Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions

by Valerie Lennox

  “I don’t think you would hit him.”

  “He could do with a good blow to the nose,” said Darcy, peering through the people in the room at Wickham. “I think it would be good for him.”

  “No one is hitting anyone on my wedding day,” said Elizabeth, lifting her chin. “Promise me, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Oh, very well,” he said, smiling at her. “I would do nothing to displease you, not on my life.”

  And soon, they were all seated at the long table in the dining room, and Georgiana’s music served as a lovely undercurrent to their conversation and laughter. The food was delicious, the future was bright, and they were all together.

  At long last, Elizabeth thought, there was nothing to fear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  one-and-a-half years later…

  “I do not care what you say. That man has to leave,” said Mr. Billingsworth, the accoucheur that was attending Elizabeth in her labor. Well, the only one who had lasted throughout the pregnancy, that is, for Mr. Darcy had proven to be irrationally concerned about his wife while she was increasing, to the point that one after another, every accoucheur and midwife excused themselves, saying they could not bear to listen to the man anymore.

  If Darcy’d had his way, the room would have been packed full with ten or more attendants, all there simply to make sure that everything was going well. But all had left except Mr. Billingsworth, even the aging midwife from Pemberley who had attended the births of Darcy children for three generations. She had thrown up her hands in disgust at the thought of Mr. Darcy being in the birthing chamber.

  Elizabeth was lying back on the bed, exhausted. She had been in labor for a very long time now. She thought it had been days, but she was not sure how many. She knew that she had not slept, and that it had been dark and then light and then dark again. She was in pain now, rather a lot, although the pain had not been nearly as bad as she had worried it was going to be earlier in the process. Rather, the experience had been difficult largely because it seemed interminable, and because the contractions would not allow her to sleep for longer than a few moments at a time.

  “I’m not leaving!” Darcy cried. He had been banished to the corner some time ago, over his own protests, but Elizabeth had thought it better. She didn’t mind that Darcy was there. In fact, she was rather glad of his presence. The fact that he was here, going through it all with her, was very comforting. But at this point, Elizabeth was very close to the edge of some precipice of madness. It was the lack of rest, she thought. Or the incessant pain. She did not know.

  “You!” Billingsworth turned, wagging his finger at Darcy. “You are not to speak. We agreed you would shut your mouth.”

  “You must let me hold her hand,” Darcy protested. “She needs me.”

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth as pain ripped through her. She wanted to get up and walk, but she was too tired to move. She wanted to push this babe out of her body now, but everyone kept telling her it wasn’t time yet, and she was so exhausted. She would not have the strength to do it when the time came.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” said Billingsworth, turning back to her. “I am taking your husband out of the room.”

  “No,” said Elizabeth, gasping. “No, he wants to stay. You won’t be able to force him to leave.” At this point, Elizabeth did not care. She was feeling an incredible pressure in her pelvis, and it was unbearable. She needed to get up somehow.

  “I have told him you are not going to die,” said Billingsworth. “I have explained to him—”

  “You do not know!” Darcy cried. “You cannot predict the future.”

  Billingsworth turned on his heel and stalked over to the corner. “Listen, Mr. Darcy, you hired me for my expertise in delivering children, did you not?”

  Elizabeth grabbed onto the bed post and, groaning, pulled herself up into a position that was sort of a squat. It was agony, but it was somehow better than the other position she’d been in. Blinding pain ripped through her, but she didn’t cry out. Sometimes crying out made it worse. Sometimes, it was better to breathe.

  “Yes,” said Darcy. “But that does not mean that you are God Almighty, Billingsworth.”

  Elizabeth clutched the bed post and bore down, pushing instinctively. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she knew that she needed to do this. Her body was demanding that she do this.

  “You know my credentials, sir,” said Billingsworth. “Will you force me to list them again?”

  Elizabeth rested for a moment, gasping for air. No, she couldn’t rest. She had to push again.

  “Nothing you say will induce me to leave the room.”

  “Husbands are not to be in the birthing chamber,” said Billingsworth. “It is not done.”

  Elizabeth pushed again, and now there was the worst pain she had ever experienced, a sort of burning ring inside her. And yet, she had to push through the pain, she knew she must, and she could do nothing but push. She grunted.

  “Mrs. Darcy?” Billingsworth was rushing back across the room to her.

  Elizabeth kept pushing, crying out, screaming in effort.

  Billingsworth was gathering her skirts out of the way. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Darcy, very good. There you are, that’s perfect.”

  Elizabeth was sobbing. She rested for a moment before she knew she had to push again, but this time, Billingsworth was there, pulling her babe free. Its cry pierced the room, and Elizabeth didn’t think that she’d ever heard anything so lovely in her entire life.

  Darcy was coming across the room. “You did it.” He stopped next to Billingsworth. “She did it,” he said in an amazed voice.

  Elizabeth’s entire body was jelly.

  “It’s a boy,” murmured Billingsworth.

  “Oh, good,” said Elizabeth, gazing up at her husband.

  “He’s beautiful,” said Mr. Darcy. “Just perfect. You…” Then he turned to her, alarmed. “You are all right?”

  “Yes,” whispered Elizabeth. “I am all right.” And she reached up her arms for her baby.

  * * *

  For a long time afterward, Elizabeth didn’t want to let go of her new little son. She did anyway, because she had to let her husband hold the baby. And when Jane and Kitty and Mary came in, she had to let them hold the baby too. Jane’s little girl Laura was only a year old and not old enough to hold the baby, but still very curious about him all the same.

  Elizabeth was happy.

  She and Mr. Darcy had retired to Pemberley for the most part, leaving the bustle of London behind since they were never invited anywhere anymore. Kitty had come to live with them and Mary had gone to stay with Jane and Bingley, who lived not too far away at Bingley’s country estate. Mary could not bear to be around Elizabeth, who was still too mired in iniquity for her taste.

  Though there were plenty in the country who would not have a thing to do with them, there was a local parson who called frequently, Mr. Whittaker, although he seemed primarily interested in speaking with Kitty, who was equally enamored with him.

  Jane and Bingley were less shunned, and they even received a few invitations to balls in the country at other’s homes. Jane said that Mary had been dancing rather regularly with a very respectable man named Mr. Bartlett, who didn’t even seem to mind Mary’s sermonizing.

  Georgiana came to visit regularly, and when she did, she always seemed happy to have her freedom. She never seemed wistful for dances or the prospect of marriage. Even now, holding her new, tiny nephew, she said that she thought he was quite perfect, but she was glad that she would never have a child, because she would not know what to do with one. “It’s such a relief to give him back,” she said, laughing.

  Elizabeth was happy to take him back. She did not want to let go of him. He was so tiny and perfect and wonderful, and she was amazed by all the things about him that were so detailed and flawless. His little fingernails. His tiny lips. His blinking, confused eyes. He seemed happiest close to her, as if he was not too pleased about having been removed from i
nside her body. Truly, he had taken his time coming out, after all.

  Finally, everyone had seen the baby and it was just Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam and their son.

  He sat behind her on the bed and she leaned into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around them both.

  “That was wretched,” he said.

  “Was it?” She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You enjoyed it?”

  “No, of course not, but, well, now we have this little one.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Fitzwilliam’s hand smoothed over their son’s head, and it was touching to see his thick fingers give such a gentle caress. “Still, I am in no hurry to do that again any time soon.”

  She looked at him, smiling. “But you do want to do it again, don’t you?”

  “I…” He looked down at her and then planted a kiss on her forehead. “It is as you say, Lizzy. Some things are worth the risk.”

  MR. DARCY, THE DANCE, AND DESIRE

  Mr. Darcy, the Dance, and Desire

  a Pride and Prejudice variation

  Valerie Lennox

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MR. DARCY, THE DANCE, AND DESIRE

  © copyright 2019 by Valerie Lennox

  http://vjchambers.com

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  More P&P Variations

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  Pledged to Mr. Darcy

  Mr. Darcy’s Courtesan

  Escape with Mr. Darcy

  The Dread Mr. Darcy

  The Scandalous Mr. Darcy

  The Unraveling of Mr. Darcy

  Fall in love with Mr. Darcy all over again

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Elizabeth Bennet did not consider the sum total of her future tied up in securing a husband. However, neither did she have any objections to the idea of becoming some man’s wife. She told herself that if she did meet a man at the Meryton assembly, one that would please her mother with his agreeable fortune, and if she did feel a certain tug towards him, that she would allow herself to be tugged.

  She was certain that if she felt the sort of tug towards a man that indicated she was falling for him, she would know it. She was sure that such a sensation must be token of destiny and, as such, would be overwhelming and unmistakable for what it was.

  But Elizabeth Bennet was incredibly wrong.

  She did meet a man at the Meryton assembly, and she did feel a tug towards him. Rather more than a tug. Indeed, an overwhelming avalanche of attraction, because he was a fine-looking man with a bright smile and dimpled cheeks. His blue eyes twinkled when he winked at her, and there was an air of mischief to him when he complimented her. Truly, there was scarcely a word out of his mouth that was not a compliment. He was silver-tongued and fair. Elizabeth Bennet was smitten with him.

  He was not the man she would marry.

  He was a villain and liar who cared not a jot for anyone but himself.

  His name was Mr. George Wickham, and he had charmed Elizabeth quite nearly out of her head.

  “A waltz?” said Elizabeth, standing in the corner on the edge of the space where others were dancing, clutching close a cup of punch. “Why, no, of course I have never danced one. They are quite scandalous.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Wickham. “I did not mean to imply that a lovely lady such as yourself would have ever engaged in something so… wicked.” He arched an eyebrow at her.

  Elizabeth felt a little shivery, even though she was not the least bit cold. Indeed, she was overwarm, having danced a quick reel just recently with Mr. Wickham. It had been their second dance of the evening, and decorum dictated that there be no more. Elizabeth was sorry for it, but she was happy that Mr. Wickham had retired here to the sidelines to speak with her rather than moving on to dance with someone else. She was rather sure that meant something about his feelings for her.

  “No, you must forgive me,” said Mr. Wickham. “If I did make cast such aspersions on your character, then I shall have to prostrate myself before you and beg forgiveness. I will beg for nothing but one last look at your bright eyes, for your eyes are so bright, Miss Bennet, that I am sure one look would sustain me through long years of exile for my transgressions.”

  Elizabeth could not help but smile. “You are far too flattering, sir. It would be quite wrong that your punishment be banishment for such a trifle. I should never want such a thing.”

  “No? Then I have not offended?” He seized her gloved hand and kissed it.

  She laughed, her face getting hot, as she pulled her hand back. Why, he was one for taking liberties, wasn’t he? “No, I am not offended.”

  “Ah, I am quite relieved,” said Wickham. “Losing your good opinion would wound me greatly, and I might never recover.”

  “Surely you exaggerate,” said Elizabeth. “Why, if a woman such as myself could really fell men by simply withholding a good opinion, then I am sure most of my dance partners would have learned their steps better.”

  “Oh, do not be so sure, Miss Bennet. How many of these feckless dancers have you seen on other occasions? Perhaps you have that power and you are not aware. There could be scores of men lying on their deathbeds because you were not forgiving of their missteps.”

  “I am afraid not,” said Elizabeth. “For I have seen them all again, many times. And what is more, none of their dancing has improved one bit.”

  Wickham chuckled. “A pity, then. I think the entire world ought to be ruled by your notions, for you strike me as fair. Both to look upon, and in your justly given opinions.”

  “Why, sir, you have known me but three quarters of an hour at most. You would give me the world after that short an acquaintance?”

  “Most certainly. If it were mine to give, I should give you the sky and the sun as well. Nothing else would match your beauty.”

  “Now, stop. You cannot be at all serious. You are saying such things to have a laugh at my expense.”

  “Not in the least,” said Wickham. “One thing you must know about me, Miss Bennet, is that I am honorable to a fault. I never lie.”

  “Never, sir?”

  “Never.” He took a judicious drink of his own punch.

  “This simply cannot be. Why, not even to spare someone’s feelings? Would you tell your sick, sniffling sister that her nose did not look frightfully red when, in fact, it did?”

  “That’s easy to know. I haven’t got a sister, so that sort of situation would never come up.”

  Elizabeth guffawed. “Oh, that is not what I meant, and you well know it.”

  “I should very much like to dance with you again,” said Mr. Wickham. “It is a pity that society has such strictures about such silly things, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” she said, and now her heart was picking up speed. Mr. Wickham had come into her life seemingly out of nowhere and had turned it upside down. She wanted nothing but to spend every moment with him, and he seemed to want the same. It was foolish, of course, but it was romantic, rather like Juliet who met her Romeo at a large gathering and agreed to marry him later that same night. Elizabeth had never quite understood tha
t before, but now it all seemed perfectly rational.

  Wickham had come as a guest of Mr. Bingley, who had lately occupied Netherfield. The entire town was abuzz with the news of Mr. Bingley arriving, and his coming to the assembly here tonight had been much anticipated.

  There had been talk that he would be coming along with twelve ladies and seven gentlemen, which had seemed a tragedy—so many ladies, after all. But then the story had changed, and it was said he was only bringing along six, his five sisters and a cousin.

  All of this had been false, however. When Mr. Bingley arrived, he had only his two sisters, one of whom was married, and his friend Mr. Wickham, who was said to be a respectable gentleman. He had not inherited his fortune, but rather gotten it through business, at least that was what Elizabeth had heard.

  But this did not bother her. Elizabeth was no snob. She didn’t have any right to be, not with her own family connections. Her own uncle was in trade.

  Everyone in the assembly had been impressed by Mr. Wickham from the start, and he had danced freely with all of the ladies. But it was only Elizabeth he had singled out for a second dance, and Elizabeth could not help but believe this was a sign of his affection.

  “Unfortunately,” said Mr. Wickham, “we cannot dance again, so I shall have to bid you adieu for now.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth, feeling much more disappointed than was warranted. Of course it only made sense that Wickham would take his leave of her. How long had he stood with her, talking, after all? Gentlemen were scarce, and there were many ladies without a partner for a dance. To avoid all that simply for Elizabeth’s company, well, Wickham simply could not do such a thing.

  “I do hope we shall speak again soon,” said Wickham, smiling at her, showing off his dimpled cheeks.

  “Yes, so do I,” said Elizabeth, forcing herself to smile back.

  “Fervently,” said Wickham, giving her a wink.

  And then he was off into the throng of the gathered people. Elizabeth watched him approach her sister Jane, who had just finished dancing with Mr. Bingley.