" Her voice was half sarcastic, half full of rage. She was back to square one, and stuck in the mud with the most haughty, proud, disagreeable man in the universe. He had presumed to carry her, without her permission, interrupt her, and then had landed them both in this blasted ditch. He had better start to atone for his mistakes. "The least you could do is to get us both out of this ditch and into some shelter."
"I am trying, Miss Bennet. Perhaps you could try to be a little more patient." He clamored to get up, and felt his ankle give way as he tried to stand to survey the situation. He gripped the edge of the ditch for support and cursed under his breath, but loud enough for Elizabeth to hear.
"Well, I am sure you are trying Mr. Darcy, but trying won't be enough to get us out of this situation, which, may I remind you, you put us in." Her tone conveyed anger, frustration, and near hysteria. She was gradually resigning herself to this awful situation, and she had to strive to suppress her rising tears. She was resolved not to appear weak in front of him. "Unfortunately we are both stuck here, together, until help arrives." She wished for nothing more then to be as far away from him as possible. She sighed rather audibly, as she heard him take a breath and prepare to speak further. Couldn't the man just let her alone for a little while?
He was almost back in Meryton, the land of naïve women and shopkeepers, and for the time, his residence. He liked it there. He could use more places where the people were that trusting of a stranger. He was amazed that Darcy hadn't stepped forward yet, and revealed his true character. But then again he only ever thought of preserving his honor. Another mistake, Darcy, he thought, another mistake which has let me get the better of you once again.
He had heard that Mr. Bingley was gone to town, and he knew Darcy and the others would follow. "A perfect time for my return," he spoke with the well- satisfied smile of a victorious man, "and another story to impress the ladies with. Not every man would ride through a rainstorm to be back by their sides all the sooner."
He was quite close to Netherfield now, and his interest was sparked by two voices arguing rather heatedly with one another, one male and one female. There was no one in sight but he saw a horse, and then noticed a huge ditch in the ground. He dismounted, tied up his horse, and went over to satisfy his curiosity. It had better be worth it to stop and risk further damage to his new suit.
"However much you dislike being with me, Miss Bennet, I assure you that it is no great pain for me to spend time with you. Although some people, who lack judgment, would prefer Mr. Wickham's lies to my company, they have been sorely mislead." As soon as he spoke those words he knew it was a mistake. But the truth of the matter was her preference of Wickham had been eating away at him more and more readily with every harsh word she uttered towards him.
"I cannot imagine what you mean Mr. Darcy, when it's obvious that you are the one who abused Mr. Wickham so shamefully. I cannot believe that even you would stoop so low as to refuse your father's wishes just because of jealousy. But then, what could I expect from someone who is so arrogant and such a narcissist that they will not even dance with people they deem only 'tolerable'."
"What nonsense are you speaking of now? More lies you were all too eager to believe?"
"I am speaking, Mr. Darcy, of your refusal to dance with me at the Meryton Assembly." She knew she shouldn't have said that. It made her look petty, common, and jealous of not being asked to dance with him. She wouldn't want to dance with him anyway. And yet she could not comprehend, if indeed she didn't care if he danced with her, why she would let it eat away at her so. She decided to make a quick recovery, after that slip up: "But it is not that which angers me. I never wished dance with you, and sincerely hope I will never have to again." She said with a triumphant smirk, "Your treatment of Mr. Wickham it what truly proved your abominable self-centered nature. You refused to give him what was rightfully left to him in your father's will. You are so..."
"I never refused him anything that was left to him. And I'm sorry you have to believe slander about me because I refused to dance with you, once. How could you be so presumptuous as to believe anything that liar told you?" He was furious; she trusted that thing more than she did him. Darcy was also a little gratified; it was his foolish refusal of her that had sparked her dislike of him. He felt a little flicker of hope burst to life within him. He would just have to set this account straight. He would have to tell her. "Miss Bennet, you must know the truth about Mr. Wickham. I ask you to listen to my story as attentively as you listened to his false one. Wickham is a scoundrel, a dissolute, base, vile..."
"Listen to YOU! I don't care if I kill myself trying to get out of this pit. I would much rather die than listen to your, so called, truths." Elizabeth hobbled as quickly as she could to side of the ditch, and struggled as she tried to pull herself up and out. She sighed when her first attempt failed, and decided to try once more.
"Now wait just a minute! You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met!" He yelled. He was resolute that she would hear him out, even if he had to physically restrain her. "You will, please, stop trying to escape, and hear me out!"
"I don't think so Mr. Darcy! Now, if you'll be so kind as to remove your hands from my arm, I can get home much more quickly." She used an overly polite tone, and accompanied it with a completely false smile. With a burst of strength she managed to pull her torso up over the ditch and perch herself precariously on the edge. Just as she was about to swing her legs out of the ditch she felt a firm grip on them. She looked down at Darcy with a murderous glare.
"Miss Bennet, if you think I am going to let you walk away with your bad opinion of me intact, you are most sadly mistaken. You are mistaken if you think I am going to let you think that that lying, conniving, lecherous BASTARD is a good man!" Her eyes flew wide with his words, and Darcy himself could not be anything but shocked. He had lost control. He wasn't even sure he'd ever sworn that loudly. Never the less, he seemed to have shocked Miss Bennet into silence, and this was an opportunity he was not about to miss. He took a deep breath, and, feeling somewhat calmer, proceeded: "Mr. Wickham, you see, was the son of my father's steward. I liked him well enough before." Just speaking of that... thing was making his blood boil and he was trying very hard to remain calm. Unfortunately, it just wasn't working. "That was before he tried to put his lecherous, grimy little hands..."
"Now, now, Darcy," said a cold, sneering voice from above the ditch, "We wouldn't want to tell Miss Bennet any falsehoods involving me. It would be very ungentlemanly."
Darcy's eyes flew open in shock. This was unreal. He took a step back, without letting go of Miss Bennet, whom, for the moment, he forgot was there. Just as she was about to fall into the ditch she felt to strong arms being placed firmly on her waist, preventing her from another tumble into the mud-laden pit. She looked up, and was not surprised, but at least a little relieved to find it was Mr. Wickham. Then he did something very shocking, and, at least she thought, lacking propriety: he winked at her. And all she thought of were Mr. Darcy's words: lecherous, grimy little hands. So, she was stuck on the edge of the pit; a rope in the tug of war between two men: the one infuriated, the other seeming to enjoy himself all too much.