Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions

by Valerie Lennox

  Mr. Darcy,

  You did not seem interested in my offer. And furthermore, I would appreciate your discretion in these matters. Entrusting such words with a servant is not responsible.

  Miss Bennet

  The reply came only hours later.

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  You must not worry about Mr. Smith, to whom I have entrusted this letter. He is the most trustworthy of fellows, I assure you. There is nothing that I would not say in front of him. He will not repeat anything, and I daresay he does not even look at the letters. Tell me, has my seal been disturbed when you have opened them? In any case, I did not say that I was not interested in your offer. In fact, I believe that I made no reply whatsoever. I would like to reply now, but I still seem to be in the dark about whether the offer still stands. Please advise me on your wishes.

  Eagerly,

  Fitzwilliam

  She was livid. So livid that she did not even respond, simply sent Mr. Smith back to Mr. Darcy empty handed. Now, just when she thought she was free of him, he wanted her to be his mistress? He wanted to cement their arrangement “in a final and physical manner”? What had come over the man? And why did she feel like an idiot for not sending him a letter that begged him to have her anywhere and any time he liked?

  Truly, she hated Fitzwilliam Darcy, she decided. Why could the man not make up his mind?

  * * *

  It was Tuesday, and Lydia had come to visit. They were to have dinner later, but for the moment, they were all having some tea in the sitting room and enjoying some conversation.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Jane stood up to answer the door and then sat back down again. “I had forgotten the maid is here today. Surely, she will answer the door.”

  “Well,” said Lydia. “I did not know you were having visitors. Whoever could it be?”

  The maid came to the door. “Mr. Bingley, madam.”

  “Thank you. Show him in,” said Jane.

  Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, is it?”

  “He comes to visit rather often,” said Kitty.

  “Why, Jane, you minx,” said Lydia. “You didn’t say a word to me of this.”

  “It didn’t come up,” said Jane.

  Mr. Bingley appeared in the doorway.

  Everyone stood. Elizabeth moved out of her chair to squeeze onto the couch with Kitty and Mary, so that Mr. Bingley would have somewhere to sit.

  Mr. Bingley stopped short at the sight of Lydia.

  Lydia lifted her chin. “Well, hello there, Mr. Bingley.”

  “Miss Swa—er, Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Bingley. “Yes, it is good to see you again. It has been quite some time.”

  “Hasn’t it, though,” said Lydia.

  “Lydia, please,” said Jane, shooting a meaningful glance at Kitty and Mary, who did not know about Lydia’s profession.

  Lydia laughed. “Oh, la, I am happy to see you again, Mr. Bingley. And what a lark you are calling once again on dear Jane. I can hardly believe it.”

  “Well, my feelings for your sister are rather intense,” said Mr. Bingley, looking at Jane. “As a matter of fact, I wonder if Miss Bennet and I might have the room together.”

  “Alone?” said Lydia, clearly amused. “Why, how shocking.”

  “Not shocking at all,” Elizabeth scolded her sister. She seized Lydia by the arm and dragged her out of the room. Mary and Kitty trailed behind her.

  Out of the room, Elizabeth shut the door firmly and ushered them into the dining room, where they all sat down at the table.

  “What does this mean?” said Lydia. “How did our dear sister manage such a thing? Is it her beauty or her virtue?” She smirked at Elizabeth. “Perhaps if you were a more principled young woman—”

  “Stop it, Lydia,” said Elizabeth, glaring at her.

  “Yes, it is always virtue that is rewarded, isn’t it?” Then Lydia wrinkled up her nose. “Is that a book? I feel as though—”

  “Lydia, really,” said Elizabeth.

  “I’m not being fair, am I?” said Lydia. “After all, he wouldn’t lay a hand on you, so it is not a lack of virtue—”

  “Not in front of the others,” Elizabeth growled.

  “Perhaps he likes boys,” said Lydia. “I knew a man once that did, but he’d make do with me if I put my hair up and lay face down—”

  “Lydia, for the sake of all that’s holy!” Elizabeth exploded.

  “It’s all right,” said Mary drearily. “Do you think we have not guessed the depths to which our sisters have sunk?”

  “What?” said Elizabeth.

  “It’s all right, Lizzy, we know,” said Kitty. “The walls are rather thin. We could probably hear everything being said between Bingley and Jane if it weren’t for Lydia running her mouth.”

  Lydia scoffed. “I’m speaking, not simply running my mouth.”

  “You always talked overmuch,” said Mary, looking Lydia over with contempt. “I am given to understand that this is all a trial I must face, someone like the trials God gave to Job. I must endure the fallen nature of my sisters and prevail with my own virtuous behavior. I have made peace with it all.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

  “I understand why you did it,” said Kitty. “Both of you. It does seem a better alternative to—”

  “No, Kitty, I won’t have you going down this path,” said Lydia, suddenly serious. “It is not for you.”

  Kitty spread her hands. “I did not say I had any aspirations toward it myself. I still think I could get married. Not to a grand gentleman, of course, but there are kind men out there, and I would make a good wife. It is only that the family has too much pride to go to dances with common folk, even though we are no longer invited to balls, and I don’t see how I’m supposed to meet anyone.”

  Elizabeth felt guilt blossoming in her chest. If she had agreed to marry Mr. Darcy, would that have meant that Kitty could expect to go to balls again?

  But no, of course not. None of them would be invited anywhere if Mr. Darcy lowered himself to her level. Her sister would have to find a husband amongst men that they used to think unacceptable. However, it was perhaps better to put aside their biases and—

  Jane burst into the dining room, holding onto Mr. Bingley’s hand. They were both smiling from ear to ear.

  “Your sister has accepted me,” burst out Mr. Bingley. “She is going to be my wife.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “He said that he didn’t care about any of it,” said Jane. “He says that he has few friends at the balls, anyway. It is a game for younger men who wish to waste their time drinking and gambling. He says he can’t do such things anymore. His body is too old for staying up so late and pouring too much drink down his throat. All he wants is a quiet life in the country with the two of us and our children, and he has agreed to take all of you along.”

  Elizabeth and Jane were in bed together again, that night. Jane was too excited to sleep. She was bursting with plans for the future.

  “All of us?” said Elizabeth.

  “Yes, including you, Lizzy. I hope you do not mind, but I told him that Mr. Darcy had behaved honorably toward you, and he was much relieved. He said that he had been struggling with the idea that his friend could become such a blackguard overnight.”

  “Well, it is a bit embarrassing that you told him that. It is none of his affair what I do with Mr. Darcy.”

  “You’re not going to be doing anything with him,” said Jane. “You have done nothing with him.”

  “Simply because there was no… consummation does not mean that nothing happened.”

  “What?” Jane was horrified. “What do you mean? What did he do to you?”

  “Oh, never mind.”

  “No, you have opened this door. Now you must walk through it. I shall imagine the worst if you don’t.”

  “He… kissed me.”

  “Yes, and?”

  “And…” She sighed. “He would sometimes come in the mid
dle of the night when I was sleeping and climb into bed with me. We would hold each other all night and then have breakfast together without getting dressed, with my hair down and his whiskers unshaved and…” Elizabeth suddenly wanted to cry. She sniffed hard instead.

  “Oh, Lizzy…”

  “I know.” Elizabeth pulled the covers tight against her chin. “I am ruined. There is no other man who would accept that such liberties had been allowed on my part.”

  “Well, I suppose that is true, but—”

  “I was ruined before, though. Before he ever laid a hand on me. Because that horrid Cumberbottom kissed me against my will. I was never going to make any kind of match. I have no gallant Mr. Bingley waiting in the wings.”

  “No, you are right. Even if Mr. Darcy has more honor than I had thought, he has still used you rather badly.”

  Elizabeth clenched her hands into fists to keep her tears at bay. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

  “I am sorry, Lizzy. You deserve better.”

  She needed to say something to defend him, to let Jane know that, in the end, it was she who had denied his offer of marriage. But she couldn’t make herself form the words. Instead, she lay there, rigid under the sheets, and kept herself quiet.

  * * *

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  I am running out of excuses to write to you. I could make a letter of sundries and incidentals, tell you of the weather and of what my cook has prepared for my dinner, but I shall spare you this.

  I must admit that when you refused my proposal (again), I was angry and hurt and confused. It is not your fault, of course, Miss Bennet. You must realize that I have been raised my whole life with the idea that there are women out there falling over themselves with their rabid desire to become my wife. In fact, the very reason that you caught my interest all those year ago was that you were different than those sorts of women.

  Not only because you did not seem interested in me, but because you were so self-assured. Your confidence was a pleasant change of pace. I could not stop myself from being intrigued by you, even beguiled by you. Miss Bennet, you have bewitched me from the very start. I am utterly at your mercy.

  I cannot bear the thought of your not being in my life. It was one thing when you were gone before. I had only a brief acquaintance with you on that front. I did not know what it was like to dance with you every night or wake up in your arms. Now, with my sister gone on her own, I am quite alone, and I have time to think.

  I have been absolutely stupid. If you do not want to marry me, I shall not ask it of you.

  I know not what keeps me from being with you completely. I have hidden behind honor, but I think it is not that. As you say, there is no difference in whether the deed has occurred or not in the eyes of everyone else. Your reputation has been tarnished, and I have done it. There is no honor in that.

  I think it can only be the fear that we spoke of, and I wish to jettison all of it from my life. I do not wish to live in terror. I want to come out into the light.

  I want you, Miss Bennet.

  You have not responded as to whether or not you still wish to be my mistress. If you did not wish it, you would be well within your rights to detach yourself from me. I am not worthy of you. I have never been.

  But if you are willing, know that I will not put anymore barriers between the two of us being together. I will be yours, and you will be mine, and that is all that I wish from this life.

  If you are willing, meet me at the Birchfield Ball tomorrow. Afterward, we shall retire to your house together, and we can continue in that manner forever as far as I am concerned.

  If you do not come, I shall take that as a final denial, and I will trouble you no more.

  Fondly,

  Mr. Darcy

  * * *

  Elizabeth read the letter over and over. Each time, she told herself that she would not go to the ball. How could she? She had come home now, to her sisters, and she had relinquished that life.

  But things were all different now. Jane and Bingley would be getting married soon. Then they would go off to Bingley’s country house. (Not Netherfield. He had quit that place entirely, long ago. Instead, a lovely house in Derbyshire, where there would be room for all of them. The irony of its proximity to Pemberley was not lost on Elizabeth.) They might not be welcome in good society, but they were hopeful it would not matter so much. No one knew of Lydia, of course, and everyone thought that Elizabeth was Mrs. Fieldstone. So, there was only the story of Elizabeth and Cumberbottom from all those years ago, and no one spoke of it anymore. It might be that no one would remember, and that they could all live quite happily.

  But Elizabeth did not know if she wanted to go and live in the country as a maiden aunt to her sister’s children, to live out her life sedately and quietly. Now, she had tasted the life that she could have with Mr. Darcy here in London. When there was no offer from Mr. Darcy, then that was one thing. But now, this letter had come, and she was unsure of her path forward. She had no idea what to do.

  She could have spoken with Jane about it, but she didn’t. She didn’t know how to explain it without telling Jane that she had refused Mr. Darcy’s proposal of marriage, and she could not explain that.

  Even to herself, it didn’t make any sense. She could not see why she had done such a thing. It was ridiculous. But the thought of being looked at and gossiped over—the awful things they would say, rather likely in print—it would destroy her. She remembered the way she had felt back after the incident at Rosings, and it had been dreadful. It was difficult to fathom the badness of it. Everyone knew this story of her, and they had drawn conclusions about her character. They did not know the truth of it, and they were not interested in finding out the truth of it. They enjoyed their stories better, and they enjoyed ridiculing Elizabeth. They had no thought for her feelings, none at all.

  She would not go through that again.

  Perhaps it didn’t make sense to deny him. It was not a decision of the head, but rather one of the heart.

  Being Mr. Darcy’s mistress was not ideal. But she didn’t live in an ideal world. This was the way that she could be with him, and she missed him. She… why, she loved him. She loved his foibles and his fears. She loved how devoted he was to his sister. She loved the way he looked at her while they were dancing. She loved his smile and his laughter.

  Surely, love meant something, didn’t it?

  If it was love, then being his mistress, it was not so shameful.

  It was a decision of the heart, not the head.

  So, she told Jane that she would be working on packing things up to sell at her old house, and that she would be spending the night there and not home until the morrow.

  Jane was so wrapped up in her future with Mr. Bingley that she paid Elizabeth no mind. She waved the explanation away and asked no questions.

  Then Elizabeth went back to her old house, where all the servants that she had been dismissed had been rehired and were waiting for her. She ate dinner, for it had been prepared for her, and then she was helped into a dress by Meggy, who also wove her hair into elegant curls.

  When she arrived at the ball, she saw Mr. Darcy standing on the steps outside, waiting for her.

  She nearly ran to him, but she could not, not in her dress. Instead, she picked up her skirts and moved as quickly as she could up the steps.

  He caught her in his arms, grinning widely. “You came.”

  “Of course I did.” She put her gloved hand against his cheek.

  He covered her hand with his own and fixed her with a stare that was so voracious that she shivered all the way down to her toes.

  They looked at each other for several long moments before they broke their gaze.

  “I suppose we must go in and dance,” he murmured in her ear.

  “I suppose we must,” she said.

  Elizabeth knew what would come after the dancing. At the beginning of all of this, she had been frightened, but now she wasn’t. She was curious, ev
en eager. Whatever Lydia had said to her, it would not be that way between her and Mr. Darcy. What she felt for him, what he felt for her, it was bigger than anything that Elizabeth had ever known.

  Why else would she be here with him, doing this particularly stupid thing?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wickham banged on the door of Darcy’s house. He was more than a little drunk, and he struggled to keep his balance as he hiccuped. He raised his hand to knock again, but the door was yanked open by one of Darcy’s footmen.

  “Yes?” said the footman.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Darcy,” said Wickham.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Darcy is not at home,” said the footman.

  “Then I’ll wait,” said Wickham, taking a step forward but misjudging it all somehow and ending up toppling into the door frame. He clutched it, muttering swear words under his breath.

  The footman wrinkled his nose at him. “Who are you?”

  “I am Mr. Wickham,” he said. “I’m a close, personal friend of Mr. Darcy’s. We were children together.” He was trying to stand up straight, but he was having trouble. Instead, he just leaned against the door. “So, you see, you’ll have to let me in.”

  “Mr. Wickham,” said the footman. “No, no, I’ve heard of you. Botham let you in, and Mr. Darcy was most displeased. He’s given us direct orders to turn you away.”

  “Well, he won’t want to do that this time,” said Wickham. “Because I’ve got things that I can tell the world about. All manner of things. And he will want to pay me for my silence.”

  “Mr. Darcy was insistent that he not deal with you,” said the footman. “I heard him talk of it himself. Darcy’s turning over a new leaf. He’s not living in fear anymore. He’s taking risks. And I’m sure he’d be willing to risk not dealing with you.”

  “Hadn’t you better check with him?” said Wickham. “If you do not let me in, then I shall go out and tell everyone that Mrs. Fieldstone he has been parading about with is his mistress, and the sister to the infamous Lydia Swan. Furthermore, they are all Bennet girls, and they do not have the most savory background to begin with.”