Lady Catherine immediately stood. “I will speak with this cook.” She then walked to the door.
The housekeeper glanced at Miss Bingley, who nodded, and the housekeeper filed out behind her ladyship. Mrs. Hurst squeezed Miss Bingley’s hand and followed suit. Elizabeth took a bite of a biscuit, uncomfortable at being left alone with Miss Bingley.
“These are quite good,” she said.
“Her ladyship believes they could be improved,” Miss Bingley replied, and Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Would you take a walk about the room with me, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth nervously agreed. She recalled the last time Miss Bingley made such a request; it had only been as a means to gain Darcy’s attention and mock Elizabeth. Neither purpose seemed to be possible at the moment.
They walked in silence for a moment, and finally, Miss Bingley cleared her throat. “I would ask your advice on certain...marital matters, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth stumbled. “Pardon me?” Miss Bingley could not be asking for information about the marriage bed from her of all people.
Miss Bingley let out an exasperated sigh. “I wed tomorrow and do not know what to expect. I simply cannot talk to Jane or Louisa about it. To envision them in such a situation with their spouses…” Caroline shuddered. Elizabeth could quite understand the sentiment. She would not wish to hear about her brother’s abilities, and Mr. Hurst...well, no one desired to imagine such a thing. Not that Elizabeth felt comfortable at the moment when recalling that this woman was marrying Mr. Collins of all people.
“Perhaps one of the other ladies?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Who? Lady Catherine has come forward and taken over the planning of the wedding and setting up of the house in Kent. In some ways, it is nice as my own mother is long departed. Speaking with your mother is out of the question, and I have no real acquaintance with anyone else here. This is not the sort of thing one asks in a letter.”
Elizabeth thought to herself that it was Miss Bingley’s own fault if she had no friends in the area.
Miss Bingley continued, “I think our reasons for marriage are quite similar, too.”
Elizabeth looked at her companion in shock. “And what are those?”
“I have an obligation to my family to marry well. He is not what I had hoped for, but my only options of ever doing that well would have been because of Mr. Darcy’s friendship with Charles. Then he gave me an ultimatum to marry or find an establishment.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It is not a bad lot in life. Surely you understand about marrying as best as one can and seizing an offer it when it comes.”
“I had heard there was a bit more to the tale,” Elizabeth said.
Miss Bingley blushed. “Well…” she stammered, “well, it turns out that I...I am a bit like you in that I was more passionate than I had thought.”
Elizabeth felt as though she had been slapped. “Is that what you think of me? Of the reasons for my marriage?”
“Everyone could see Mr. Darcy was enamoured with you. But I did not think you liked him very much. All through your stay at Netherfield, I saw you avoid speaking with him and mocking him when you could not. Then suddenly you were engaged just upon leaving? No, something happened and likely the last night you were here. I know there was a broken glass in the library. I do not think he was alone.”
“Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth turned to face her, “I do not care what you supposed happened between my husband and me, but I can assure you that he would not take kindly to such assumptions. We are very much in love, and if we did not show it well before our engagement was known, it is for our own reasons.”
Miss Bingley paled, clearly realising the rudeness of her words. “I had not meant to imply…” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, and Miss Bingley’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Perhaps I did, but it is a reasonable conclusion. There is little in Mr. Darcy’s character to recommend himself as a lover, and yet now you seem besotted. I had refused Mr. Collins, then he kissed me, and suddenly the reasons for my dislike did not matter.”
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted at the thought.
“Please, believe me,” Miss Bingley continued, “I am only confused about my feelings and how they can relate to...other intimacies. I understand enough of the act.” Her voice was very low.
Elizabeth looked at the other lady and found a spark of compassion. She recalled being confused by her own feelings and felt as though she had no one in whom to confide.
“Please, Mrs. Darcy, help me.”
She truly sounded desperate, and Elizabeth could not fail to notice how frequently she called her by the correct name and with deference. It seemed Miss Bingley was not the horribly proud woman she had believed.
“This may be easier if you would call me Elizabeth.”
“Of course, Eliza…” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Apparently, some habits were hard to change. “Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley corrected herself. “You must call me Caroline. We are to be relations, of a sort.”
“I suppose we are. I do not know how much advice I can give. You are correct; I at first did not recognise my true feelings for Mr. Darcy. I had agreed to marry him based on what I thought was only attraction and a good bit of logical reason; he was a good man and would be a good match. However, I did soon recognise it was love. I can only say intimacies within a loving marriage are glorious.”
Miss Bingley gave a small, sad smile. “Well, I do not know that that is helpful at all, either. I can hardly say I love Mr. Collins.”
“Perhaps it will come with time, or perhaps what you do feel is enough. What does he say?”
“Oh, he has quite imagined he is in love with me, but we do not really know each other. He said such empty words during his proposal when I had only spoken to him twice.”
“Well…” Elizabeth did not know how to reply.
“I suppose it is enough,” Caroline said at last.
There was a knock on the door, and they turned to see Darcy. “I hope you do not mind, Miss Bingley, but I was hoping Mrs. Darcy would care to join me for a walk?”
“Not at all,” Miss Bingley said and dropped Elizabeth’s arm.
Elizabeth squeezed Caroline’s hand, then walked to her husband. They donned their outerwear, and once outside, he turned to her and asked “What was that about? Where had the other ladies gone?”
Elizabeth smiled a little. “Well, Jane fell ill, and Mama followed after her.”
“Jane is ill?” he cried in alarm.
“In the usual way that afflicts married women.” She watched his face, hoping he would understand.
“Oh, that is...that is good,” he said.
Elizabeth thought it was a strange thing to say but did not remark on it. “Then the housekeeper needed assistance, and Lady Catherine and Mrs. Hurst left to help. Caroline desired to speak with me.”
Darcy’s eyebrows raised. “Caroline? Such friendly terms!”
Elizabeth laughed. “She is not so terribly bad. I suppose I estimated her wrongly as much as I did you in some cases.”
“Did you? And what did she wish to speak on?”
Elizabeth blushed. “She had some questions and doubts about tomorrow night.” She gave him a pointed look, and it seemed he understood her exactly. “She thought I could help her understand her feelings, but it seems I cannot.”
“What did you tell her, then?”
“I suggested that what she currently felt for him may be enough for a happy marriage.”
He drew her a little closer to his side. “Would it be enough to make you happy, Lizzy?”
“Perhaps,” she quipped and could tell she surprised him.
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, perhaps. I think happiness in marriage is a matter of dispositions. Surely many marry for reasons other than love and achieve happiness. The security of their family and themselves, respectability in the eyes of society…”
“...a lifelong companion to ease loneliness and the tasks of one’s estate or business.
I had once thought that was all I would find in a marriage.”
“Would it have made you happy?”
He was very quiet. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “Although I think my disposition is less made for that kind of happiness. No, I desire real, ardent love.”
“Hmm…” Elizabeth arched a brow. “You mean like in the stories, where the man is so consumed he kills himself at the thought of life without his love?”
Darcy shook his head and lightly laughed at her tease. “No, I have far too many obligations to do that.” They had reached the stone bench where Darcy proposed and sat close together against the cold. He stroked her cheek. “But an ardent love that is born out of selflessness, that can accept my faults and inspire me to be a better man, that is what would make me happiest in marriage. Not a list of duties we dispense together.”
Elizabeth leaned forward to lightly kiss him. “Then we have enough, William.”
He smiled before replying, “Yes, our love is enough.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I mean we have love, and we have our duties, our sense of honour.”
“We do,” he said, nodding. He would have chosen Elizabeth over his honour and duties to his family. He would have chosen love but was so grateful that he was not required to do so. “Come, it is cold. We should return to the house.”
They walked hand in hand. Darcy could hardly wait until the evening. He had had many fantasies of taking Elizabeth in passion while at Netherfield, and the one night they had been in residence was certainly not enough. Elizabeth blushed as though knowing his thoughts.
Their shared, heated gaze was unceremoniously interrupted. “Nephew!” Lady Catherine demanded. “Come. Speak to me about this new physician you and your uncle have hired for Anne.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hands, and he turned to leave
Mary, who had just arrived with the other Bennets for the dinner they were to have at Netherfield, came running to Elizabeth’s side. “Lizzy, Mama has been looking everywhere for you. She insists you sit with Jane.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Of course.”
She and Darcy shared a look and mouthed the words “I love you” before being pulled away to attend to their duties.
*****
Elizabeth heard footsteps in the hall and tossed aside the handkerchief she had been working on. The door opened, revealing her husband in a dressing gown.
“You came,” she murmured as he walked to her side.
He spoke no words, only nodded. His eyes raked over her body, similarly undressed. He lifted her hands to his lips, then turned them over and kissed her palms, making Elizabeth’s heart race.
She walked over to a bookshelf and fingered a binding before pulling it out. “I believe I may need a lesson on this one,” she held it out to him.
Darcy took it from her hands and tossed it on the sofa she just left. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Finally breaking it, he pulled her towards the door.
“Where are we going? I thought...I thought you liked the library,” she said breathlessly.
“Oh, I do,” he chuckled. “But it does not end here. Now I have an obligation to return you to your chambers.” He scooped her up in his arms.
An obligation, indeed, she thought and suppressed a smile.
Finally reaching Darcy’s room, he eased her onto the bed.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked.
“This is better than anything I ever imagined. You, the real you, are better than anything I ever imagined,” he said as he joined her on the bed. He kissed her, then laughed. “I do wonder how I thought I might speak of novels while attempting a seduction.”
Elizabeth laughed as well. “Oh, yes. I much prefer it when you let up on the seriousness and instead laugh with me.”
“Is that so?” he asked and poised his hand over Elizabeth’s stomach. She flinched, realising his intent and expecting a treatment to one of his merciless rounds of tickles. Instead, he drew a lazy circle on it. “There is one thing we forgot to list amongst our obligations this afternoon.”
“Is there?” His other hand wandered deliciously slow over her, clouding her ability for coherent thought.
“We do have an obligation to have children…,” he said quietly in her ear, causing a riot of sensations to course through her body.
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, for the estate.”
“And to love,” he said before kissing her deeply.
“Then we had best see to that,” she said with a grin when he finally broke away.
They shared a light laugh before resuming their marital obligations.
The End
A Sense of Obligation
Published by Rose Fairbanks
©2015 Rose Fairbanks
Early drafts of this work were posted online.
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.
Letters from the Heart
A Pride and Prejudice Novella Variation
Rose Fairbanks
Chapter One
December 10, 1811
Darcy House, London
8:30 am
Fitzwilliam Darcy tore through the contents of his desk drawer again. I must find it! He lifted every single piece of correspondence from his letter tray. His usual fastidious standards did not help today, as there seemed no hope of finding the object of his search.
The letter was not on or in his desk, or among his personal files. He considered he may have burned it after all, but soon rejected the notion. His earlier drafts were crumpled and in the waste bin. Surely if he would have burned the final product, he would have burnt all the evidence. He could only face the truth and the likely consequences of his actions. The letter he had written to Miss Elizabeth Bennet the night before had vanished!
He called for his butler, who confirmed several letters were sent out last night in the last post. In an agitated manner he interrogated the housemaid who had tidied the room before he had arisen for the day. He decreed to his housekeeper that she alone was to clean the room henceforth, and only at his request. Additionally, all outgoing mail would be placed by him alone into the hands of the butler since obviously other members of his staff were too incompetent to carry out the task. If they had not served his family faithfully since before he was breeched, he would have reprimanded their mild look of censure; as it was, he knew he would be apologizing for his ungentlemanly display sooner rather than later.
Darcy dismissed them and slumped into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could this have happened? No, now was not the time to ask questions. He needed to make plans.
Yes, he needed a new plan. Darcy knew how to make arrangements and carry them through with authority. Groomed as a child to be the landlord and master of a vast estate, complete with wealth, smaller holdings, and many investments, forethought was fundamental to good order. However, he loathed admitting the truth to himself; his contrivances caused this very problem. As a Naval acquaintance had once told him, one could be too clever for one’s own good.
Yes, Wentworth, I have been truly hoisted by my own petard: my very need to control and plan my future has, inexorably, resulted in the elimination of any freedom of choice: there was now only one honourable way forward.
There could be no more excuses or dissemblance, which he found strangely comforting; instead, he must plan to present matters in the most positive light. He thought back to how it had all came-to-pass the night before.
*****
Monday, December 9, 1811
Darcy House, London
5 pm
“Are you certain you do not wish to attend the theatre
this evening?” Charles Bingley queried his friend.
“No.” Fitzwilliam Darcy said emphatically.
The two sat in the billiards room after the early and informal dinner. Darcy’s younger sister, Georgiana, had excused herself early to write letters in her chambers, leaving the two gentlemen alone.
“I say!” Bingley proclaimed with a hint of his usual levity. “I truly had it right that evening at Netherfield when I claimed I never knew a more awful fellow than you on a Sunday night—and now a Monday—in his own home with nothing to do!”
Darcy remembered this remark and the surrounding conversation in great detail, but feigned ignorance. “I do not recall you saying such.” He affected a scowl in hopes of the subject being dropped, but he could not intimidate his friend.
“Truly? It was after you and Miss Elizabeth were in a dispute over whether my impulsiveness was a fault or a virtue, and before you asked her to dance a reel and she refused you.”
Darcy did not need the reminder; he had already spent hours with his memories of the twinkle in Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes during their debate—it was not a dispute! He recalled precisely the expression on her face, the scent she wore and—to his extreme mortification—the exact shade of blue of her gown with the delicate yellow ribbon in her hair. It was like the sun cresting over the rocky peaks of Derbyshire in a sky just after a rainstorm. Darcy cringed again as he realized how ridiculous and poetic his thoughts regarding the lady had become. I am practically a mooncalf!
Despite himself, Darcy sighed at his memories. It was the second time Elizabeth had refused to dance with him, and he should have been offended, but she was simply too endearing. She had a unique mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner. Darcy had not met with her more than six times before being entirely bewitched. The time she spent at Netherfield, seeing her each day, had been a sweet torture.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sigh from his companion, no doubt remembering his own Bennet lady.
Compromising Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Anthology Page 52
