by C P Waterman
On the evening before her move, Charlotte began packing all her possessions into her travelling trunk. A coach to convey her and her luggage would arrive after breakfast the next morning. In the dim candlelight in the bedroom, she looked through her sketchbook containing most of the drawings she had made during her visit.
Whilst staying on the estate, she had met – quite unexpectedly – a gentleman who was a relative of Mr Darcy; he was a charming, handsome man named Sir Richard Walden. She had first seen him whilst sketching by the lakeside on her first full day there; he and Mr Darcy had been rowing a boat along the lake, and she watched as they moored it on the bank opposite. Thinking they were unobserved by the rest of the world, they had undressed and made love to each other. From her position, Charlotte was able to sketch everything she saw, and had realised that this picture – once completed – should never see the light of day. But she could never bring herself to destroy it.
Later that day she had met Sir Richard and a spark set off her sexual desire; it had fired a passion within her, unquenchable until it was sated, and she led him into her bedroom to make love. She had similar trysts with him the following day - intimate encounters which she recorded in her sketchpad. She sketched the group at the picnic, and she was happy to give the sheet to Eliza when she had finished.
Looking again now at the erotic drawings she had made of Darcy and Sir Richard, she felt something sensual stir within her; it was an undeniable urge to satisfy herself. She grabbed a pillow and rammed it hard between her legs and began thrusting her private parts against it. She shut her eyes and fantasised that she was on the bed with Sir Richard once again, and was surrendering her body to him.
The corner of her pillow kneaded against her bud and she felt an imminent explosion as her orgasm approached. She squeezed her eyes tight to capture every moment of the gorgeous sensation; she was so grateful to have had the opportunity to meet a man like Sir Richard, who had brought so much stimulation to her - an excitement that she had never previously known. Before she had come here this week, she had not found the need to abuse herself in this way; she had lived in households – first with her own family, and then with Mr Collins – where such an activity would surely have led her on a path to eternal damnation if she had been discovered.
But this would be the last time. Charlotte knew that, once she was settled as a guest in the big house at Pemberley, there would be no opportunity for her to engage in the carnal activity she had enjoyed in the remoteness of the East Lodge. She would be spending more time with Eliza and she would have had to behave herself. Sir Richard was still a guest at Pemberley but he, like any other male guest, would not be spending time with her without others being present. It was not seemly in society. She would never forget the ecstasy she had enjoyed over the last couple of days, and was not looking forward to returning to her home at the parsonage, where she would pick up the threads of her loveless marriage and life would resume its normal course.
Exhausted, Charlotte put the pillow down and fell back on the bed. It was not long before she was dreaming that she was in her bed in the parsonage at Hunsford. In the darkness, she heard her husband approaching the bed and, when he climbed in without speaking, he put his hand on her breast and began stimulating her nipple. He had never done this before, and she wondered what had come over him to make him change his nocturnal habit. Ever since they had been married -whenever he came to bed - he climbed on top of her, inserted himself into her and, after thrusting some forty or fifty times, he reached his climax; he would pull away from her, bid her good night, and roll over and go to sleep. But this time it was different.
She felt his head resting on her shoulder; his body odour was more pleasant than usual, and he began kissing the side of her neck. He had never done that before. In the next moment his hand moved down her body and came to rest on her private parts. His middle finger began massaging the source of her passion. The sensation was exquisite, and, spontaneously, she pushed her pelvis up against his hand in the same rhythm. Before long, his finger was slipping and sliding round her crotch as her excitement intensified.
She continued writhing as he continued thrusting at her; she had become accustomed to counting Mr Collins’ movements, out of boredom. But she lost count past the seventieth thrust; the pleasure was overwhelming. She found herself at his mercy; she could not fight the desire to unleash her inhibitions and reach the summit of such powerful rapture.
Her passion spent, she held him tight while she waited for him to ejaculate his seed.
But it never came. In her dream, the weight of his body swiftly dissolved into thin air. All that was left was the memory of the scent her husband carried; it was not his, but it was vaguely familiar, and then she remembered where she had inhaled it. It had belonged to someone else close and dear to her, someone who knew how to excite every fibre of her being. And this man had visited her in this dream: she had smelt Sir Richard’s scent. Surely, she was mistaken?
Still lying on her back, Charlotte reached down and felt the stickiness of her juices between her thighs. No, there had been no nocturnal visitation from Sir Richard; she had wished it upon herself, and felt disappointed that she would never feel him close to her again.
In the morning, she waited for the coachman to come to pick up her crate and to convey her to Pemberley. When the vehicle finally arrived, she noticed Eliza was on board as a passenger. "I thought I'd come to help," she said. "I didn't want you to leave anything behind."
Charlotte smiled, and showed the coachman her luggage. He picked it up and hauled it up on to the platform next to his seat, while Eliza quickly surveyed the interior of the Lodge. The two ladies then climbed inside the carriage and the driver moved off.
“I expect you'll be pleased to return to civilisation,” Eliza smiled. “I think I could only last a few days in a place like the East Lodge.”
“Actually, I think I'm going to miss the place,” Charlotte answered. “It does have a special charm.”
“If ever Darcy and I have a falling-out, and I can't bear to be under the same roof as him, perhaps I should stay here for a few days myself,” she grinned.
“You both seem blissfully happy. I can't imagine you ever having a falling-out.”
Eliza smiled and nothing more was said for the remainder of the short ride.
Once they arrived at the main entrance to the great house, everyone dismounted and Eliza took her guest’s arm. “I'll take you up to your chamber now,” she said. “If you don't like it, we can give you a choice of thirty other rooms. But I think you will like it when you see it.”
They walked through the great Hall and up a grand staircase which led them to a long corridor. Close to the landing, Eliza opened the door. “This is your room, Charlotte.” She stood aside to allow her guest to enter.
Charlotte went straight to the window and looked out at the vista before her; she had a panoramic view of the estate, with the lake occupying the centre space. And, high up on a hill to one side, poking its dome above the trees, was the temple where Sir Richard had introduced her to a new sexual experience the previous day.
“It's perfect,” gasped Charlotte. “It is wonderful.”
“I am so glad it meets your approval.” Eliza moved to one side as a servant brought in Charlotte's luggage. He was followed by a maidservant. “This is Sarah. She will be looking after you while you are here.”
Charlotte turned to the young woman who curtsied to her. She had not expected to have a personal maid assigned to her while staying as a guest.
“I shall leave you to unpack now,” Eliza continued. “You must come down to the sitting room when you’re ready. It’s next to the hall, where we entered.”
The maidservant opened the lid to the crate and began laying out the garments she had brought with her. Very deftly, she hung them up in the closet and returned to the crate. She picked up the pencils and sketchbook, together with some loose pages torn from the book. “What would you like me to do with th
ese, Madam?” she asked.
“I’ll take those, if you please,” said Charlotte, holding out her hand. They were her most private possessions, and nobody must ever be permitted to examine them. Some of the pages in the sketchbook were innocuous; they contained drawings of the lake, the temple and the East Lodge. But the sketches on the other pages were different.
They were dangerous, and depicted enough material to destroy Eliza's marriage; they portrayed Mr Darcy and Sir Richard in the nude at the lakeside, making love. Another picture illustrated Sir Richard sitting with his legs wide apart, his crotch openly displaying an erection and his bulging testicles. Any glimpses of this salacious artwork within the family would cause a permanent rift between Sir Richard and Lady De Bourgh. Charlotte would have to find a secret place to hide this explicit portraiture; she looked round the room and noticed a large bookcase standing against the far wall; there was sufficient space behind the bookcase to slip the sketchbook without it ever being discovered.
There was a knock on the door, and a maid appeared. She curtsied, and then announced that Mrs Darcy invited her guest to tea downstairs in the sitting room. “Thank you,” Charlotte replied. “I shall be down in two minutes.”
When the maid departed, Charlotte checked her hair in a mirror before she left the chamber and descended the grand staircase; she had no trouble in locating the sitting room. Eliza was waiting for her. “You're settled, I hope?” she asked her guest.
“Yes, thank you. The view from the window is truly magnificent.”
“I'm glad you like it. Lady Catherine used to have that room when she visited in the old days - before I became lady of the house - but now she says she dislikes it. We had to find her two or three alternatives before she was entirely happy.”
There was a lull in the conversation. Charlotte decided to change the subject. “What is Mr Darcy doing today?”
“He is out with Walden in the park somewhere. They often go on walks together – Darcy likes the exercise, he says.”
Charlotte could imagine them finding somewhere discreet and they would be coupling together once again. She was surprised that his sexual proclivities had not been discovered by a passing gamekeeper or other person working on the estate. Or perhaps everybody knew of this, but loyally refrained from mentioning it in public? “Sir Richard seems a very fine man,” she ventured. “But I am surprised that someone like him – good-looking, intelligent, and sensitive – should still be single.”
“He has had his disappointments in the past,” Eliza replied. “I am sure there is a young lady destined to have him one day sooner or later. But I agree with you in every respect: the man is a true diamond. If I were unmarried, I would certainly make eyes at him but, sadly, he would have been out of my reach.”
Charlotte looked closely at Eliza's face, seeking a fleeting sign of lust. She recalled the incident at the picnic the previous day, when Eliza had accidentally raised her gown to her knees and opened her thighs to expose herself to him. Was she teasing him? Or was it a signal? She had certainly noticed that Sir Richard's erection had grown beneath the thin fabric of the drop flap of his breeches.
“But you, Charlotte, must surely be content with your position as a clergy wife? Or do you feel restricted in the proprietary obligations that accompany your position?”
“I am perfectly content in my status in society,” she replied. She wondered whether Eliza was probing her to determine whether she desired Sir Richard. She decided she would attempt to discover, once and for all, whether Eliza secretly desired him or whether it had all been a silly figment of her wild imagination.
Later that morning, Charlotte retired to her chamber alone and retrieved her sketching pad. The scene at the picnic yesterday continue to prey on her mind. She had a burning desire to recreate the setting drawing Eliza and Sir Richard seated opposite each other; she would attempt to depict their respective postures to determine whether her perception could be justified.
She sat down by the window and began sketching the panorama before her – the lake, the lawns, the trees and the temple in the distance. But this was a precautionary ruse; after she had arranged the basic details for her picture, she flipped over the sheet and began drawing another - the erotic scene at the picnic. If, by any chance, somebody walked into the chamber to speak with her, she could quickly flick the page back to her original drawing of the perspective from the window.
The viewpoint chosen for the picture was looking over Sir Richard's shoulder, studying Eliza’s pose, with her knees raised and her gown pulled up. Her thighs were open, displaying the tops of her stockings and beyond, her pubis. Was Eliza looking at Sir Richard to make sure that he had a fleeting glimpse of the treasure between her legs? she wondered. She decided that the picture would look more provocative if there had been eye contact between the two at that moment.
Before she began, she wanted to review Eliza's posture. She stood up and went across to the full length mirror by the wall and positioned it closer to where she had been sitting. She sat down by the foot of the bed, pulled up her skirt and opened her legs wide as if imitating the careless way Eliza had been seated. It was much easier now for her to continue, copying her own reflection.
When she came to illustrate Eliza's crotch, she was unsure how to proceed; most women did not shave their private parts, but, in this instance, Charlotte decided to provide her with hairless genitalia. Sir Richard would be even more excited to see the cleft between her legs so clearly, the lips slightly open and inviting.
Nearly an hour passed, and at last she had finished. She was satisfied that she had given a good likeness to Eliza’s face. And now she wanted to provide another sketch from the other angle – looking in the opposite direction, over Eliza's shoulder - where Sir Richard's legs would be similarly parted to display his erection and the bulge of his testicles. But first she wanted to give her busy fingers a rest.
She pulled out a loose sheet from the sketchbook on which she had drawn Sir Richard, sitting naked on the grass. She placed it on the bed, and grasped a pillow; placing it at her crotch, she gazed upon the likeness she had made of his genitals and gently masturbated with the pillow. Where was he today? she wondered. Her attempt at self-satisfaction came to nothing; she was plagued with anxiety. She wanted to see him.
The second picture could wait, she decided. She would go out into the park, take her sketchbook, and draw the exterior of the temple wherein she and Sir Richard had made love the previous day. There might be a chance that she might see him out there, and could contrive an encounter. If she were to happen upon him, she hoped that Mr Darcy might not be close by.
Charlotte walked to the temple, and began work on her drawing. But it was no use. She was unable to concentrate. Sitting on the stone steps of the entrance to the building, and looking straight down along the tree-lined avenue to the lake, she stared in silence. This was a truly blissful place, she thought. But why was Sir Richard not here, when she craved his company?
At dinner, everyone was seated round the table with Darcy and Eliza at opposite ends, being host and hostess. The seating was arranged so that Charlotte sat opposite Sir Richard. She ached to be even closer to him; he had spent much of the day with Darcy, and this was the first time she had seen him since she had moved into Pemberley.
She wanted him to know that she still desired him. But how? She was fingering her teaspoon casually, and tried to attract his attention. Once he had noticed her trifling with it, she dropped it on the floor in such a way that it would fall at Sir Richard's feet.
“Oh, I am so clumsy,” she said. Before she moved to pick it up from under the table, Sir Richard had already begun an attempt to retrieve it. She pulled up her gown to her thighs, and opened her legs to expose herself to him. From where he knelt, she wondered whether he would notice her treasure. Or if, in the dim light under the table, he might not have noticed her posture.
In the next moment, she felt a hand caress the inside of her knee and move slowly up towar
ds her crotch.
“Are you all right down there?” asked Darcy, having observed that his guest was spending a little more time than expected to recover the spoon. “You should leave it to the servants to do that.”
“It's all right,” he answered. “I have found it.” When he returned to his chair, his face was blushing. Smiling, he handed the teaspoon to her across the table.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “I can be so clumsy sometimes.” Charlotte's eyes turned fleetingly to the hostess to see if there was any reaction. Eliza's face looked like thunder.
“Mrs Collins, do you entertain much at the parsonage?” asked Darcy, oblivious to any atmosphere between the two ladies.
“There are a few select members of our congregation whom we invite to dinner each week,” she replied. “But Collins likes to ensure that he can anticipate any visits from Lady Catherine. Those take priority over all his other social engagements.”
Mention of her husband brought back to her the reality that she could not remain here for many more days; Mr Collins would be returning home from his diocesan conference and she must be there to welcome him. This brief interlude – welcome as it had been – would soon be over. Eliza’s warlike glance at her had long dissolved; Charlotte hoped it would be forgotten. It would be foolish to lose a friendship over a moment’s careless behaviour.
When they had finished their dessert, the ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving Darcy and Sir Richard to enjoy their port and cigars. Tea was brought in and poured for them.
“You look unhappy, Charlotte,” Eliza observed as soon as the servant had left. “Is anything wrong?”
