Compromising Mr. Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  Darcy excused himself to the other room for a moment while Elizabeth began to make up her tea and his coffee. He returned and smiled at her thoughtfulness.

  He took a sip, clearly enjoying it. “Mmm...the way I love it.” He kissed her head and carried his cup to a window to look out at the condition of the roads, and Elizabeth smiled after the man she loved.

  The thought was so natural to her for once that she did not bother to question it. Elizabeth’s smile grew. When Darcy turned to face her again, her heart felt so full that she stood to walk to his side and embraced him, which he happily accepted.

  After weeks of questions and worries, she finally had her answer. She allowed and welcomed Darcy’s attentions because she loved him. The joy she felt at admitting it to herself was more than she ever dared hope to feel. She had once worried about their happiness in marriage. She worried they were drawn together by little more than passion, but now she was certain they would be truly happy.

  Once they were in the carriage, however, she feigned sleep to consider how she fell in love with him so unawares. She at last thought of her sister’s words to her. Elizabeth had shared much with Darcy in their first few days of matrimony. They discussed their greatest fears, secrets from childhood, what they desired in their marriage, hidden accomplishments, and so much more. Although still lacking in the final physical expression of intimacy, Elizabeth felt closer to Darcy than any other person she had known. And in return she felt cherished, accepted, and valued.

  Jane declared that she felt only trust and affection for Bingley when they anticipated their vows, never fear, and Elizabeth realised that had always been the case for her with Darcy. More than all this, she now understood him to be the very best of men.

  Even when I felt an obligation to dislike him because I thought him proud, something greater in me had the sense to love him and trust he returned it.

  Elizabeth hardly knew how to express her new certainty in her affections to Darcy but knew she must soon.

  *****

  Darcy and Elizabeth passed the remainder of the day in various levels of excitement.

  Elizabeth viewed the countryside of her new home county with greedy eyes. As they entered the Peak District, Elizabeth realised how different Derbyshire was from Hertfordshire! And how different this man was from any other she had known. As she determined she could easily enjoy the rest of her life exploring Derbyshire, she also realised how much she looked forward to a future of learning more about her husband.

  Elizabeth’s delight and approval of the Pemberley grounds and house were evident, and nothing could bring Darcy more happiness. He proposed a nap or walk about the grounds or even a tour of the house, but Elizabeth desired only a quick bath and then to continue with their dinner plans. Darcy could hardly hide that his thoughts concluded they might end the night earlier than usual.

  Elizabeth observed that Pemberley and its grounds were exquisite and the perfect reflection of the character of its master. Neither ostentatious nor uselessly fine, it reflected a welcoming elegance. The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, was very kind but clearly just as efficient as Mrs. Sparks. In short order, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were bathed and back downstairs for an enticing dinner. Afterwards, they adjourned to the music room.

  “Will you play for me?” Elizabeth asked with such affection in her eyes that Darcy could not refuse.

  He had not played for quite a while, and the instrument took some time to tune. She watched his large frame embrace the curves of the instrument, somehow making it seem small in his arms. He gently, lovingly tuned it, returning again and again to the same spots, until it responded just as he wished. When at last the violoncello was ready, Darcy pulled it in a little closer and nestled his chin close to its long neck. As he gently swept the bow across the strings, sweet music filled the room, and Elizabeth trembled.

  Darcy played quite well for seldom practicing. Although it was a simple tune, he conveyed great emotion in it, as though part of his essence was being imprinted on Elizabeth’s heart. She was entirely entranced by his fingers; listening to him and seeing his hands caress the instrument was a sensual experience and left her feeling heady. For all that their marriage remained unconsummated, she had memories enough of his hands, strong and gentle, coaxing something sweet and beautiful from her, as though she were his well-loved instrument.

  She did not notice when he ceased to play, her body too distracted with other sensations for her hearing to be on alert. She startled when his warm breath grazed her ear.

  “Play for me, Lizzy?” She blushed further. He had only called her Lizzy in very intimate settings. As she played and sang for him, his gaze was so penetrating she could barely manage without stumbling.

  She gathered her courage, though, for she had other plans and requested they next spend some time in the library. Later, she would take in the grand size and vow to read every volume, but now she had very singular thoughts.

  “Do you have something particular you wish to read this evening?”

  “No. Now you must stand here.” She arranged him and laughed at his confused expression. She began to sing:

  “Down yonder green valley, where streamlets meander,

  When twilight is fading, I pensively rove

  Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander,

  Amid the dark shades of the lonely ash grove;

  ‘Twas there, while the blackbird was cheerfully singing,

  I first met that dear one, the joy of my heart!

  Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,

  Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.1

  As she began to sing, he smiled and joined in; soon they were dancing. Instead of the correct last stanza, she arched her brow and sang:

  “Cease your funning, force or cunning,

  Never shall my heart trepan;

  All these sallies are but malice

  To seduce my constant man.

  ‘Tis most certain by their flirting

  Women oft have envy shown,

  Pleas’d to ruin other’s wooing

  Never happy with their own.”2

  Darcy stopped in mid-step, confusion apparent on his face.

  “You see, we are in Derbyshire now!”

  “Derbyshire?”

  “Why, yes! You told me those were the correct words to the song in Derbyshire.”

  He laughed but asked again, “When did I say such ridiculous nonsense?” Then the answer struck him. There would have been only one opportunity for him to say such words and not recall with perfect clarity.

  “When we danced in the library at Netherfield, before I sliced my hand on your brandy glass.”

  “My brandy glass?”

  “Yes, you knocked it over when you stood to bow at my exit. See, my scar?” She held out her left hand to him. She was growing confused. She knew he had been half in his cups that evening but did not imagine he remembered nothing. Why did he propose, then?

  “Did it bleed very much?”

  “No, you had my handkerchief quite at the ready. I had left it in the room from before, and you must have found it.”

  He staggered back from Elizabeth.

  “You do not remember?” He jerkily shook his head. Elizabeth could hardly account for it, but she felt as though she might cry.

  “Tell me, what happened next?” His breath was coming quickly and only added to Elizabeth’s confusion.

  Does he truly not recall our touches? Carrying me?

  “I...I felt lightheaded, and you carried me to my chamber door. You were quite the gentleman and so concerned about my injury.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. “Carried you to your chamber door? I left you at your door?”

  Elizabeth blushed scarlet. “Of course! What did you imagine?”

  He did not reply, and suddenly, it was all too clear to Elizabeth what he had thought happened. She could scarcely breathe from the pain.

  “You believed you seduced me! That was all you
r talk about duty and honour during your proposal! How could you think it of me?”

  “Elizabeth, it was nothing you did…”

  “Did you think I was a loose woman? Or that you were such a great catch I would succumb? Perhaps you believed I threw myself at you!”

  “No, never!”

  “I did not even like you then!”

  Darcy paled and stumbled into a chair. Immediately, Elizabeth regretted her admission; she had no true wish to pain him. Had she not just earlier today determined a part of her had loved him even then? But she felt so betrayed. She loved him, and he did not even respect her! All the affection she thought she had for the man was built on lies.

  Her greatest fears were realised. She disgraced herself enough with the liberties she allowed, and now she had the foolish idea it was based on love! “Cease your funning!” He sang it as a warning; he did not want to succumb to her charms. And now “The Ash Grove” would be nothing more than an anthem to her broken dreams of love.

  She could not bear to remain in the room any longer. With a strangled sob, she wrenched open the library door and walked to her chambers. She desired to run but knew she should not. She was grateful to not encounter any servants along the way. Upon reaching her room, she gave in to her sentiments.

  * * *

  1 “The Ash Grove” is a Welsh folk tune that first appeared in print in 1802 inThe Bardic Museum by Edward Jones, although some believe the song is older than that. These lyrics were translated by Thomas Oliphant and appeared in the 1862 Volume I of Welsh Melodies, Withwith Welsh and English Poetry.

  2 “Cease Your Funning” was a song in John Gay’s 1728 ballad opera, The Beggar’s Opera. Called “the most popular play of the eighteenth century,” there has been a debate about the source of Gay’s melody. Some believe it borrows from “The Ash Grove.” Although the words do not look similar in metre, the melody must be similar enough to cause confusion.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Before more than a quarter of an hour, long before she had reached the end of her tears or felt herself composed for sensible conversation, Darcy knocked on the door that led to their shared sitting room. It made her jump.

  “Elizabeth?” She made no answer. “Elizabeth, darling, please.” He sounded desperate, but she could not face him now.

  After several minutes of silence, she heard him walk away as she numbly sat on her bed and stared at the door. Her tears had not ceased, but they had lessened in severity, and she chose to look for a handkerchief, finding one on the table next to her bed. Seeing her newly embroidered initials on it made her sob again.

  Recovering herself to a degree, she twisted her damp handkerchief between her hands as she tried to sensibly consider Darcy’s revelation. If he had only thought they shared the sorts of intimacies they had explored since the wedding, she would not have been so hurt. His concern for her health, his belief in her condition lasting for several months, all spoke to him believing she had entirely given her virtue to him before marriage, or even an engagement, and was with child.

  Did he truly think so well of himself? If she did not entirely trust that he had been telling the truth—he had never been with a woman before—she might have thought he was self-assured with due cause. His every touch, however, showed his respect and reverence for her. His hesitance without clear encouragement and approval from her was not the touch of a practiced rake.

  If he did not think himself so talented in the ways of charming women, then something about his encounters with her must have made him so confident this seduction took place. She recalled how ashamed she felt after allowing him liberties in the library. At the time, she was unsure herself if she was wanton. She had enjoyed it. She even conducted an experiment to discover if the sensations Darcy elicited were possible from any other man. It took her weeks to determine her feelings came from love, but understanding her husband’s thoughts on the reason for their marriage brought all her concerns to the front again.

  No matter her doubts on herself, this was one situation where his opinion did matter immensely. If he thought she would give her virtue to him unmarried, how could he respect her? Would there ever be trust between them? If she was so weak for him, would Darcy believe her capable of these acts with any man?

  Yet, he did trust her. Perhaps he thought she allowed him so much because she cared for and loved him? How could he think that when she was uncertain of her past feelings until this very day? She searched her memories. Before that night at Netherfield, she had mocked and teased him every chance she had. She could not understand how that could be taken as encouragement, but the poor man was so unpractised in the ways of love. The hurt on his face when she declared she did not even like him before that evening told her he must have believed otherwise.

  Elizabeth next recalled his odd satisfaction every time he heard the word pleasure. She blushed deeply as she recalled how many times she used the word, all the more as she noticed how much he enjoyed it. If his flawed memories of the evening were anything like what they had shared in the last few days, then he quite earned the smug grin he wore.

  Remembering when she first used the word, she gasped. How much of this misunderstanding was due to them talking past each other on such a topic? She had enjoyed the evening in the library. Darcy was pleasant, playful, and very attentive to her. It did bring her pleasure, but he imagined a different set of events entirely and assigned another meaning to her first declaration! She had unknowingly encouraged his blind understanding of events. Even her mother hinted at believing something of the sort took place, and Elizabeth refused to understand.

  She always passionately responded to him. Her first reactions in the library lacked entire encouragement, but she never attempted to stop him. Once betrothed, however, she happily followed his lead on their intimacies and took the initiative many times. Certainly nothing she had said or done since becoming engaged would make him believe she did not harbour tender feelings for him.

  What of him? He was an honourable man. She was certain in her opinion. How could he have thought he was so capable of going so far? She could not believe it of him!

  It was clear he had desired her, but such temptation could not have been entirely new to him. Elizabeth was not so vain as to think herself capable of enticing him when no other lady had. Were his feelings so strong that he could not restrain himself? Yet he had in recent days, even when she begged. Did he think the alcohol could affect him so entirely? Elizabeth admitted she had little experience with such, but images of Mr. Hurst too dazed and tired to be of any use came to mind. She shook her head. She could hardly suppose how Darcy had reckoned it in his mind.

  She turned her thoughts again to the matter of his honour. Other men might give in to their carnal lusts with little thought, but Darcy was not one of them. As much as she credited herself with needing more than a physical desire to agree to such acts, she also believed Darcy needed more. If she took offence to the argument that she would have succumbed to Darcy’s seduction because she was a weak female, she could not claim Darcy would attempt a seduction only because he was a man and prone to lust.

  Earlier in the day, she was certain she was half in love with Darcy even while she was at Netherfield. It was the only way she could have enjoyed his touch, but she had welcomed it long before she was certain of her feelings. To criticise Darcy for desiring the same before truly knowing his feelings was hypocritical. She agreed to marry him before she knew she loved him; if he had no memories of the night, might he have thought he promised her matrimony even if he did not understand all of his feelings?

  Promises of matrimony and seductions turned her mind to Jane and Bingley. Her aunt insisted it was easy to lose good sense when in love and committed to one another. She even went so far as to say the desire for such was natural. Jane really had anticipated her vows, and Elizabeth had not condemned her, partly because she was still uncomfortable with the events of the night that led to her own betrothal. The scripture, “He that is withou
t sin among you, let him first cast a stone,” came to mind.

  Jane insisted she and Elizabeth could never have acted wrongly were they not in love and betrothed to honourable men. Elizabeth had to allow at the time she agreed. When she honestly searched her heart, she had to admit she could not hold herself as more righteous than Jane. If faced with that temptation, she might well have succumbed. If only she had some proof Darcy had thought of her in such a light before his proposal!

  She reached for a fresh handkerchief to wipe the last of her tears when she recalled Darcy had hers in his pocket that evening. She had thought he was going to return it to her the next day, but now she wondered if he had not meant to keep it.

  What man who only lusted for a woman would keep her handkerchief, like a token? If it were only lust on his side, would he have remembered the song she sang at Lucas Lodge? Would he have so gently tended to her? He made no demands, no attempts at anything greater.

  Unfolding the handkerchief, a piece of paper fluttered out. With trembling hands, she picked it up and read.

  Darling Elizabeth,

  I wanted to write you verses as I watched you slumber, but I find I cannot do you justice, and so I turn to an expert. I would jest that my poor attempts might starve away any inclination you feel for me, but I refuse to allow it to be so. For, as you have said before, ‘Everything nourishes what is strong already.’

  She was a Phantom of delight1

  When first she gleamed upon my sight;

  A perfect Woman, nobly planned,

  To warn, to comfort, and command;

  And yet a Spirit still, and bright

  With something of angelic light.

  -W

  Elizabeth could scarcely breathe when she was finished. Such sentiments could not be put on. Once again, Darcy’s every action showed his love, even if he chose not to pronounce the words.

  She could not believe he was capable of feigning the look that affected her so greatly at the time, the same look that she undoubtedly knew now as love. Yes, Darcy was in love with her even then, for such ardent love could not be the work of a moment any more than the love she felt was. How unjustly she accused him of idle talk!