Page 79 of A Quiet Affection

The paces were counted out, and Bingley and Wickham sent to stand at the chosen lines.

Wickham’s hands were shaking, and Darcy hoped that would ruin the man’s aim.

It was decided by a flip of the coin that Darcy would release the signal, so with his own gun on his belt, he walked over to a spot between the two gentlemen, but sufficiently out of the line of fire to be safe.

He raised a white handkerchief high.

Then he let it loose.

The handkerchief fluttered down.

Two gunshots rang out.

Bingley had pointed his gun in the air, and he smiled serenely.

Wickham was swearing. “That tree. That damned tree. I hit the goddamned tree.”

Darcy closed his eyes and let out a relieved sigh. Thank God.

“Well, that is that,” Darcy said. “Now that you have both had the opportunity to shoot, I believe that honor has been satisfied.”

“Deuced damn, no!” Wickham shouted. “I mean to kill him. I am going to kill him. My honor will be satisfied when Mrs. Wickham has sobbed over the corpse, and not before. We agreed on firing for three rounds. Clarke, give me the other pistol.”

“You are such a coward,” Clarke said. “You only are willing to face a man who you know will shoot in the air.”

“Give me the gun,” Wickham replied. “Isn’t that your duty? Don’t gentlemen care about duty? Does anyone care in this world, still, for the honor of the English gentleman? Give me the gun, so we can shoot again.”

“Bingley,” Darcy said to his friend. “Do you consider yourself satisfied? You have proven that you were not a coward, and there is no reason to fight another round.”

“He is a coward if he doesn’t let me shoot at him again,” Wickham shouted. “Bingley, you are a coward, if you go away before we’ve shot all the rounds; I will tell every man you know about how cowardly you are. Are you a worm? Are you a dog?”

Bingley stared at Wickham. He appeared deeply conflicted.

“Ignore him,” Darcy said. “He is a mad dog.”

Wickham glared at Darcy. “I want blood. I want blood. I’ve hated you. For so, so long. I have hated you. If you don’t let me kill Bingley—You are so happy with your blind whore. Did she ever tell you what she did to me? How she tried to seduce me?”

“I believe I have heard a true accounting of those events.”

“Damn you. Damn you. Bingley, I will beat my wife to death, that slut who loves you more than she loves me, I swear, I will beat her till the brains bleed out if you do not face me.”

“That would be murder,” Darcy said with calmness he did not feel. “And they would hang you certainly.”

“Why should I care! Why? I would be rather dead than let every man see that I cannot control my wife. I will not be mocked!”

“I tell you,” Bingley said, “Mrs. Wickham did nothing that you might criticize her for, and—”

“She likes you!”

A bird that had settled back in its nest after the first gun shot was startled into flapping away once more.

“Now get to the line,” Wickham said, “and let me shoot you. Just two more rounds. Maybe I’ll miss.”

Bingley walked over to the stump that had been paced off as his place to fire. Wickham followed him, sneering.

“Bingley, come back here,” Mr. Clarke shouted across the clearing. “You do not even have a loaded weapon.”

“I have no need for one,” Bingley replied, not moving.