by Delaney Jane
She had kissed him. He had come inside her. He had called her his Elizabeth. These were things that Lizzy did not want to think about, yet they were the very things that prolonged her orgasm.
When she returned to the ball later, in time to go home with her family, none of them having realized that she had been missing for the better part of the night, she ached in all the right places, and stared up at the windows to Darcy’s room.
He was there, watching her leave.
She had not wanted it, but she knew now, that she was his, and he, though he would never admit it, was hers.
Chapter Nine
Dances with Bingley
Jane climbed from the carriage with her family. They had all come as birds, save for Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennet, the former having not dressed up at all due to his position as a clergyman, and the latter for a dislike in all things silly.
Before they went inside, Jane took Lizzy’s arm. “Your mask,” said she.
Elizabeth had been awfully distracted lately, more so than when they left Netherfield. Since then, she had come into the acquaintance of Mr. Wickham, who seemed nice enough, though Jane felt he was hiding something. But Lizzy seemed determined that his low position in life was the fault of Mr. Darcy’s. Why she cared, Jane had no idea. She hated Mr. Darcy, why did she care if he were as horrible as Mr. Wickham claimed?
But Jane could not be bothered by her sister’s stubbornness to discover a truth that meant nothing. When they met Mr. Wickham, they had crossed paths with Darcy and Bingley.
Jane had not spoken to Charles since leaving Netherfield, as Caroline and Louisa hadn’t invited her over again, though they had come to dine at Longbourn.
They did not have time to speak alone, for Lydia asking him about his having a ball, but before they left he asked Jane if she’d read anything good lately.
She had flushed deeply and assured him she was still reading a book he had recommended. Too soon, Mr. Darcy left, calling Charles after him.
Tonight, she decided, she would be brave and let herself feel whatever she wished.
She had dressed in shades of blue, a large, feathered mask over her eyes, feathered clinging to her billowing sleeves. Beside her were Lizzy’s swan, Mary’s owl, Lydia’s peacock (despite Lizzy reminding her that the pretty ones were male,) Kitty’s flamingo, and Mrs. Bennet’s canary. They were a sight.
And when they entered the ballroom, all eyes found them. Jane’s hands shook under the attention, but as soon as she found Charles, his blue eyes meeting hers from across the room, her nerves faded.
It took him nearly an hour to reach her. It being his ball, he had to be a gracious host, and everyone wanted his attention. But he finally made it to Jane. He looked positively feral in his costume, not at all like the puppy dog people enjoyed teasing him for.
“Wolf?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Coyote. Darcy claimed wolf, and there is no arguing with him. You—you look lovely.” His eyes roved over her, lingering on the expanse of her exposed chest, bringing a flush to her cheeks. To her credit, he also blushed and looked away.
She bucked up her courage. “I finished the book.”
He flicked his eyes to hers.
“I—I did not bring it, though. I thought it would be a little odd.” And she was not ready to give it back just yet. But he needn’t know that.
“I could lend you another, if you like.”
He was testing her, she realized, gaging her response. She swallowed.
“I would.”
He smiled, taking another step toward her, his shoulders relaxing. She hadn’t realized how much he had invested in her answer, but it seemed it was a lot by his reaction.
“What did you think of Arthur and Guinevere’s story?”
She would have loved nothing more to talk about the book—the things she had read… it made her blush just to think about it. But they were surrounded by people; many of them waiting their turn to speak with Charles.
He followed her gaze and his shoulders tensed again. “Well, perhaps we’ll have a dance later and we can speak more on it then?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
He gave her a bow and then turned to the others. Jane left him there, and went in search of Lizzy. But she found her dancing with Mr. Collins and no amount of discomfort would send Jane running toward Mr. Collins.
She wandered. Her mother was already drunk, so she avoided her. Her father was moping and bored. Her sisters were all being young and silly, well not Mary; she was moping and bored like their father.
She danced several dances with officers, several more with men she knew from previous balls. When it finally came time for her to dance with Charles, Jane was beyond ready.
They lined up across from one another, Lizzy and Darcy several couples away. Jane wondered if there were more to their relationship than Lizzy wanted her to know.
That thought was driven from her mind when the music began and Charles stepped toward her. It was not a waltz, but it was not the usual fast-paced dance. There was time enough between turns, and space enough between them and the others that they could carry on a conversation and not worry about being overheard the entire time.
“You liked the book then?” asked Charles.
Jane blushed. “It was different than anything I’ve read before.”
He grinned. “That isn’t an answer.”
They turned, passing other couples, Lizzy and Darcy included, and then it was the pair of the again.
“I enjoyed the book,” she admitted finally.
“Did you think it scandalous?”
“It certainly was.”
“Would you be shocked to know that that book was one of the least scandalous books I have read?”
She stared up at during a turn that brought them close together. “I would be,” said she. That book had some very intimate passages.
“Are you—are you disgusted with me?”
She could not answer for an entire turn through the others, and then when they were facing each other, she held his gaze, finding caution in his.
“I am not disgusted with you.”
His features lightened. “I haven’t read some of Darcy’s books. Some of them are a little too much for me, but the ones I have read, they can be quite, um, instructional.”
She took his meaning and blushed deeply. She could admit only to herself that, while reading that book, she had imagined those things being described as they might happen between her and Charles.
“Well, I—”
Charles turned her, bringing her closer than was proper.
“Please don’t feel embarrassed. If you prefer we do not speak of the books—”
“It is all right,” said she. The music called for them to turn, but they had not yet broken apart. There was laughter from the crowd, and they moved, bumping into others, faces flushed.
When they came back, she said, “Lend me more of those books.”
The music ended. Others clapped, but Jane and Charles just stared at one another.
“Are you—” he swallowed. “Are you sure?”
She took a breath, the music for the next song beginning to swell though they had not cleared the floor.
“The women in that book; they were so free.” She glanced around at the masked dancers, crowding her, judging her. “Reading that book, knowing that information lies in my head without anyone being aware; it makes me feel a little less… caged.”
He stepped closer, his nearness pushing all the others away. “I am aware,” he whispered.
The music kicked in, and the dancers moved, forcing them into movement as well. They danced, silent, though unable to look away from each other.
They were both caged, masked, hiding. But perhaps, she did not have to hide alone.
Chapter Ten
The Violence of My Affection
You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. – Nay, were your friend Lady Cather
ine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.
Breakfast the morning after the Netherfield ball was a subdued experience. It was well past noon, and then women gathered around the table yawning with circles under their eyes. There was the clinking of forks and knives, of glass against wood, of stifled yawns, of birds chirruping loud enough outside the windows to get a snarl from an exhausted Lydia. Mr. Bennet ate his toast, watching his women in an amused sort of way.
There was the sound of heeled boots on the wooden floors, warning them all of Mr. Collins’s approach. He entered the room, pausing in the doorway for God knew what. Perhaps he expected the women to rise? When no one moved but to eat, he entered the dining room and stood beside Elizabeth’s chair.
“My dear cousin,” he nodded to her and then to the rest. “My dear cousins. Aunt. Uncle. I would like to request a private audience with Miss Bennet.” He set a hand on the back of Elizabeth’s chair.
Her stomach lurched, threatening to bring up her breakfast and all she had drunk the night before.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes gleamed. “Oh! Yes, of course! Girls, out now.” She stood and began bustling the others out.
Elizabeth grabbed for Jane. “Mr. Collins can have nothing to say to me that he cannot say to you all.”
Her mother smacked Lizzy’s hand from Jane’s, pushing her eldest daughter toward the door. She lifted Lydia by the arm, Lydia stuffing toast into her mouth.
“Mother, please, I beg you,” said Lizzy, reaching for the woman.
Mrs. Bennet leaned close to Lizzy, whispering sharply in her ear. “Do not be selfish, Elizabeth.” And then more loudly, with a smile, “We’ll be in the parlor when you’ve finished.”
Elizabeth stood, belatedly making an attempt at escape, but Mr. Collins blocked her way out. He clasped his hands behind his back, a look of importance on his sniveling face.
“I think,” said he. “It comes as no surprise to you, that I came to Longbourn with the intention of choosing a bride.” He puffed up. “It is with great satisfaction that I announce to you that you are the lady of my choosing.”
“Mr. Collins—”
“I should like to lay out my reasons for marrying,” he began, cutting off Lizzy without hesitation. And so began a long, boring sermon on why Mr. Collins wanted a bride and why he had chosen the Bennets as his fishing ground.
She tried to interrupt him several times, but he plowed on. He spoke of the clergy, the Lady Catherine’ suggestion of finding a wife in the first place, and the fact that Lizzy’s father would die someday and he would inherit Longbourn (as if she needed reminding…)
“And so,” he knelt on the floor before her. “And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection.”
She couldn’t help herself; she laughed in his face. Undeterred, he took her hand in his and waited for her answer.
There were a million reasons she would not marry Mr. Collins, and she told him quite a few, the least of which was her fervent belief that neither could make the other happy, ever, but the one reason that floated to the forefront of her mind and festered there was Darcy.
A marriage to Mr. Collins was not one of money or a way to raise her station. It would protect her family for the day when Mr. Bennet was gone, but she couldn’t believe that Darcy would find fault in that. This was a marriage that would not make her out to be some money hungry simpleton.
It would never make her happy. But that wasn’t why she told him no, in every way she could think of, even resorting to cruel words when he seemed convinced that she was only playing at not wanting to marry him, saying no in order to make him anxious.
“I assure you,” she snapped at him. “I would not play with a man’s feelings in such a way. I cannot marry you.”
Before he could say another word, Elizabeth leapt from the table and escaped outside.
It was quite warm and she walked twice around Longbourn’s property before Mrs. Bennet caught up with her.
Panting, her hair coming undone and flying all around her sweaty face, her mother glared. “You get back there right now and accept that man’s proposal.”
“I will not.”
“You selfish brat! Do you not care for your family? For your sisters? What shall become of us when your father is gone? We will be homeless! How dare you be so selfish!”
Lizzy took the abuse with no more than a scowl. She was used to her mother berating her for some thing of another. But even this was low.
“I do not love him.”
Mrs. Bennet shrieked a laugh. “You love no one but yourself and your ideas. You would let your sisters be ruined before you swallowed your pride and accepted a decent man as your husband.”
“Would you ask this of Jane?”
She scoffed. “Jane is already spoken for and you know it.”
“Mr. Bingley has asked her to marry him then?”
“Don’t be stupid, child. It is as good as done. Mr. Collins has asked for you, and you will accept.”
“No,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her throat burned, as did her eyes. She would not cry in front of this woman. She loved her mother, as a child should, but she hated Mrs. Bennet as a person.
Mrs. Bennet stomped her foot. “Spoiled, selfish, insolent girl! You want love? Who could love someone as stubborn and pigheaded as you? No man worth a lick of salt will put up with your ridiculous behavior!”
That was enough. Lizzy turned and walked away. Mrs. Bennet screamed at her, following, tripping through the tall grass as Lizzy cut a path through the fields.
When it became clear that Lizzy was going to walk right off of Longbourn property, Mrs. Bennet gave her a final scream, her voice hoarse now, and stormed back toward home. Lizzy kept going, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
She did not know where she was heading until Netherfield loomed up in the distance. She sat atop a small hillock, staring at the expanse of Netherfield a mile or so away. The warm wind snapped at her hair and dress. Above her, blue skies stretched, a bright sun shining behind her, making Netherfield almost glow white.
Somewhere in that palatial home Mr. Darcy prowled. No matter what she told Mr. Collins or her mother about why she would not marry the mousey little man, her real reason was one she could not share with anyone.
She would never say the words aloud either, but it had been decided. Last night, when she was with Darcy, he had claimed her. She was his. No other man would do. She wouldn’t call it love, but something close to it.
Elizabeth sat on that hill for most of the day, returning to Longbourn as the sun began to set, darkening half of the sky. When she finally reached home, stars glittered overhead.
Her mother met her at the door, her glare as cold as ice. “If you do not accept Mr. Collins’s offer, I will never speak to you again.”
Mr. Bennet looked grim beside his wife. It seemed as though they had spoken about this already, perhaps fought about it, as Mrs. Bennet wouldn’t look at him.
He spoke to Lizzy, his voice heavy, his shoulders sagging. “It seems you must choose between your parents,” said he. “For your mother will not speak to you if you do not accept, and I will not speak to you if you do.”
Elizabeth released a breath, her knees going slightly shaky. If her father had tried ton convince her, she may have listened. But as it was, he was on her side, and she rant to him, embracing him.
Mrs. Bennet huffed loudly and stomped into the house. True to her word, the next morning Mrs. Bennet would not even look at Elizabeth.
Chapter Eleven
The Wife of Mr. Collins
She had always felt that Charlotte’s opinion on matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she could not have supposed it possible that when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage.
Mr. Collins stayed through the week, making for a very uncomfortable few days. He no longer asked
to read to them at night, and he kept his opinions at the dining table short, cutting off quickly if he looked too long at Elizabeth.
She could not have hoped for his silence, as he seemed to believe that her rejection had more to do with her feelings of self-importance than anything to do with him. The morning after she had rejected him, she suffered through an hour-long speech about the importance of finding happiness in marriage before too long into one’s life. When she didn’t respond, he spelled it out for her and said that she needed to get married to a decent husband before she got old.
It was at that point that Lydia announced her desire to take a walk to Meryton. The sisters went, leaving Mr. Collins to his own devices.
Those devices became clear the Friday before he was set to leave for Hunsford. Charlotte came to see Lizzy where she wandered through the fields, the chill of winter rippling the grass.
Lizzy greeted her dear friend, but was soon left dumbfounded as Charlotte related her news. Elizabeth could not call it good news as she found it utterly unbelievable.
“You cannot be serious,” Lizzy said for the second time.
Charlotte’s well of patience ran low as she huffed through her nose. “Not everyone can marry for love, Eliza. This is my chance at having my own home, at not having to worry about ending up homeless after my father is gone.”
“The man is a fool. You will be the laughingstock of England for becoming his wife.”
“So that is why you denied him? So you wouldn’t look a fool?”
Lizzy gritted her teeth. Her friend was making a terrible mistake. “That is part of it.”
“You’ve been graced with beauty,” said Charlotte. “One day, if there is a man who can put up with your biting words, you will have a much easier time of finding a husband than I could. This is my chance,” she said again, almost begging.
Beyond frustrated, Lizzy snapped, “You will never be happy. If he is as droll in bed as he is in conversation, then you will never have children.”