Darcy begrudgingly admitted there were some benefits to his daughters marrying, as grandchildren came soon afterwards. Darcy and Elizabeth’s three sons, Theodore, Fitzwilliam, and Bennet, and three elder daughters, Anne, Elizabeth, and Rebecca, had produced a total of eighteen children and still counting, each a joy in their own way.
He slipped into his chambers and tried not to wake his wife. He had lingered in the study after the others had retired, and it appeared the candle she left out for him had burned low. He could hardly see a thing but knew he was approaching the bed. He began to undress when he clumsily got stuck in his trousers and found himself falling onto the bed.
“Ooof!” he heard below him.
Hastily he jumped up. “Elizabeth! Are you well?”
She took a deep breath before breaking into peals of laughter. He still loved that sound.
“I am well. Lud, you are just as clumsy as you were forty years ago in the Hunsford Parsonage.”
Darcy reflexively straightened, while she fumbled to light a new candle. “That was not clumsy of me, dearest. A Darcy is not clumsy.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Fate.” He did not need to elaborate. He often talked about how certain he was that fate had turned in such a way to bring them together; she would have refused him otherwise. Just as it was fate that shaped everything that truly united them.
“If you say so.”
Elizabeth always claimed she was less certain that the moment had been the handiwork of destiny. She said she knew enough of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s arrogance then to know that he would have answered back as good as he got in the face of her refusal. Her opinion of him would have improved, and her belief in the infallibility of her own understanding would have altered. She also knew he would have corrected the matter between Jane and Bingley; his honour would have demanded it, and he would have personally seen it through. They would have met again and one of them would have managed to renew the acquaintance.
There was just enough light for Darcy to see, now that his eyesight was fully adjusted, to finish changing before walking around to his side of the bed to slide in beside her. Pulling her close to his chest and wrapping his arm around her, as they had slept nightly since their wedding, he gave her a soft kiss on the neck.
He suddenly had a curious thought. “Lizzy, back then, did I even ask if I had hurt you?”
She was thoughtfully silent for a moment. “I do not think so.”
“How selfish of me! You were right to dislike me.”
Elizabeth rolled over to face him. “No, I was foolish. I judged you prematurely and based my opinion on mistaken premises. And as for thinking of my wellbeing, your eyes were sharper then. You could easily see I was unharmed, and you had much to contend with between my cousin and your aunt.” She giggled. “Did you forget that I dropped you? I know for certain I spared not a thought to whether you felt pain.”
Darcy allowed a sly smile to spread across his face. “It is just as well you did; I never would have left such a pleasurable location on my own free will.”
“Rake!” she laughingly accused.
He grinned back at her, knowing exactly what his dimples did to her. “Not then, my love, but now I am quite skilled.” His grin broadened as she became breathless with his well-practiced caresses and kisses.
*****
Sometime later, Elizabeth leant into her husband’s embrace. Their unions naturally were far less frequent now than in their youth. But Darcy’s lovemaking was just as precious to her now. She let out a contented sigh as he breathed into her hair.
Their marriage had had its share of trials. Her mother died within two years of her marriage, and her father in less than ten. She was in confinement both times and could not be with her parents as their time drew to a close, but Darcy lovingly supported her during her grief. There were arguments; sometimes silly, such as the naming of their first born, but occasionally, more severe disagreements or periods of strife emerged. Darcy had a penchant for taking control of things a bit too frequently due to his role as master and landlord. The error was unconscious on his part and only happened under times of severe strain, but Elizabeth had to remind him more than once in their forty years of marriage to check his highhandedness. On the whole, however, Darcy was a loving and patient husband and father, and the depth of their love was beyond Elizabeth’s youthful conception.
Georgiana made her societal debut shortly after the birth of their first son, and that Season in London was difficult for all of them. Georgiana even pleaded to leave early. The next two Seasons went better. Georgiana found herself quite in love with an honourable young man of modest fortune with an estate near Sheffield, under thirty miles from Pemberley, which suited everyone perfectly well. Georgiana and her husband went on to have three children, and she currently had five grandchildren.
Jane and Bingley gave up the lease at Netherfield within a year, and Darcy helped them find an estate near Manchester, where they settled and happily raised their eight children. Their sister Caroline now lived with them. She had quickly made a match in the Season after Darcy and Elizabeth wed, but misunderstood the fortune and health of her husband. She believed him nearer death and worth more. After five tedious years, the gentleman died, but nearly everything went to his son by his first marriage, a gentleman several years older than Caroline. She had not produced any children and never desired to remarry.
Mary was the next daughter to leave Longbourn. She married the cleric for the Meryton parish. Darcy helped advance his career and was able to give him a valuable living before too many years passed. Alas, it seemed all of Mary’s knowledge of Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Ladies was for naught, for she had only a brood of six sons.
Kitty benefited from her acquaintance with Georgiana and became more restrained. She attracted the notice of a Derbyshire gentleman and lived a quiet life, with three sons and two daughters.
Lydia transformed when she realised how serious the gossip of her meeting Wickham and Sloane on the balcony at Mrs. Hay’s ball could have been, had Darcy and the major-general not succeeded in concealing it. She surprised all her relations when her heart remained steadfast to Sloane. After peace broke out in 1816, now a colonel, he was able to offer for her hand in marriage. The war had wreaked havoc on his family, however. His eldest brother lived, but six of his elder brothers died in battle. The other surviving brother lived until 1830, when he succumbed to illness in India. He died unmarried, and Lydia’s husband inherited the family title in 1832 upon the death of his eldest brother. He inherited an estate in debt and sold several smaller holdings to clear it. He never resigned from the military and was still serving as a general. Lydia had made a charming countess! The earldom seemed threatened until 1836, when after five daughters and twenty years of marriage, Lydia produced a son and heir.
Darcy’s female Fitzwilliam cousins married soon after he. Lady Emilia caught Sir Anthony, after all. The Earl, Lord Denchworth, lived to the ripe age of five and eighty and passed shortly after the Great Reform Bill. Viscount Arlington had been an influential member in the House of Commons during that time and took over his duties in the House of Lords with gusto.
Richard and Anne Fitzwilliam welcomed their first child, a daughter named Catherine, one year after Theodore Darcy was born. It soon became evident that Anne’s earlier symptoms, were the result of a trifling illness—not from a pregnancy —and her courses returned after her anxiety over her own and Darcy’s marriage settled. It proved a matter of Providence though, as the colonel’s former regiment received orders shortly after he resigned and sustained heavy losses. War had indeed broken out between Great Britain and America, and it was a tenuous time for the Rosings estate. After the treaties were signed, trade slowly returned to more profitable levels. Richard also became a leading investor in the new industries, but always at a responsible level, and Rosings was now quite safe from debt.
Lady Catherine remained truly repentant and was determined to display
to her five grandchildren, as well as Darcy’s and Georgiana’s children, all the affection she should have given to their parents when they were children. Elizabeth marvelled that she had never seen a more devoted grandmother, and it gave her some consolation in light of her own mother’s early passing. Lady Catherine outlived even her brother and did not pass until 1840 at the age of ninety four, as if she felt she had a second life she needed to live.
The Gardiners had always been dear to Darcy and Elizabeth, especially after the passing of her parents. Their four children had grown and done quite well. Both boys were very respectable and rather wealthy tradesmen, and the daughters married a pair of gentlemen brothers from Gloucester. Elizabeth regretted that her cousins did not live closer, but they were all welcome at Pemberley or Darcy House at any time.
As Elizabeth thought about all the people who had become so dear to her due to her marriage to Darcy, she allowed one fleeting thought of Wickham. Before the year of 1812 was out, they heard that Wickham succumbed to his injuries and disease and did not survive the journey to Jamaica. Darcy grew quiet when he heard the news, and Elizabeth had instantly perceived his thoughts. It was a terrible notion that your former playmate, despite all opportunities, perished due to his wickedness. It never ceased to amaze her how much more honourable her husband was compared to his childhood friend who, even in his last breath, was reported to be maligning Darcy.
Pushing such thoughts aside, Elizabeth pressed into her husband’s back and once again felt safe and cherished. He sleepily murmured, “Lizzzzzzy,” and she had to smile. Her marriage may have originated from fear of scandal and gossip, but in all these years, not one word had been spoken on the matter except between Darcy and Elizabeth privately. As much as she would argue with her husband about the feasibility of their meeting again if he had proposed as planned and she had rejected him, she still sometimes professed opinions which were not her own. She would forever be thankful the heartache to them both was prevented by Darcy’s stumbling on the rug in Mrs. Collins’ parlour. She truly believed, quite on the whole, she had no cause to repine.
THE END
No Cause to Repine
Published by Rose Fairbanks
©2015 Rose Fairbanks
Early drafts of this work were posted online from November, 2013 until April 2014.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without permission in writing from its publisher and author.
Several passages in this novel are paraphrased from the works of Jane Austen.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to characters, whether living or dead, is not the intention of this author.
A Sense of Obligation
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Rose Fairbanks
Dedication
To my husband, who never ceases to amaze me with his continued love, support and general Darcy-ness. To my children who keep me laughing. To my readers who always keep me writing. I love you all!
Chapter One
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the flimsy, but fashionable, curtains of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s bedchamber at Netherfield Park. Darcy groaned a little at the light and tried to ignore the signs of dawn in hopes of returning to his dream. It had been the most erotic and satisfying dream of his life; it nearly felt real.
“The best feeling ever,” he muttered to himself, only to have his sleep-addled mind reply, nothing could feel better than last night with Elizabeth Bennet.
The thought made him suddenly sit up in alarm, which made his head swell in pain. With a sinking feeling, he noticed his tangled bedclothes and felt a familiar sticky substance between his...bare...legs.
No, no, no. This is impossible, he thought. He was a gentleman; he did not importune innocent ladies, daughters of gentlemen, and Elizabeth Bennet had too much sense to succumb to any man’s seduction, let alone his. She did not seem to court his good opinion like most other ladies he knew. Darcy did not think she would attempt a scheme to entrap him, but neither did he think her in love with him or wanton.
He felt certain his earlier thought was the mark of a befuddled mind, caused by too much brandy from the night before if his headache was any sign. However, as he slowly disentangled himself from his bedclothes, he spied a red stain on the white bed linens.
Impossible! He told himself again. Surely, it was from an injury he unknowingly acquired. And then he saw it. A lady’s handkerchief embroidered with wildflowers, monogrammed ERB, with another blood stain.
He quickly checked himself for any sign of injury and found none. His senses became more alert as he recognised the lingering scent of lavender on his person.
“Dear Lord, forgive me!” he cried out in despair.
*****
At last, the birds were chirping, and Elizabeth felt it was a reasonable hour to begin her day. She had not slept, and her head pounded. Today she was to leave Netherfield after morning services. Not that I should walk into God’s house after last night.
Fortunately, she could claim the headache and a desire to stay with Jane as a means to miss the service. But she could not think of a way to avoid appearing at breakfast. If her headache were too intense to leave her room this morning, Mr. Bingley would likely demand she and Jane stay longer. Her mother would put up no fight at all, and then she would be residing under the same roof as Mr. Darcy even longer. And he was the last person in the world she desired to see, ever again!
No, he is not. As she looked at her stained mitt, the thought she had tried to keep locked away since last night came unbidden, and Elizabeth blushed in remembrance.
Last night, she had not been able to sleep and went to Netherfield’s library, hoping to find something dull and sleep-inducing. Instead, she found Mr. Darcy.
He had jumped up from his chair when she entered, and although she saw a glass of brandy in his hand, she had not considered him in his cups. Her eyes darted to the mostly-full decanter. He had stared at her, unspeaking, for a long minute before Elizabeth realised she was in her dressing gown and alone with him, her hair a wild mess and loose down her back.
She was turning to go when he grabbed her hand, bowed over it, and asked, “Miss Bennet, might I have the favour of this dance?”
Elizabeth looked at him as though he were fit for Bedlam, but he persisted. “I will not be denied your hand thrice. Now, come.”
Before she could be irritated at his high-handedness, he was singing “The Ash Grove” and leading her through the steps of a dance. She was quite surprised he chose the song she sang at Lucas Lodge and had to admit he sang and danced very well. He bade her join him in song, and all was well until they disagreed on the words for the last verse and dissolved into laughter. The sight of his handsome face lit up in a smile with dimples only added to her breathlessness. He seemed no less affected and nearly collapsed into his chair.
“In Derbyshire, my version is correct,” he insisted, unwilling to concede defeat.
She laughed and shook her head. “But you see we are not in Derbyshire, sir!” In truth, he had slipped into “Cease Your Funning” from The Beggar’s Opera, a song with a similar tune. Mr. Darcy’s ending was bitter about a woman’s charms, but it was more pleasant than a lover’s death. Elizabeth chose not to argue with him.
His eyes took on a look she could not make out, and he replied in a low voice, with sudden intensity, “Should you like to see Derbyshire, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth gulped but felt certain his meaning could not be what it seemed. He had only looked at her with disapproval and argued with everything she ever said, had he not? “Aye, sir, and perhaps one day I will. My Aunt Gardiner is from Lambton, and I frequently travel with my aunt and uncle in the summer. They speak often of visiting the northern counties and even the Lakes someday.”
“Indeed? What was her maiden name?”
“Clark. Her father was...”
“T
he vicar at Kympton. My father knew him well. Father was quite sorry when Mr. Clark had to relocate the family to Bath for his wife’s health. I have only recently been able to find a satisfactory replacement.” An odd expression passed across his eyes, but he continued, “What a curious connection.”
“Yes.”
“And do you often stay with them?”
“Jane and I frequently do. To my mother’s dismay, I admit I prefer the bookshops and theatre to balls and soirées. I would rather not go during the height of the Season.”
He gave her another odd look and grew quiet for a moment, and Elizabeth stood to leave, realising the impropriety of the entire tête-à-tête.
Mr. Darcy hastily stood to bow, but when he did, he knocked his brandy glass from the table. Elizabeth immediately knelt down to pick up the broken shards, and at the same time, her dressing gown slipped open. Realising she must be much too bare to Mr. Darcy’s eyes with her shift indecently low on her bosom, she wrenched her hand back and tried to stand.
She cried out at a sharp pain in her hand, near her thumb. In her haste, she had cut herself on a piece of broken glass. In an instant, Mr. Darcy gathered her into his arms. Gently, he removed her lace mitt and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. Elizabeth was shocked to see it was her own. Where had he got it from? Earlier that very day, she had worked on one in the library. When he walked in, she set it aside, reading a book to discourage conversation. She must have left it behind when she finally went back to Jane, and Mr. Darcy must have pocketed it to return to her the next day.
The wound soon stopped bleeding, leaving a large blot on the handkerchief. As they inspected her hand, it was clear that stitches would not be required. Fortunately, it was her left, and she was right-handed; she could avoid using it until entirely healed. Elizabeth wondered why Mr. Darcy treated such a minor injury so seriously. He held her bare hand in his own, even caressing it while they stood looking into each other’s eyes. When Elizabeth discerned not disapproval but affection —and perhaps desire—in his blue eyes, she nearly swooned.
Compromising Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Anthology Page 27
