Mr. Darcy's Undoing

by Abigail Reynolds

  He rose from the bed, realizing these thoughts were bound to continue to torture him until he could find relief in her presence again. Bingley was no doubt going to Longbourn this morning, if he was not already there; it was enough of an excuse for Darcy to go there too.

  ***

  A pattern was thus begun. Bingley from this time was of course a daily visitor to Longbourn, and almost always came accompanied by his friend. Elizabeth, who was usually left in the somewhat uncomfortable position of being chaperone to the two lovers, gradually grew to be more comfortable in Darcy’s presence, mostly by refusing to allow herself to consider any of their past interactions or the reason for his presence in Hertfordshire, and more specifically in her company. He proved in general an engaging companion, which was rather useful since neither Jane nor Bingley had any attention to bestow on anyone else in the other’s presence. His behaviour was always completely proper; and if her engagement was a subject which was completely avoided by both of them, the rules of it were forgotten by neither.

  “So, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth one morning after a week or so of these visits, a hint of a smile lurking around her mouth, “tell me about Pemberley—I heard so much praise for it last autumn from Miss Bingley that it has quite taken on legendary status in my mind.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow, well aware he was being teased. “Legendary, Miss Bennet?”

  She seemed to be paying great attention to her embroidery. “Well, from Miss Bingley’s description, I understand that Pemberley is altogether larger and grander than Blenheim and Chatsworth put together, and that Kew has nothing compared to the gardens of Pemberley.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Then she no doubt told you that the park is of a natural beauty unparalleled in England, and covers in extent almost half of Derbyshire.”

  “Only half?” Elizabeth turned eyes full of laughter up at him. “I do not know, then, how there would be room for all the marvels she mentioned, the peacocks roaming the grounds, the tame deer…”

  “Oh, the tame deer are nothing,” he responded gravely. “The tame tigers patrolling the grounds are more unique, not to mention the unicorns and the phoenix that inhabit the woods.”

  “Tigers? I am not certain that I would care to meet one of them, tame or not,” said Elizabeth teasingly. “And I suspect that very little at Pemberley is truly tame, in any case.”

  “Miss Bennet, you dismay me with your doubts! Of course they are tame—we have hereditary gamekeepers whose sole employ is to tame the tigers, and only very rarely is one of them eaten alive.”

  “Do not the tigers eat the unicorns, as well?”

  “Not at all,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a more serious note. “The tigers protect the unicorns.”

  Something in his air caused a shiver to go up Elizabeth’s spine. Bingley, rolling his eyes at their foolishness, encouraged them all to walk in the garden “despite the absence of leopards, unicorns, and whatnot.” Elizabeth was agreeable to this distraction from the increasingly intense look in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, but just at that moment, Mr. Covington was announced.

  Elizabeth felt a moment of confusion, but collected herself to greet him warmly. She had a distinct consciousness of Darcy’s eyes upon her.

  “Lizzy, it is a pleasure to see you—you are looking quite lovely today,” said Mr. Covington gallantly, then greeted the others.

  “We were about to take a stroll in the garden, sir,” said Jane. “Perhaps you would care to join us?”

  “Mr. Covington has just ridden in,” objected Elizabeth, who was eager to separate her fiancé from Mr. Darcy, “and I am certain some refreshment is in order. Let me see to that while you walk out, and perhaps we will be able to join you later.”

  Mr. Covington, his eyes on Elizabeth, acknowledged that he would rather stay within. Bingley, hoping to give the two some privacy, prevailed upon Jane to continue with their plan, and said, “Darcy, you must come, too—the fresh air will do you good.”

  “Not now, thank you, Bingley,” said Darcy dryly. “I would enjoy some refreshment myself.”

  Elizabeth shot him a glance as the other two departed. “Of course, Mr. Darcy, as you wish,” she said neutrally. “I hope your mother is in good health, Mr. Covington.”

  “I am glad to say she is continuing to do well, and sends you her compliments,” he replied. “She would have liked to have joined me today, but the carriage is under repair.”

  “What a pity! I should have enjoyed seeing her,” said Elizabeth with real regret.

  He inquired after her family as Darcy looked on sardonically, wondering what Elizabeth could possibly see in this dull fellow. It grated on his nerves every time Covington called her by her name or allowed an admiring look to rest upon her. Nevertheless, he gave no thought to leaving; as vividly unpleasant as this might be, nothing would induce him to leave Elizabeth alone with Covington while he had a choice in the matter. There was a certain ironic humour, he reflected, in finding himself as her chaperone.

  “It has been quite busy at Ashworth. Part of the road washed out in the rains last week, and we have some men working on that, but of course with the harvest coming in, the timing could not be worse,” said Covington. “I am glad to be able to say that we did lay hands on the poachers who had been troubling us, though, and I wager they will not be doing it again!”

  “Were they local men?” inquired Elizabeth, who was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the dark silence emanating from Darcy.

  “No, fortunately—that always makes it so much more difficult. Then we have to deal with the problem of the families, which is always painful.”

  Elizabeth turned to Darcy, determined to draw him into the conversation. “Do you ever have problems with poachers at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked directly at her, and said, “No, Miss Bennet; the tigers take care of them.” He was pleased to see the corners of her mouth twitch.

  Mr. Covington looked disconcerted. “Tigers, Mr. Darcy?” he asked politely.

  “A joke, sir,” Elizabeth said quickly. “We were spinning stories earlier about the wild creatures of Derbyshire.”

  “I see,” he said, looking baffled.

  Elizabeth quickly shifted the conversation to a new subject. She could sense Darcy’s eye on her, and once her guest was suitably distracted, she gave him a quick glare. He responded with a slow, mocking look that made her feel hot inside, and she quickly turned her attention away from him.

  She made no further attempts to include him in the discourse between her and Mr. Covington, but his presence could not be forgotten for a minute. Even when they finally walked out to join Jane and Bingley in the garden, he did not allow her to walk alone with Mr. Covington, but instead walked on her left side, close enough to her to be skirting the boundaries of propriety.

  It seemed as if he were almost issuing a challenge to her, and Elizabeth found it agitated her in ways both pleasant and irksome, but became increasingly more vexatious as the afternoon wore on. After all, how dare he behave as if I have no right to enjoy the company of my betrothed! He has no rights over me, none at all, she thought in exasperation. It is fortunate that Mr. Covington is good-natured; otherwise there might be trouble!

  He did not leave her alone even for a moment, and finally, as it drew time for Mr. Covington to depart, she walked him out to his horse after giving Darcy a heated glare which could not be misinterpreted. It earned her a short distance of freedom, enough that she could converse in quiet tones with Mr. Covington without being overheard. “Thank you for calling, James,” she said, feeling oddly as if she should apologize for Darcy’s behaviour.

  He smiled widely at her use of his name. “It was my pleasure, dearest one,” he said. “I could have wished for a little time alone with you, though—has your father appointed Mr. Darcy as your watchdog?”

  Elizabeth could not help laughin
g at the idea of her father working in concert with Darcy on such a matter. “I doubt it,” she said. “I fear it is his own idea of being responsible; he has a younger sister whose guardian he is.”

  He stepped a little closer to her and raised her hand to his mouth. Kissing it lightly but lingeringly, he said, “Poor girl! He must watch over her like a hawk. Well, perhaps we will have better luck next week.”

  She smiled obediently, but dropped her eyes, and knew that her blush at his implication was more out of concern for what Darcy thought of what was happening between them than for his actual words.

  “Until next week, then,” she said lightly.

  “I will look forward to it, sweet Lizzy,” he said softly. With a sharp glance at Darcy which said this was no concern of his, he leaned over to kiss her cheek, then mounted and was off, pausing to wave from the gate.

  She took several deep breaths to calm herself before turning to walk the dozen steps that separated her from Darcy. She would not be intimidated by him, she resolved—having made in the past a proposal she had refused conferred no special rights on him now.

  “Miss Bennet,” he greeted her quietly as she made an attempt to walk past him into the house.

  She turned and gave him a sharp look. “Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Darcy,” she said tartly.

  “Not as much as I might have,” he replied enigmatically, then added with a mocking inflection, “Lizzy.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “You forget yourself, sir,” she said icily.

  He said nothing but bowed slightly. To Elizabeth’s relief, they were joined then by Jane, preventing any further discourse in this dangerous direction.

  ***

  He was galloping pell-mell over the countryside, driving his stallion with his fury as if by doing so he could erase any trace of that man from the world, when his eye was caught by a surprising sight. He reined in abruptly and turned back to see if his eyes had deceived him. It was Elizabeth, sitting at the edge of a brook, her dark hair tumbling down over her shoulders and her bare feet dabbling in the rushing water. She looked up at him for a moment as he approached her, then back at the brook, her expression unreadable. He dismounted and strode over to kneel beside her.

  “Elizabeth!” he said, quietly demanding. She looked up at him silently, as if unaware of the impropriety of her position, and her silence only fed his anger and his desire. Why was she here, as if she were waiting for him? It was intolerable; he would no longer allow her to toy with him. He caught her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. To his surprise, she met him with an equal passion, and he knew then that she had indeed been waiting for him. Their mouths encouraged each other as his hands began impatiently to explore her body, taking possession of her waist, her breasts, her shoulders. She did not protest, and in fact seemed with her movements to be inviting more, enticing him to even greater ardour. She sighed against his lips as his fingers discovered her curves and she slid her arms around his neck.

  It was not enough. He had to claim her, every inch of her in every way. Almost roughly he pushed down the sleeve of her gown, freeing her hand and allowing him to draw down the rest to expose her creamy breasts to the air and to his hungry eyes and hands. She still said nothing, only pressed her nakedness against him.

  He took advantage of her embrace to press her backwards until she lay upon the grass, her hair spilling around her. Covering her legs with one of his, he kissed her fiercely again, caressing her until her body began to move involuntarily beneath him. He began to feel satisfaction—it would not be enough merely to have her; she had to want him as impossibly much as he wanted her, and he needed to own all her pleasure.

  It would never be enough. Without releasing her, he removed his leg long enough to draw up her skirts, then trapped her bare legs again with his, his hardness pressing urgently against her hip.

  Not enough, never enough. He pulled away just long enough to dispose of his trousers. With a sense of triumph, he lowered himself between her legs, reclaiming her mouth with the passionate demands of his own. She arched against him, and he pressed his arousal into her until he met the expected resistance, and then with a sharp thrust he took what should have been his so long ago.

  The pleasure of her flesh around him was exquisite, and his hunger was great, but as he moved within her he continued to encourage her with his lips and his tongue and his fingers until she shook with waves of fulfillment around him. Then at last he held back no more, and thrust himself into her time and again, hard and demanding and unrelenting until he exploded in a fiery burst of ultimate satisfaction.

  He collapsed into her arms, his need finally sated and his anger dissipated. “Now you are mine,” he said, their bodies still joined into one. “You will never so much as look at him again.”

  “But I must,” she said softly, speaking her first words since his arrival. “I must marry him—you know that.”

  ***

  Darcy sat up in bed, his forehead beaded with sweat. What a dream! He could still almost feel the sense of her body against his. Then those nightmarish words coming out of her sweet mouth…

  He was aware he had behaved badly that day at Longbourn, and Elizabeth had every right to be angry with him. He had not shown her the respect she deserved, and he had spoiled their hard-won myth that he had accepted her status. What had he been thinking?

  He knew all too well what he had been thinking, unfortunately. He had been thinking of how much he had wanted to tear Covington limb from limb to keep him away from Elizabeth. On the other hand, he considered what he had not done—he had not challenged Covington to a duel, he had not insulted him to his face, he had not tried to take Elizabeth away by force, he had not—as he had been tempted at one point—announced that she was his mistress. No, he merely had stayed close by her, had been something less than civil, and been overly familiar with Elizabeth that once. Seen in that light, it seemed hardly unreasonable; but it was unacceptable.

  He had not been spending his days with her by her invitation; he had been imposing upon her in order to feel the relief and pleasure that only her presence could bring him. He had been selfish, just as she had accused him of being all those months ago, taking what he wanted without thought for her. He had not been thinking of what was best for her—what kind of love was that, which put his needs and desires ahead of hers? And then to behave as if their time together gave him some sort of claim on her, when she had never indicated any desire for his company—what a fool he had made of himself!

  It would not do. Yet he knew that it had taken all of his control to stay as calm as he had, and that, should he again be in company with Elizabeth and Covington, he would likely do no better. He cursed himself. What was he hoping to achieve, after all? The benefit of seeing her was a temporary relief from pain, but it was predicated on the absurd invention of forgetting Covington’s existence. It would do him no good in the long term, and soon it would no longer be possible, because she would be living at Ashworth, and he knew that he would not be able to bear to see her there, knowing she belonged to Covington.

  He lay back in bed with a curse. He should be accustomed to this by now, the ripping pain that went through him whenever he thought of her marriage, but it injured him anew each time.

  What was he to do? The sensible thing would be to put an end to it, to go back to Town and try to find a woman who could help him forget Elizabeth Bennet. But sense never had any role in his feelings for her—when it came to Elizabeth, he lost his rationality completely. She deserved better, though, and he needed to find some way to give it to her, no matter how unpalatable it might be to him.

  He would stay away from Longbourn tomorrow, he determined. He would not trouble her with his demands, and would prove to himself that he could resist temptation for a day, at least. Then, perhaps, he could determine the best course of action, and how to separate himself from her, for her sake, if not fo
r his own.

  ***

  Unfortunately, the next day provided him no answers, nor the following day as he continued his lonely vigil at Netherfield. Bingley was understandably puzzled by his choice, but accepted it with his usual good cheer and went off on his own to visit his beloved, never guessing how sick with jealousy it made his friend to watch him go. They had been two of the longest days in his memory—he could find no distraction in books, billiards, or letters. Riding became a constant battle not to turn his mount toward Longbourn, hoping against hope to encounter her somewhere along the way.

  He was no nearer to a resolution, either. He missed her with a violence even greater than he had anticipated, her laughter, her wit, her sparkling eyes, all the many facets of her he loved. But why go back? he argued with himself. Then it will just begin again, and you cannot avoid this separation. But each time he tried to convince himself to leave Netherfield, he would think of how he would never see her again, and his desire to steal as many moments with her as possible would raise its head anew.

  He was still undecided as to what to do when he appeared at breakfast the next morning. He was inclining towards going to Longbourn, with the feeble excuse that it would look suspicious if, after so many days of regular visits, he suddenly disappeared for days on end. He wondered if she had missed him at all, then cursed himself for being an idiot. She had no doubt found it a pleasant reprieve.

  Bingley entered a few minutes later, greeting him cheerfully and helping himself to a heaping serving of food. He had only just seated himself across from Darcy when a servant appeared with a letter. He opened it carelessly and began to scan it, and Darcy saw his face go pale.

  “Good God!” Bingley muttered as he read.

  “What is it?” asked Darcy calmly, having seen his friend overreact on many occasions in the past.

  “It is from Jane—her sister has eloped. The youngest one, Lydia. I must go to her immediately!” He dropped the letter on the table and went to the door, calling for his horse to be saddled immediately.