Secrets of a Scoundrel

Posted on Saturday, 24 July 2004

If I told you a lie that you believed to be true, is it truly a lie at all? Am I to be labeled a villain merely because I hold out on your definition of a hero? I am a survivor, and there is no shame to be derived from that.

There came a time when you viewed me as the ‘very best of men’ I now see that the successor to the throne is one who deserves nothing other than a swift kick in the…well you gain the general idea. Darcy, the hopeless innocent. Beneath his practiced continuation as the fearsome Master of Pemberley, he is naivety at its best; surpassed in this title only by his sole sibling.

Perhaps I have not lived my life in the terms of wholesome goodness, does this condemn me to the label of soulless sinner? I follow my own terms in life, and I am exultant to say that I have yet to break one of my own personal laws.

Survival and satisfaction are of the utmost importance to a man such as myself. Satisfaction entails getting away with as much as I possibly can, while survival is leaving when satisfaction is unfulfilled. Of course, I have clauses and such in my laws, but, as stated, the two eases remain eminent.

There is something different in your eyes when you see me now, a glint of hatred that replaced the one of infatuation. All savory gazes it seems have gone to the only one that leads me into the temptation of stretching my own laws. Darcy. Abhorrence and a strong thirst for revenge consistently shade my continuance with my childhood companion.

Come now, Elizabeth, do not allow yourself to be swooned and won by the prosperity and heartbreaking benevolence that is Darcy. Do not judge that which you cease to understand. You know nothing of my upbringing, of the nonsense of playing a secondary role to the young master. Why do you suppose I chose the life of a military man? I have been lost in rank all my life, might as well make it official.

The idea of you marrying him is absurd to be sure; I had thought more of you than that. It is a mistake you will live to regret, Elizabeth, for you are far too vivacious of a wife for the walking corpse that is your fiancé. However, it is a rarity for me to play the role of the hero, so do not expect yours truly to be your savior.

Of course, I do not love you, or anything of the sort, I am not prone to the frailty and nonsensicality of the emotion. I merely hold an uncharacteristic amount of respect for any woman with the ability to obtain the attribute of independence of the mind.

For a short time though, that steadfast mind of yours was fixated on me, admit it. If I had but whispered the word you would have gladly agreed to marriage with me, and there is power in that. I had you, didn’t I, Elizabeth? I won you with my tales that were nothing more than exactly what you wanted to hear. Do not weave me into the outstanding villain of your life, for I did no more than acquiesce to your heart’s request. You wanted to hear how truly horrid the elusive Mr. Darcy was, you were thrilled to confirm your suspicions that he was an arrogant selfish man, and I was only too happy to fulfill your fantasies.

So do not pinpoint me a felon, Miss Bennet, for you are just as guilty as I. The sins of judgment and intolerance may not outweigh my assortment of transgressions, but they hardly make you the virtuous maiden.

You were my fool, while I was never yours. Superiority lies within me, the victor, while a lifetime of regret will shortly lie within you. Cheers, Elizabeth.