Seven Days With Mr Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  “Nonsense. I think your head must be ailing you. Shall I ring for tea or something stronger? Papa would offer you his finest port.”

  “I need nothing.” Nothing besides more of her affectionate gazes and the feel of her skin on his. Had anyone in his life ever considered his needs or looked at him with such concern? He did not know how much he desired that until this moment.

  “There is something I do when Papa has a headache. I think it will help. May I?”

  “What—what is it?” He could barely think coherently. The original source of his headache had disappeared, but his head continued to ache at the confusion growing in him. This was Emma!

  “Only this.”

  She placed her hands on his temples and rubbed soft, small circles with the pads of her thumb. Tingles of exquisite torture spread over him as his eyes closed. Emma’s nearness made him dizzy. He wanted to drown in a lake of her perfume.

  “This is inappropriate,” he muttered as he weakly attempted to move his head.

  “I do it for John,” she answered, gripping his head slightly tighter, applying pressure to the back.

  “Yes, and I suppose Isabella is right beside you.”

  “If you are worried about a chaperone, my father is in the room. Besides, I know my honour is safe with you, and no one would dream of laying anything ungentlemanly at your door.”

  She was very much not safe with him. Not now. Maybe not ever again. His defenses were slipping. His usual focus on honour and gentlemanly behaviour began to crumble at the overwhelming pleasure her expert hands provided.

  “He is asleep,” Knightley mumbled.

  “Hush. Relax,” Emma whispered near his ear as her nails gently roamed across his scalp.

  It was futile. He could not resist what she so generously offered. For blissful moments, he allowed her to take his cares away. Something about being alone in the world, just him and Emma, of drawing pleasure at her touch, and her satisfying a need he never knew he had, seemed perfectly right. This moment was not dishonourable. It was heady and seductive but also beautiful and pure. Did Emma feel it too?

  Knightley opened his eyes to see Emma’s brilliant blue orbs staring back at him. “Emma,” he blew out on a breath that contained a shred of his longing.

  “George,” she whispered in return.

  His head erased the distance between them without conscious thought. She had never called him George—even as their family relation and intimacy over the years would have justified it. This moment meant something to her as well. One touch of her lips. That was all he desired. Nay, he needed it more than he needed his next breath. He could not survive without it. He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she did not flinch. When he ran the pad of his thumb over her plump lower lip, her lashes fluttered. There was time to stop—to pull back—to not do what must forever alter them, but he could not.

  Moving a fraction of an inch, their lips met in the briefest touch. Bolts of lightning shot through his body and although he had meant to pull back, his arm wrapped around Emma’s back, drawing her closer and pressing her firmly to his mouth. She happily sighed against him.

  He craved more and was an instant addict to her kiss. There was more, so much more, they could experience. The kiss was still entirely chaste, but he could feel her bubbling passion beneath the surface. His Emma had never lived by halves. His Emma? Indeed, after this, she would be. His honour had not disintegrated, after all.

  A snore erupted from Mr. Woodhouse, and Knightley’s eyes flew open. Consciousness returned to him. He was kissing Emma in full view of her father and anyone who might walk in the drawing room! He was kissing, nay taking advantage, of Emma! His friend’s daughter. His brother’s sister-in-law. One of his dearest friends!

  He sprang into action. He pulled back so fast and jumped from the seat, Emma nearly fell over on the couch. His body felt aflame with shame and unfulfilled desire. He could still feel the petal-soft touch of her lips, her fingers had carved a path in his soul, and his body physically ached to pull her into his arms.

  “I—I—forgive me.” He bowed and fled from the room.

  One kiss. One kiss would change his life forever. Whether for good or bad, he could not say but he knew there was no going back from this moment. As he reached Donwell Abbey out of breath and with a headache for entirely different reasons, Knightley knew only this: he would not rest until Emma bore his name.

  VI

  Mr. Darcy's Bluestocking Bride

  Pride and Prejudice and Bluestockings Book 1

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Rose Fairbanks

  Chapter One

  My Dearest Niece,

  Fear not, although Society may say you are ruined. Those who know you will always love you. When you return from France, it will all be forgotten. These sorts of scandals always are for girls with money and prestige. Do not think you are the first or last to face such concerns. Think of your future, my dear girl. You may be, perhaps, a little sadder but also wiser for the misadventure.

  Your loving aunt,

  A.F.

  Elizabeth Bennet snatched the letter addressed to her from the mail tray in the hall and left Longbourn and all its noise behind. Reading letters from her dearest sister, Jane, now required solitude. Jane’s heart had been broken when their new neighbour, Mr. Bingley, left the area over three months before. After a month of sorrow, Jane had gone to London to visit with their aunt and uncle but her letters did not indicate her emotional state improved.

  Mr. Bingley’s sister, who had seemed a dear friend to Jane, did not help matters. Before leaving Hertfordshire, Miss Bingley had written Jane a letter hinting that her brother had plans to marry his best friend’s sister. When Jane called on Miss Bingley shortly after arriving in London, Miss Bingley reiterated the point.

  Elizabeth’s lips curled up in memories of Mr. Bingley’s friend. That Mr. Darcy was friends with Mr. Bingley — himself everything amiable — ought to be a mark in Darcy’s favour. However, Mr. Bingley’s hasty retreat from Hertfordshire, followed directly by Darcy and Bingley’s relations whom he had left behind, just proved Bingley was too amiable for his own good. He would never see how Darcy treated all those around him. Darcy’s conceit required constant praise from others and he could never have friends who disagreed with him.

  Jane’s letter was uncharacteristically light and Elizabeth would likely finish reading it before she reached the nearby town of Meryton. She allowed herself a few minutes of reflection before opening it. She hoped Jane would show signs of forgetting Mr. Bingley’s impression on her heart. It was now March and surely three months in London could erase six weeks of flirtation in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth drew consolation from the fact that tomorrow she would leave for her journey to Kent to visit a newly married friend. She travelled with Charlotte’s father and sister but they intended to break the journey in London. Then Elizabeth would see for herself how Jane fared.

  Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth broke the seal as she passed the lodge of Longbourn. Its tear-stained contents shocked and repulsed her.

  Dearest Lizzy,

  I write to you in the melancholiest of spirits. Yesterday, while shopping with my aunt, I espied Mr. and Miss Bingley outside a shop window. They were speaking with a lovely young lady, very elegantly dressed and I could see the evidence of her good breeding and proper manners. She stood with an older lady, who I must think is a companion or some relation. I cannot say for certain, but I wonder if this was not Miss Darcy.

  I could perfectly see their expressions. Miss Bingley was very pleased to meet the lady, her brother scarcely less so. I saw in his countenance every expression of happiness and amiability he ever showed me. The young lady and her friend soon left.

  Mr. and Miss Bingley came in the store with smiles still on their faces. They did not see me at first as I was mostly concealed by a display. I stepped out into the aisle to greet them. Instantly they ceased their movements and their smiles vanished. Mr. Bingley coloured but
did not acknowledge me in any way although I had curtsied to them. Caroline tugged on her brother’s arm and they turned, leaving the shop. It was so dreadful! My only consolation is that no one of our acquaintance saw it.

  I now must say he had no true regard for me. I am quite distressed. I can only think myself a fool for believing otherwise. And to have my wishes so openly known by all my friends and family! He undoubtedly desired to leave the neighbourhood to avoid such rumours. I cannot blame him in the least for having a care about the credit of his name.

  I know you will sit and think that it was all designedly done, but for what purpose? What could either the brother or the sister gain by making me believe in their affections? No, let me blame myself. I hope I was not so vain as to imagine this preference; perhaps, though, I only saw what I wished to see.

  I hope this reaches you before you depart for London. I long to have my dearest sister with me.

  Yours,

  Jane

  Elizabeth had never felt so much rage before in her life. Miss Bingley and her brother gave Jane the cut direct in a shop! Fortunately, it seemed there had been no witnesses, but the very thought! Jane would excuse it, though.

  In the weeks since Mr. Bingley’s departure, Elizabeth had tried hard to reconcile Mr. Bingley, whom she knew to be kind-hearted, with his treatment of Jane and friendship with Mr. Darcy. Jane would never listen to her arguments. Every time Elizabeth attempted to say that perhaps Bingley was less than reliable, she was shushed. To Jane, anyone she loved or esteemed must be without fault.

  Elizabeth rather saw faults in everyone. If not of character, then of circumstance. The charming militia officer, Mr. Wickham, and his poor prospects served as an example. Of course, that resided squarely at Mr. Darcy’s feet. As repining the impossible benefitted nothing, Elizabeth had never let Wickham into her heart. Still, she would always wish him the best and count him as a friend. Elizabeth even championed his courtship of the newly wealthy Miss Mary King in Meryton. After all, handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain.

  All this thought of gentlemen irked Elizabeth. “What are men to rocks and mountains?” she said as she entered the edges of Meryton.

  Reaching the outskirts of town, Elizabeth kicked a rock for good measure and instantly regretted it. Pain pierced her foot. Limping to an alley where she could slip off her boot and rub her sore toes, she was surprised to hear familiar voices of several of the officers carry from around the bend. What were they doing gathering in an alley?

  “She wasn’t much to look at, but she was enthusiastic enough,” Captain Carter said.

  “Most bar maids turned whores are for a few quid,” Mr. Wickham said and joined in with the laughter his words caused.

  Elizabeth did not quite know what they were talking about, but it sounded coarse.

  “And here I thought my equipment made her randy,” Mr. Denny said and another round of laughter ensued.

  Instinctively, Elizabeth did not care for the conversation. She was turning to limp away when she heard reason to stay.

  “No, I do not partake in that sort of sport,” Wickham said. “Now, Longbourn, there are some apples ready for the picking.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. Increasingly, she began to believe they spoke of carnal things and that, connected with five gentlewomen in the same manner they spoke of a bar maid, could never be a good thing.

  “Too marriage-minded over there,” Denny warned.

  “So much the easier, then. A true seducer can turn a phrase just so a lady expects a marriage proposal but all she’s gotten is a tumble instead,” Wickham said.

  “The Bennet chits are let on a loose leash. Their mother practically throws them at young men,” Carter said.

  “Must be why that Bingley fellow ran off just after his ball,” Denny said. “A shame too. The chap certainly knew how to throw a good party.”

  “And best of all, their father is too loose in the pockets to demand satisfaction!”

  Elizabeth’s temper began to grow but she knew better than to confront such talk. There was nothing to do but listen to such humiliating talk of her family. She had to wonder at being cursed with such good hearing, however.

  “It’s a shame they’re not the heiresses Mary King is,” said Wickham. “I would not mind keeping Eliza to warm my bed every night, even if she is a bit of a bluestocking.”

  Tears sprang to Elizabeth’s eyes to be talked about in such a debased way in addition to the usual insult of bluestocking coming from a gentleman, nay, cad, she had thought a friend.

  “You’re not the only one who was tempted by her. Mr. Pompous Darcy and that parson danced with her at the ball.”

  “That’s old news Carter.”

  “Yes, but one of the Netherfield maids is sweet on me,” said Denny, “and she told me that Miss Bingley was in fits of jealousy the entire time Miss Elizabeth was at Netherfield. Lucy reported Miss Bingley often writes the housekeeper asking for information about the area and the Bennets, in particular.”

  “Well, there you go, Wickham,” said Captain Carter. “Darcy left because he knew you would win the challenge for Miss Elizabeth’s affections. You ought to claim your prize!” A round of raucous laughter rang out.

  “Oh, I have far better idea,” Wickham said but dropped his voice. Elizabeth inched forward to hear better, hoping her boots didn’t scrape too loud against the stone pavement. “Eliza is too intelligent for such a plot, she would know enough to want a real wedding…but Lydia. Lydia, I could convince to elope.”

  “What do you get out of that?” Carter asked.

  “Eliza will be going to Hunsford soon. Darcy’s aunt is her cousin’s patroness and I know he visits every Easter. Eliza is no fool and neither is that sharp eyed friend of hers. She snatched up Collins right away. Between the two of them, they can help Darcy along. Once they’re engaged, I can make off with Lydia and Darcy will pay to patch the whole thing up.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open while the men sniggered.

  “And once she’s tired of her dour husband, I will play on her affections as well. Mark my words, boys, I will not be wearing red for much longer.”

  “You are debauched, my friend!” Carter said as the men finally walked away.

  Elizabeth stood in the alley with her back pressed against the wall for a long while. She could not credit what she heard. Was this what men talked of? Was it as harmless as the gossip she heard from ladies like her Aunt Phillips?

  However, Elizabeth knew even in that case there were always shades of truth. Her sisters were given too much freedom, her mother too eager to put them out, and her father too willing to laugh at their follies. They had no fortune and no brothers to demand satisfaction from a rake. If not Wickham and these officers, then surely it made them open to be preyed upon by others. Bingley’s treatment of Jane was proof enough that men cruelly use women.

  In time, her heartrate returned to a normal beat and her breathing calmed. Lydia would know better than to elope and to a man without fortune. Besides, how would they ever be alone enough for such a thing to transpire? Behaving silly at a ball was not the same sort of thing as an elopement. Lydia could never keep a secret to save her life!

  Elizabeth considered telling her father but decided to act as though she had never heard such ridiculous things. She could not take Wickham’s words seriously and had no proof. Certainly, her father knew more about men and had seen no reason to distrust the officers. Still, Elizabeth hoped to avoid Wickham at the dinner her mother had invited him to that evening. She never wanted to speak with him again.

  *****

  “Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, sit with your old aunt,” Baroness Darcy said to her sister’s grandchildren when she saw them enter her evening soiree. They were her only family left as her cousins had cut her from their lives. The “children” obeyed. “I know you leave for Kent soon, Fitzwilliam. Do you go as well, Georgiana?”

  “Not this year, Aunt,” the young lady sai
d with downcast eyes.

  “Chin up. Darcys are never to feel inferior,” Lady Darcy said. “At the rate Fitzwilliam is going, you shall be the next Baroness.”

  “Spare me your matchmaking, Aunt. Lady Catherine will give me ear full enough when I arrive in Kent,” Darcy let out an exasperated sigh. “Besides, mother and father were both over thirty when they married and I have some two years until then. Additionally, you have never married.”

  “That is because there were no young men like you, my boy,” the aging lady said with an affectionate pat on her nephew’s cheek. The action, and his expression at the endearment, made Georgiana giggle.

  “Much more like it, young lady. Will you play this evening?”

  “Oh, no! I could never perform before all these people. They are only in the habit of hearing the very best.”

  Darcy could see Georgiana’s fear but her words were reminiscent of Elizabeth Bennet’s at a dinner in Hertfordshire. He had thought she teased, but had she been afraid of his opinion? During his time in the area, Darcy had feared he had been too obvious in his admiration for her. Darcy believed that his friend’s sister, who long had designs on him, had not been the only one to notice how much he liked Elizabeth.

  His aunt’s words broke his reverie. “Then play your own composition and no one can claim to have heard a better rendition of it!” Lady Darcy exclaimed.

  “Aunt,” Darcy chided. “Georgiana, our aunt only intends to tease.”

  “Do I? And I suppose you believe you can speak for me? I had thought you were raised better.”

  “Please do not be cross with Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana said. “He would never presume to know better than a social superior.”

  “Social superior! Is that the rubbish you learn at schools now? Fitzwilliam, you must give her proper companionship. Georgiana, I mean he ought to know better than to speak for a woman, not just a peeress.”