Mr. Darcy’s Kiss
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
By Lari Ann O’Dell
To my family,
For their perseverance and pride.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
One
Elizabeth Bennet stood facing Mr. Darcy, her fine eyes sparkling with fury. “From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry!”
Darcy’s face grew pale with anger at her words, and as his countenance became severe, Elizabeth wondered if she had gone too far. She recognized that he had clearly not anticipated being rejected. Indeed, she suspected that the Master of Pemberley had rarely been denied anything he wanted during the course of his life. Still, his confidence did not reflect well on him. How could he presume that he could come in, propose to her, and walk away happily engaged without question? How could he think that he could insult her family and her background and still receive a favorable answer?
Rationally, Darcy must know that his suit had failed, thought Elizabeth. However, instead of quitting the room as he ought to after being rejected so harshly, Mr. Darcy remained silent and walked over to the window, looking out. His shoulders were set in such a way that expressed tension and anger of the severest kind, and for a moment, Elizabeth found herself wondering what he could possibly be thinking about at a time like this.
Darcy’s mind, in fact, was reeling with white-hot rage. Each word Elizabeth spoke increased his anger towards her, cutting into his heart like a knife. After all, what legitimate excuse did she have to be so intemperate and outrageous in her refusal? As he looked out the window he tried rein in his feelings so he could make some sort of coherent response to her, but even at a time like this all he could think of was how much he still wanted her lips beneath his. He had expected as much, coming here in complete confidence that he would leave the parsonage happily engaged. Now it seemed all his hopes were dashed. He could hardly believe it was so, and after a few minutes of silent reflection, he finally felt adequate master of himself to face Elizabeth’s indignation once again.
Elizabeth watched as he whirled around, and noted that all traces of anger had left his demeanor. Instead, Darcy’s face reflected an indiscernible expression. She was unsure of what he might say in response to her refusal, and she suddenly wished herself to be any place else in the world. Mr. Darcy’s quiet wrath had been a fearsome thing to behold and that it had seemingly evaporated so quickly gave her pause; she found herself lacking the confidence to say anything at all, but her own expression remained stormy.
Facing Elizabeth’s ire once more seemed to deepen the wound that she had, minutes ago, created within his heart, and before he knew what he was about, he found himself taking several quick steps towards her and seizing her roughly by the shoulders.
Elizabeth’s reaction was severe. How dare he presume to touch her so? She attempted to break away but his grip only tightened. “Sir,” she cried, her voice fiery with rage, “I must insist that you release me immediately!” Darcy seemed deaf to her words, and Elizabeth thought she detected a strange glint of passion in his dark eyes.
Despite himself, Darcy noticed how exquisite it was to touch Elizabeth. The thought that he might never again be able to do so raced through his mind. In a moment of pure desperation, he found himself taken over by an unforgiveable impulse worthy of George Wickham and pressed his lips against Elizabeth’s.
The kiss stifled a scream from Elizabeth, and she suddenly found herself trapped in the circle of his arms, with no means to escape as Darcy’s lips moved against her own. It was as if she could feel his fury pouring into her as a jolt of fire raced through her entire body. Her heart began to pound against her chest and through an unknown urge her arms wound themselves about his neck, bringing him ever closer.
The kiss, in its entirety, lasted no more than a few brief seconds, and when Darcy pulled away, he was amazed to discover that Elizabeth was now clinging to his shoulders for support while gazing up at him, her eyes reflecting her disbelief and – was he imagining it? —a spark of sudden desire. It took him a moment to register the impropriety of their situation and with considerable regret he released her.
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth cried as she backed away. “How dare you!”
Darcy stood facing her as if he had still not quite realized what he had done. The sensation of Elizabeth’s lips against his had melted away his indignation with her, but apparently, it had only increased her own. Darcy made no attempt to explain himself, but merely bowed correctly and said brusquely, “I believe you have said quite enough Miss Bennet, I perfectly comprehend your feelings.” Then he turned on his heel and left the room without so much as a backward glance leaving Elizabeth astonished and infuriated with what had passed between them.
***
Darcy was downright incensed with himself as he walked back to Rosings. He had even frightened the maid with the severe way he had snatched from her his gloves and hat and slammed the door behind him. However, manners had not seemed to matter. As far as he was concerned nothing mattered at the moment, save for the fact that his hopes of future happiness had been dashed forever. Now, all he would ever have from Elizabeth was the memory of a single kiss. Although the kiss had been glorious for him, he suspected that it had been quite the opposite for Elizabeth. What must she be thinking of him? No. He knew the answer to that and he would not dwell on her spiteful words and acrimonious accusations.
Darcy’s heart pounded savagely as he walked purposefully down the path that led to Rosings. When he reached the house, he immediately closeted himself in his rooms, not trusting his temper should he be faced with either his aunt or cousins. He gruffly requested a decanter of port, and as soon as his valet retrieved his request, he gave orders that he was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day. His valet knew better than to protest when his master was in one of his rare, yet severe, fits of temper, and simply bowed correctly before leaving him in peace.
Darcy poured himself a generous amount of port and gulped it down, the alcohol burning his throat as he swallowed but he could not bring himself to care. It was enough to distract him momentarily from the unimaginable pain he felt in his heart. Elizabeth had denied his proposal! Never would he have imagined, once he had decided to take such steps, that he would be refused. He had entered the parsonage in sweet anticipation of the moment when he could call Elizabeth Bennet his fiancée. For months he had been struggling with his feelings for Elizabeth, unable to forget her even for the slightest moment. When providence brought her to the Hunsford Parsonage at such a time he was visiting his aunt for the Easter holidays, he knew that it was fate, and that he was hopelessly in love with her and was prepared to face all the obstacles that would come with their marriage; not least among which was the utter dismay of his aunt to the low connections of the Bennet family. Now all was lost, and it was apparent that Elizabeth loathed him. It was unbearable—considering her vast misunderstanding of his character. How could she think him devoid of all proper feeling? He had never tried to hide his feelings from her once he determined they were lasting on
es. Overtly, he never declared his heart, but she must have known. No one could be so blind – especially not his beloved Elizabeth, who was so witty, clever and vivacious that her brightness practically shone from her. No. He could not give credit to the idea that she had not previously known of his affection. While her expression of surprise as he poured out his feelings for her had given him pause, he suspected it had come from the moment itself, rather than with what he was saying. He had concluded that her teasing smiles and arch manner meant that she felt at least some affection for him. She had tolerated, nay, accepted the attentions he had given to her while they had been walking the park. That she could not appreciate or respect him was confounding.
As for her accusations of his behavior towards Mr. Wickham, well, they were absolutely groundless. He knew not what form of falsehood Wickham had imposed upon her, but clearly it had served its purpose. Just the thought of that man having intimate conversations with his Elizabeth gave him an incredible impulse to shoot something; instead, he drained another glass of port. At least I can defend myself against those accusations; he thought bitterly to himself, and he would do so immediately.
He sat down at the desk and removed several pieces of letterhead, his quill and his inkwell. Penning a letter addressing his past with Mr. Wickham would take time and special care. It took him several long moments to even write the opening, and it was well into the evening before he had fashioned a letter worthy of presenting to Elizabeth. As for his actions in separating Bingley from Jane, he could not deny it, but perhaps if he explained his reasons she might be more understanding of his actions. Surely an appeal to her sensible side could not fail. No matter what the outcome, it was deep into the night when he finished the letter and sealed it. He then drained another glass of port, and settled in for a restless night, knowing full well that Elizabeth Bennet would be flitting through his dreams until sunrise.
***
Elizabeth had managed to escape meeting with the Collinses for breakfast by rising early and slipping out of the house the back way.
Her mind was reeling with the memories of the previous day. All night she had replayed their exchanged words, realizing that she had displayed perfectly abhorrent manners. Then again, so had Mr. Darcy. She could not feel guilty for refusing his proposal, however, with each meditation on her intemperate words, she was able to find a fragment of sympathy for the man. After all, if his love and devotion were as deep as he claimed, which she doubted, then he was to be pitied. He had been foolish in his proposals, but then, those who find themselves in love are often quite foolish in the expression of that love. If his deep affection was authentic, it brought Elizabeth to reconsider all of her previous meetings with Mr. Darcy. It was true that he had never said much to her, however, even in Hertfordshire she had noted that he glanced at her often, and he had continued his observation when she met him at Rosings, but why he expected her to realize that he looked at her out of adoration and not disdain was beyond her understanding. Upon further recollection Elizabeth realized she should have suspected some sort of attachment on his side. Ever since his arrival at Rosings, whenever he met her on one of her morning walks, he had always accompanied her. Not that he bothered to say much at all, but he had been attentive to her in his own strange way.
All of these thoughts had disturbed her throughout the night, as she realized she had made an error in her judgment of his behavior towards her. That being said, she still could not forgive his actions, from separating Jane from Mr. Bingley to his abominable behavior towards Mr. Wickham.
Even more disturbing than her thoughts about this vexing man were the memories of his kiss. These memories had danced through her dreams the entire night, and by the time she awoke that morning, she was thoroughly embarrassed about her reaction to his kiss. She should have backed away immediately and she should have scolded him more profusely. Surely he must know that his behavior towards her was inexcusable as much as it was unforgivable. Why was it, then, that she had excused him for kissing her, and even had the audacity to wish for him to do so again, when she could forgive him nothing else?
A man had never kissed her before, other than the civil kiss on her gloved hand. That Mr. Darcy had taken such liberties with her was disturbing in the extreme, but her unladylike reaction to it was even more so. She was certain she could not bear to see Mr. Darcy again, and she was thus determined to make any excuse to avoid Rosings.
With the resolution not to think about her own treacherous response to his kiss and her plan to avoid Rosings, Elizabeth thoughtfully set off on one of her favorite walks. It did not occur to her that a certain gentleman would be impatiently awaiting her arrival; otherwise she might have avoided the path all together. As it was, there was nothing to be done for it, and when Mr. Darcy approached her, she was incredibly startled.
“Miss Bennet, I have been walking the grove for some time in hopes of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?” as he spoke, he held out a missive for her.
Elizabeth eyed him warily. “Mr. Darcy, I do not believe that you can have anything to say to me that cannot be spoken in person. “
“I assure you, Miss Bennet, it is of the utmost importance that you read this letter. I know you owe me nothing given my abominable behavior, however, when such grave accusations are made, a lady must allow the accused to defend himself.” His countenance expressed discomfort, and upon further examination, Elizabeth realized that although he would not speak directly of his improper action prior to their parting, he did, in fact, regret his behavior. It was that which convinced her to take the letter, her fingertips brushing his as she did so, receiving a slight shock.
“I take this, sir, only in the hopes of a civil parting,” said Elizabeth, with some vexation.
To her surprise, the corners of his mouth twitched up fractionally, and he said, “I am honored, then, Miss Bennet, and now I shall leave you with sincere wishes for your health and happiness.” At that he bowed correctly and left her side, steadily disappearing into the early morning mist.
Elizabeth could hardly believe that Mr. Darcy had troubled himself to write to her. What could he possibly have to say to her that was of such import that he would risk the propriety and write to her directly? Surely a man of his pride would not risk his good reputation by writing a letter to a single lady if it was not urgent. Either that, or he believed that his wealth and position could overcome such a breach of decorum. The latter seemed more likely. With that thought in mind, Elizabeth sat beneath a willow tree and opened the missive.
To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
Please forgive me the impropriety of writing to you directly. I know that my offenses to you have been great indeed, I write without the intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must; therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
Two accusations you have laid at my feet. For the first, separating your sister from Bingley, I have no wish to deny it. The match was imprudent and I did not believe your sister’s heart to be touched. Instead of allowing my friend to believe he had a chance at happiness with your dear sister, I chose to tell him of my observations in hopes of sparing him a great disappointment. I know that you do not agree with my actions, but they were in service of a friend.
With respect to that other, more weighty accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose goo
d conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge – most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of this man’s society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping in the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities – the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age as himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain – to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments, which Mr. Wickham created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character – it adds even further motive.
My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow—and if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be benefitted. He had some intention, he added, of studying law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the business was therefore soon settled – he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a position to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit him to society. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living, which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present to him the living in question—of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my father’s intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.
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