My Darcy Mutates…

by Enid Wilson

  Finally, descending from their cosmic peak, they returned to earth. Pulling the bed sheet up to cover their satiated bodies, he embraced her tightly, and they drifted off to sleep.

  Within a few minutes, however, the door was opened by George Wickham, accompanied by old Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley was hot on their heels.

  “I thought I heard Fitzwilliam here…” Wickham said, then faltered into silence as he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the unexpected brightness of the room.

  Pushing past him, Miss Bingley screamed in fury. “Eliza Bennet, you shameless, penniless chit! What have you done to my Mr. Darcy?”

  The disturbance woke the couple in the bed. At that moment, Louisa Hurst opened the servant’s entrance to the room, dressed in a nearly transparent nightgown, her loosened hair tumbled about her shoulders. She took one startled look at the commotion, gasped, and fled the room immediately.

  Elizabeth shook her head in an attempt to clear the last lingering effects of the liquor and the drug from her body. She blinked up at the two strange men, one young, one old, who stood with Miss Bingley. Then she noticed a subtle movement by her side. A man was sleeping there, his bare body pressed intimately to hers. She was ready to scream and flee the bed…but she found that she was no longer wearing anything at all.

  “What have you done to me?” she demanded of the young man holding her.

  Mr. Darcy shook his head and looked up at the lovely vision besides him, remembering the incredible love making that had occurred between them just minutes before. His mind no longer seemed to be dulled by the alcohol so much. But the accusing expressions of the onlookers made him felt guilty. “I am sorry, Father. I was drunk.”

  Old Mr. Darcy breathed deeply and asked Mr. Wickham and Miss Bingley to leave the room.

  As Elizabeth began to remember what had happened, through the haze of cloud that still filled her head, she burst into tears, and murmured, “How could this have happened? One minute, I was drinking tea with Miss Bingley, and the next minute I felt giddy and so very drowsy. I was sleeping here, all by myself. Why did you come in? What have you done?”

  “Do not cry, child,” Old Mr. Darcy said kindly. “I shall step out for just a minute. The two of you must rise and dress. I know that it is highly improper to question you here and now, but I want to get to the bottom of this, without delay.”

  As soon as the old gentleman went out into the hallway, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam dressed quickly, in complete silence, without looking at each other. When Elizabeth sat down again upon the bed, he opened the door for his father.

  Old Mr. Darcy began the questioning. “My name is George Darcy, and this is my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy. What is your name?”

  “Elizabeth Bennet, Sir.”

  “Of the Bennets of Longbourn? Amazing. I met your father this very day, while my carriage was being repaired at Meryton. Your father’s estate is quite nearby.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “You are a guest here?”

  “Yes, sir. My sister Jane became ill while she was visiting Miss Bingley, two days ago. I came, yesterday, to take care of her. Mr. Bingley invited me to stay on until Jane was better.”

  “And you mentioned feeling giddy and sleepy after drinking some tea?”

  “Yes, actually. Jane was quite sick, this morning, so I told Miss Bingley that I would not go down for breakfast. She brought me some refreshments and tea personally around noontime. It was very kind of her, but after I drank it, I felt quite strange, and so I went to my...” She looked around uncertainly. “I did not know how I got here. This is not the guest room where I stayed, last night.”

  “That is strange.” Young Darcy frowned. “Miss Bingley is not…”

  “…known for her kindness,” Old Mr. Darcy completed the sentence, and shared a candid glance with his son.

  “I was rather surprised, too, sir,” Elizabeth added. “Ever since Miss Bingley learned that we have little dowry, with our estate entailed away to a male cousin, and our uncle in trade and living in Cheapside, she has been… Well, in truth, sir, she has of late been rather rude to Jane and me.”

  Old Mr. Darcy stepped outside again, and called for his valet to check with a maid and have the cups and cutlery used for refreshments from Miss Bennet’s room brought to him discreetly. He then returned to the silent room and turned to his son with a stern expression. “And you, son. How do you come to be here.”

  “George, Charles, Hurst and I were drinking in the study while we waited for you. George had this special Scottish whisky that he insisted that we sample. I knew that I should not, but…I did. And I fear that I got drunk quite quickly, just like the last time.”

  “Like the last time?” The senior frowned.

  “Umh, yes. When I was around three-and-twenty. Wickham and I sampled that same brand of whisky in a tavern when we were at Cambridge.” Fitzwilliam’s face turned bright red. He had later heard that he started singing love songs and dancing on the table, wanted to kiss every one and take off his clothes. Luckily, a friend prevented him.

  “Ah that incident.” Old Mr. Darcy nodded. “But how did you come to this bedchamber?”

  “I cannot remember clearly. George accompanied me here. He said that…that…” Fitzwilliam stammered to a halt.

  “What did he say?” his father demanded.

  “He said that he had procured…” He turned to glance at the distraught young lady. “…a sensual widow for my…enjoyment.” He lowered his head, not daring to look at his father or the lovely lady.

  “I am no widow!” Elizabeth gasped. “I am still a maiden.” Tears rolled down her pale cheeks again. “At least, I was, until…”

  “I am sorry, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said wretchedly. “Sir, I am sorry. I should have stopped as soon as I realized that she was …untouched. But I did not.” He drew in a deep breath, expecting the harshest censure from his father…but his father appeared to be deep in thought. So he walked, instead, to kneel before Elizabeth, his eyes begging for forgiveness. “Miss Bennet, I am deeply sorry for my drunken behaviour. I have compromised you. We must marry.”

  “But I do not even know you!” she replied in alarm. “What if you are…witless?”

  He shook his head. “I completed Cambridge with honours.”

  “Unkind?”

  “I have never raised my hand or voice against a defenceless servant. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, can confirm that. She has known me since I was four.”

  “A gambler?”

  “My fortune is still quite intact, at six thousand so far. You may rest assured that I am not a gambler.”

  She gasped at his wealth, but pressed on, for it was of no true consequence in the present burning matter. Instead, she continued. “A drunkard?”

  “I shall have to prove myself to you on that score. I do not usually get drunk. But this one special Scottish whisky does appear to have a most peculiar effect upon me. I vow hereafter to stay away from it entirely.”

  “But…I want to marry for love.” She wanted desperately to look away from the handsome man in front of her, but her eyes betrayed her, for they would not leave his face.

  Mr. Darcy sucked in a deep breath and was about to respond when his father waved him to silence and addressed Elizabeth himself.

  “That, my dear young woman, is a rather novel notion. To marry for love. As my son said, he is very rich and you do not have a dowry. Will that not change your mind about the marriage?”

  She sighed deeply. “If I cannot respect the man by my side, all the money in the world will not make me happy.”

  Old Mr. Darcy nodded with approval, and waved his permission for Fitzwilliam to continue to argue his case.

  “Well then, Miss Bennet, you have only to tell me how to win your respect and I shall try my hardest to do so. Indeed, I have already begun to respect you quite sincerely. You did not hesitate to tell us of your ‘less fortunate’ family situation, and you pronounce yourself unwilling to marry me, even though I am quite wea
lthy. I find that admirable indeed.”

  Elizabeth blinked in surprise. “You have no objection to my relations? I must confess, my mother and younger sisters are rather silly.”

  “My aunt, Lady Catherine, is not the most reasonable of relations, either.”

  “Fitzwilliam!” Old Mr. Darcy chastised his son.

  “You seem determined to challenge me, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, then turned crimson, for her accidental use of his Christian name caused her to recall crying out the word in the very throes of passion. She had to admit that this fine young man had a hidden sense of humour, a strong code of honour and the most handsome of physical forms. Perhaps…perhaps she could trust him with her future.

  Mr. Darcy rubbed the insides of her palms. He loved the way she spoke his name, and the twinkle in her eyes. He shivered with pleasure as he remembered hearing her endearingly cry out his name at the height of their ecstasy…

  Now, kneeling before her, he felt hot and pleasantly flustered, anticipating a lifelong enjoyment of this responsive, intelligent and no-nonsense beauty. He had only known her for a very short interlude but he felt a surprising connection with her.

  Old Mr. Darcy was happily satisfied with their conversation so far. His son knew that he had done wrong, and was taking responsibility for his actions, upholding his duty and honour. And this young woman, though without connections or wealth, seemed an exceptional find, nothing at all like the regrettable Miss Bingley. He felt confident that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would stand up to – and stand by – her husband, for better or worse.

  He left the young couple to talk and stepped out of the room again, where he found his valet waiting. As he had suspected, the cup smelt of laudanum and liquor, solving the mystery of Elizabeth’s presence in the room.

  As for Fitzwilliam’s side of the tale, old Mr. Darcy had a good idea that it was indeed his rakish godson’s doing. It was evident from the way Wickham had insisted on showing him where Fitzwilliam was, immediately after he finally arrived at Netherfield. Then Mrs. Hurst had appeared by way of the servant’s entrant, most improperly attired. And he had not missed the angry glare that was then shared between Wickham and the married woman.

  They planned to compromise my son. But what for? To obtain money from me to shut them up, most likely. But were there two separate plans, or did all three of them, Wickham, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, work together?

  He found, abruptly, that he did not care. He was altogether sick of providing Wickham with a second, a third, nay, countless chances. It seemed that the young man’s dissolute ways were fixed. Very well, then. Old Mr. Darcy would wash his hands of Wickham. He would buy his godson a commission to India, and have him shipped off immediately. Nor could they stay longer at Netherfield, either.

  With a vigorous torrent of plans in his head, old Mr. Darcy returned to the room, where he found that he had interrupted Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth in a sweet embrace. They broke apart, and he told them of his thoughts.

  By the time the Darcys and the Bennet sisters drove to Longbourn, Wickham was on his way to Matlock House in London, under the restraint of two sturdy valets, there to await old Mr. Darcy’s nephew Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrangement for his passage to India.

  Mr. Bingley was told, gently but firmly, of their suspicions about Miss Bingley’s use of the laudanum, and of Mrs. Hurst’s scheme with Wickham. A horrified Bingley, after some fierce interrogations, extracted the stories from both sisters. Miss Bingley confessed to the use of the drug but denied any involvement with Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Hurst, in her turn, admitted to the blackmailing scheme. She had been having an affair, on and off, with Wickham for some years. On the day of the scheme, she had spent too much primping and had arrived at the guest chamber too late to enact their scheme.

  Sick at heart, Bingley sent them both away, back to Scarborough, after their confessions. Mrs. Hurst did not fall pregnant by Wickham, which was fortunate since her husband separated, unofficially but unequivocally, from her after learning about the affairs and the events of the day.

  For his part, Bingley apologised to the Bennets and Darcys most profusely, with obvious sincerity. As a result, the incident did not damage his chance with Jane Bennet or his friendship with Darcy.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy married Miss Elizabeth Bennet some three weeks after the incident at Netherfield. Their premarital union did not result in a child. A year and a half later, however, when old Mr. Darcy handed over the full management of Pemberley to his son, Elizabeth gave birth to an heir. Eventually, old Mr. Darcy was kept busy with his five grandsons and two granddaughters from his son Fitzwilliam’s marriage to Elizabeth. His daughter Georgiana gave him three grandchildren, as well.

  The old gentleman did not move out of Pemberley but remained to see the second generation of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy teasing, arguing, comforting and loving each other. The young couple had a happy life, despite the strange beginning of their acquaintance. Old Mr. Darcy gained a good friend in Mr. Bennet, who came to visit his favourite daughter at the most unexpected time. Even the once-silly Mrs. Bennet became rather sensible once she had grown older and all of her daughters were well settled.

  As matters transpired, Old Mr. Darcy did not once regret sending his godson to India, despite the fact that the latter was never heard from again.

  If Someone Discovers Us

  What if Mr. Darcy’s second proposal had taken place at Netherfield?

  Instead of receiving a letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth Bennet half-expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to welcome Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy back to Netherfield just a week after Lady Catherine’s visit to Longbourn.

  The Bennets were invited to Netherfield for the engagement ball and they stayed afterwards, much to the disgust of Miss Bingley, as her brother did not want his beloved Jane to be ‘tired’ by the carriage ride, even though Longbourn was a scant three miles away.

  As Elizabeth sat by the window in the same room she had occupied during Jane’s illness a year ago, her thoughts were with the tall, quiet gentleman staying under the same roof. She could still feel the heat of Mr. Darcy’s gaze during their first set of dancing. Her hands had trembled, every time they encountered his.

  His hands, by contrast, had remained strong, steady and warm. She did not know whether she had imaged it, but it seemed to her that his thumb had gently stroked her fingers, every time he held her hand. She had breathed in his musky scent when he danced a little too close to her, and felt the air vibrate when his chest almost touched her bosom during the dance. It had given her shivers. Both of them had been so absorbed by the moment that they remained silent for most of the dance.

  Elizabeth had no memory of any other gentlemen she danced with, that evening, until Mr. Darcy came back to claim the last dance. Much to the surprise of the locals in Meryton, it was the scandalous waltz. To Elizabeth, it was both heaven and hell. She could feel the blood riot in her body when he wrapped his arm around her waist and her hand touched his shoulder. Due to their height difference, she felt him nearly pulling her off the ground as he whirled her around with unnerving intensity and passion. She was sure she touched his body the whole time they danced together. She felt she floated on a cloud with him. Yet it was torturous because, although she could inhale his masculine aroma, move with his majestic body, and stare at his soulful eyes, he had not opened his heart to her. The occasion was too public. They had parted, retreating to their respective chambers with only a look of silent longing for each other…

  With a deep sigh, Elizabeth rose from the seat and left the elegant guest chamber in Netherfield in search of a book to help her sleep. At the top of the stairs, she gasped and froze as she saw Mr. Darcy walking up. He was without his coat and cravat, and his hair was a bit dishevelled.

  Mr. Darcy’s legs nearly failed him upon seeing the lovely form of Elizabeth above him. Her long, curly hair streamed down her shoulders. The white nightgown seemed to accentuate every hill and valley of her beautiful body. The moonlight s
hone through the window behind her, giving her an ethereal aura.

  He had just finished consumed a few glasses of port, alone in the library, thinking about their torturous dances, her fragrance and her fine eyes. Now here she was, tempting him again. He breathed deeply and forced his legs to begin climbing again. He had to find out whether she was real.

  When he reached the top step of the stair, his eyes were on the same level with hers. He put his hand out and touched her face. Her skin was warm and soft. Yes, she was real! As he saw her mouth trembled and her eyes dilated, he moved his thumb to trace the cherry red of her lips.

  “Miss Bennet…”

  “Mr. Darcy.”

  Mr. Darcy’s face drew near to Elizabeth’s, and he uttered his next words with a vulnerability that touched her heart.

  “Elizabeth, I… Pray tell me that your opinion of me has changed. My affections and wishes are even more ardent than before. I love you. I could never live happily without you.”

  Her heart ached for him. She replied immediately, “My opinion…my feelings have indeed changed. I love you. I have loved you since …”

  Her declaration was, however, cut short. Mr. Darcy was a man violently in love, one who had just achieved his heart’s desire after many months of bitter struggle. He forgot about the sleeping household, the rest of the world, everything but the pure and miraculous fact that Elizabeth Bennet loved him.

  His head drew nearer to hers, and he sealed their fate with a kiss.

  As kisses go, this one began tenderly. He was tentative at first, unwilling to risk frightening her. As his lips touched hers, however, he felt their very souls intertwine. His love, aspiration and hope for the future were answered in that moment.

  Elizabeth’s heart was beating so swiftly that she feared it might burst at any moment. She felt the intensity of Mr. Darcy’s presence in her whole body. With that kiss, he seemed to have invaded her every pore and nerve. She wetted her lips…no, they were his lips. And just as she thought she could not be closer to him than at that moment, he wrapped his arm around her waist, just as he had done during their waltz. Angling his head slightly, he kissed her even more deeply. They were merged into one, from head to toe.