To Refuse Such a Man: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by P. O. Dixon

  “What did my aunt say that has given rise to such an expectation?”

  Elizabeth continued, “She mentioned that her daughter and you were destined for each other at birth.” She placed her hands on her waist. “You might have told me this, sir. Then I might have been prepared for your aunt’s vitriol.”

  Darcy said, “There is a reason I omitted telling you such nonsense. It is because I have never entertained the idea of such an alliance.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “My cousin is of rather a sickly constitution for one, but that is not the entire reason. I have always desired wit, charm, vitality, and passion in the woman who would be my wife. I believe I have found all that and more in you.”

  Darcy seized Elizabeth’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Shall we move ahead with our plans to marry when we return to Hertfordshire, or shall we allow Lady Catherine to prevail, Elizabeth, my love?”

  “My love, Mr. Darcy? Shall I consider such tender words as evidence of your increasing regard or shall I consider them rather a fond endearment?”

  “Both, actually. For one, I can think of no better way to address you. Most importantly, I am falling in love with you—” he brushed a kiss across her knuckles “—more and more each day.”

  Elizabeth’s warm smile encouraged him to continue. “The truth is I have secretly entertained the idea of us being married longer than you know. From the moment you accepted my proposal, I have grown accustomed to thinking of our lives together as one. That is not to say there will be no more trials similar to the one with my aunt, but we will face them together. I never wish to be parted from you.”

  Darcy clasped her hand in his. “Pray you share a modicum of my sentiments.”

  “I must confess that the thought of being your wife is one I joyfully entertain during my every waking hour. I wish for nothing that might deter us from the course we’ve set.”

  “Dare I suppose that is your way of saying you like me?”

  “I do indeed, sir. I like you very much. You might venture to say I am falling in love with you—” Elizabeth raised his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss across his knuckles “—more and more each day.”

  Darcy’s heart leaped with joy at the idea of what Elizabeth’s words foretold of their future marital felicity. The idea of theirs being a love match rather than a forced alliance warmed his heart. Thus inspired, he said, “May I ask when you first realized your feelings had begun to undergo such a promising change?”

  Her spirits rising to playfulness, she replied, “If I am forced to name the time and the place, I would have to trace it to the moment I entered your magnificent home.”

  Darcy laughed wholeheartedly at this accounting. Only Elizabeth could say such a thing without giving offense. Squeezing her hand, he said, “Our magnificent home.”

  Chapter 11 – The Means of Uniting Them

  Having procured a special license while in town, Darcy and Elizabeth began their lives as one within days of returning to Hertfordshire. What a happy day it was for Mrs. Bennet! In addition to getting rid of her second eldest daughter, she also had the good fortune of knowing that her Jane was soon to be married as well—to Mr. Charles Bingley.

  Indeed, having returned to Hertfordshire in time to stand up for his closest friend, the young man answered his own heart’s calling too. He and Jane were to be married in two months.

  Miss Charlotte Lucas’s pending marriage to the heir of Longbourn was nothing in comparison to such happy news as this. The only thing left for Mrs. Bennet to complain about was that Jane would soon be away in Derbyshire with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy at Christmastime. Why shouldn’t all her girls have a chance to enjoy the gaieties of that season in such splendor? Her recent stay in town had afforded her the opportunity to meet two of Mr. Darcy’s cousins: one of them a viscount, the other an officer, and both of them single. What a good thing for her girls. Her comfort was in knowing that the Darcys would be in town for the London Season. So would Mary, Kitty, and Lydia if Mrs. Bennet had a say in the matter.

  The militia being in town did not alter Mrs. Bennet’s stance for it had led to no marital prospects at all for her girls. If only her Kitty or her Lydia had been as fortunate as Miss Mary King from a neighboring estate. That young woman had inherited a fortune of ten thousand pounds and, in so doing, had attracted the ardent admiration of her youngest daughters’ favorite beau, Lieutenant George Wickham.

  This too was just as well. Anyone who knew anything at all about the goings-on in Meryton knew that Mr. Darcy and Wickham did not like each other. Rumors abounded that Darcy had used Wickham very badly. As a result, the latter did not call at Longbourn whenever the former was there, which turned out to be more often than not. By virtue of Darcy and Elizabeth always being in each other’s company since the day after the Netherfield ball when their engagement period began, Elizabeth never did get the chance to learn what her youngest sisters’ enthusiasm for the lieutenant was all about. Again, it was just as well.

  Mr. Bennet had no wish to pierce his wife’s bliss over what it must mean to have secured such advantageous matches for two of her daughters. He neither said nor did anything to give her cause to believe that her wishes for the other girls would not unfold as she planned. Why risk introducing disharmony during such a cheerful time? His joy that his favorite daughter did not seem the least bit unhappy about the prospect of leaving his home with a man whose acquaintance she had made only three short months ago was just as he wished it would be. Between his daughter and Mr. Darcy there was mutual respect as well as affection, and, if pressed, Mr. Bennet would confess he detected in the young couple the makings of a deep and abiding love.

  He told his daughter as much. “Mr. Darcy deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.”

  Miss Caroline Bingley also returned to Hertfordshire to witness Mr. Darcy’s nuptials. Her motive had been simple—she did not wish to lose her right to visit Pemberley. If the young woman was the least bit aggrieved that those Bennets would soon boast of a connection to her own family, she did nothing to evidence her displeasure.

  Still, she could not help reprimanding herself for her part in Mr. Darcy’s decision to sacrifice himself on the altar of Eliza Bennet’s reputation. She was convinced that had she held her tongue about the quiet whispers of what might have unfolded when he and the second eldest Bennet daughter were left alone behind closed doors, Darcy would have quit Hertfordshire the day after the ball none the wiser. Instead, she had the misfortune of watching the man whom she coveted for herself and the woman whose very essence disturbed her idea of what an accomplished young lady ought to be join hands in matrimony. How vexing it was to know that her own actions, intended to bury the potential scandal, had been the means of uniting them.

  ~*~

  The haste in which Elizabeth had assumed her new appellation—Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy—was such that she often felt the need to pinch herself.

  She stood with Darcy in the mistress’ suite at Darcy House.

  “I trust you will find everything to your liking.”

  “Indeed. Unless I am mistaken, there have been some changes since Georgiana showed me this room,” said Elizabeth, observing all about. Every part of it was something with which she must now accustom herself. How different this room was from the one in which she had spent all her life in Hertfordshire—this exquisitely arranged room, which would be her own forever more.

  “My sister and Mrs. Annesley were determined to adhere to all your mother’s recommendations.”

  “I had no idea they were taking Mama’s suggestions to heart. I must find a way to thank them properly when we are all together at Pemberley.”

  “Knowing that you are happy is all the thanks they require, I am sure. You are happy, are you not?”

  “I am, sir. It was such a beautiful ceremony. If I have but one regret it is that Uncle and Aunt Gardiner were unable to attend.” Elizabeth wandered to the bedside table and studied the intr
icate pattern in the splendid silver candlestick holder. Her mind busily engaged in anxious thoughts of how different her life would be now that she was married to one of the wealthiest men in Derbyshire—how she would not wish to lose so much of herself in assuming the role as the wife of such a man, she spoke wistfully. “I do hope we shall see my aunt and uncle while we are in London.”

  Darcy had called on Elizabeth at the Gardiners’ Cheapside home every day she was in town. He had been favorably impressed that despite Mr. Gardiner being in trade, he was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sisters, Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, as much by nature as education. Not that it would have made any difference to him. By now, he fully embraced his friend Bingley’s assertion that the Bennets might have uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside and it would not make his lovely wife one jot less agreeable. Still, it was good to know that Mr. Gardiner was nothing at all like his sisters.

  He said, “We shall make it a priority to call on them, Mrs. Darcy.”

  How Darcy admired his bride. Everything about the wedding ceremony was perfect. Recalling how lovely she looked when the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, he drifted behind her. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss on the nape of her neck.

  Elizabeth jumped.

  Darcy stepped away. “I’m sorry.”

  Elizabeth had merely been startled, but the look in her husband’s eyes told her that he was severely wounded. She meant to apologize, but when she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand, effectively silencing her.

  His eyes regretful, he said, “I fear I may have overstepped. Forgive me.”

  What on Earth was I thinking? She must think me a savage—lustful and lascivious. He hesitated a moment, hoping she would absolve him of the discomfort he now felt. She did not. He cleared his throat. “It has been a long day. No doubt, you are tired and in need of rest. I shall see you at dinner.”

  He was gone directly. Unable to say whether humiliation or vexation bore the greater share of his attitude, he did not know what to think or how to feel. All he knew was he needed a stiff drink. On his way downstairs to his study, Darcy saw his butler.

  “Will you and Mrs. Darcy be dining in the formal dining parlor, sir, or would you prefer to dine elsewhere?” Here he cleared his throat. “Some place a bit quainter, perhaps.”

  “The formal dining room,” Darcy said, his voice reflecting a hint of his annoyance with himself for allowing his passions to get ahead of him in Elizabeth’s apartment. His idea for an intimate dinner for two, he abandoned. The last thing I wish to do now is to overwhelm my bride.

  He had been most diligent in avoiding a repeat of what had happened that rainy day at Netherfield. Self-reliance had been a near-constant companion of late. Such would surely be the case that night—his wedding night.

  She is young—an innocent. She will need time to adjust to her new situation. I must abstain from such wild carnal, unguarded behavior until she is ready. I will know when the time is right. I only pray I shall not have to wait too long.

  A while later, Darcy and Elizabeth reunited for dinner. Awkwardness flooded the room—its companion, silence.

  Darcy sat at one end of the formal dining table best suited for a party of twenty or more and Elizabeth sat far away at the opposite end. Any number of magnificent silver candelabras separated them, impeding any manner of polite conversation. Those times Elizabeth endeavored to look around the ornate barriers and catch his eye, he seemed especially concerned with the delicate china, the sterling silver utensils, the sparkling crystal glasses—even the wall hangings.

  A host of servants stationed about the room gave Elizabeth to consider that a fitting explanation for Mr. Darcy’s reserve. She certainly hoped such was the case and that he was not nursing the wound she had unintentionally inflicted upon him earlier in her apartment.

  She tasted her soup. It was not too hot, not too cold, but rather just right. What was more it was one of her favorites. She wondered if it were merely a coincidence or if her husband had given himself the trouble to inform the cook of her preferences.

  Her instinct was to acknowledge his consideration, but that would have required yelling across the room. Albeit it was a lovely room and she could well imagine all the delightful dinners she would oversee within those walls, it was far too formal for solely the two of them—far too formal for two young lovers on their wedding night.

  After dinner, Darcy prevailed upon Elizabeth to play something for him and she gladly acceded to his request. He sat on the settee and she sat at the pianoforte. He might have sat next to her, she thought, but then she considered he was brooding still over her inadvertent response to his amorous overture. How she wanted to explain, but in the absence of sufficient encouragement, she said nothing.

  Elizabeth yawned. The long day had taken its toll on her.

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy. I fear I have been thoughtless in asking you to exhibit merely for my own pleasure. You must be thoroughly fatigued. Will you allow me to escort you to your room so you might retire for the evening?”

  She half smiled. Perhaps he was not angry with her after all. She stood and together they quit the room, arm in arm, and proceeded slowly up the stairs. Nary a word was exchanged, but Elizabeth liked to think that would be changed soon enough, thus erasing the strange sense of missing him that she suffered even though he was standing right next to her.

  When they arrived at the door, he clasped her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Good night, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Wanting to put an end to the cool civility between them, she heard herself say, “Will you not be joining me, sir?”

  After what seemed a long time, but could not have been more than a second or two, he said, “I shall see you tomorrow—at breakfast.” Releasing her hand and bowing slightly, Darcy went away.

  Elizabeth did not know what to think or how to feel. She drifted into her room. Seeing that her night clothes—a silk negligee and matching robe—were placed on the bed, she rang for her maid. Were it not for the elaborate fastenings on her gown, she surmised she was more than capable of getting herself ready for bed. From the looks of things, that night would be no different from any other—except that she would be sleeping in a strange bed in a great big, empty room. Looking around, she had never felt so alone as she felt at that moment.

  A half hour later, Elizabeth sat up in bed in deep reflection of the prospects for her future happiness. What had happened to the man who had been so attentive to her during the days and weeks leading to the wedding? Had she caused him so much pain with her unintentional rebuff?

  Have I led him to believe that I do not welcome his affections? Is he regretting our hasty marriage?

  Elizabeth glanced in the direction of his apartment, and she detected a sliver of light peeking from underneath the door that she had not noticed before. Getting out of bed, she tiptoed across the room in her bare feet to listen. She remained there for at least a minute. No sound could be discerned.

  Then she heard a man’s cough. She raced back to her bed.

  For half an hour she continued sitting up in bed, cradling her knees to her chest. This is not how I intended to spend the first night of my married life. She traced her fingers over her lips in remembrance of their first kiss as man and wife. It was pleasant enough, but it was not to be compared to their first kiss at Netherfield. That kiss had awakened her desires and left her longing for something more. Something so powerful, she likened her stirring passions whenever the two of them were alone to wantonness.

  She recalled her promise to herself that she would not give into her yearnings no matter what—at least until after the wedding. She suspected Mr. Darcy’s struggles were no less than her own, as evidenced by his body’s response whenever they were alone. Still, he had been a consummate gentleman in every respect since that rainy day at Netherfield. Save an incidental brush of their hand during the carriage ride to town, he had held himself in check. Now, when they were at libert
y to explore their bodies’ beckoning, a misunderstanding had been the means of erecting a wall between them.

  The prelude to Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal echoed in her mind.

  “I know what I am about to say to you might seem rather untoward, but decades from now when you look back at this moment, my greatest wish is that you will remember it fondly.”

  “Decades from now, when I reflect upon this night should my memories not be even fonder?” Elizabeth whispered. Lifting her face to the ceiling, Elizabeth exhaled a determined breath. It will not do. She lowered her feet to the floor and reached for her silken robe.

  Pray, this is the only wedding night I shall ever have. I shall not allow a misunderstanding to intrude on the happiness of what is meant to be one of the most unforgettable days of my life.

  Moments later, she slowly pushed open the door separating the two apartments. The blazing log fire cast a romantic air all about the room—warm and inviting. Elizabeth espied her husband sitting up in bed, his back cushioned against a mountain of fluffy pillows, reading a book.

  Darcy looked up. Seeing her in his room, he laid his book aside. His eyes questioning, he pushed away the covers and lowered his bare feet to the floor. The crisp linen nightshirt he wore evidenced his longing.

  Elizabeth felt the heat spread over her body. Her silk negligee left even less to the imagination. Her heartbeat raced. Answering his silent entreaty, she placed her fingers on her robe and lowered it from her shoulders. Inch by inch, it cascaded to the floor and puddled around her bare feet.

  He extended his hand to her. “Elizabeth, my love—”

  Reaching out to him, Elizabeth’s fingers touched his. Darcy took her by the hand. He placed his free hand on her arm. Tenderly tracing a pattern towards her long slender neckline, he welcomed her into his bed. Gently smoothing his hand under her chin, he lifted her face to his. Their eyes closed, their lips met. Slowly and reverently, at length they lay next to each other and commenced doing what lovers did.