Page 67 of The Widower of Pemberley

He stared at the filthy, foul liquid on the bottom of the pot.

He vomited once more.

Nosangfroid. This was not how a gentleman handled thoughts of brutal violence.

A soft hand was placed on his back. “Are you ill?”

He looked up at Elizabeth.

He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.

Elizabeth regarded him with concerned eyes. Georgiana stood behind her, as did Colonel Fitzwilliam and Emily.

“I am well. It was…my thoughts.”

Both Elizabeth and Georgiana looked confused, but his cousin nodded with a grim face. “I understand. You must stiffen your sinews. Your honour demands it.”

“No.” Darcy shook his head. “Honour demands it, but I think—for the first time in my life, I think I see that there are greater demands on me than those imposed by honour. Richard, Icannot do it. I know that all will look upon me as a shameful man, but it is not a choice I can make.”

“You don’t need to shoot him,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “Just stand there and accept the fire.”

Emily pointed at the chamber pot. “Papa threw up?”

“Yes, I did.”

She giggled. “Papa threw up!”

Darcy picked her up and held her tight against his body. He took several deep breaths. “I do not have a right to risk the fight. My life is not my own, not any longer. Perhaps it never was.”

To admit it was a clean feeling.

The sick heaviness in his chest, the anger, the vileness in his body, it seemed to be draining away.

He felt empty but healthier. It was like recovery after a long illness.

He had been so angry, so filled with viciousness since he had witnessed his wife and Wickham in an intimate embrace. Perhaps the viciousness had been in him since he had realised that he had made Mary miserable and that he himself had been unhappy because of her.

Darcy looked steadily at his cousin.

Georgiana said, “George would never shoot at you. He would not.”

“Perhaps you are correct,” Darcy replied. “But it is not my right to risk the chance.”

“The deuce,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “You cannot be serious! Jove, are you to become a Quaker? Why did you not realise thisbeforeyou challenged him to a duel and announced that he had tupped your wife? Jove! You have no business with an attack ofconsciencenow. Buck up. Eight chances out of ten you will be well, even if he shoots at you. He never had a good aim.”

Darcy looked at Emily.

The girl had such a similar face to his own, especially in portraits of himself as a child.

She smiled at him sunnily. “You threw up!”

“I did,” Darcy replied.

“Did you really not throw Mama from the balcony?”

“I really did not.”

“Why did George say such a thing?” Georgiana asked. “Why would he lie about the matter?”