The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy

by Sara Angelini

  Darcy grinned with utter satisfaction into the soft flesh of her throat as he heard her cry his name. “I love it when you scream my name,” he said against her neck. “Say it again.” His head was swimming from drink and lust.

  “Dirty fucker,” she whispered endearingly in his ear; with that final thrill, he spilled into her with a loud groan, pushing her so hard against the table that it screeched a few inches across the floor. More dishes toppled and crashed to the floor. He closed his eyes and let the room spin around him as he held onto her for dear life.

  He breathed heavily against her, clutching her hips, trying to recover himself.

  After a moment, he saw the destruction wrought on the table. He sighed shakily and loosened his grip on Elizabeth.

  “That’s going to cost a lot,” he laughed weakly.

  “Not as much as replacing my uterus,” she rejoined. He laughed once, then again, and then he couldn’t stop laughing. It was all so hedonistic; the drinking, the dancing, the indiscreet loud sex with Bingley and Jane in the next room. He felt like he was living some wild Bacchanal. He buried his face in her hair and softly laughed,

  “Oh god, I love you, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth put her arms around his neck and tightened her legs around his waist as he lifted her off the table.

  “Take me to bed, lover,” she crooned in his ear. He carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, intending to make love to her. But his head was swimming; he fell on the bed beside her and passed out.

  June 9-Sunday

  Darcy awakened with what felt like gym socks in his mouth. He grimaced and rolled over, saw Elizabeth snoring next to him, and tried dimly to recall the evening before. Ah yes, the dining room table. Despite what was looking to be a vicious hangover, he smiled. He rolled out of bed and stripped off the clothes he had slept in. He showered and brushed his teeth, twice, and put on clean boxers, but didn’t bother to get dressed. He wandered into the living room and flicked on the TV to watch CNN, sprawled on the floor leaning against the couch. He felt like he was back in college, lying around in his underwear, channel surfing. He heard Elizabeth stirring in the bedroom and heard the shower running. After a few moments, she was in the doorway wearing fresh white panties and bra, her hair hanging in damp curls. She grinned at him.

  “Feeling OK?” she whispered. He smiled and nodded. “You were pretty smashed,” she laughed. He looked at her curvy body and rolled his head back with a smile on his face. He was still somewhat intoxicated but whether by alcohol or her, he couldn’t say.

  “Thank you for getting me completely sauced. I trust I will be blackmailed with a video some years in the future.”

  “You could just pay me now and get it over with,” she teased. She sat on the couch and he rested his head against her leg. She smelled like soap and pears.

  She looked over at the ruined dining room table.

  “That looks like it hurt,” she mused.

  He laughed softly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “I’m a strong girl. I do yoga, you know.” She curled her bicep at him; he admired her muscle with an approving nod.

  “How do you stay in such good shape?” she asked him. “I’ve spent an entire week with you and have never seen you lift a finger to keep in shape.”

  “Lots of pushups,” he said. He rolled onto the floor to demonstrate and did a quick succession of pushups. She crawled onto the floor next to him and then slipped onto his back.

  “Now try,” she said. He pushed up quickly, causing her to almost slip off. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his body to hold on. She felt surprisingly light to him. He laughed as he pushed up, trying to jar her off. She laughed and held on more tightly.

  “Good god, what happened here!?” came Bingley’s voice from the doorway. He was staring at the ruined dining room table. He looked over at Elizabeth and Darcy, both in their underwear, he doing pushups with her on his back. They both looked up at him.

  “I tripped,” Darcy said simply.

  “And fell,” Elizabeth supplied helpfully.

  “Onto my girlfriend,” Darcy finished. Elizabeth grinned down at Darcy and kissed his cheek. Bingley shook his head and scratched himself through his boxers. Then he ordered room service.

  ***

  The party drove back to Pemberley and spent the rest of the day in warm relaxation on the terrace; they chatted amiably while Darcy played guitar. Mrs. Reynolds joined them and regaled them with tales of Darcy as a young boy. Elizabeth had never felt quite so content; this was where she belonged, with the people she loved best, in the sun, happy and carefree. She stretched languidly in the lounge chair and placed a hand affectionately on Darcy’s thigh as he sat next to her playing.

  “You remind me of your mother sitting there strumming,” Mrs. Reynolds mused over her mug of tea. “She and your father used to sit out here just like this, before you were born.”

  “I’m sure she played much better,” Darcy said as he plucked out a few notes.

  Mrs. Reynolds laughed. “Your mother was a little bit of a hippie; she used to play folk music out here. Peter, Paul and Mary; John Denver; Bob Dylan. But yes, she played beautifully. And then, of course when you arrived, you ran around out here naked until you were about six.”

  “That’s quite enough, Mrs. Reynolds!” Darcy said in mock sternness. Elizabeth, Jane, and Bingley laughed while Darcy secretly fantasized that he and Elizabeth could sit here on the terrace with their own six-year-old running around naked.

  “It’s good to have you back, Will,” Mrs. Reynolds said affectionately. She didn’t say and it’s about time you stayed, got married, had a family, and assumed your role here, but Darcy felt the sentiment. He was beginning to agree with her. He had never been so happy, so content, as he had been the last week surrounded by his friends, the woman he was crazy about, Mrs. Reynolds, his family home; all that was missing was Georgiana. He held his tongue and continued to play guitar.

  Mrs. Reynolds stood and returned a few moments later with a large photo album.

  “Elizabeth, you might be interested in this,” she said as she invited Elizabeth to sit next to her on the sofa. “This is Will as a baby... wasn’t he adorable?” Mrs. Reynolds then showed Elizabeth an array of Darcy family photos that Elizabeth felt sure would never normally be seen by anyone outside the family.

  “Is that his sister? She’s lovely!” Elizabeth exclaimed when she saw photos of a willowy blonde child.

  “Yes, she’s a lovely thing. She had a little spot of trouble in her teenage years, as we all do, but she’s turned out to be a lovely young lady. So accomplished! You know she’s a musician?” Mrs. Reynolds talked about Georgiana for the next few minutes.

  Elizabeth perused the album, with pictures of Darcy as a gangly adolescent, then filling in as he matured. She saw photos of his parents, both remarkably handsome people despite the dated wardrobes. At a certain point, there were no more pictures of Mrs. Darcy. She realized that Mrs. Darcy must have died when Darcy was about fifteen and she suddenly felt very, very sad for the young boy he was and his little sister. She was cheered again by photos showing two very well-adjusted, happy siblings on horseback, under Christmas trees, and at school plays. There was a picture of Darcy in his racing suit, leaning against a car, helmet under his arm. He looked young and bright and full of mischievous energy. She smiled.

  Then sun began to sink below the horizon and after a brief cozy dinner, the party broke up. Elizabeth was anxious to return to the warm circle of Darcy’s arms. They climbed the stairs to his bedroom hand in hand, talking easily and laughing over comments made during the evening.

  They undressed and climbed into bed like an old married couple. Elizabeth curled her arm over his chest and put her head on his shoulder.

  “I never imagined having such a good time with you,” she said.

  “You hated me two weeks ago,” he teased her.

  She laughed softly and thought my, how things have
changed.

  “You are terribly rude for having such a good memory,” she said. “Besides, my feelings now are quite the opposite.” She looked up at him, hoping that he would take her meaning. His eyes searched her face and he ran a finger along her cheek. He kissed her gently, tenderly, while his fingers traced the outline of her features.

  “Lizzy,” he murmured against her lips.

  She breathed in deeply, taking in his clean, soapy smell, the mossy undertones of his skin, his deodorant, all those little smells that would forever evoke images of Darcy in her mind. They were halfway through their two weeks; it would all be over soon. She wanted to make it count.

  Elizabeth rolled on top of Darcy and kissed him lovingly. This was it; this was the closest she could come to admitting her feelings for him. It would have to do.

  She straddled him and kissed him tenderly, twining her fingers in his hair. “Will,” she whispered against his lips.

  Darcy sensed a change in her; something about how she said his name, how she kissed him, let him know this was not going to be typical sex. Her kisses were charged with raw emotion; she was telling him something. Their eyes connected and he understood. They were going to Make Love and it was going to Mean Something. He let himself be swept away by his own emotions, the utter joy he took in her presence, the deep connection he felt with her. He found himself again making the most intimate love of his life with her.

  He sighed with pleasure when she touched him, felt cold when she pulled away. His kisses were punctuated by soft endearments: she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, he wanted only to be in her arms, he had never known what it was to make love before she showed him, he wanted nothing more than to make her happy. He meant every word.

  Chapter 13

  June 10-Monday

  Elizabeth woke up in Darcy’s arms again, his chin resting on top of her head, his arm draped over her waist, one leg pushed between hers. She tried to extricate herself from his grasp but as she moved, his arms tightened about her. He made a sound of protest as she tried again. She laughed quietly into his chest.

  “It’s too early to get up,” he mumbled.

  “You have become idle aristocracy, you know,” she teased him.

  “Yes but you won’t let me enjoy it.”

  “I need to be outside, in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m beginning to feel cooped up!” she exclaimed.

  After much teasing protest from Darcy, she managed to get him out of bed and dressed. He insisted that she kiss him for every effort he made; thus sitting up deserved a kiss, as did standing up, and putting on underwear. Eventually she got him downstairs to breakfast.

  Jane and Bingley were already happily munching toast on the terrace when they arrived. Darcy asked them what they planned to do; he felt they had spent too much time together of late and he wished a day alone with Elizabeth. They said they intended to take a boat and row in his trout stream. Elizabeth expressed a desire simply to roam over the meadows and woods.

  They walked along a path past the stables and beyond the immediate gardens and then toward a copse of trees. He caught her hand in his and twined his fingers through hers. She squeezed his hand and smiled. They walked on in companionable silence until they reached a sloping meadow.

  “Wildflowers!” she exclaimed in delight. “I thought most of the wildflower meadows were gone. I love wildflowers!” She stooped to pick one and put it to her nose.

  “Then you shall have them,” he said. He flattened down a wide area of grass and spread his jacket for her. Then while she sat, he gathered flowers. He stayed within range of her voice and often called a question to her, such as “do you like this one?” or “this isn’t poison ivy, is it?”

  Soon he returned with a large bunch of flowers: buttercups, daisies, violets, clover, pimpernels and even blackberry brambles. She pulled a thorn from his thumb and kissed away the prick of blood. He sat cross-legged and she put her head in his lap and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun and breeze. He fed her one of the berries he had picked. “Not quite ripe yet,” she grimaced and laughed. She held the flowers on her chest and occasionally put them to her nose.

  They remained thus for some time, he stroking away a tendril of hair from her forehead as it was ruffled by the breeze. He broke short the stems and placed flowers in her hair while she chewed on a blade of grass. She pulled a few dandelions from the bunch and broke the stems, letting the milk drop onto her tongue. Then she lifted her arm and placed the blossoms in his curly hair. She grinned.

  “Very fetching,” she declared. He laughed and continued stringing flowers in her hair. They did not talk much, content just to share the delightful weather together.

  He trailed a finger across the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks.

  “You are freckling,” he said affectionately.

  “It’s a curse,” she sighed.

  “They’re like a dusting of cinnamon on cream,” he replied. She laughed softly and sat up, brushing spent stems off her shirt. Her peasant blouse had slipped off one shoulder, and her loose hair was full of blossoms. She looked like she should be dancing around a Mayfair pole.

  He felt a thunderclap in his chest, as sure as if he had been struck by lightning. She was beyond beautiful, he felt his eyes couldn’t bear it and yet he continued to gaze at her. He knew, without hesitation, that he was in love with her. He had had some inkling of it before, had drunkenly told her the other night, but it was nothing compared to what he felt now. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her, father her children, and stay here until they were old and grey. But the possibility of rejection, the possibility of ruining this perfect bliss, prevented him. Instead, he said,

  “I think this has been the most perfect day of my life.”

  She smiled and nestled back into his lap, and said,

  “Then we won’t end it just yet.”

  June 11-Tuesday

  Darcy struggled with whether to tell Elizabeth his true feelings. They had agreed to keep no secrets, no lies, but this was something different. This had real potential for disaster. She had not responded to his declaration that night in London but he thought she likely, and rightly, wrote it off as a lapse of judgment in a weak moment when his reason was impaired. This is not to say that he did not mean it at the time. And yet, what he felt now was so powerful that he was inclined to think that he did not mean it at the time, simply because he had no idea before now what it meant to be in love.

  He watched her carefully for signs to guide him; she was warm and loving to him as usual. She seemed more tender toward him now than at first but he thought it likely that it was the natural progression of their arrangement and not some new revelation of love on her part. What she felt could not possibly match what he felt for her now. And so he kept quiet.

  “Can you teach me to ride?” she asked him when they woke that morning.

  “There’s not enough time, it would take more than a couple of days,” he said.

  “It looks so wonderful, I wanted to try it,” she sighed.

  “We can certainly ride together,” he said, kissing her ear. “I’d love to take you for a ride today.” She smiled and snuggled deeper into his arms. “In more ways than one.”

  And so after a bout of mischievous lovemaking, which required him to wear his riding boots and crop and during which he had to call her the Wicked Mistress of Pemberley and promise to be her stable boy, he took her to the horses.

  She watched him saddle the horse and asked him questions about the differences between English and Western riding. He demonstrated the proper way to get into the saddle from the mounting block, which she asked him to repeat several times because she so enjoyed the view of his powerful thighs clenching as he stepped onto the horse. After four mounts, he caught on to her. He raised an eyebrow and said “that of course is the sissy way to mount,” and proceeded to show off various manly ways to mount a horse with and without the block and with and without stirrups. She took
a devilish delight in knowing he was showing off for her. The grooms looked at each other and hid their grins.

  “Ok, enough showing off,” he laughed. He helped her mount from the block and then swung up behind her effortlessly, without the block.

  “You really are too dashing, Mr. Darcy,” she murmured over her shoulder to him.

  He put his arms around her to grasp the reins and replied close to her ear, “Miss Bennet, it is all for your benefit.”

  They rode toward his normal riding grounds at a gentle pace. As she was not a rider, he took care not to go too fast or jar her so that she would not be sore the next day. He pointed out various spots of interest, sometimes relaying some story from his childhood.

  After some time, they came to a small valley with a stream and a willow tree. Darcy suggested they stop for a bit and sit in the sun. He watered the horse and then tethered it to a nearby fence. Elizabeth sat under the tree watching him, admiring how well he looked in his riding pants and boots. He had tried to explain that they did indeed have some functionality and were not just for looks but she teased him that he was only trying to seduce her.

  He came to her under the tree, leaning one arm on a low-hanging branch as he looked around.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked.

  “Of course I do. We are still on Pemberley grounds,” he said.

  “Goodness, after all that time, we haven’t even reached the border yet?” she asked, surprised.

  “We did go a roundabout way but we are actually not that far from the house. See that rise? The house is just beyond, perhaps three miles.”

  “I have never had a good head for directions,” she smiled and he sat down next to her.

  “Are you having a good time?” he asked her.

  “I’m having a spectacular time. I don’t know how to thank you for all of your hospitality. I can’t imagine a more enjoyable vacation,” she answered.

  “Yes, but are you having a good time? Today? With me?” he asked.