Page 45 of Bitterness of Spirit

Darcy looked at the visitor, completely dumbfounded, and struggled to choose his words.

“You speak nonsense, and I shall certainly not have such a conversation with a complete stranger. Whatever occurred between Miss Elizabeth and me is a private matter.”

“Not quite so private. Your rudeness to her in Hertfordshire is already public knowledge. And yet, she received it with amusement. Therefore, anything that disturbed her and left her tearful or interrupted her walk in the park at your mere sight cannot be disregarded.”

“My rudeness to her? I disturbed her walk? This is certainly the most awkward discussion I have ever had. And I might safely say you know nothing of the subject, just as I know nothing of your identity. I shall not discuss it any further,” Darcy uttered.

“I know enough to be certain that your father would be greatly disappointed in you. That you betrayed his trust and disobeyed his last wish regarding his godson is one thing. But to know you offended a young woman of character in ways I do not dare consider is despicable and must be addressed.”

“And yet, I am in no mood to be addressed on any subject. You clearly spoke to Wickham and believed his lies, which displays your own wisdom. I shall advise you not to say another word of my father, or you will suffer the consequences. This conversation is at an end. If you were younger, I would have called him out by now.”

“Younger? You think I am old? You are not man enough to call me out, young man, and you surely need to be taught a lesson. I shall allow you to choose the weapon should you desire to settle this matter in a gentlemanlike manner—that is, if you know what ‘gentlemanlike’ means.”

Anger quickly overcame his fatigue, the turmoil he had endured for so many months, and the two glasses of brandy he had consumed that evening. The self-control on which he always prided himself, betrayed him. His reason was defeated by offence, frustration, and disappointment, and he hastily judged that all was the fault of one person—the one who had treated him so unjustly. Since she was not there, he thrust all his fury upon the man in front of him.

“I struggle to decide whether I should laugh and ask you to be thrown out of the house or to continue this charade, just to discover how far Miss Elizabeth would go with this. Although she expressed her opinion of me very clearly when she refused my marriage proposal and I know she considers me the lowest human being on earth, it seems not to be enough for her. I had hoped that she would read my letter and understand some of my explanations and she might ask me for further details if she wished. Instead, she sends her uncle to call me out and expose an old man to the danger of being killed in a ridiculous duel. What kind of woman does that? To risk another person’s life for her selfishness? How could I have misjudged her so utterly and completely? And what have I done that she hates me so deeply? But it does not even matter. Please leave now and assure her she will never see me again in her lifetime.”

“If you call me ‘old man’ one more time, I shall rip you apart, boy!” the man yelled while stepping forward. “What on earth are you talking about? A marriage proposal? You proposed to her? And she refused? When did this happen?”

“What am I talking about? What are you talking about?! I thought…did she not tell you? Then what are you doing here? What kind of uncle are you to her? And what are you doing in my house? Are you out of your mind? No, I must be out of my mind to talk to a complete stranger about such a disturbing matter. You will tell me your name at once. I cannot allow you to leave now and carry such a secret!”

The guest seemed to lose all his determination. He appeared dumbstruck, incredulous, and suddenly tired. He searched for support against the back of the settee before answering.

“Calm down, Darcy. You have no reason to worry about my secrecy. I spoke nonsense indeed; I might have lost my mind, after all. I am Mrs. Madeleine Gardiner’s brother. And I was your father’s best friend. I am Gilbert Wilson.”

The words hit Darcy so strongly that he turned completely pale; his knees weakened, and he forced his feet to move towards the intruder. His hands shook and then became fists until he reached the man, grabbed his shoulders, and pushed him violently against the wall.

“You have lost your mind, indeed. I cannot imagine your purpose, but you are close to not escaping this house in one piece. You have polluted my reputation, my father’s name, and the memory of a man who is equally important to me. You can be nothing but a wretch and a poor excuse for a man. I am not surprised Wickham is your friend; and if you are the one Miss Elizabeth trusts the most, you deserve each other.”

His anger defeated any reasoning; his voice trembled, and he felt he had lost all control of himself as his hands moved towards the stranger’s throat. Of their own will, his fingers tightened their grip so firmly that he was afraid he might choke the man to death.

But the man’s face remained unmoved; their eyes met from only inches apart, and there was no sign of fear or concern. The invader put his hands upon Darcy and loosened the grip with unexpected ease. Then spoke in a low voice.

“Fitzwilliam, say no more that you will soon come to regret. Do you still have the little birthmark in the shape of the moon on your right thigh? And I see you kept George’s old desk. Are his papers still in the middle drawer? As for the books, I see they are mostly on the same shelters, except for the ones you added on this wall.”

Darcy’s chest was weighted by a burden that took his breath away. His hands fell down, and he stepped back, gazing at the man in astonishment.

The chamber suddenly felt hot, and sweat moistened his forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand then walked hesitantly towards his armchair.

The guest waited for no invitation before he followed him and sat on the couch.

“I see you kept the armchair too,” Wilson added. “If the bottles are still in their place, I would really appreciate a drink. And some coffee would be useful; I feel it will be a long night. I see your food is still on the plate. You have barely touched it, so at least we shall not starve.”

Darcy glared at him for a moment then rang the bell and ordered coffee. The liquor was just where the guest said, so he reluctantly filled two glasses with brandy, forcing himself to comprehend what had just occurred—and Elizabeth’s involvement.

Chapter 12

The maid filled two cups of coffee then quickly exited the library. The tension was so heavy that it became unbearable.

Darcy sipped his brandy then some coffee; his guest did the same, both men staring at each other in tormenting silence.

“I cannot understand,” Darcy eventually uttered.

“What?”

“All this— Who are you? I cannot believe you are Mr. Gilbert Wilson. My father spoke of his friend often, but I was still a young boy when my father became certain that Mr. Wilson had died abroad. No news of him, no proof of his being alive could be found. My father tried for years. He passed away with the regret of never seeing his friend again.”

Darcy’s voice became lower; he felt trapped in a nightmare from which he could not recover. And above everything, Elizabeth’s image appeared to increase his turmoil. There were so many questions and uncertainties, and he could not decide which one was more urgent and more important to be addressed.