by Sara English
“Drink,” Mr. Darcy said, a quiet sort of smile on his face. He was holding a cut crystal goblet to her lips, filled with a dark, red wine. She sipped, slowly, the fruity notes dancing across her tongue and wetting her palate. When she seem satiated, he pulled the goblet away and set it down on a low claw-footed table. He sat down next to her on the side of the chaise and gently rearranged her skirts.
“I have called for a bath to be drawn for you, and a fresh gown, not one of my own choosing,” he said simply, as if they had not shared the most intimate moment of her life just minutes before. In fact, his face was almost shuttered to her; the unfettered desire she’d seen there in his eyes was gone.
“Mr. Darcy-“ she began to say, but whatever thought she wished to voice to him disappeared as he frowned at her.
“You will bathe, dress, and then join me for my evening meal,” he said, getting to his feet once her modesty had been recovered and the dress she wore fell down to her ankles, as well covered her chest one more.
A new ache, one she had never felt before, grew just under her breast-bone as he walked a few paces from her. He paused, and her heart leaped. She sat up, gripping the edge of the chaise.
“You are beautiful,” he said, his voice so low that she could barely hear it. “I am only reminded how very little I deserve to have you, and that the only way you would consent to be with me was as my paid concubine.” He turned slightly, his head towards her but his eyes steadfastly looking towards the floor. “It cuts a man low, knowing that he might never have the one thing he desires, despite all the money he possesses.
She exhaled as if someone had sat on her chest, and before she could put word to the curious, twisting, painful feeling in the pit of her belly, Mr. Darcy exited the room.
Four
A bath had done wonders to make her feel more like herself, as if things were to be normal for her in the next few hours, let alone the next few weeks. When she had arrived in her private chambers, she found a lovely hip-bath had been prepared, with rose petals scattered upon the surface of the steaming water. A bucket of cool water was set down beside it, with a dipper to pour it from the smaller vessel to the larger, should she find the temperature too warm for her liking.
While she and her family had never been absolute barbarians, the weekly ritual of bathing had been somewhat complicated due to how many sisters she’d had. She’d always shared bathing waters with Jane, and then with Mary sometimes. A bath to herself was a luxury that she had rarely been able to enjoy. It was especially necessary after Mr. Darcy’s abandonment of her after her very first intimate awakening at his hands. His words still cut. She tried her best not to focus on them.
Elizabeth did not think she would ever get used to the high levels of luxury that Darcy House in London could provide. While the styles of the furnishings were not garish, nor were the hangings or the rugs something that made her uncomfortable with its display of wealth, one would never mistake the house as being one of a less privileged gentleman.
No, Mr. Darcy’s elegance was echoed through the halls of the house, and Elizabeth saw his touch in all of the fashions she set eyes upon.
Only when the maid came to assist her in dressing for dinner did she finally see something that was clearly not of Mr. Darcy’s choice.
It was the dress, a high-fashion thing with layers upon layers of transparent, soft silk. It fell in a puffing, tumbling cloud at her ankles as she stepped into it.
“There now, Miss,” the maid said, the dancing lilt of her accent teasing at Elizabeth’s hearing. She looked at the maid more closely. The girl, who was rather plain but had a kindly expression, smiled at her. A smattering of dark freckles across her nose and cheeks seemed to match with her madly curling dark-brown hair that was pinned up beneath her cap.
“You’re not from England,” Elizabeth guessed, and the girl smiled broader.
“No, Miss, I’m from Dublin, born and raised, Miss,” she said with a bow of her head. “Now Miss, let’s get you into this froth, and I should think the master would be so pleased to see you in it. He asked Housekeeper to pick it for you, and she did make a good choice, for all it isn’t fitted right to you from the start.”
The dress did indeed fit, almost as if she had been there for the fitting itself. The measurements that had been taken for her during her meeting with the solicitor had come in handy, then, she surmised.
“There’ll be more like this, afore your time with us is done, Miss,” the girl said as her handy little fingers did up the delicate buttons and ties. The silk smoothed over Elizabeth’s clean, bare skin like a caress, and she sighed out at the softness of it.
“Oh don’t you look a sight. Now, Miss, Housekeeper sent up this necklace and earrings, hoping it might be a match for the dress…” the maid turned to a velvet and leather roll, delicately unfurling it on the boudoir’s dressing table.
Elizabeth felt faint.
A fortune in sapphires and diamonds tumbled out onto the velvet, sparkling in the lantern-light of the bedroom. Surely this could not be what Mr. Darcy would want her to wear- the settings were older, hinting at a fashion from before either of their times.
“What-“ she started, but the maid clasped a gentle hand around her shoulder.
“Don’t think on it, Miss. These belonged to the late Mrs. Darcy, and I was told she was quite the sight to behold in them. Mr. Darcy has asked you wear something to dinner, and he ordered up a special dinner to celebrate the first meal you two would take together. Best wear them glimmers, Miss, or he might be sore disappointed.” The maid patted her again on the shoulder and then went about fastening the necklace around Elizabeth’s throat with gentle, if quick, hands. “There now. Have a look at yon face in the glass.”
Elizabeth did as she told, her eyes falling immediately to wear the jewels sparkled on her skin.
“Oh,” she whispered, swallowing her feelings. Mr. Darcy had seemed so very upset with her earlier, and now he was requesting she wear a fortune of jewels around her person. The maid smiled brightly.
“When you was brought in, I knew that you would cheer this house,” she said and then set about fixing the earrings into Elizabeth’s lobes. “Shall we do the hair then?” The maid made quick work of Elizabeth’s damp locks, twisting and pinning the curls with expert, practiced hands.
“You’re very good,” Elizabeth murmured, dazed to see the fine woman staring back at her from the glass. The maid just smiled.
“Many sisters, Miss, I learnt how to do the fashionable hair quite early on. Now, Mr. Darcy will receive you in the dining room. Have you an idea of where to go or should I be asking an escort for you?” the maid tilted her head as she spoke, and Elizabeth swallowed.
“I’ll find my way,” she said and the maid curtsied before exiting the room. With her stomach bubbling over with nerves, she followed the maid’s footsteps and found herself walking towards the gently-lit dining room. It was a beautiful thing, soaring ceiling paneled with white-painted carved leaf and garland motifs. The furnishing were so rich she wished she could spend just a few hours looking it over, and writing to Jane to tell her of the finery.
A gnawing feeling of discomfort roiled in her belly at the thought. Jane did not know what she was doing, and would not if Elizabeth had any say in the matter. She could never tell Jane of Darcy House in London, or the beautiful furnishings, or better still, the books that lined the shelves of her room, and the library that likely contained even more tomes that Elizabeth could have lost herself in.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy was waiting at the door for her, and offered her his arm. She looked up at him with a sharp inhale. His face had a smile on it, and no hint of the earlier coldness was to be found. Her stomach settled somewhat.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, for there were servants in the room, waiting to descend upon them, and she did not know about calling him by his preferred name of Sir in front of them. The dining table was long and formal, and Elizabeth found that Mr. Darcy walked her to one
end, then pulled her chair out for her so she might sit upon it.
“I hope you are fond of the fish course,” Mr. Darcy murmured, “for I am very fond of it, and had ordered it especially for this evening,” he said. His eyes seemed to glow as he said that, and she thought that his words were rather unusual.
“I have never been altogether not fond of the fish course,” she said, feeling puzzled when an odd, lilting smile stretched his lips. He bowed to her and then proceeded to take his own seat at the end of the table. The courses were brought out, the white soup, the subtleties between, and then the aforementioned fish course which was satisfying, if nothing out of the ordinary for a fish course that she could find.
Dinner passed between them, quickly, quietly, and it wasn’t until the final dish, a strawberry ice that was cut right in front of her, did Mr. Darcy speak.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said as she broke the corner of her strawberry ice with a spoon. She paused and looked up at him through the candles that separated them along the length of the table. “I did not question for a moment my decision to ask you to wear the Darcy jewels this evening. If I might be so bold, you look even more beautiful than my mother did when she chanced to wear them. It was not that often as an occasion as she was a humble woman and felt no need to adorn herself… but… I must say I have missed seeing them.”
The strawberry ice cooled her tongue and her burning cheeks at his compliments.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said, and resisted the urge to bring her fingers up to her neckline so she might touch the jewels. It would be crass if she did so at that moment, although she privately thought once she was in the shelter of her room she might just touch them once more before she was undressed for the evening.
“Did the dinner please you?” he asked, and she swallowed more of the strawberry ice.
“Yes, Sir, it did, entirely.”
“And the company?”
She looked up at him, confused at the question.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Did you enjoy the company?” there was a dangerous tone to his voice, and an almost sort of sadness in his expression. It rankled her, that he would ask her if she enjoyed his company, when whether she enjoyed it or not was not her duty. It was her duty to do as he bade.
“I did not think I was being compensated to enjoy your company,” she said before she could stop herself. Mr. Darcy’s expression shuttered, and suddenly she realized what a terrible error she had made. The door at the far end of the dining room opened, and she looked up to see that the servants clearing the room.
As if they knew what was about to occur…
“And that is what you are here for, your compensation?” he asked, his voice laced with ice. She felt her cheeks flushed.
“Is it not? Am I not here for your singular enjoyment?” she shot back, her back straight. What was he implying? That she was somehow wrong to look forward to the monies he would pay her, the monies she so desperately needed to keep her family afloat? A sense of outrage washed over her. He had come to her, had a solicitor seek her out, had made an arrangement where he would take the only thing she had of value: her purity, in exchange for the salvation of her family.
How dare he act offended, as if he were the wronged party in this? He had trapped her, as surely as a young boy would trap a fox in its den.
“My singular enjoyment?” Mr. Darcy asked, and then set down a his spoon. He licked his lower lip, his frown set on his face. “I think perhaps it is time you learn that there is quite a gulf between my singular enjoyment and the current arrangement we find ourselves in.”
She puzzled over his words for a moment and then startled when he sat up in his chair, tapping his hand against the table.
“You speak with no care as to your audience, Miss Bennet. That changes. Today. This instant. If I must school you in this matter, than I shall do so immediately,” he said, and she swallowed hard. What did he mean by that? “Miss Bennet, come here.”
She froze in her seat, unable to move. He intended to school… her?
“Miss Bennet,” he said, insistently, and pushed his chair away from the table.
“Mr. Darcy?”
He scowled at her and then crooked his hand.
“You recall the bounds of our agreement?” he asked. She did. She remembered each word, for they were burnt into her psyche, indelibly. She just had never imagined that punishment was something she might experience at his hand. Well, it was appearing at that very moment as if she would be proven wrong.
Five
Elizabeth felt her breath catching in her throat. Mr. Darcy stared at her, a forbidding look on his face that made her skin tingle.
“Miss Bennet,” he said sternly. “Come here.” She swallowed hard and then gave one slow, hesitant nod. She got to her feet. Her heart was in her throat with each step as she rounded the corner of the dining room table. The length of space between them seemed so short now that she had to walk towards him. Her delicate slippers made soft, shushing noises over the polished wooden floor as she approached him.
Finally her journey was complete and she stood at his left side, holding her breath so hard that she felt her lungs might burst.
“Elizabeth,” he said in a dark, low voice. He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor noisily. She started at the sound, and then shuddered when he patted his knees. “Lay across my lap.”
“Sir?” she asked, not quite believing what he was implying.
“Was I unclear? Lay across my lap,” his tone did not waver as she did so, and she felt the press of his knees along her ribs, the warmth of his body against hers. That did not comfort her however, neither did it comfort her when his hand stroked along her back.
“Elizabeth,” he said with a sigh, almost sounding regretful. His hand fisted in the fabric at her back and she felt her skirts being lifted up along her legs.
She whimpered when the hem of her dress hit her thighs, and then gasped when her entire rear was exposed.
“You are lucky you have the pantalettes to protect you,” he murmured. “I should think I will request you not to wear them in future, so that you might feel the full fury of your punishments.”
“Punishments?” she asked, but was spared any further time to speculate when his hand came down across her rear with a hard smack. “Sir!” she yelped out the honorific, the air rushing from her lungs. She jerked up, moving to get off of his lap, one of her hands going to rub at her offended rear.
“Lay across my lap,” he barked, pressing her down again. “Do as I say, Elizabeth, or the consequences will be dire indeed.” She gulped back her immediate, scathing response, and then cried out as he spanked her again.
The spot in which he had laid his hand, not once, but twice now, throbbed with heat, and she squirmed, attempting to move herself on his lap.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, but he cut her off with another swat, this time to the soft curve where her rear met her thigh.
“This hurts me perhaps more than it does you,” he said curtly.
“I hardly think so,” she said with indignation, lifting her head to glare at him over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow, and then with a scowl, laid down three precise, sharp, exacting swats over her rear. She cried out with each one, turning her head back around so she would not have to see the expression on his face as he doled out her so-called punishment.
“I think five more, perhaps, will teach you that such outbursts are not to be borne in my household,” he said grimly, and she braced herself, tensing as his hand came down, again, and again. Heat blossomed across her back-side, and she found herself pushing up on her toes, arching into the blows, much to her astonishment. By the time he was half-way through her punishment, her cheeks were fully flushed both above and below, and her cry at the last strike was not altogether that pained.
No. No. She could not think of such a thing… that she might be deriving a pleasure from her punishment? No. It was not even possible.
Mr. Darcy’s hand came down again, and she found herself whimpering as it did. He paused, his hand wrapped around the curve of her rear.
“Miss Bennet?” he inquired, a very formal thing for such an informal and humiliating moment. She shivered.
“Yes, Sir?” her voice was broken tot her own ears, and he must have been startled by the sound of it for he gently stroked her stinging flesh through her pantalettes.
“Have I…” he hesitated, and then cleared his throat. His hand lifted from her again, and began raining down on her, again, and again. However his blows were lighter this time, less sting in them, and more of that unusual glowing, growing pleasure came from the strikes. Her cries turned breathy, and she found her hips pressing down into his lap, the need she had felt earlier before her bath roaring back up again. She was becoming consumed by her own passions, and she clung to him, desperate for something to anchor her.
The last smack rang out in the room along with a hearty moan that she realized had come from her mouth. She clapped a hand over her lips and whimpered at the sound. She was so wanton, so debauched. She felt at once ashamed of her behavior, but also curiously… liberated. It was freeing, to be in Mr. Darcy’s arms, at his mercy, and for him to be encouraging such passions and expressions from her. Never had she been more trapped and more free at the same time.
Mr. Darcy’s hand was smoothing over her rear gently, a wordless apology for the pain that he had inflicted upon her.
“Have you learnt the lesson I endeavored to teach you?” he asked, his voice still low and soft. She licked her dry lips.
“I… I was wrong to speak of my compensation,” she replied quietly. He petted at the small of her back, his hand soothing.
“You were wrong to think that you are here for only my enjoyment, Elizabeth. I had hopes that this would be for your pleasure as well,” the way the word pleasure rolled off of his tongue caused a spate of shivers to run up her back. He noticed, of course, because she was beginning to think that very little escaped Mr. Darcy’s acute attention.
