by C P Waterman
“Tell me, Mrs Collins: do you do portraits?” he asked. “Could you sketch a picture of me?”
She paused to think for a moment. This could be a means of becoming more familiar with this gorgeous gentleman, a voice within her suggested. “Yes, I need all the opportunities for practice that I can get. When would it be convenient?”
“How about now?” he asked. He sat down. “You can drop your landscape, and finish it some other time. How would you like me to pose? Just my head and shoulders would suffice.”
He leaned his hand to one side on the grass, relaxing his torso. His thighs were apart, revealing the outline of his genitalia beneath his breeches. His cock was pointing upwards, and she could make out the cleavage of his testicles tight underneath the fabric at his crotch. She made a mental note to sketch his breeches after he had left that day.
She picked up the knife that she used to sharpen her pencils, and carefully cut a blank page out of her sketch book. She began drawing immediately.
“Have you seen much of Mrs Darcy since you arrived?”
“Only once. She is busy entertaining Lady Catherine, but I hope to have a little time with her while I am here.”
“She is a fine woman in my opinion. Darcy is lucky to have found her; he is not the easiest of men to get along with. And I say that as one of his good friends.”
“I know all her family. They are good neighbours to my family.”
“Your father has been knighted, I’m told? Sir William Lucas?”
“He had that honour bestowed upon him after he served as mayor of the town. He has achieved nothing special for the benefit of the nation, but I am proud of what he has done for the town. And he started life in trade….”
“Indeed. My grandfather was created a baronet, but when I inherited the honour I considered I had done nothing to earn it.”
She stopped drawing and looked at him, open-mouthed. You are Sir….”
“Sir Richard Walden, at your service. But please… it’s a meaningless, empty shell that merely opens doors for me that may be closed to others. Quite undeserved, as far as I’m concerned.”
“But think how you can use it to the benefit of others… to open doors for them, if you consider them to be deserving.”
He was silent for a moment, reflecting on her opinion. Then he smiled. “How is the sketch coming? When will I be able to see it?”
“I’ve barely started,” she answered. “You must be patient with me. I’m a perfectionist, and it takes time to get everything right.” At occasional moments while she was sketching, her eyes were straying to steal a glimpse of his crotch. What could she do to beguile this man into her life?
She chided herself. She considered herself to be a virtuous woman, married to a clergyman, and yet she was entertaining these evil thoughts as soon as she had become separated from her normal routine as a clergy wife.
“So, Mrs Collins, you have everything that you would wish from life. A perfectionist living a perfect existence. A happy marriage, the daughter of a knight, and you are a skilled artist.”
“Sir, I can assure you that there are plenty of things that I lack. I have no children, and I am conscious that my looks are not pleasing to many men. But I have the spirit to face whatever life throws at me.”
“Spirited, indeed,” he smiled.
She continued sketching in silence; she wanted to concentrate on so many details in the portrait.
“I’m getting a little stiff here,” he said. “Staying so long in the same position. Would you excuse me while I… make myself more comfortable?” With that, he stood up and turned his back to her. He adjusted himself at the crotch, then turned round and got down on the grass again, resuming the same position.
She noticed now that his erection had grown thicker. She was aroused, too, and felt a desire to soothe an unwelcome irritation between her legs. But it would be quite unseemly for her to touch herself in front of a gentleman.
“And you will sign the sketch, won’t you?” he asked. “As a memento of our chance meeting this afternoon?”
“You mean that you will try to sell this worthless scrap of paper once I become famous?” she laughed.
“Certainly not. And there’s one other thing that I must say, Mrs Collins. You demean yourself when you say your looks are not pleasing. I certainly find you attractive, and if I had any artistic gift, I would certainly want to create a portrait of you. Perhaps, some time, you might sketch a portrait of yourself for me, and send it to me? I would value that.”
She blushed. “I am not used to receiving compliments from gentlemen such as yourself,” she said. “But I hope that you were not attempting to patronise me?”
“My dear lady,” he replied, “I hold you in the highest esteem. I would never do such a thing to you.”
Blood pulsed at a crazed speed round her body. She wanted this man, the first man to pay her a serious compliment.
“How long have you been married, may I ask?”
“Why, over a year now. Although it seems a lot longer.”
“Please forgive my impertinence, Mrs Collins, but I earnestly wish we had had the opportunity to make the acquaintance of each other more than a year ago. Before you ever met your husband.”
Her face was suddenly hot; she barely knew this person, and was feeling unsettled. But she needed to give him a sign of her fondness for him. She moved her legs apart awkwardly in such a manner as to expose her thighs, the top of her stockings and garters to Sir Richard. At the same time she bent her face low over her sketchbook so that he could not detect the surge of lust in her vitals.
“Are you married, Sir Richard?” she asked with as much nonchalance as she could find.
“No,” he grinned. “Aunt Catherine has designs on me for her daughter Anne. She wanted her to marry Darcy but, now he’s out of the picture, she regards me as a second best. But she doesn’t like my politics; I’m too liberal, she thinks. If she can persuade me to her “right way of thinking”, then I think she would regard me as a serious candidate.”
Charlotte heard him cough and fidget. She ignored it and carried on. “I’ve nearly finished now,” she said. “I’ll show it to you very soon. But I warn you: I haven’t spent anywhere near as long as I would like to execute this portrait.” Taking a deep breath, she turned her eyes away from her sketchbook to look at him.
His eyes were transfixed on her thighs, and his erection was growing even bigger; she perceived a tiny dot of moisture on his breaches at the tip of his cock.
“There,” she said, holding up the picture she had finished. “What do you think?”
“It is a very good likeness,” he said. “Almost as if I were looking at myself in a mirror.” He seemed uncomfortable in his manner; he was looking at her straight in the eye, and she wondered if her deliberate unladylike posture had excited him. “I wonder… Do you have anything to drink? I am feeling quite thirsty.”
“Mrs Darcy has provided me with some ale,” she said. “I know gin is so fashionable these days, but I do not enjoy it.”
“Ale would be perfect, if I may be permitted to impose,” he said.
They rose from the grass and went inside the cottage. She turned to him. “This is not terribly grand, but it serves its purpose as a holiday house for me for a few days. Mr and Mrs Darcy have been very good to me.”
She poured out his drink into a tankard and passed it to him. He took a sip, and then moved closer to her. “Mrs Collins, I can stand it no longer. I call myself a honourable gentleman, but I feel that I wish to behave otherwise. I am consumed with lust… lust to hold you close to me. I am sorry. I must leave now…”
Charlotte felt she had to do something. “No, Sir Richard. Please stay. If there is anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable you have only to say.” At that moment, she was prepared to allow him to do anything that he pleased with her.
He put his arms round her, and placed his cheek against hers; one hand went down behind her and clutched the cheek
of her butt. She felt his hard cock against her, and had an overwhelming desire to put her hand on it.
I must be going mad, she thought. For the first time in her life, the devil had arrived, and she would surely go to hell. But, for a moment of bliss like this, it would surely be worth it.
She felt him bend forward to kiss her cheek; she responded by placing her lips on the side of his neck. On a sudden impulse, she opened her legs wide and allowed his thigh to touch her private parts.
He responded by placing his hard cock against her the top of her leg, and began moving it gently up and down against her. She reciprocated by grinding her thigh against his. He drew his head back from her cheek and planted his lips firmly on hers. Their tongues met; a wave of passion came crashing through her soul, and she did not care.
She pulled away for a moment and whispered, “Shall we go to my bed?”
Slowly, they advanced together into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she watched as he unbuttoned his drop front to expose his cock. She had seen it before, when he was at the side of the lake with Darcy, but now she studied it closely. Her immediate instinct was to kneel before him and place his hard penis in her mouth. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as she gently sucked him. She had never performed a deed like this before; she had heard that some men and women did such things together, and had wondered what it might be like.
He gasped and soon groaned. “I’m going to come,” he said, and pulled away his cock from her.
She watched, riveted, as he gripped it firmly round his fingers, and moved closer to observe his semen bursting forth from the tip; some of it splashed on her face, but she had no intention of wiping it away. She felt overwhelmed with desire and now, as she came to rest back on the bed, she pulled up her skirt to expose herself to him.
He climbed between her open legs, and put his face down against her genitalia. His tongue pushed its way at the lips of her private parts and lapped her little bud.
If I were sent to hell for fornication, she thought, at least I would go in the knowledge that I had endured this paradise first.
After a while, he took the hem of her skirt and wiped her private parts. “It’s getting a little wet down there,” he smiled.
Indeed it was, she thought. And it wasn’t only his saliva that was producing such sticky moisture. She was immensely excited and began gyrating her pelvis into his face, demanding more and more. She sighed in the ocean of euphoria that his tongue had created.
“Sir Richard, if you wanted to take me now, I must confess that I would make no attempt to stop you,” she said, almost breathless.
He knelt upright against her body and she observed that his penis, having recently ejaculated, was now beginning to regain its potency.
She opened her thighs wider to invite him to invade her. This experience was so unlike anything that she had enjoyed with her husband; she had no idea that a relationship between two people could be so deliciously profound. She had always considered herself a realist – far from being a romantic – and had seriously considered talk of such love affairs as being works of fiction, put about by people who were dissatisfied with their mundane lives and longed for something more.
He slid inside her easily, and began driving his erection forward and back. She soon began moving her pelvis to match his rhythm, and held up her head against his, wanting him to kiss her lips as they made love. His face covered hers, and her tongue advanced into his mouth while his cock continued to pump its way inside her.
And when they had finished, they rested on the bed, side-by-side, saying nothing. Charlotte reflected on the enormity of her misdeed. What if her husband were to find out? But then she realised she had something in her armoury, hidden under the pillow where she lay: the sketch she had drawn of him in his compromising situation with Darcy. But she hoped that she would never have to expose that to the world.
“I’d better get back to Pemberley,” he said after a while. “I shall be missed.” He got dressed and she followed him to the door.
“Never doubt, Mrs Collins, you are a desirable woman. Never feel that you have a need to put yourself down.”
“Will I see you again before you leave?”
“I don’t know. I shall be staying until Aunt Catherine needs me to escort her back to Rosings. But now I know that you live so close to her, at Hunsford, I must make every effort to meet you when I next visit that part of the world. Obviously it depends on your husband’s activities; I would have no wish to compromise you. I just wish we had met before you…”
She put her finger to his lips. “We must make the best of whatever life throws at us,” she said. “And that includes marriage. I make do with what destiny has served me.” Once they had walked out of the bedroom, she picked up his portrait from the table, turned it over and signed it Charlotte Lucas without thinking to use her married name.
He took the drawing, tucked it inside his coat, and then bent forward to kiss her tight on the lips; she felt his tongue invade her mouth once more, and reciprocated his gesture. Then he turned and left without saying another word.
She held up her hand, as if to wave him goodbye, but he never looked back.
She returned to the table, where she had left her sketchbook. She picked it up and took it with her to the lakeside again. Time was of the essence, while she held it in her memory: it would be another picture of him resting at the bank, but this time it would be his full body, with his legs parted to display his fine bulge at his crotch.
Charlotte knew that she would never forget this episode. And if, when she returned home, she found she was pregnant, she would be forever thankful that she had met Sir Richard. For she could not countenance the thought of giving birth to Mr Collins’ progeny if they were to resemble him in anyway. But to hide this transgression, she would have to be sure she enticed her husband to bed the first night they were together again - so that he would not doubt that he was the father of any child that materialized.
The next morning, Eliza came to the East Lodge with Andrew to deliver the daily provisions. “Lady Catherine and her entourage are out visiting friends today. So would you like to come to tea with us this afternoon? Just Darcy and I will be there, so we can relax.”
“Yes. I’d love to come,” Charlotte smiled.
“And can you bring your sketch book with you? Walden told us he met you yesterday, and showed us the portrait you’d done. We were impressed. But now I want you to draw a portrait of me.”
“That would be a small rent to pay for the use of this outpost. It is so different from Hunsford Parsonage, and so different from home in Meryton. I feel as if I’ve become a new person.”
“I am glad. But you can’t take the East Lodge home with you. We need it.”
That afternoon, Charlotte joined Eliza in the library at Pemberley; Mr Darcy joined them shortly afterwards.
“So you have had no problems, living in the Lodge?” he asked. “It irks me, to invite guests here and then to shuffle them off to that derelict hovel.”
“No, Mr Darcy. I wanted the solitude. And it is far from being a derelict hovel, I can assure you. I am finding it a charming place to stay.”
“It was used by one of the gamekeepers and his wife,” he continued. “But the new gamekeeper is a single man, and the West Lodge is much larger. So it made sense for us to move the single man over to the other Lodge where he could be accommodated in the larger premises. And the other gamekeeper’s wife looks after him.”
“He’s the lodger in the Lodge,” joked Eliza.
Charlotte ignored that remark. It was too much like one of the banal utterances her husband might offer.
Although Charlotte and Eliza sat down to drink their tea, Mr Darcy was quite happy leaning against the shelves of his library to drink. Occasionally he strode over to a position behind Charlotte so that he could watch the progress of his wife’s portrait. She was being sketched in profile, turning to look out of the window. This gave Charlotte the opportunity - when Eliza
wasn’t looking - to snatch a glance at Mr Darcy’s generous endowment in his groin.
Of course, she had seen him naked, and could visualise his manhood now beneath his breeches. A sudden excitement stirred within her, and she felt blood rush to her face; she turned quickly back to devote all her attention to the portrait.
“How is Lady Catherine?” asked Charlotte. “Whenever she comes to visit us, which is quite frequent, she speaks at length with my husband and I see far less of her. I am usually busy in the kitchen with the staff, making sure that the food will be up to her exacting standards.”
“She is well enough.” Eliza smiled. She knew that Charlotte made every effort to keep Lady Catherine at arm’s length; furthser, she suspected that Mr Collins received similar treatment from Charlotte too, except she would have to spend every night with him in the bedroom.
Her head bowed low over her pad while she sketched, Charlotte occasionally turned her head for a sly look at Mr Darcy’s body again, and wondered whether Eliza knew of the intimacy between her husband and their other guest, Sir Richard. They had been friends for so many years, and would surely never allow this association to undermine the Darcy marriage. The drawings she had made of Mr Darcy and Sir Richard at the side of the lake ought to be destroyed, but she could never bring herself to do that. She would keep them hidden away in her house and look at them whenever she felt compelled by lustful urges. At all events, she must keep them hidden from the prying eyes of her husband. She wondered if any of the servants explored her private belongings; these drawings must be kept under lock and key at all times.
“You must come again and draw Darcy’s picture,” Eliza suggested. “It would be a fine idea to have them both framed and hang them together on the wall over there.”
I already have some sketches of your husband, Charlotte thought. But you must never see them.
“And now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I must attend to some business in the garden,” said Mr Darcy. He bowed slightly and departed.
Charlotte had finished the picture. She turned it over and signed and the reverse. To my dear friend Eliza. With much affection, Charlotte Collins.
