by Beth Massey
“No, of course not. It is just that the young woman I seek was entirely too forward with officers when I knew her in Hertfordshire. I once saw her running wild with an officer’s sword at a ball. It was of course a real sword, not a metaphorical one. The man who convinced her to run away with him is a lieutenant in the militia. Your recollection hit entirely too close to home with regards to my current mission.”
Darcy stared out the window for a moment and then turned to his companion with a smile. “I have been to both the Cave of Harmony and the Coal Hole in Fountain Court several times. When I was at school, my friends and I would come to London and visit both music halls. They are definitely places for fashionable young men to get an education of the raunchy sort. Many of my friends would take the opportunity to make an assignation. Luckily, I did not have to risk the unknown and could pay a visit to the beautiful Bella.”
“Fitzwilliam, you do know that it is redundant to say ‘beautiful Bella,’ do you not?”
Darcy laughed as he said, “I do, indeed, Mrs T. However, if anyone deserves to be called beautiful twice… it is she. Since my reference to her in your presence is probably my last, I decided to indulge your proclivity to double the anticipatory pleasure for those thinking of choosing her.”
“You have said your good-byes?”
“We have. Once this business is over, I doubt I will ever see any of you again.”
“Oh, you never know. Remember, I do have a box at Drury Lane not far from yours. We might spy each other some night.” Mrs T was silent for a few minutes. Finally she spoke, “Oh, how your mother and father loved the theatre.”
She paused as though she was coming to some decision before proceeding. “Since you are removing yourself from my acquaintance, I feel I can indulge myself by giving you some parting knowledge. When you were younger, your father did not want you to know of my past.” Her eyes searched his out before she continued. “You see, I knew your parents when I was young. Your mother and I were presented together at Saint James. Your father had already made his intentions with regards to her known, but the previous earl insisted they wait until she was eighteen.” A smile of pleasant recollection graced her countenance and a slight chuckle escaped. “Your father knew your uncle from school and had met Lady Anne on visits to Elderton when she was quite young. George Darcy was the most besotted man I believe I have ever met.”
Mrs Teasewell escalated her undercurrent of mirth. “Although, when you gave your impassioned speech the other day in my office, I saw something similar in you. But, I am sure you have heard your parent’s story many times. It is a special one, and you must promise to share it with your betrothed.”
Now she took his hand, looking him squarely in the eyes before she continued. “Shortly after my debut, I eloped with a very dashing young captain. My father, the Earl of Blessing, did not approve of our alliance,” I was born Lady Sarah Holmes. Mrs Teasewell returned to laughter. “He wanted someone much better for me, so my father initially refused his ‘blessing’ to our marriage.”
“You are Lord Colton’s aunt?”
“I am, indeed. Jonathon feels it is part of his birthright to sample all the treasures in my house. In his defence, he does an excellent job advertising my establishment’s delights to precisely the right type of clientele. Luckily his father, my brother, the current earl, is not as forbidding as my father was. His only request is that I do not flaunt our relationship. The name Teasewell is obviously fictitious, and only a few from my youth have made the connection.” Once again, she and Darcy found humour in her suggestive appellation.
“I am completely unknown to the current generation of cocks of the walk, and the few from before have no desire to publicize me as one of their circle. I perform an important service for the men of the ton. The theatre and the opera are my only indulgences, and some of the few places I appear in public. You know Sheridan based Lydia Languish on me. We are still great fiends. Though he is too old to indulge, he loves to visit and hear titillating gossip of what goes on at Teasewell House.”
Darcy’s face registered surprise. “He did? He does? I did not know. I had heard from my father that The School for Scandal was based on the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, but I had never heard of the source of inspiration for The Rivals.” He chuckled to himself as he toyed with the irony of his mission. Life inspired art and now life is imitating art. “The woman I seek is named Lydia, and I think of his play often when I am trying to decide what to do for her. What happened with your marriage? Was it a success?”
“Lord no, I chose as poorly as your beloved’s sister. The only difference is that Captain Rowley did marry me. I was slightly older than, and probably not quite as silly as, the young woman you are trying to rescue. After Gretna Green, the captain and I went to Jamaica as part of his military duties. My brother persuaded my father to send my dowry, and since Rowley had been premature in our marriage as he was in so many things…” A quirk of her eyebrow and a bawdy laugh accompanied her emphasis on the word ‘premature.’ “There were no settlement documents. I was free to buy a sugar plantation with the funds. Unlike my husband, I am an excellent businesswoman, and the concern was quite successful. A jealous husband killed Rowley fifteen years back. I sold the estate and returned to England, a rare commodity… a woman wealthy in her own right.”
“Why did you not establish yourself as a fashionable widow of the ton? You had the connections.”
“I despised the hypocrisy. Trying to conform to the strictures of the upper sets would have moulded my life in ways I would have despised. I had become too independent, and besides, I would have been required to endure their snide remarks about Rowley’s death and my hasty marriage. My brother accidentally gave me the idea. He was worried about Jonathon, and the danger inherent in his need for frequent sexual gratification.”
Darcy watched as Lady Sarah’s lips curled up at the corners. However, when she began to speak again, it was not of happy times. “Rowley was a poor lover. As many young women, I knew not what to expect; and his kisses had seemed adequate. He was clueless how to please me, and he had no inclination to try. Instead of learning to enjoy each other at home, he decided he would pursue a lifetime of brief encounters. I think the conquest was more enjoyable to him than being known for actual prowess.” Her slight smile broadened and became a mischievous grin. “In Jamaica, where discretion was easy, I took lovers—some of whom were definitely beyond the ‘pale’ of polite society. They taught me how to receive pleasure—and were a veritable fount of folk knowledge about how to avoid becoming with child. The idea came to me that I was in a unique position to offer a service to our kind. Hopefully, I could make the life of some gentlewoman a bit more enriched, while at the same time protect our young men from the scourge of their sexual needs.”
“Was I one of the first students to be educated in earthly delights at your emporium?”
“You were… oh, we are here.”
The carriage had stopped before a large imposing structure not at all in keeping with the surrounding neighbourhood. It was not as elegant as Mrs Teasewell’s, but was still an appealing establishment in appearance.
Darcy helped Lady Sarah down, and they entered a brightly lit hall. A footman escorted them to Mrs Harden’s office. This woman was no earl’s daughter, but she was not from poverty either. Darcy guessed she was a woman from trade, who did not have the benefit of the same type of education Bingley’s sisters had received. Perhaps a wealthy shopkeeper’s daughter… she was just a bit too brusque, too talkative of her profit, and with a decorum a bit too ragged at the edges to be refined.
Drinks and cigarillos were offered. Her selection of brandy was French, and the cigarillo was from the Indies… from the aroma of the tobacco. Darcy realized that the inducements offered were appropriate, to impress a higher class than he would have at first suspected. Neither woman seemed to feel the need to conform to the accepted tastes for women of their time. Both indulged in brandy, and Mrs T even accepted th
e tightly rolled tobacco, though she did not smoke it then.
Tessa Harden could not keep her eyes from Darcy. As the trio warmed to each other over small talk, her eyes kept travelling in his direction. Finally she said to him, while grinning from ear to ear, “If I were ever to establish a pleasure house for women, I would pay a very large bounty to induce you to work for me. Your form is perfection—and from the length of your hands and your feet… hmmm yes, quite impressive, indeed… I am sure. Despite your dour countenance, I believe you could be quite handsome.” Her eyes raked him from top to bottom as she grinned lasciviously. “Yes quite handsome, and given a reason to smile, I am sure gloriously so. What makes you smile—bosoms or bottoms or both? Best of all, you have none of the false façade of a rake. They try too hard.” She licked her lips and fanned herself. “If you were broken at Mrs Teasewell’s, you are definitely a stallion worth the riding.”
Darcy turned bright red and choked on his brandy. Both women laughed at his discomfort. In the interest of his mission, he decided to accept her words as a compliment and not protest their demeaning character. A bit of pride tugged at his consciousness, and an erotic image of sharing her words with Elizabeth popped unbidden into his head. Indeed, a smile did play at the corner of his mouth when he thought of her bottom. He realized quickly that it would not be possible to share any of this with Lizzy, but wondered whether she would enjoy hearing him described as a ‘stallion worth the riding.’
Sarah Teasewell asked the pertinent questions of Tess Harden. Within minutes they had the address of Mrs Younge’s boarding house. Mrs Harden informed them that she had procured several young women from her. Those she had presented, in the past, were runaways in trouble that she found in church.” Both women laughed at the ingenuity of Mrs Younge. Darcy was appalled, but kept his tongue. Georgiana’s tear streaked face at Ramsgate crowded out their humour. “Never before has there been any hint of a man in league with Mrs. Younge.”
Darcy was quiet during the ride back to Teasewell House. He thanked Lady Sarah for her invaluable help, and told her he hoped to see her at the theatre some day. “I will be looking for a wink of approval for my luscious Lizzy. I feel a profound sadness that our acquaintance is at an end.”
Once back at Darcy House, he readied himself for bed, and sat before the fire in his bedchamber, with another brandy. He busied himself with thinking and planning… wishing and hoping… that he could resolve this crisis quickly and be on his way to Longbourn. What had she thought of his present? It seemed days ago he had sent the express rider with it to Hertfordshire, and yet it had only been at dawn this morning. He had resolved to keep any trace of anger from his words when he wrote his letter. Would she find it?
Exhaustion was causing him to nod. He moved to his bed, and within minutes of laying his head upon his pillow; he fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamed of a beautiful bare bottom riding a stallion in church. Wickham stood at the back of the sanctuary and smirked. He clasped Lydia Bennet’s arm tight, and she cried as she tried to escape. Darcy woke covered in perspiration.
Elizabeth retrieved a knife from the kitchen and locked her bedchamber door after returning. She carefully loosened the paper from the back of the painting. There was, indeed, a letter written on the back. It was in his elegant hand – so familiar from having read his letter after his first proposal so many times, not to mention all those dedications. She had not thought of those books since learning of Lydia’s infamy.
My dearest Elizabeth,
I miss you, I need you, I dream of you, I want you, but of all these, the most important is that I love you and my love will be constant until the end of time… come what may.
Please accept this token in the spirit it is given.
Our afternoon together was beyond compare among the days of my life. When you look at our special place, remember all the words of love I wrote. It pains me that you believe I wrote them carelessly, thoughtlessly and did not mean them for an eternity.
I meet with your father and uncle tomorrow. Tonight I am tracking down a lead for the location of Mrs Younge. She was Wickham’s accomplice at Ramsgate and she may know the location of your sister. My hope is that I will have some information to give to Mr Bennet when we meet. I told Mr Gardiner of my proposals to you, and I plan to tell your father as well.
The shawl was my mother’s. I had found it stored in the cottage when I decided to refurbish it for you. She loved pink, and I remember her wearing this shawl often. Because of where it was left, it was not disposed of with her other things. I believe finding it to be some form of serendipity. Its presence among my things as I was packing for London seemed to be encouraging me to send it to you along with the picture of our special place.
We will speak of your letter when I arrive in Hertfordshire. The only thing, on which I will comment now, is to tell you I will never marry anyone but you. I said vows to you that day in the curricle. As far as I am concerned, we are married. We have formalities we must endure for propriety’s sake, but my commitment is forever. I distinctly remember saying to you that nothing but death would ever part us—that includes Wickham and a fifteen-year-old’s thoughtless folly.
Elizabeth, I love you. Until we see each other again, dream of our cottage.
Your Will
Elizabeth put the painting on her bed. Every few minutes while preparing for sleep, she would pick it up and momentarily become lost in the image. On each occasion, she would recall one more detail. She remembered laughing at the time of his proposal, sitting in his lap and experiencing their first kiss and reading his beautiful dedications. She winced with mortification as she remembered bending in front of him—her naked bottom shamelessly enticing him; but that image was soon replaced by one of him loving her.
When her preparations were complete, she rewrapped the painting in the shawl and put it in a drawer. Climbing into bed, she held fast to the final images she had conjured of their love making. Visual stimulation was soon enhanced by her touches, as she remembered their pleasure. The strokes of her fingers, allowed her to find a semblance of satisfaction. As she became lost in the realm of her senses, she stifled her urge to call out his name. His letter spoke of constancy, forever, to the end of time, and eternity. Could it be true? Could he forgive her behaviour? Could she trust his beautiful words? He was to tell her father of his proposals. Would that seal their fate?
She drifted off and dreamed of roses, dedications, a waterfall… and a horse wearing a helmet. She woke startled, remembering the disparate images.
Bella entered Susan’s bedchamber. She smiled as she observed the two naked angels—no longer spooned together. In their sleep they had turned, and now only their bottoms touched. Had she been the one with whom Susan was sleeping; she knew for a fact they would still be attached. That was the way it always was with them.
“Rise and shine, my Cupid… and the Archangel Gabriel, I presume. I have ordered a proper Yorkshire breakfast for the two of you. Max is preparing sausages, eggs, potatoes and scones with clotted cream.” She smacked her beloved on the bottom. “Get up and get dressed. Susie, my love, we have customers coming at three this afternoon who want to see us together.”
Susan sat up and yawned, stretching her body like a cat. Bingley covered himself and his morning arousal, in a moment of modesty. “Oh Belly baby, is it not possible for me to stay in bed. I am sure Charlie would be willing to pay for today. You and Darcy must have plenty of things to discuss before he marries and ceases his visits.”
“Darcy left with Mrs T early last evening, and did not stay the night. He wanted to remain true to his love.”
Petulance crept into Susan’s voice. “Bella did you sleep alone?”
A look of playful complaisance settled on her lover’s countenance. “I did. It was quite invigorating to enjoy an uninterrupted night’s sleep.”
Susan glared at her lover in jealousy. “You should have awakened me so I could have joined you. Charlie would not have objected. All we were doing wa
s sleeping.”
Bingley who had been hiding under the coverlet, sat up at her words. “What must Darcy think of me for staying?”
“Believe me, he was not thinking of you when he left here. The two of them were going to another establishment, to question the owner about a woman he knew to be an accomplice of Wickham. According to Mrs T, they were given an address for the woman.”
Susan had left the bed to put on her robe. She threw a robe to Charles, and turned to face Bella, expressing a bit of defiance by placing her hands on her hips. “So who are these customers who are coming at three?”
“Colin and Matthew MacFurtive—those wild and crazy brothers have envisioned a new position, and it was inspired by your Napoleon imitation. According to Mrs T they have even invented a word for their desire—Napoleon’s Hat.”
Susan frowned as she questioned Bella, “What exactly do we have to do? Those brothers are entirely too… I am unable to think of the precise word… perhaps I should ‘invent’ one… odd will have to suffice until I do.”
“As they described it to Mrs T—one brother participates while the other observes, and then they switch. You know how much both of them love to watch. One of us is astride the participant’s face, and the other is impaled on his cock… facing each other. Now here is the good part for us—we make love to each other from the waist up. They think our positions should create a tableau that will resemble the shape of napoleon’s hat.”
Charles, once his mortification was covered by a robe, decided to participate. “Do not those two have an estate to run? They have entirely too much time on their hands to think up these things. Perverse would be a good word.”