A Night with Mr Darcy to Remember

by P. O. Dixon

  A Night with Mr. Darcy to Remember

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  P. O. Dixon

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Featured Book Excerpt

  Your Free Book Offer

  Parting Thoughts

  Bonus Offer

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by P. O. Dixon

  Introduction

  A titillating tale of two strangers in the night. Because now and then, a short and steamy romantic escape with our dear couple is what you’re searching for.

  * * *

  Long after the Netherfield household has retired for the evening, a servant shows Mr. Darcy to an apartment thought to be unoccupied. The gentleman is more than capable of attending himself for the night, and thus the servant is dismissed.

  What is Darcy to do when he discovers someone else in his bed?

  Feeling as though she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, with no one to help see her through, Elizabeth awakens from a restless slumber to find a stranger in the room.

  Utterly disappointed in her life, she is poised to embark on a path destined to cause her misery of the acutest kind mainly for the sake of her family. Will Elizabeth put her own needs above everything else - if only for one night?

  Does Elizabeth dare spend her life forever regretting what might have been, or does she choose a night with Mr. Darcy to remember?

  * * *

  A Night with Mr. Darcy to Remember is just that—one night and quite a steamy one at that. At under 10,000 words, this story is best termed a novelette. It is short. It is provocative. A tale of two strangers in the night, it is also enticing.

  “That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny.”

  Jane Austen

  Chapter 1

  The golden glow from the flickering candlelight in the room otherwise filled with darkness aroused Elizabeth from her light slumber and caused her to bolt upright in bed. She was no longer alone.

  She drew her linen nightgown over her shoulder—too late, she supposed, for the intruder could not have missed catching a healthy glimpse of her breast. All too conscious that the gentleman’s gaze lingered on her partly revealed bosom, she folded her arm over her chest.

  Elizabeth suspected, rather than knew, she was in no real danger from the stranger who stood beside her bed, holding a candle in his right hand, allowing a view of his face. There was something pleasant about his countenance, albeit undoubtedly questioning, that gave an indication of his goodness.

  Silent teardrops had accompanied Elizabeth to sleep at some point that night, the evidence of which lingered on her cheeks. Lifting a hand to her face, she wiped away any remaining traces.

  “Sir?” Elizabeth exclaimed, more startled than frightened by his presence.

  “I beg your pardon, madam,” he uttered, his voice heavy with contrition. “I was led to believe this room was unoccupied.”

  Her eyes now somewhat accustomed to the dimness in the room, Elizabeth discerned just how handsome this man was. What a sight to behold during the late-night hour.

  Is not the most beautiful man my eyes have ever beheld standing before me or is this merely a dream?

  Try as she might, her attempt to ignore his increasingly aroused state proved futile. Oddly enough, his discomfort fascinated her. Nevertheless, modesty needed to exceed impertinence. Divert her eyes, she must.

  “No, sir,” Elizabeth heard herself say. “It is not.”

  By way of an apology, the gentleman held up his hand. “Pray, go back to sleep. I shall find someplace else to retire for the night.”

  “No, sir. That is to say, I am familiar with the house. I shall seek sleeping accommodations elsewhere.”

  “I would not have you wandering these empty halls in search of another place to rest your head merely because I arrived late in the night after the household retired.”

  “No,” said Elizabeth, “I insist.” Satisfied her gown was intact, she tossed the covers aside and sat on the edge of the bed, mere inches from where he stood.

  Elizabeth supposed the tall, handsome stranger was the friend whom her brother-in-law had been expecting to see all that day, a Mr. Darcy from Derbyshire. Finally, her brother reasoned he had been mistaken about the precise day of his friend’s arrival.

  An amiable young man, Charles Bingley was not the most fastidious person whom she knew. But how he loved her eldest sister, Jane. That alone had been sufficient to assure his place in Elizabeth’s good graces.

  Jane and Bingley were perfect for each other. They were so much alike in temperament. Most notably, they made each other happy.

  If only Elizabeth might stand a chance to know such happiness. She knew she never would, although she too had married — a young gentleman whose name was Mr. John Tilman.

  Her purpose in agreeing to wed Mr. Tilman, a distant cousin and the heir to her father’s estate, had been altruistic, indeed, for she had acted on behalf of her mother and her unwed younger sisters.

  That and a deathbed promise to her dear father, Mr. Thomas Bennet, to do everything in her power to see an end to the entail of his beloved home, Longbourn Village, away from his immediate descendants. Truth be told, Elizabeth loved Longbourn as much as, if not more than, her late father had. Her sentiments were the result of Longbourn being the only home she had ever known and the source of all of her earliest as well as her fondest memories. She really could not imagine life on Earth were her connection to Longbourn severed because of her father’s death.

  Although her elder sister, Jane, had married Mr. Bingley, a young man who had arrived in Hertfordshire a few months before their nuptials and who had let the neighboring estate, Netherfield Park, Elizabeth had willingly taken on the task of saving her family.

  She could not, in good conscience, allow her sister’s new husband to take on the heavy burden of providing for a nervous mother-in-law and four unwed sisters-in-law, not when all her family’s woes were just as conveniently solved by her marrying the heir to her father’s estate. Elizabeth really considered marrying her cousin as more of a duty than a sacrifice, for she would have done anything to secure her beloved Longbourn. Anything, including marrying a man whom she barely knew. Although, Mr. Tilman had not been a complete stranger to her family. By virtue of his being Longbourn’s heir, he had extended an olive branch to his Bennet relations so soon as he became of age.

  Besides, Netherfield Park, despite all its grandeur, was not Longbourn Village. Elizabeth believed that she was the only one who must secure her family’s home, the one place on Earth which meant so much to her, for herself.

  At least with Mr. Tilman, there existed a good measure of respect on her part. He was a decent, honorable man, whose misgivings over his birthright were evidenced by his compassion toward the Bennet ladies during their greatest hour of need in the aftermath of Mr. Bennet’s death and the offering of his hand to Elizabeth: the eldest unwed daughter.

  How unfortunate that she would never have a chance to find out if the respect she felt toward Mr. Tilman might have grown into something more meaningful—something similar to affection, even love. How unfortunate indeed, for mere hours after boarding the carriage for the wedding journey, there was an accident—an utter devastation from which only one of the newlyweds walked away.

  Not yet one and twenty and widowed. Still entirely innocent to the ways b
etween a man and a woman. True, she could not say that she had been in love with her late husband, but at least she had been willing to try to reach for marital felicity.

  Which is more than she could say for her future husband: Longbourn’s heir. Just as Elizabeth's beloved father had no authority to dictate to whom his estate would pass upon his death, neither did Elizabeth’s late husband, Mr. Tilman. According to the dictates of the entail, the property could only be inherited by the next male heir in line - in this case, Mr. William Collins. In the short time since Elizabeth had made his acquaintance, he had proven himself to be absolutely ridiculous.

  A true sycophant in every sense of the word, Mr. Collins was self-important and puffed up with pride. He fancied himself quite fortunate to have been granted the living in Hunsford. The ridiculous manner in which he went on and on about his noble patroness, the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sickened Elizabeth. Although she had never met the woman, Elizabeth knew with certainty that she did not like the officious noble. At least she would never have to worry about having the pleasure of meeting the grand lady—a comforting notion indeed if the aristocrat proved to be even half as meddlesome and pompous as Mr. Collins’ pontifications had inadvertently painted her character.

  Learning about her ladyship’s role in influencing Mr. Collins to arrive at Longbourn immediately upon the heels of Mr. Tilman’s demise had been a strong inducement in encouraging Elizabeth’s low opinion. Her insisting that the man should marry Longbourn’s recently widowed mistress had dealt the final blow.

  Misery had been her constant companion ever since the day she agreed to walk down the aisle to meet her cousin Mr. William Collins at the altar. She felt she had no choice but to agree to the scheme. Yes, her sister Jane was the eldest daughter, but in marrying Mr. Tilman, Elizabeth was the mistress of Longbourn. She was responsible for providing for her mother and her three unwed sisters. Nothing had changed in that regard, at least that was Elizabeth’s consolation.

  Time away from Longbourn with her dearest sister, Jane, was her greatest solace. Even that did not keep her from crying herself to sleep that particular night.

  Had it not been for the pounding rain that had prevented her from returning to Longbourn that evening, she would be all alone in the room she had once shared with her sister Jane, for she did not have the heart to displace her mother from the mistress’ apartment. Widowed on the day of her wedding to Mr. Tilman, the last thing in the world she felt like was the mistress of Longbourn.

  Her pending marriage to Mr. Collins would further establish her role as Longbourn’s mistress along with everything such an alliance entailed. Her mother and her three younger sisters seemed happy enough with the scheme. Elizabeth’s own hope for the future faded more and more with each passing day.

  Chapter 2

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had indeed caught an arousing glimpse of the lady’s exposed breast when his presence interrupted her sleep and caused her to bolt upright in bed. A surge of longing coursed through his body straight to his groin. He had seen other women similarly adorned in their night clothing before, but none so enticingly beautiful as this. Honor, however, must always exceed lust. Therefore, look away he must—a feat he managed so soon as a healthy man could be expected to do so.

  He attributed his late arrival to an incident with the carriage at the last changing station. He subsequently rode ahead of his party, journeyed to the nearby town of Meryton in the rain for directions, and ultimately found an escort to help steer his way through the darkness to Netherfield Park. Not wishing to disturb his friend Charles Bingley at such an inconvenient hour, he asked to be shown to any available apartment. Quite capable of attending himself for one evening, he dismissed the servant just outside the door after telling him that he did not need anything more.

  With his brightly lit candle in hand, Darcy easily discerned that the young woman had been crying when she moved to the edge of the bed.

  “Pardon my asking, but you seem upset, and it is more than the result of awakening and finding a stranger in your room. Pray what is the matter?”

  “Assuming there is something the matter, why would I discuss my personal affairs with you, sir? I do not even know you.”

  “Sometimes it is better to confide one’s troubles in a stranger—an impartial listener if you will.”

  He moved closer. He used his own candle to light those on the bedside table and then set it next to the others. Noticing a half-filled pitcher and a glass on the table, he filled the glass with water and then offered it to her.

  The brush of his fingers against hers when she accepted the glass was somehow comforting. Elizabeth really wanted to talk to someone about her troubles—someone other than her sister Jane. But other than Jane, there was no one with whom she could confide such matters. For the first time in her life, she honestly felt she was all alone with no one to rely upon other than herself.

  “May I?” he asked, signaling his desire to sit at the foot of her bed.

  A part of her supposed she ought to balk at his presumption, but the restless part of her—the part of her that could not help but be fascinated by the sudden appearance of such a seemingly compassionate gentleman as this in her apartment, prevailed. The cover of darkness enveloping the room emboldened her, and she nodded her acceptance of his request as she likewise resumed her former attitude in bed. Pulling the bedcovers above her lower half, she said, “There is nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep will not remedy, I am sure.”

  “That is once you have given in to a good long cry.”

  She nodded. “Yes—I suppose that is true, and I am not happy about it. You see, I never cry when I can help it—that is I never used to cry.”

  Elizabeth had spoken the truth. Except for a moment of weakness soon after her father’s passing six months prior from a horseback riding accident, she had refused to cry. Her mother, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, who fancied herself nervous when it suited her, cried enough for the entire village. Someone needed to be strong for her family. To Elizabeth’s way of thinking, that burden fell squarely upon her own shoulders.

  The gentleman moved a little closer. “What has happened, if you do not mind my asking?”

  Shrugging, Elizabeth stared helplessly into his eyes for a moment or two before looking away.

  This was sufficient encouragement for him to move even closer—to the spot on the bed directly beside her. Placing his fingers under her chin, he persuaded her to look into his eyes. “What happened to cause you such sadness this evening?”

  His tender touch sparked an awakening in her such as she had never suffered. Not knowing how to think or feel about her body’s reaction, she lowered her eyes, breaking contact with his.

  “I was lying here reflecting upon an earlier conversation with my sister Jane,” Elizabeth began, before thinking better of how much she should disclose to her brother’s friend. She told him as much.

  After a bit of cajoling on the gentleman’s part, Elizabeth’s resolve weakened. She started sharing those parts of her past that had brought her to that moment: the loss of a most beloved father, the death of a husband whom she never had a chance to know, and her reasons for the path she had embarked upon in agreeing to marry again. Finally, she recounted the events of the evening that had led to her current desolation. Not that she had received unfortunate news of any kind. Quite the contrary, for her dearest sister had shared the news that every new bride would wish to convey to her loved ones. Jane was with child.

  Her own sentiments a mixture of gladness and sadness, heartfelt joy and unbearable sorrow, Elizabeth’s eyes pooled with tears.

  “It is not fair,” she cried.

  “I beg your pardon. I was always given to believe the birth of a child is the happiest news a newly married couple might wish to receive.”

  “Oh! It is indeed happy news. I am overjoyed for my sister. In saying that it is not fair, I fear I am thinking only of myself. Such bliss that my sister spoke of is something I shall ne
ver ever know.”

  “What are you saying? You are still young. Too young to speak as though your future as a mother is an impossibility when you have so many years ahead of you.”

  “No. That is just the thing. No such possibility exists for me: marriage to a man whom I might respect and children—a son to inherit Longbourn and daughters.”

  “What is keeping you from having those things?”

  “I am obligated to marry a man who is not only ridiculous, but I recently learned he is im—” Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, attempting to collect herself. “He is—”

  “He is what?”

  “He is impotent!” There, for the first time, she had spoken the word out loud. Saying it aloud, however, did not take away the shock of it all. It only caused her to feel worse.

  “Your intended is impotent, and yet you have agreed to marry him?”

  She nodded. “I—I really do not know if I should be telling you any of this, sir. I have told no one—not even my sister Jane, from whom I have no secrets.”

  Elizabeth took a sip of water. She had come to Netherfield to tell Jane about her intended’s duplicity, but before she could manage to speak the words, she learned that her sister was with child. Elizabeth did not have the heart to confide her troubles to her sister and rob her of her joy.

  “Suddenly it dawned on me,” she said, fighting back her tears, “that the joy my sister now knows, I shall never know, and I began to comprehend just how much I am forfeiting for the sake of this alliance. Once I was away from Jane and the rest of the party, I simply panicked and cried.”