Suddenly Mrs. Darcy

by Jenetta James

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Author’s Q&A

  Acknowledgements

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Suddenly Mrs Darcy

  Copyright © 2015 by Jenetta James

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever. For information: P.O. Box 34, Oysterville WA 98641

  ISBN: 978-1-936009-42-8

  Cover design by Zorylee Diaz-Lupitou

  Layout by Ellen Pickels

  Prologue

  I have never felt less sure of myself than I feel now. The candlelight flickers over the plain walls and shadowy furnishings of this room. Darkness and damp press against the small windows. An empty rambling countryside lies beyond, and the rumble of unknown revellers roars quietly below. I know he will come to me, and I pull the heavy blanket higher against my person. I can hardly credit I am here, nor know how the compromise of my life shall ever be made right.

  When he does come, I know I must welcome him. It cannot be that he truly wants me, for we are strangers, and in his manner, he has made it plain. He says little, and in view of what has happened, I dread to imagine what he thinks. Even my mother, a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper, seems to know all is not quite as it should be. She knows, as I do and as he does, that she is the author of our situation. I mull, not for the first time, the way in which this began. The confusion and speed of events and the ambiguous nature of the tricks played upon me scream through my mind. I can make no sense of his part. Is he motivated by honour or hatred of scandal or pity, or some other unknown creature in his head? Does he lack the imagination to act other than he has done? I have only the scantest knowledge of him. You could not call it intimacy; you could not call it friendship. Even so, it is a secret between us that he is in some sense guilty if not exactly guilty as charged. However, we are here in this place, and the best must be made of it if we are not to run mad.

  Occasionally, I hear a tread upon the stair and I start, marshalling my courage and straightening my face. But then the tread moves in another direction or returns to the public bar. Some servant perhaps or another guest—not him, coming for me. I turn onto my side in the unfamiliar bed, thinking that, by moving my limbs, I may still their trembling. Apart from the fear of what must come, I am also tired to the bone.

  The journey north began almost immediately after our wedding and is not yet complete; it has been long and the weather treacherous. Mr Darcy sat opposite me in the carriage and said little. In my head, he is “Mr Darcy.” Our connection, short and strange, does not seem to merit any other appellation. In the darkness, I miss my sister Jane and the sweet smells and familiar shapes of our chamber at Longbourn where I have slept all my life. The memory of my mother’s advice, given in that chamber on the subject of this night, returns to me. I begin to wish it would start rather than hound me by being so protracted in the anticipation.

  And so it does start. Steps on the stair do not recede or return. Instead, they grow louder, heavier, and closer; they pause only briefly before I hear a tap upon the door. “Come,” I say, not knowing whether it would be better to say nothing for he knows I am in here. Where else should I be but in this room in this bed? I have nowhere to run as he well knows.

  His appearance in the light of the doorway makes me feel small, but I resist the urge to shrink further to the edge of the bed. Something inside me rises, and though I am fearful, I raise my head slightly and look at his face. It wears a blank expression, and as he closes the door behind him, he asks if I am comfortable.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I am.”

  He sits upon the bed and stretches out his hand to me, not touching. “Good. I hope that you are. Madam. Elizabeth. I know you must be fatigued.” He seems to want to say more but does not. The emptiness of the air and the words unspoken swell the space between us, and I remember my resolve.

  “I am not so fatigued, sir.” I try to smile and not appear embarrassed by my circumstances. A shadow of a reply plays across his lips in acknowledgement, and he begins to undress. I turn my head, for watching a man disrobe is wholly without my experience, and I had not anticipated it. I knew it was not a spectacle I should usually witness since Mr Darcy would normally be undressed by his valet. But this night we have been, as so often during our short association, wrong-footed by matters outside our control. Only one chamber was available, so only one chamber do we have.

  And only one bed—so I know I must make the best of it. When he wears only his lawn shirt, he lifts the side of the blanket and, looking at my face for only a moment, gets in. He also looks at the candlelight flickering across the empty wall before turning to me and saying “Elizabeth, come,” as he takes my shoulder and rolls me towards his embrace. My mother had told me it would be over quickly, and so indeed it was. He is not rough and has the goodness to warn me it may hurt at first. It does hurt, but I do not cry out; I will not allow myself to do so. I simply lie before him and allow him to part my legs and enter me as I had been told he would. I find I am not prepared for the odd feeling of his great weight upon me nor the solitary feelings of indistinct woe that beset me as I lie on my side afterwards, feeling his wetness, hearing his breathing, and hopeless of sleep for myself.

  Chapter One

  The excitement rendered to our household by the arrival in the neighbourhood of Mr Bingley and his party had been great. I have wondered since whether over-excitement caused by his leasing the nearby manor at Netherfield Park was at the root of what then took place. Whatever the truth, the introduction of a rich and single gentleman, ready to smile and dance, had quite kicked up the dust of our lives. Excitement would have ensued whether or not he had a preference for my sister Jane. But as it was, he had taken immediate notice of her beauty and goodness, and our mother was in raptures. The rest of Mr Bingley’s party had been the fly in the ointment from the start. His sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, were ladies of fashion, more pleased with themselves than what they saw. His friend Mr Darcy was as haughty as he was disagreeable. It was said he was very rich, but this seemed to one and all to be small consolation for a sour disposition. They looked at us and our little community and found us wanting. I found each of the sisters and Mr Darcy studying me on occasion but did not particularly wonder at their reasons. I was too thrilled for Jane, and I was invigorated, as we all were, by the prospect of things happening.

  When Jane took ill at Netherfield Hall, I had an opportunity to see more of our new neighbours. The news reached our family that Jane was abed with a fever after she had taken supper with Mr Bingley’s sisters, so I walked across the fields to her aid. I am a strong walker and think nothing of three miles on a familiar path when my sister is poorly at the other end. I detected some reticence at my appearance from the ladies of
the household and Mr Darcy, but I did not think on it. During my stay, I had a number of uncomfortable exchanges with Mr Darcy and often found him glancing in my direction. He and I communicated only by way of disagreement, and I began to feel that our being together in the same room was a punishment for everyone else present. Any discussion between us seemed to descend inexorably into an argument. We were discordant notes trapped briefly in the same tune. We were not friends, and I did not seek his approval any more than he sought mine. Apart from this reflection, I did not think about him at all. Blessedly, Jane was recovered in three days, and we were home.

  No sooner did Mr Bingley and his household establish themselves at Netherfield than the regiment arrived among us and quartered themselves at Meryton. Suddenly, our village was crawling with redcoats, and all of us, particularly my younger sisters Kitty and Lydia, were in raptures. In this way, Mr Wickham came to be among us. He was, I thought privately, the handsomest officer of the regiment and very agreeable. His easy manners put all at leisure with him, and his conversation flowed naturally. I was quite taken with him and flattered he always sought me out. In one of our earliest conversations, he had told me of his connection to Mr Darcy and their growing up together on Mr Darcy’s family estate in Derbyshire: Mr Darcy as son and heir, and Mr. Wickham as the son of old Mr Darcy’s steward. Mr Wickham had played as a child with Mr Darcy, but in adulthood, Mr Darcy had done him a great wrong. Mr Darcy’s father was godfather to Mr Wickham and favoured him greatly. The old man funded his godson’s education and planned for him to enter the church. However, when old Mr Darcy died, his son refused to honour his father’s request that Mr Wickham have a living within his gift. Such injustice had forced Mr Wickham into the military life, but he was as sanguine as he was charming and seemed to rise above the spite of Mr Darcy. I admired him greatly and could not be in his company enough.

  To this ferment was added the visit to Longbourn of our cousin Mr Collins. Older than his years and lengthy in his conversation, Mr Collins is a clergyman who shall inherit Longbourn on our father’s death. I have never troubled myself with the origins or mechanics of the entail. It is simply a fact of our lives that, when our father dies, our home shall become the property of a distantly related stranger. His arrival at Longbourn was to disabuse us all of any mystery or romance that may previously have attached to him. He had not been with us for ten minutes before we were all assured he talked far too much and thought far too little. He flattered where flattery was neither necessary nor welcome. In relation to his parish patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, we were left in no doubt of her wealth, prestige, and condescension towards him. He had spoken in his letter to my father of looking to make amends to us for the injury he would ultimately do us by inheriting our home. I was, therefore, alarmed and disquieted to find him on a number of occasions looking in my direction, tilting his greasy head, and creasing his face in a smile.

  Happy was the day that all the families in the neighbourhood received their invitation to a ball at Netherfield. Dances were requested and dresses considered, and we were all aflutter. On the morning of the ball, Mama accosted me as I returned to Longbourn after my morning walk. It was immediately apparent she had something to say that she meant me to heed but suspected I would not. “Elizabeth, come here.” She beckoned me conspiratorially although there was nobody else there to see. The air was chill, and the trees had lost their leaves. We walked together in the bare, bracken-littered garden. “Now Lizzy, you will be very attentive to Mr Collins this evening, for he is particular for your company, and you would do well not to put him off.”

  “I have agreed to dance the first two dances with him, Mama. You know I cannot escape.”

  “And why ever should you wish to escape, child? What a notion! You should be very particular to please Mr Collins as he has shown a preference for you. I hope he will ask you to dance the supper dance with him as well, for then you would secure him throughout the meal. Yes, that would be a great advantage. I shall find some way of suggesting it to him.”

  “Mama, I beg you would not suggest anything more to him. I shall dance with him—of course, I shall—but two dances will be quite enough. I do not wish to spend the whole evening with him. And as for supper—surely, we all endure enough of his conversation at home!”

  I recognized the ire rising in her and the mistaken belief that I misunderstood her meaning. “Lizzy, you do not know of what you speak. This is not merely a matter of supper and dancing. I have very good reason to believe it is more serious. Mr Collins has resolved to choose a bride from among our daughters, and he favours you, Lizzy. He will make you an offer—I am sure of it—and soon. You must be ready. You must not put him off.”

  “Mama, please.” I could not let her go on. “Our cousin, he is…well, he is simply not a man whom I could ever imagine marrying. And I am very pleased to say that he has not asked me.”

  “Pleased! Pleased!” she barked. “Pleased to be the ruin of your family when you could secure the future of your mother and your poor sisters; you say you will not. How can you think so? I am ashamed of you! I suppose you think there is some alternative! Who do you think will come for you? Do you expect a second Mr Bingley to come into the neighbourhood, or maybe you fancy a life as Mrs Wickham, eh? Well, you are a foolish girl. It will never come to be. You will never get a better offer than Mr Collins, and then when your father dies, we shall not be turned out of our home. You cannot refuse him.”

  “I can refuse him, Mama, and I will.” I tried, not completely successfully, to keep my voice level whilst Mama’s climbed in volume and octave.

  “You selfish creature. You selfish creature. How have I raised such a selfish girl? I do not know! Your father shall hear of this. You may not pick and choose, Elizabeth; you owe this to your family. I expect you to attend to Mr Collins this evening and attend him well.” The lace framing her face shook as she spoke, and she looked away from me in fury.

  “You ask too much, Mama. I will not do it. My feelings forbid it in every respect.”

  At that moment, my sister Mary appeared to say that Mama was wanted in the house. I do not suspect her of having listened to our exchange; my sisters and I were so used to Mama’s histrionics that they did not signify. However, I knew I had rattled my mother, and she was working her anger around and around in her mind. I saw her glance at my every move and tighten her lips, ruminating on the best manner to foist Mr Collins upon me.

  It did not do to spoil such a merry day in pondering this discussion with Mama, so I did not do so. The house was alive with laughter and the hubbub of ribbon swapping and gown altering as my sisters and I prepared for the ball. Our poor father retreated to his library as our mother pronounced loudly and repeatedly who should look well in what. My sisters bickered over pieces of lace and ornamented one another’s hair with beads and flowers. It was dusk when our family carriage drew up outside Netherfield, and I felt the wonder of seeing that familiar house losing the daylight, bedecked with lanterns, humming with all the people of our acquaintance, and more.

  My dances with Mr Collins were not over as soon as I would have liked; he stumbled and babbled his way through them in a most conspicuous manner. I would never have danced with Mr Darcy had I been able to find a reason to refuse him. But upon the heels of my set with Mr Collins, I could not. There was nothing I expected less, so when he asked me, I was at a loss to say anything other than, “Thank you.”

  The set was a trial for us both. When I could withstand his silence no longer, I tried to tempt him into conversation and got almost nowhere. When we did talk, we descended quickly into argument. He had seen me in conversation with Mr Wickham days before, and he made some remark that Mr Wickham can make friends but not retain them. I could not bear to leave his arrogance unchecked.

  “He has been so unhappy as to lose your friendship in a way he is likely to suffer from all his life,” I said, not looking into his eyes, f
or our dance did not allow it. I felt him stiffen beside me, and I was not sorry I had made him uncomfortable. Why should he not feel discomforted in public when Mr. Wickham had suffered so grievously?

  “You take a great interest in that gentleman’s affairs, Miss Bennet. Have you been long acquainted?”

  “A man’s character may be plain upon first meeting. I always believe in first impressions, and a long acquaintance is by no means essential to trust a man’s word.”

  As the dance drew to its end, he bowed to my curtsey and said, almost in a whisper, “I would beg you, Miss Bennet, that you not trust that particular man’s word. It is not worthy of you.” Unconvinced as I was, I was also intrigued, and when he held his arm out to me, I placed my hand upon it and walked with him.

  “You cannot expect praise, Mr Darcy, for such stern words in a ballroom. A dance is for making mirth, is it not? It is not for slandering an agreeable gentleman whom you have injured.”

  I felt him tense and knew at once I had gone too far. Unseen by others, I felt his arm pull me towards the edge of the room and through the open door of a dimly lit salon. As we entered, the daughters of Mrs Long, whom I have known all my life, left laughing and nudging one another, anticipating their dances. My sister Mary, brushing at a mark upon her skirts and frowning, was behind them. Mr Darcy dropped his arm and turned his back to me, running his fingers through his hair. Feeling his disturbance—and my own at being alone with him—I turned to leave, but he stopped me.

  “Miss Bennet, I hope I have never done anything to lead you to distrust me.”

  “Certainly not, Mr Darcy. I am sure you agree I hardly know you.”

  “But to know and not to know are relative terms.” He lingered, seeming to form sentences in his mind, only to discard them and say nothing. I had almost exhausted my intrigue and resolved to depart the room when his eyes held mine, and he placed his hand on my shoulder, lowering his head to speak quietly. Shocked as I was by his touch, he only meant to speak, of that I am sure.