Mr Darcy's Cottage of Earthly Delights

by Beth Massey

  Bella laughed at Charles’ naiveté about the world of ‘love for sale.’ “They do indeed have an estate in Devonshire. I believe it is called Elysian Fields. One of their ancestors must have been a classics scholar. The name is appropriate for those two, and their proclivities. Did you know, Charles, that they once jointly proposed marriage to Susie and me? It was in the course of watching us make love to each other. They thought it would be the perfect marriage of convenience. Of course we would be shut away in Devonshire for the rest of our days, and never again allowed out into real society. I envisioned at the time ‘we’ refused that we might not even be allowed ‘real’ clothes.”

  Susan chimed in with, “Mrs T was certain that once we were no longer young and appetizing… and mind you, Bella is already eight and twenty. It would not be long before we lost our appeal to those two. She predicted they would chuck us out with the refuse. Their bill of divorcement would claim that they were… shocked, mind you, shocked to learn of our sordid past. Of course, they would only have to divorce us if they truly wed us. My Bella has already been through one sham marriage. No, men will control our destinies.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and when it was opened, Max entered with breakfast. The four enjoyed the hearty fare, and Bingley was treated to the trio’s dreams of liberation in the wilds of Yorkshire.

  They were almost settled on a plan to open a bakery in Scarborough. Max would work his magic with the ovens, and his ‘spinster nieces’ would sell the wares in the front. Susan had created a complete history for the three. Susan and Isabel’s mother was Max’s sister. She had married an Englishman from Yorkshire; and it was a love match of the most profound kind. As she was dying, she persuaded her devoted husband to rescue her beloved brother from the savagery of the French Terror. Their father had travelled to France, and snatched Max from the jaws of the Committees of Public Safety. Their father, never in the most robust health, was severely weakened by the trip and quickly followed his wife to the grave. It did not matter that a baker, who had been a modest supporter of Danton, would never have been much at risk from Madame Guillotine. At one point in the concoction of her story, Susan had made Max a Count. The love of her life had tenderly told her that was unbelievable. How would they explain a count that could bake? Bella and Max were diligent in restraining Susan from the excesses of her plot. However, she continued in her determination to present a very gothic tale. She would often get a dreamy look on her face as she imagined basking in the looks of compassion she would receive from their customers.

  Bingley laughed at Susan’s histrionics as he questioned the believability of her story. “Susie, how do you plan to explain one tall sister with dark hair; and the other a very petite young woman with angelic blond curls?”

  “Oh, Charles, you told me just last night that your love was tall and fair, and Darcy’s betrothed is petite and had darker hair. I also believe you told me that the sister who needed to be rescued had very dark hair. It is possible.”

  Another knock was heard at the door. Bella answered and admitted Mrs Teasewell. She addressed Charles, “Darcy and his cousin, the colonel, are outside in a carriage. They are requesting your assistance. He told me to tell you the matter is urgent and he begs you make haste.”

  11

  MR DARCY SAVES THE DAY

  Lydia Bennet was miserable. Leaving Brighton, she had been giddy in anticipation of a great adventure, everlasting love and increased consequence. Her spirit had soared with delight in expectation of her soon to be altered status. She was not the most beautiful—Jane was. She was not the most intelligent—Lizzy was. She was not the most pious—Mary was. Of course, who wanted to be intelligent and pious anyway? Those qualities did not signify at all in the scheme of things! Lydia had giggled with glee as she thought of Kitty. She had no claim to importance within the family. Lydia had smiled smugly with the thought she would be known throughout Hertfordshire as the first Bennet sister married, the tallest sister, the youngest sister, the sister with the most striking looks. All of her sisters and friends would envy her. The matrons of Meryton would have something to talk of when they convened for their daily gossip. Her Wickham was oh so handsome, and she, Lydia Bennet had made him desire her with such passion that he determined he must have her… even without a significant dowry, like that freckled Miss King.”

  Her thoughts today were the opposite. So many tears had been shed that her head throbbed almost continually, and she longed to be back at Longbourn in the arms of her family. She was still trying to understand Wickham’s motive. He had planned their elopement in order to destroy the happiness of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. Oh, if she could just have Lizzy and her intelligence here with her now. She would surely be able to make sense of what was happening, and develop a plan for escape. Why had she never listened to Jane and Elizabeth about proper deportment?

  Several times, she had overheard George and that woman, Mrs Younge, who owned this boarding house, conspiring. From the moment they had arrived, Lydia had observed something between the two that had at first, prompted jealousy. Now after so many days being locked in this room without clothes, and enduring Wickham’s numerous clumsy and painful invasions, her concern was for her safety and her hope was for her freedom.

  She had always discounted the rumours about marital obligations being unpleasant. The implied passion that she had read about—in what Mary called prurient novels—was surely the truth. What exactly did ‘prurient’ mean? Her pious sister used that word with a look on her face as though she had stepped in something malodorous, but Lydia knew she indulged in perusal of them when she thought no one around to observe.

  Lydia had willingly submitted to George prior to marriage in a flurry of expectations and the promise of a wedding. Her much anticipated pleasure was crushed by harsh reality. Afterwards, she was no longer in a position to refuse, and she did as she had heard in whispered tales. She remained as still as possible while he humped and grunted above her.

  Last night while feigning sleep to ward off George’s need for satisfaction, she had heard whispering. He and Mrs Younge spoke of taking her to the house of a Mrs Fanny Rogers. Their conversation revealed that Mrs Rogers had promised fifty pounds if she appeared as they described. Lydia had strained to hear the rest of their discussion. She remembered best their laughter when discussing her ‘used goods’ status. Mrs Younge seemed petulant that the ‘bounty’ for her had been reduced by half.

  Her words on this subject were vivid. Lydia had heard enough to be frightened. Mrs Younge had said, “George, I hope she was worth it. Fifty pounds is a great deal of money to pay for your claiming her maidenhood.”

  “Virgins are easy to come by. My need was not for her maidenhead, but to harm Darcy. Now that she is thoroughly compromised, and her status as a gentlewoman completely ruined, it will make it difficult for him to marry the chit’s sister. He will be forced to protect his precious Georgiana from being tainted by the Bennet family’s scandal.”

  “So you truly believe he plans to marry this Miss Elizabeth Bennet? You say, she has almost no dowry, and most of her connections are in trade. It does not sound like the type of ‘fare’ my former employer, the proud Mr Darcy would pursue.”

  “She knows his side of the tale about denying me the living at Kympton, and it seemed to me when last we spoke… she might even know about his sister and Ramsgate.” George paused and Lydia had struggled to make sense of his motive for encouraging her to run away. His next words were loud and clear. “There were subtle things she implied and a barely concealed hostility after she returned from her visit with Mr and Mrs Collins. That is what caused me to draw my conclusion. Darcy would have only given the information about Georgiana to someone he trusted implicitly. From her own lips, she spoke of them spending time together in Kent; and Denny reported she was the only lady from Hertfordshire he asked to dance at the Netherfield ball.”

  “You may be right. I remember when we accompanied him to London for the Season, Georgiana told me h
ow uncomfortable he was dancing with new acquaintances. The fact he asked a country nobody to dance must signify affection.”

  Lydia had heard a scoff, and she imagined Wickham’s sneer as he spoke his next chilling words, “I have told you about his parents, and the passion so clearly displayed in their exchanged looks. If he has proposed to her, it is much more than affection. Knowing Darcy as I do, I believe it is love bordering on obsession. However, that makes my scheme all the more delicious in its success. His loss will be most painful, and my greatest desire is to watch it destroy him.”

  Long after the two had left, Lydia lay awake considering the meaning of their whispers. Were they planning to sell her? What did it mean Mrs Rogers would discount her worth based on the loss of her maiden status? Who would have thought the dull and severe Mr Darcy would be filled with rapturous ardour for Lizzy? In her naiveté, she had thought she had seen that kind of desire for her in George’s words and looks. Oh, how she had been mistaken.

  As panic threatened to engulf her, she decided to focus on liberation and began to formulate a plan. She had gotten herself into this predicament; she could certainly get herself out. It was time for her to rise to the challenge, and be like Emily St Aubert in the The Mysteries of Udolpho. She wished she were still a chaste heroine; but despite her lack of innocence, she could still be brave and self-reliant. This was no crumbling castle. Instead, it was a rather squalid house in a not very fashionable part of London. Her dilemma was real and not just made up words designed to make a young girl’s heart race.

  Her first goal must be to flee from her evil captors. How could she overcome both of them? She would have to wait for a time when she was alone with Wickham. What should she do about being left with no clothes—clad only in her chemise? If it came down to it, she would just have to endure the embarrassment. Luckily they had left her a pair of slippers.

  She arose from bed and searched the room for something to use as a weapon. The only chair was too heavy for her to bring down on his head… and besides he was too tall… perhaps that rickety table. Wracking her brain for potential ploys, she recalled the time she eavesdropped on a conversation between Denny and Saunderson. Lizzy and Jane had admonished her several times for listening in on people’s private conversations. This time. she was glad she had disobeyed. The two men had laughed, and then winced, when discussing a comrade who was kneed between the legs by a barmaid. The man’s amorous actions had been checked by her carefully placed thrust. Lydia practiced jerking her knee up quickly. George often came to her with drink in him. At those times, he was less than agile. She hoped the occasion would present itself soon, before she was sold to Fanny Rogers.

  Finally after hours of scheming, rehearsing and praying; she fell into a troubled sleep. The morning should bring a chance to implement her plan.

  She was asleep when Wickham returned—quite drunk. Of course, he insisted on his fifty pounds of privilege. She had learned in their short time together, the more liquor in him, the longer it took for him to finish. His thrusts felt like an eternity of being pummelled before he collapsed on top of her.

  The following morning, despite his drunken state the night before, he was up early. His actions were unexpected, and she watched while he washed and dressed carefully, humming a tune. He seemed to be a man with great expectations. The necessity to strike became paramount in her thoughts. Several times she contemplated going to him as if to embrace, and using her knee to disable. Each time she hesitated and soon the moment of opportunity was lost as he was ready to leave. “We are going out this afternoon. I will be gone several hours, and when I return you will have a bath and get dressed. We have been here long enough, and must be moving along.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You will find out soon enough.”

  Lydia thought that if she could convince him to take her with him now, she might have a chance to run. She formed her plump lips into her best Lydia pout and said, “Could not I go with you this morning? I am tired of being locked in this one room with nothing to do. It would not take me long to bathe and dress. Please, George, take me with you.”

  “No, this afternoon will have to do for you to go on an excursion. I have important business to take care of this morning.” With that he was out the door… locking it behind him.

  Lydia washed the remains of him off with the water in the ewer. She looked forward to a bath and leaving this room. Once out, she was determined to strike. As she waited for her opportunity, she observed what she could of the street outside—to gain knowledge of a possible escape route.

  She watched the traffic, and noticed a carriage across the street that seemed a bit too fine for the neighbourhood. It had been there when Wickham had left but had seemed to leave soon after his departure. Now, it had returned. The town coach did not have a crest, but it was much too elegant to belong to any but a gentleman. She was unable to see the occupant, but for some reason her eyes remained watching it with expectation.

  After several hours, she saw Wickham walking toward the boarding house. As he turned to enter with his back to the street, a man debarked from the mysterious carriage. He was uncommonly tall and was dressed in black. She caught a glimpse of a man in a blue coat and another in regimentals in the carriage. The man’s glance was drawn to her window. It was Mr Darcy. The time was now or never for action. She must get to Mr Darcy so he could save her from this nightmare. If he loved her sister the way Wickham said, surely he might overlook his disapproving of her forwardness and exuberance.

  She positioned herself near the door to await George’s entrance. As she heard the key, she took a deep breath and braced herself to act. In a second, he was in. She smiled disarmingly, and walked toward him until she was positioned as close as possible. Once in place, she jerked her knee upward with tremendous force. The impact knocked him back, and then he doubled over in pain. His cries were loud, but she would not be distracted. As he collapsed on the floor, she reached the open door. Across the hall, a man appeared. Her glare was fierce as she said, “This does not concern you—walk away!” With that she bolted down the stairs. She reached the entryway just as Mr Darcy was entering the front door.

  At the sight of him her bravery crumbled as her knees began to buckle, and the tears started to flow. She looked up at him with a look of utter desperation, “Please, Mr Darcy, please, save me.” She flung her arms around his waist and collapsed against him.

  As he looked at her, all the censure for her careless action he had been rehearsing melted. She was a fifteen-year-old child tricked by Wickham. When he looked at her, he saw Georgiana’s tear stained face at Ramsgate only to be replaced by the image of Elizabeth’s guilt ridden sobs during their curricle ride. A crowd was collecting and fearing someone might intervene, he picked Lydia up and walked quickly to the carriage.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was standing outside the carriage. He opened the door and Darcy deposited Lydia carefully on the seat. He turned to his cousin and said, “Tell him I will meet with him to discuss terms soon. Do what you must to ensure he knows we mean business this time.”

  As Darcy entered the carriage, Bingley, who had only hours earlier been embarrassed by his nakedness, removed his jacket and helped Lydia put it on. She smiled through her tears, at the man who had abandoned her sister. Darcy sat beside her and enfolded her into his arms. She was not sobbing, only sniffing, but her body seemed unable to cease shaking. He rubbed her back to calm her, just as he had done with her sister. Propriety seemed totally unimportant given the circumstances. After a few minutes he spoke, “We will have you at your uncle’s in Cheapside shortly. Your father is there. Miss Lydia, do not fear, we will make Mr Wickham marry you.”

  At his words, he felt her stiffen in his arms. She seemed to be attempting to calm herself by taking deep breaths, and finally with her voice barely a whisper she said, “Yes, we must marry for the sake of my family’s reputation. It is for the best.” With her next breath, she choked back a sob.

  Darc
y whispered in her ear, so Bingley could not hear his next question. “Did he hurt you? Are you in pain?”

  Lydia turned in his arms to speak as near his ear as possible. Again her voice was low and halting. “I agreed to his demands, Mr Darcy. There was no coercion, but it was not as I had imagined, and I am a bit uncomfortable.” Lydia paused before she spoke again. He heard the barest of sighs, and perceived the slightest trace of girlish humiliation with her next words. “I was not pleasing to him. He planned to sell me.” Again he heard her sniffling. “I overheard him say he was using me to hurt you. Please forgive me. I was so very silly to believe his lies. He said you love Elizabeth. Is that true?”

  “It is.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “She has told me so, and has forgiven me for my ungracious remark at the assembly—among other grievances.”

  Lydia pulled out of his arms enough to capture his eyes. She forced a smile as she told him, “If Wickham marries me, then you and Lizzy will be able to be happy.” Darcy struggled to control his emotion. Was condemning this young woman to a life with Wickham the only solution to ensure his happiness? The carriage rolled on in the direction of Cheapside, and still he continued to hold this young woman. She was a lifeline of sorts for him… a connection to Elizabeth as he struggled to make sense of the situation in which he found himself.

  As they made their way to the Gardiner’s, he became engrossed in determining who was guilty for this hellish mess in which they were all enmeshed. Obviously Wickham bore the greatest blame, but others had a hand in enabling the situation. The minute she had asked him to save her, Miss Lydia’s guilt had become minor in his mind.

  She was slightly younger than he was when his father took him to Mrs Teasewell’s. Memories of his ridiculous romantic notions and naiveté at that age came flooding back. Her father must bear some responsibility. That day in the cottage, Lizzy had told him of her pleading with him not to allow Lydia to go to Brighton. As a father, he was negligent in both ensuring his daughters had an adequate education and curbing their inappropriate behaviour. However, the greatest guilt he assigned to himself—the proud and arrogant young man who could not bring himself to let others know of Wickham’s treachery. He had feared the entirety of his own dealings with the cad would be revealed. His abhorrence of disguise of every sort was often pronounced with great enthusiasm, but what was his fear of exposing his private dealings other than a type of disguise.