Read Unforgiving Temper Online
Authors: Gail Head
Tags: #fiction, #romance, #pride and prejudice, #fitzwilliam darcy, #pride and prejudice fan fiction, #romance regency, #miss elizabeth bennet, #jane austen fan fiction, #jane austen alternate, #pride and prejudice alternate
Unforgiving Temper
BY: GAIL HEAD
Copyright © 2011 by Gail Head
All Rights Reserved.
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respecting the hard work of this author.
To my
husband, Jeff, for his input, his patience, and his support the two
long years it took to write this story;
To my friend, Alan, for graciously giving of
his time and expert knowledge so that the story in my head could
become a story worth the reading;
And to all my fellow authors at the
Derbyshire Writers’ Guild for inspiring me to even attempt such an
endeavor!
“
I do remember his boasting one day, at
Netherfield
,
of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an
unforgiving temper.“- Miss Elizabeth Bennet
“Wickham, I am
going to rip your heart out!”
Fitzwilliam Darcy grabbed the man who had
been his childhood companion, shoving him against the oak paneled
wall with a force that sent a violent tremor reverberating
throughout the fashionable Ramsgate lodgings.
“You have been a thorn in my side since the
day your father brought you to Pemberley, but no more!”
Struggling against the deadly grasp, George
Wickham instantly seized upon the one subject that had any chance
of deflecting Darcy's blind rage.
“Can I help it if
your
father took a
liking to me?” Wickham gasped. “You know how benevolent he was –
famously generous nature and all that. And temperate too! He
advised you many times to follow his example, did he not?”
The calculated words found their mark and
Darcy hesitated. Wickham's mouth twitched in triumph; but his
confidence in the son always doing the honorable thing, especially
where his dead father's memory was concerned, crumbled instantly
when Darcy's hands suddenly closed around his neck.
“You dare to mention my father?” Darcy's
fingers tightened dangerously. “It was for his sake, I have ignored
the detestable way you defile his memory with your reckless,
miserable excuse for a life. Be assured even his generosity would
not excuse your behavior now. Your vile attempt to lure Georgiana
away to Scotland to marry her fortune is utterly contemptible. She
is but fifteen, you disgusting libertine – she trusted you!”
Wickham fought without success to free
himself from Darcy's iron grasp and a strangled choke wedged in his
throat. He had seriously underestimated the man. His surprise at
Darcy's unbridled fury was now only exceeded by the growing, urgent
need to breathe. He clawed furiously at the hands that prevented
it, and his mouth gaped wide in a desperate attempt to obtain even
the slightest measure of fresh air.
Through the mist of darkness that was rapidly
engulfing him, Wickham saw the raging battle warring within Darcy.
The unbridled desire to avenge Georgiana's honor pushed hard
against the abiding allegiance to his father's memory. Wickham's
eyes drifted closed with the vague realization that he had at last
pushed Darcy too far. His hands slid limply away from Darcy's grasp
with another fleeting acknowledgment of how badly he had
miscalculated the cost of failure.
Just as he felt himself slipping into the
darkness, there was a sudden, almost imperceptible change in the
crushing hold on his neck; and then it was gone, allowing a flood
of oxygen-rich air into his lungs. Opening his eyes, he was
relieved to see that honor and allegiance had won the day and the
cloud of rage was lifting.
The muscles in Darcy's face smoothed into a
stony mask of contempt. “Get out,” he growled, dropping his hands
to his sides.
Taking in deep gulps of delicious air,
Wickham cautiously withdrew, straightening his rumpled clothing as
he went. In spite of the narrow escape, his eyes held a glint of
arrogant satisfaction. Old Darcy had saved him once again, just as
he always had. Taking advantage of the shelter his ghostly
protector had provided, Wickham could not resist one last
riposte.
“You see, Darcy? Even beyond the grave, your
father has a care for me.”
Darcy started for Wickham, hissing fiercely,
“Get out of here before I change my mind and give you what you
deserve!”
Wickham recoiled from the fresh explosion of
cold fury, stumbling over a chair and nearly falling in his haste
to reach the door. Once he was safely on the other side, he
collected himself and hurried down the hallway, relieved to hear no
footsteps pursuing him.
Reaching the foyer, he paused only briefly
when he saw Georgiana waiting for him. She took a hesitant step
forward, hurt and confusion shining in her eyes; but he merely
shouldered past her as he made his way to the front door.
“George! Wait!” Georgiana called after him in
a small voice. “Please! I…I thought Fitzwilliam would be happy for
us. I did not know he would be so angry.”
Her forlorn plea only fueled the bitter
disappointment and resentment swelling in his chest. He paused in
the open doorway, gazing out past the Ramsgate clockhouse to the
bustling harbor beyond, struggling to master his emotions. The
waning summer sun glinted off well-oiled riggings of a ship as it
made its way out of the harbor and into the wide, open sea beyond –
sailing away.
So like my fortunes
, he thought bitterly.
He heard Georgiana's footsteps behind him.
“Please, George; you must believe me. I had no idea,” she repeated
softly to his back.
Turning slowly, he met her devastated,
pleading look with an icy stare. “That's the trouble. You have no
idea at all, you brainless chit! If you had just kept your mouth
shut one more day, he could not have stopped me.”
“You do not mean what you are saying,” she
whispered in a tone more hopeful than certain.
Wickham snorted derisively. “Be assured, I
mean every word.”
“Fitzwilliam will come round, you will see!”
Georgiana desperately threw her arms around him. “What is another
week or two when we love each other so?”
“A week or two? Not hardly! We are
finished.”
“But I love you, George, and you love
me!”
“Love you?” Wickham looked her over with a
bitter laugh. “Your brother was right, you are a child. It was
never about love. It was about your thirty thousand pounds –
nothing more. And now that he has placed that out of my reach, I am
done playing nursemaid.”
Wickham grabbed her arms, roughly prying them
from around his neck, and callously shoved her away. Georgiana
staggered backwards, unable to catch herself, and tumbled awkwardly
to the floor. He met her confused, deeply wounded expression with a
cold smirk, almost giddy at her misery. It served her right –
served Darcy right for dashing all his hopes. If he was to suffer
disappointment, then they could bloody well share in it!
“It cannot be true; it cannot,” she sobbed,
anguished tears streaming down her cheeks. “You said you loved
me.”
“Do you think any man could love an awkward,
plain little thing like you?” he sneered, emphasizing each word and
raising his voice to be heard above the sound of her increasing
cries. “You had better take care of that precious fortune of yours,
my dear, for it is the only thing about you that holds any
attraction. No man will ever give you a second look without
it!”
Georgiana sat in a heap, flinching at the
cruel, calculating insults as if each were a physical blow until,
unable to bear any more, she dropped to the floor in great racking
sobs.
“You are a miserable, pathetic creature!”
Wickham snarled in contempt. “All I can say now is good
riddance!”
He was turning to leave when the sound of a
door opening down the hallway brought his head up to see Darcy
emerge from the library and stop midstride. In one frozen moment,
Wickham saw him take in Georgiana's crumpled form sobbing on the
floor and then hurtle forward with a murderous roar.
Instinctively, Wickham ducked, jumping
sideways just as Darcy reached for him. He shrank against the wall,
his heart thudding. In the next moment, he lunged for the open
door, only to have Darcy anticipate his action and slam it shut,
cutting off his only immediate means of escape.
With a desperate, calculating look, he sprang
for Georgiana. His grasping fingers brushed the edge of her skirts
before Darcy caught him from behind, grabbing his coat and throwing
him forcefully back into the wall. The impact sent a blinding burst
of light roaring through his brain. He had no time to protect
himself before two crushing blows landed squarely in his
mid-section, forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled for
breath as the next blow caught him fully in the face, knocking his
head back into the wall. A warm trickle of blood flowed down his
cheek and over his rapidly swelling lip, bringing a salty, metallic
taste to his mouth.
Wickham tried to retaliate, swinging his
fists sightlessly in the air, but found nothing. Shaking his head
to clear his vision, he swung again, this time landing a glancing
blow to Darcy's face which was immediately answered with another
punch to his ribs. He tried to return the blow, but a sharp pain
now stabbed at his chest with every gasping breath he drew. Darcy's
fury rained down on him unchecked, and then one powerful blow
struck the side of his head, making the room spin wildly as he slid
down the wall.
Blindly, he raised his arms in a feeble
attempt to fend off the relentless onslaught. Through the
blackness, he heard a voice somewhere above Darcy's feral snarls
and recognized it as belonging to Denham, Darcy's valet. Somewhere
in the darkness of his addled mind, Wickham smiled wryly to
himself. For once, the manservant's uncanny ability to interrupt at
just the wrong time was of some use.
“Mr. Darcy! Sir, you must stop! You will
kill him!”
Denham's frantic words went unheeded as
Wickham felt the brunt of several more vicious blows.
“Please sir; no more – for Miss Darcy's
sake. She needs you – terribly. See what a state she is in,
Mr. Darcy!”
The assault ceased as suddenly as it had
begun. After what seemed an eternity, Darcy's hold that had kept
Wickham upright loosened and he slumped over. With a disgusted oath
Darcy stepped back, panting heavily from his efforts.
“Get him out of here. Get them both out!”
It was then Wickham heard a swish of skirts
and felt a pair of small, cool hands gently press a cloth to his
throbbing face as his accomplice in the failed attempt on Georgiana
knelt next to him.
“George? George, can you hear me?” Ann
Younge's frantic whisper filtered through the painful haze
surrounding him.
“You had better hear
me
, the pair of
you!” Darcy growled menacingly. “Neither of you shall breathe a
word of this to anyone. Not a single word. My sister's honor and
reputation shall never be called into question. Do you understand?
And if you
ever
attempt to profit from me or Georgiana
again, I give you my solemn word that nothing –
nothing
– in
this world will prevent me from finishing what I started this day!
Now get out!”