Page 78 of A Quiet Affection

“Deuced, damned fellow. I dare say he’ll just shoot in the air. But we should give him every chance.”

“Sir, you have taken the role of Wickham’s second. It is your duty to represent his interests, not those of Mr. Bingley.”

Mr. Clarke pressed his lips tightly together. The room was brightly lit by many flickering oil lamps hanging over the card table. That gentlemen then nodded. “Fire at the release of a handkerchief then. I am sure Wickham will prefer that to shooting in turns. Let us meet at the clearing in the woods about two miles from Pemberley, and a mile from Greenstead. The one along the woodsman’s path that starts near the turnpike. Do you know which one I am referring to?”

“Yes,” Darcy replied, rather hoping that it would prove that they understood different clearings by this description, but not expecting it.

“Well, nothing else to say then. Encourage your friend to shoot for the body.”

“I shall encourage him to accept any apology that Mr. Wickham may make, and to not fight, even if Mr. Wickham will not make one.”

“Or that,” Mr. Clarke agreed. “It would be a pity if poor Bingley was shot instead of Wickham. Do you think?—Mrs. Wickham does like him a great lot. Well, let us hope for the best.”

The two returned to the dancing room which had emptied. Wickham and Bingley’s argument had made the last scheduled dance of the night considerably more entertaining than usual.

Elizabeth stood in a circle with her aunt and uncle, and Mr. Bingley, his face pale, while Mrs. Wickham had been pressed into a chair, and Mr. Wickham stood in front of it.

Elizabeth said to Darcy, “I am worried that he will do something to Jane during the night, but she will not defy him to stay with me.”

Darcy took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. “There is nothing to be done.”

“I hope you shoot him dead,” Elizabeth said to Bingley. “But make sure to not let him hit you.”

“Madam, I do not intend to fire at him at all,” Bingley replied. “I shall shoot into the air. I do not think—I could not shoot another man. Not to save my own life.”

“Good Lord,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Wickham hardly qualifies as a man. It would makemeenormously happier if he was shot.”

“The Lord must manage such things, for I shall not.”

Stupid Bingley. That was what Darcy thought.

Wickham had heard Bingley declare that he would not shoot at him, and he grinned at Darcy like a shark. Any hope for the fight to be avoided by Wickham backing away out of cowardice once the drink had left him was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Darcy waited the whole night with Bingley. For the first hour he endeavored to convince his friend to not fight. But at last Darcy gave up the effort. There was no hope of success in that. His friend had the notion in his head that he was not a coward, and thus he must appear for the duel.

Continuing to argue on this point would not change Bingley’s mind.

Now Darcy tried to convince his friend to aim to hit Wickham. That notion was also rejected by the young man. He would not kill a man.

They got to the clearing first, and Darcy had some vague hope that Wickham had slept past the appointed time, or lost his nerve, or had tripped and fallen into a ditch, or been trampled by a horse on the way. None of those events had come to pass, and Mr. Clarke arrived five minutes later with Mr. Wickham.

“Wickham,” Darcy said, “Mr. Bingley insists that he has spoken in no unbecoming manner with your wife. There is no need to engage in this fight.”

“She likes him. That damned wife your father made me marry likes him. I had it out of her last night. She enjoys his conversation more than mine. Because she cannot lie. She likes the look of him, because she’ll not lie, and she has to obey when I tell her to say something. She thinks very highly of Bingley, and she cannot lie. I’ll show her Bingley’s corpse. That will be fair. Let my wife like a man more than she likes me? She can like the corpse. I’ll not have this. I’ll not be like my father. I won’t belaughed at. I won’t let a woman mock me! I make a mockery of women.”

“You certainly do that,” Mr. Clarke said. “As much as I would wish the situation to be otherwise, Mr. Wickham has stated to me that he will not accept any apology from Mr. Bingley, as the chief matter which offends him is that he believes Mrs. Wickham to be unacceptably fond of Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley, it is not my place, but if you do not intend to shoot at Mr. Wickham, I would advise you to not step to the line. I certainly will not consider you a coward if you refuse to fight a man who wishes to shoot at you because his wife knows him well enough to dislike him.”

“Damn you, Clarke,” Wickham sneered. “You are here to be on my side.”

Mr. Clarke did not reply to that.

Bingley wiped his hands on his pants. Then he said, “I—I amnota coward. I will not avoid this.”

The guns were loaded, and each second examined both guns before they were handed over.

Bingley looked at his gun, and he smiled. His hands were not shaking now.