A/N: Welcome back!

Darcy's Struggle

Chapter 13: Height and Weight

Friday, November 29, 1811

Darcy felt cloven. Two. Split.

His heart, his love, was behind Miss Bennet, chasing Elizabeth, but his eyes, his ire, was focused on Mr. Bennet.

He heard Elizabeth's feet on the stairs, then Jane's — his heart might take to the stairs but his feet could not.

Improper.

And Elizabeth might have no wish to see me after that blast of Plutarch.

What was Mr. Bennet thinking?

Darcy towered to his full height and glared down at the man, glad for Steele's effort to dress him so well that morning. Mr. Bennet seemed cowered by Darcy's looming size, and spellbound by his white cravat, staring at it as if it had an occult power, and avoiding Darcy's blackened face. Darcy's persistent feelings of being unequal to his present circumstances fled — permanently or temporarily, he could not say. He was heated with righteous indignation, not for himself, but for the woman he loved.

"Mr. Bennet, I am not married to your daughter — yet — but she is even now under my protection — and, I judge, not under yours since you feel no need to protect her from yourself! After your conversation with her Wednesday, I expected you would cease. Scolding is unbecoming, sir! Your opinion matters greatly to Elizabeth and you have made it known to her. Why then harp on it and wound her so, surprising her, and before witnesses?"

To the side of Mr. Bennet, Bingley was fidgeting in his chair. He did not know how or where to look. One moment his eyes were on Darcy; one moment on Mr. Bennet; one moment on the door through which Miss Bennet had followed Elizabeth. Only his embarrassed frown was not in flux.

Mr. Bennet stared up at Darcy like a man trapped beneath a thundercloud.

Again, Mr. Bennet shoved his glasses up; they had slipped this time.

When he finally spoke, the jagged edge of lampoonery was gone from his tone. He sounded dull…and aggrieved.

"Better Lizzy be unhappy for a little time than a long time. A lifetime. For that is what she is choosing, the time of her life. She must examine her conscience and marry only as she ought — in and for love and esteem. Neither alone suffices for married happiness; a marriage without either devolves into mutual slavery. Nothing against you, Mr. Darcy, nothing at all. But I do not want Lizzy to leave my house self-deceived — or so fundamentally changed that she has become weak of will — choosing what she knows is worse over what she knows is best. My younger daughters may have that weakness, but my oldest, my most sensible daughters, do not. Or they have not."

As Mr. Bennet concluded, Darcy's dark dream at Netherfield passed over him like a fell shadow, and stealing of his heated indignation went with it.

Mr. Bennet stood, his Plutarch in hand. "I promise not to speak of this again, Mr. Darcy." And then he fixed Darcy with a surprisingly demanding stare. "But you should, sir. To her, to my daughter. — Is she to be your full partner or a prized possession, something you love but?"

With that, Mr. Bennet and Plutarch exited the scene.

Darcy's shoulders untensed and he put his hands on the table, leaning on it.

Bingley shifted in his chair. "I say, Darcy, what was that all about?" Bingley's gaze was both surprised and sympathetic. "Did I understand him, that bit that he read? I thought you and Elizabeth — were a love match. Emphasis on 'match'. But Mr. Bennet, did he not just suggest that Miss Elizabeth does not love you? Is that what he believes?"

Darcy dropped his head, still leaning on the table. "Mr. Bennet does not believe it, Bingley. He knows it. For Elizabeth told him so."

Bingley swallowed hard, a flash of sorrow for his friend on his face. "And you knew this too?"

"She told me before she accepted me, yes."

"But you proposed believing she felt affection for you?"

Darcy stopped leaning and looked at his friend, tugging on his waistcoat "I proposed with no true consideration for feelings beyond my own. She affects me so…deeply, Charles; she unmoors me. I proposed to her when I intended only to ask for a courtship. And my precipitance has left me adrift, miserably unsure of what she now feels for me or might feel tomorrow."

"How does a man intend to ask to court a woman but propose instead?" Bingley's brow furrowed as he asked.

Darcy threw up his hands, his frustration and anxiety impelling the gesture. "I would have thought it impossible, but actuality is the most vivid proof of possibility, and here I actually stand. I would have asked to court her with the expectation we would marry, but I could have wooed her."

"Well, you still can. Lengthen your engagement." Bingley offered this advice as if it were obvious.

"But she does not want a long engagement. That is what she told me when she accepted. I assume it is still how she feels. I hoped we could settle that today, choose a date, decide on a special license or the reading of the banns."

Bingley shook his head, confused. "You don't believe she's…mercenary? That Miss Elizabeth, or her sister, is fortune-hunting? That is only Mrs. Bennet, her motive, not her daughters'. Correct?"

Darcy waved one hand at his friend, a cautionary gesture. "Do not let my situation color your understanding of your own, please. I cannot speak for Miss Bennet's feelings, but I will speak, as I will for Miss Elizabeth's, for her honesty. If you want to know her heart, Bingley, ask. She will tell you, and I hope to God she tells you that she loves you!"

Darcy had only finished saying this when Miss Bennet returned to the room. If she heard Darcy, she gave no overt sign, although her face cheeks were flushed. But that could have been from her ascent and descent of the stairs.

She looked at Darcy, not at Bingley.

"Lizzy will be down presently, Mr. Darcy. She begs that you wait for her."

Bingley stood up decisively. "Miss Bennet, may I please speak to you in the parlor?"

Her face reddened more. "Yes, Mr. Bingley, certainly."

They left together, Bingley glancing back at Darcy as he held the door for Miss Bennet. Darcy nodded encouragingly.

But when the door closed, and he was alone, Darcy shut his eyes and shook his head. Love at first sight creates massive vulnerabilities!

It had been wearisome enough to be cursedly vulnerable to Wickham for all these years; now he was vulnerable to Elizabeth (so vulnerable!) and thus vulnerable to anyone to whom she was vulnerable. The two vulnerabilities were incomparable, but still, he was vulnerable to her — a blessed vulnerability.

He smiled at himself ironically, a new expression. His efforts to erect himself as an outpost from which no garrison sallied forth and over which no flag ever flew, as impenetrable and impregnable, were all for naught. His moat was dry, his gate down, and his soldiers disarmed, his white flag of surrender flapping in the breeze.

My rout is the result of a pair of fine, dark eyes! Elizabeth's irresistible siege engines.

He ran his hands through his hair and blew out a breath.

Elizabeth entered hesitantly. She was pale; her eyes fell to the chair where Mr. Bennet had been seated when she dashed from the room.

She bit her lip and glanced up at Darcy, her chin held close to her chest."You keep coming to see me, and I either fail to meet you when you arrive, or I abandon you not long after you do." She gave him a watery smile. "You must…Where is Jane?"

"Bingley asked her to speak with him in the parlor."

"Has Mama returned?"

"No."

Elizabeth sighed in relief. "Is Bingley…?"

"I don't know," Darcy shrugged gently, "but I am sure they are in earnest talk, whatever the upshot. Your father's ancient wisdom stirred things."

"Yes, he had no right to do what he did, as he did it. He is…concerned…but that does not justify hounding us…you…me. — Did that passage contain the phrase 'wedlock maturity'?"

Darcy could not help but grin. "It did. I wonder about the Greek there?"

She shrugged. "I have no guess but I shall remember that English phrase,"

Darcy decided to take advantage of her return. He walked around the table to gently hold her hands. "You said you do not want a long engagement. Is that still true?"

Again, the bit lip, the glance up. "Yes, the longer we wait the more exposed you will be to my father's whims and my mother's raptures. The more exposed you will be to my younger sisters. Who knows what fresh, horrid image Lydia will conjure? The more exposed you will be to Meryton, to Wickham."

He squeezed her hands. "You will have someone accompany you to Lucas Lodge?"

"Yes, I will not walk alone."

"I must do something about Wickham. Should I talk to your father? Now? I was severe with him earlier. I told him you are under my protection. So, I could wait until tomorrow to let things between us settle. But I should do it soon."

"Could you talk to Colonel Forster?"

"Yes, I could; I was planning to speak to him after your father."

It is time to stop protecting my pride and protect others. My pride has cast a shadow, darkness in which Wickham has been sheltered.

"Let me speak to my father, and explain about Wickham to him. He and I need to talk about other topics too." She did not explain those, though Darcy could guess at some. "You speak to the Colonel."

Darcy reached out and lifted her chin slowly; he needed her to understand this though he hated to relate it. "When Wickham realizes his bad character is known, he will become more dangerous. And he is dangerous, Elizabeth. His past violence against women has gone further than debauching them; it has been — rare but he is not above physically abusing a woman. He is less likely to attack a man, anyone who can fight back, to attack me, but that cannot be ruled out either."

Elizabeth heard him and acknowledged his words seriously, but then, a moment later, she gave him a quick smirk. "I recommend you take Miss Bingley with you if you walk." Her smirk became a laugh.

Darcy could not stifle his laughter, but then he settled a teasing gaze on Elizabeth. "Is that truly the person you entrust to care for my person?"

She tilted her head, and her widening smile made clear that she had been equaled, and that she was inordinately pleased by his banter. "No, now that you mention it, I would rather not, despite her clear qualifications."

She paused and glanced around, listened, then gave his lips a quick kiss. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam, how sweet it is to have you as my champion!" Her look was arch but not her tone; her eyes were damp.

He understood then, an epiphany: her spiritedness was partly her wonderful nature, God-given, innate, but partly her achievement, her response to her parents, one lost in irony and the other lost in futurity. Neither was attentive to the present needs of his or her children and Elizabeth, most gifted, most sensitive, and most alive, must have understood this and long ago have put herself under her own protection. Self-reliance, self-protection.

Darcy was about to comment on this when Mrs. Bennet and the two younger girls returned noisily to Longbourn.

Mrs. Bennet was loudly displeased about having arrived at her neighbors' houses behind Meryton gossip. Her loud voice carried from the door. "Yesterday's news, girls, yesterday's news! Well, my account may not be fresh, but it remains wonderful. My Lizzy, Mistress of Pemberley! No mother has had information like that to share in Meryton before, I say!"

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head at what they overheard. She leaned toward him and whispered: "My aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, from London —Cheapside, are to come for Christmas. They always arrive a few days early. I would like to have them here for the event, and would like them to know you — and you to know them." It took him a moment to realize she was answering his earlier question about wedding dates.

She gave him an assessing look as she mentioned the Gardiners; he nodded and smiled; she was visibly relieved. "So could we marry on Monday, December 23rd?"

"Yes," Darcy agreed simply.

The door opened and Bingley walked in with Miss Bennet. They both were flushed, smiling. Miss Bingley had a just-kissed expression that made Darcy grin. Bingley spoke, quickly and quietly. Mrs. Bennet still complained loudly in the next room, and Miss Lydia was teasing Kitty about something. "We have come to an understanding. Miss Bennet has agreed to a courtship. I will speak to her father, but given the morning, I have decided to wait until this evening, or maybe tomorrow."

"It is wise to wait. Let him find another book to read other than Conjugal Precepts before you speak," Elizabeth said, chuckling, as she took her sister in her arms and hugged her hard, then shook Bingley's hand with satisfaction.

Darcy was shaking Bingley's hand when Mrs. Bennet came in, red with the cold and her voluble talk.

"Well," she said, immediately noting the arrangement of the four, and raising an eyebrow, "it is wonderful to see you, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Mrs. Bennet, thank you," Bingley said cheerily. "Darcy and I were just about to leave."

"Return for dinner, please. I feel celebratory."

"We will," Bingley promised, but dodging Mrs. Bennet's searching look.

Darcy stepped to Mrs. Bennet. "Elizabeth and I have discussed our wedding date, ma'am. She would like to marry on December 23rd, once her aunt and uncle have arrived for Christmas. Will that suit, Mrs. Bennet? The banns will be read for the first time this Sunday; I will see to it."

She took a moment to calculate, then beamed. "Yes, that suits. Oh, what a happy time that will be!"

Darcy stepped closer to Mrs. Bennet and told her something in a low tone.

He then turned to Bingley. "Come, let's return to Netherfield. I have letters to write."

Bingley shrugged at everyone. "He always does."

As the two men reached the door, they heard Mrs. Bennet. "What do you know, Lizzy! Mr. Darcy told me his height and weight!"

Elizabeth's disbelieving, starlight laughter satisfyingly trailed Darcy to Netherfield.

As they arrived at Netherfield, they encountered the apothecary preparing to leave.

Bingley jumped down from his horse and hurried to the man. Darcy followed.

"How is Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Jones?" Bingley asked hurriedly.

"She will be fine. Her vision in that eye is normal. The swelling around the socket will go down, likely tonight or tomorrow, but the bruise will take time to disappear. I fear she has several changes of color for it to pass through before it fades entirely." He dropped his voice. "Miss Bingley hit her hard."

Bingley shook his head. "Thank you, sir."

The apothecary bowed, then mounted his horse and rode away.

The two of them watched as he disappeared down the road, then Bingley turned to Darcy. "I don't know what to do. Should I send her back to London?"

"Perhaps Mrs. Hurst should be the one to make that decision since she is the one injured?"

"I will talk to Louisa."

They went inside, parting company at the top of the stairs as Darcy went to his room and Bingley went to Louisa's.

Darcy had two letters waiting in his room. Steele had placed them on the small desk atop a salver. One was from Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper at Pemberley.

That letter he expected; she wrote at least once a week to keep him apprised of matters at home, even if there was nothing of importance to share.

He pulled out his chair but did not sit. The other letter lacked any return direction, but Darcy did not need one. He knew the spiky dark hand and had known it since he was young.

Wickham.

Darcy tore the letter open, standing as he read it.

Darcy,

How it came to be that our paths have crossed in Meryton, I know not. More of the gods favoring you and disfavoring me, the story of my life.

Do not trouble me here.

Never forget I cradle your sister's reputation in my hands now, just as, in Ramsgate, I cradled her young breasts in my hands. That I did for her pleasure — and your displeasure. But I can crush her reputation. That I will do for her displeasure and yours — and my pleasure.

You are and have always been an insufferable moral prig, with a stick up your bum instead of a spine. I have long hated you as you deserve; you should be thankful for me for my constant reminder of who you really are, and that our positions should be reversed.

I belong high and you belong low. When justice comes, it will be so.

Do not test me.

Do not trouble me here.

I can raze your pride, trample your name into dust.

W

Darcy read the letter twice before he slammed his hand down on the desk so violently that the hand lost all feeling.

Shaking his numb hand, the letter still in the other, Darcy walked to his window. It had taken Wickham long enough to make a move. It had been ten days since he had met Wickham on the path to Longbourn.

The letter was meant to savage Darcy's feelings, of course, to torment his imagination, and it had for a moment — but as he thought about it more, it seemed to him that the delay in sending it testified to Wickham's fear. He was terrified Darcy would trouble him. '

And yes, he could make good on his threat against Georgiana's reputation but that would use his only hope for future blackmail, to push all his coin into the center of the table for one decisive play.

Threats against Georgiana would be more effective in another year when Georgiana faced her first Season in town.

But Wickham's fear was not only apparent in the delay of the letter but also in making no demand for money. That was unheard of. If Wickham interacted with Darcy at all, it was always with his hand out. Wickham must see a chance for himself, a possibility of enrichment from pockets other than Darcy's.

Some scheme was afoot.

Darcy looked at the letter again but did not read it.

He walked to the burning fireplace and threw it in. After he watched it curl and burn, he poured water from the ewer into the basin, washed his hands carefully, walked down the steps to the front door, and sent for his carriage.

He would see Colonel Forster.

He would trouble Wickham.

He would protect the people he loved, not his pride, not his name.

He felt as if his eyes shone with a peculiar brightness, a challenge.

Loving Elizabeth is changing me. It has already changed me.

He would remain vulnerable to her — but it was time to end his vulnerability to Wickham.

When the carriage was brought round, he left word for Bingley that he had gone to the barracks, and that he would meet him at Longbourn for dinner.

A/N: At a lovely lakeside cottage for the weekend with my wife, kids, spouses and grandkids. If you're celebrating too, Happy Easter! If not, have a great weekend!

Love to hear from you!

I hope to post another longer chapter before Monday.