by Nicky Roth
'What does it look like?' his uncle asked innocently.
Again, the feeling of impending doom loomed over him like Damocles' sword.
'A frickin' nun's habit!'
'And that is just what it is, Darcy. I hope we've got the size right, but then again, what does it matter if it's a bit short on you? You've got a nice pair of shoes to go with it,' Bingley grinned.
'Okay, the habit is one thing, but why do I get a bit wary seeing the high heels you've picked out for me?'
'You should see the undies we've chosen for you to wear,' Edward grinned, nudging his chuckling brother's in the ribs.
'U-u-undies?'
Why did he get the feeling that he was in at the deep end?
Alright, alright, he'd had that feeling all along, truth be told, ever since Bingley had announced that he could not possibly get married without a stag night, but SHIT! This was even beyond what he had come up with in his worst dreams and that had to say something.
'We'll leave you then so you can get changed in peace and we'll change likewise. See you in a nick.'
Seriously, if they thought he would wear that, they were oh so wrong. After all, what were dressing rooms for but to store clothes? Decent ones. And as it was, his was only a few steps away. - And locked. Of course! What had he been thinking?
Of course, it was locked and as for the chest of drawers, it had been emptied out. If he hadn't soiled himself earlier on, he could simply keep his clothes on, but...
Yes, Lizzy had cleaned him up reasonably well, but the combination of cold sweat, a few splatters of vomit that had escaped them and the wrinkled state his clothes were in by now didn't make them acceptable for a night out in any shape or form. Just great!
Right, he had one more option, get undressed, and slip under the covers and just go to sleep. Fuck stag night!
With a last incredulous look at the habit, from underneath which indeed a red lacy something peeked out, Darcy did just that and with a contented smile sank onto his bed to take off his shoes, an action that was greeted with an ominous plop and a moment later he felt his bum get wet. These bastards!
Seriously, they had replaced his mattress with blasted water balloons, put a blanket over it to straighten out the lumps and bumps and then put the sheet back on. Fuck, that was sneaky! And granted, quite ingenious. Shit, they must have had their hands' full preparing while he had been out. This was not the work of half an hour. And it most certainly ensured that he had no choice but to put on the clothes they had laid out.
'And, have you wet yourself yet?' he heard Fitz ask from outside the door.
His friends certainly knew him well. Too well in cases such as these, it appeared. Blast!
'No,' he lied from between clenched teeth and was met with a hearty laugh from the corridor.
So, there was not only Fitz there waiting for him. Right, time to turn into a nun, unless he wanted to go either looking like a tramp or naked. Neither was much of an alternative.
So, first things first, undies. Hm, what was more dangerous, donning that abomination of a string that would have done Gloria honour, if she decided to opt for underwear for once that was, or go al fresco? Okay, at least this way his Willy would be covered, though squeezing his... - Nope, he would not even finish this thought. Bloody hell, could they not at least have chosen one of these ridiculous elephant-strings? At least that would have ensured his privates not being.
Wait, what? This was actually a lace string for men?! Well, fuck me sideways! So, stockings next.
Somehow this had gone much better when piss-drunk if the pictures he had seen of himself lying on Matlock's front steps afterwards had been anything to go by. How the heck was one supposed to know which way to put them on? Was there even a heel? And why the heck did he give a damn? And seriously, at this point, he was even starting to feel thankful that they had not opted for killer-heels but for a more moderate version of pumps that at least would ensure that he would not sport a broken ankle on his wedding day. Pulling the habit over his head his Frank N. Further-self finally turned into some sort of kinky nun.
He was done and in desperate need of alcohol. This kind of clothing while being sober was hard to be bear, or rather not at all.
Gods, he could only pray that he would not run into Lizzy. He would never live that down. Not right now anyway. This was once again one of those instances that was best for laughing about afterwards. Though speaking of prayer, this made his costume actually quite an apt one.
And thinking of Lizzy, how was she faring? Much better, presumably, for he could not, no matter how hard he tried, picture Jane putting her sister through any of this sort of rubbish. 'Come on, mate, what's taking you so long? Time to go, Will,' George shouted after another five minutes.
With a resigned sigh, Fitzwilliam Darcy was about to step out of the room when something caught his eye. Tucked under the armchair and previously well hidden by the long habit he now sported, lay a bundle of what he guessed were clothes. They, too, were black, but... - Yep, it was a suit. Okay, much better. Infinitely better, to be precise.
'I'll be there in a sec,' he shouted back, already stripping, all but tearing the stockings off his legs.
Perhaps it would have been an idea to first undo the straps of the suspenders, but hey, no time for such trifles.
'Are you putting on makeup or something?' he heard Edward from the other side of the door again, followed by a few more chuckles.
'No, struggling with the bow tie,' Darcy lied, for he had little trouble tying it with nimble fingers.
'Shit, he found it!' his youngest cousin wailed with mock exasperation.
'Told you so,' Bingley shot back laughing.
Okay, so no need to guess who had come up with the idea of tricking him into turning himself into a nun. Even the most simple-minded bloke would have been able to take an educated guess at it.
You just wait, Fitz, until it is your turn to get married!
Another five minutes later Darcy stepped out of his room and was greeted by the sight of his friends likewise dressed in tails, just as him, top hat and all, looking much like a bunch of Edwardian gentlemen about to hit the town. So yes, they were technically still in costume, but at least they didn't look silly. If anything, a suit makes even the ugliest fellow look like something, right?
'So, ready to party?' his uncle asked, holding out yet another top hat for him to don.
'I guess so,' Darcy replied, once more wondering where their little adventure would take them.
He also couldn't help the feeling that this was not yet the end of it. Something was bound to still go tits-up. It always did, especially when his cousins were involved.
'And ready for a little walk?'
Walk? Yeah, sure. Fresh air was always good and if they meant to walk, this surely meant that the venue of their little celebration couldn't be too far off. Only one such location came to mind and that was his own hotel.
And sure enough, there it was right before them some ten minutes later, looking quite welcoming. Especially since it had started to rain. Not an uncommon occurrence in England at this time of year, true. Fortunately, somebody had come up with the idea of inventing this universal tool that saved people from getting soaked and had called it rather bluntly umbrella. Not very fancy for such a handy tool, but it had stuck nonetheless.
Putting their brollies aside, they stepped into the club room of his very own establishment. A cosy den fitted out with a couple of tables and a pair of sliding doors that opened up to the billiard lounge. Downright perfect actually. Who would have thought? Ha, and even his staff had been put into frock coats, at least the men, while the girls had been fitted out with black dresses and white aprons, all surprisingly classy.
Truth be told, he had almost expected to find various ladies in skimpy dresses serving them. Not that he generally minded the odd peek, but of late the only woman he desired to see scantily clad, or rather not at all, was Elizabeth and he doubted that this would ever change again.
'I should probably tell you, Will, that all your staff has volunteered to attend you tonight,' his uncle informed him. 'So, the only things you'll have to do yourself is eat, drink and go to the loo, everything else is taken care off.'
'Just like in the good old days, when us folks had nothing to do but entertain other idle fellows such as ourselves,' George added. 'Thank goodness these days are over, or I would have drowned in a vat of port a long time ago.'
'Madeira,' Darcy could not help remarking upon remembering Georgiana's history essay, that thanks to Phil she had finally finished a week ago.
'What?' his middle cousin asked bewildered.
'Never mind. Same difference really.'
'If you say so.'
'I do.'
'So, shall we have dinner then?' Bingley inquired, looking slightly confused at their topic of conversation.
Okay, so did Edward, while Fitz chuckled, obviously knowing what he was talking about. Not all that surprising, really, considering that occasionally he, just like Phil, donned a suit of armour and rode into battle. Sandhurst was, after all, not just a military academy, it also held a vast collection of old weapons and such stuff and old fighting techniques were still taught there as well, meaning film-makers wanting to make a documentary or the like, didn't really get around asking for advice there.
Hm, he actually should introduce Fitz and Phil, if they didn't know each other already that was. And actually there was a good chance that they did, just that he had never thought about it before. Hm, perhaps he should try it sometime as well...
'What are we having for dinner?' Darcy inquired when finally waking from his thoughts, glancing at the elaborately set table before them.
Okay, they would have at least a starter, a soup, a fish course, an entrée, a main course and dessert. Oh, and obviously a selection of cheese with the inevitable port and cigars afterwards.
The answer was promptly given by the earl: 'Well, dry sherry first, then a lovely Beaujolais, some medium-dry sherry, followed by a nice Chablis. I know it's not common to serve red wine before white, but hey, who gives a damn as long as they are a decent vintage? Then I've chosen a light Chardonnay, a wonderfully rich Bordeaux, closely followed by a sweet sherry and port, of course.'
Shit, that was a lot of alcohol...
But it seemed all good-quality stuff, meaning that hey would get hammered in style. Perfect!
'Eh, I actually meant the food.'
'Food?'
'You know, the chewy stuff to go with all these nice wines?' Darcy explained the obvious. He'd never thought he'd have to do so, but hey.
'Ah, the food, now that you mention it... - Peter, could you please start serving the canapés? You are quite right, nephew, we do need a bit of a basis to get through all these beauties.'
'Most certainly, Sir,' Peter bowed as if he were a butler and not one of the managers of the hotel, looking a bit awkward in the process, which in turn had the maids, normally working as waitresses and receptionists, giggling, destroying all mock pretence.
Canapés? Wow, they really had opted for hardcore fancy food, if there were canapés...
Yep, the wine was excellent and the food was fantastic, no two ways about it. And there was a lot of both. The food did little to counteract the effects of the alcohol, truth be told, and by half ten it was safe to say, that all of them were quite deep in their cups. And they had only just finished their main course of roast beef, spuds and beans, which meant two more courses to go. Well, Darcy got the sneaky suspicion that food rather increased the effect... - Okay, it generally depended on the amount of either food and alcohol, and on how the consumed amounts related to one another, basic maths in short, but seriously, who gave a fuck? Not he. Not at the moment, at any rate, the wine was just too good.
By midnight, the meal was at last out of the way. It would have been over sooner, had it not been necessary to take a little break when the danger of bursting at the seams from sheer over-indulgence had risen significantly after the sumptuous chocolate soufflé they had been served. A walk had sounded like a good plan until they stepped out and saw that by now it was pouring down. Ah well, never mind, a game of pool would do just as well.
Or darts, just for good measure. By the way, did anybody ever hit the bulls-eye while sober? Just a thought, no answer required. It was obvious at any rate that the answer must be a very decided “no”.
Ha, but like this, he had already managed to hit it five times! Okay, almost. But it had been close. He had just missed the dartboard by mere inches... - And seriously, hitting the vase on the mantelpiece was some achievement, too. He had never liked it anyway.
Ah, what a perfect evening after all! He really had the best friends in the world and it mattered little that his knickers were itching. He should have taken the lace thong off, but come on, no-one was going to see them, right?
Chapter 57:
Suspenders
Darn, the last drink must have been off.
The others sure as hell had been fine, but that one single shot of Whiskey right after that weird tasting cocktail with the insinuating name he couldn't remember and the remainder of that lovely Bordeaux, not to mention the sherry and wine he'd had before, had him fall asleep in no time.
Hangovers were never very nice, to begin with, but hangovers while suffering from morning sickness were about ten times worse as Darcy presently found out. And hangover and morning sickness combined with wearing nothing but the red lacy thong and a neatly tied cravat was the ultimate humiliation. Darn, the latter was still as itchy as it had been last night.
Eh, why was there a bleating sheep in his bed? Very funny! Ha-ha.
And why did it have to look so very comfortable in the suspenders it was wearing? The very ones he had only just escaped last night, one might add.
Closing his eyes again, Darcy attempted to wake up for real this time around, but nope. The sheep was still there, so where the suspenders and he still didn't wear anything but a thong and a tie. Whoohoo!
Well, what had he expected? The evening had been too calm to be trusted. He should have known better. Waking up to a nice cup of tea and a good breakfast would have been too much to ask. At least the bleating beast didn't bat an eyelid but merely carried on bleating and put a neat turd on the sheets as he threw up in the bin that had been strategically placed right next to the bed. Yeah, it really were the little things that mattered.
Ah, and bless, someone had been considerate enough to leave his pills for battling his nausea on the bedside table along a couple of aspirins, a bottle of water and some dry crackers. How courteous! Good to know that someone still cared for his well-being.
So, stock take: He was in one of his hotel rooms. So far so good. It could have been worse, he supposed. He could have been left at the station or the police or something. Think positive, man! - Ha, and it was only four o'clock. Dandy.
Wait, eh, it was daylight outside and in November this meant it must be four in the fucking afternoon...
Shit, he had basically slept the day away and there was still so much to do! Okay, perhaps someone had tampered with the timepiece. Hopefully. Please!
Lizzy would have his guts if this was for real.
Right, mate, dress and get back to the house and all will be well. With any luck, that was. At least this was not his wedding day. Or was it? No, he might have been hammered, but even he would not have slept through a whole day.
So, clothes... The search was on again. Seriously, with this much searching, he should become a detective. Not that he, as yet, had much success.
Conclusion: when you wake up drunk you are screwed in more than one way.
Yep, he should have known as much. The only items of clothing were the fucking nun's habit and the heels, once more neatly placed over and respectively under a chair. Well, it was still better than his present pretty much non-existent attire.
Second conclusion: With friends like this one didn't need any enemies.
Swearing ce
aselessly he pulled the habit over his head.
Damn, what now?
The sheep had started bleating again as if in pain. Okay, he got it, his state of dress was painful to look at, to say the least, but come on... - Shit, he knew that sound! This slightly unsettling rattle that reminded one strongly of a bloke with congestion taking a dump. He had not noticed its agony before when he was busy with his own malady, but really it was frickin' November. Not the usual time at all. Possible, but come on!
After a mere minute, the bleating ceased. But just to be sure he still ran his hands over the animal.
Nope, he had not been wrong. The beast was lambing and looking closer it was blatantly obvious, too. It did happen once in a while, had even become fashionable in some parts of the country to spread the lambing season throughout the year, but not in Derbyshire for all he knew. Right, taking the time it would not be long by his estimation. Perhaps an hour or two.
And at least he was pretty much sober now. Everyone should wake up to a lambing sheep after a night out. Best recipe for sobering up ever.
But seriously, how on earth had his friends managed to pick the presumably only pregnant animal among his flock? There was some reason to doubt it had been done on purpose. Neither Richard, Edward, George or Charles had much of an idea when it came to farming, nor had his uncle for that matter. Right, there was good reason to assume that, in all likeliness, it had been the slowest of the many sheep they had tried to catch. And this or the other way this needed taking care of. Just swell!
A little over an hour later the little creature was born and trying to get up already. Cheeky bugger!
Not an easy feat on the soft mattress and especially not with such shaky legs. But heck it was cute! Okay, they always were, no two ways about it.
He had just been about to leave, mustering up his courage to exit his room, which in the state he was now in, with all the grime from the birth adding to his attire, had to be considerable, for he was bound to run into people at this time of day, when someone knocked on the door rather harshly.