by J L Pearl
Contents
Becoming His
Dear Reader
Desired by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
6
Claimed by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
Taught by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
Spoiled by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
Taken by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
Adored by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
Cherished by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
Beloved by Mr. Darcy
1
2
3
4
5
Afterward
Description
Titles by JL Pearl
BECOMING HIS
The Complete Eight-Part Serial
A Steamy Pride & Prejudice Variation
JL Pearl
Copyright 2019 JL Pearl, all rights reserved.
No portion of this work may be duplicated or distributed without the author’s permission.
This is a work of serialized fiction consisting of eight individually published episodes, all of which are included in this special electronic boxed set edition.
This is an original story featuring characters from Jane Austen’s beloved classic, Pride & Prejudice, placed in new situations. Some of the scenes are very steamy, and as such should be enjoyed responsibly by readers of a certain age.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading my serialized Pride & Prejudice variation, Becoming His! A Pride & Prejudice variation is a specific form of Jane Austen Fan Fiction wherein characters from her beloved novel are set in new circumstances or given new obstacles to overcome. This particular variation happens to be quite steamy at times, and should be enjoyed by responsible readers of a certain age.
I so appreciate you taking the time to read, and I hope you find what you are looking for! If you like it and need more, you can find all my stories right here.
Thanks!
Best,
JL Pearl
Desired by Mr. Darcy
a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation
by JL Pearl
Becoming His, Part 1
Copyright 2019 JL Pearl, all rights reserved.
This scene is a work of original fiction using characters from Jane Austen’s beloved novel, Pride & Prejudice. This story is very steamy, and should be enjoyed responsibly by readers of a certain age.
1.
“You cannot pretend to be interested in a man with such connections.” Elizabeth Bennet pulled a pin and sighed as brunette locks fell loose about her shoulders. There was simply nothing better on earth than letting one’s hair down after a long evening in society.
Her elder sister, Jane, frowned gently. Everything she did was gentle. “I cannot speak for his acquaintance, Lizzie, nor do I pretend to make any excuse for Mr. Bingley’s association with him.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, attempting to divert the vexation she felt. She should not be cross with Jane. Poor, sweet Jane, who would never be cross with her. Nevertheless the dark stranger had put her in a state. “I am sorry, Jane.” She touched her sister’s hand. “I do not mean to aggravate you mercilessly. I only wish you would agree with me as to the character of Mr. Darcy, and I wish that would deter your interest in Mr. Bingley.”
Jane removed her hand. “But what has one to do with the other? For can you not see, Lizze, that Mr. Bingley is the best, most handsome, most charming, and all-around honest-seeming gentleman to visit Derbyshire in all our lives, and that he is eminently eligible, and that, heavens, he seems to have shown an interest in your poor sister, who shall soon die an old maid without the hand of a man to guide her?” As she spoke she grew piteous, though humor sparkled in her eye. Elizabeth laughed with her in spite of her annoyance.
“You are very droll. But my concern is that, should you be pulled into his sphere of influence, you will in truth be under the influence of someone far less pleasant and virtuous.”
Jane’s frown returned as she let her own hair down. “Someone who seems that way to you, Lizzie. Sister, I do not doubt that you believe what you say, but consider it from my point of view. Or better yet, sleep tonight and let’s speak of it again tomorrow, when the sun has returned to banish shadows and whispers of the night.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue until Jane had left the room.
“She does not believe me at all,” she then muttered, moving slowly toward her bed.
Could she blame Jane? Would she believe the tale, had one of her other sisters shared it with her? True, this Mr. Darcy was a total stranger, but some modicum of decorum was still to be expected of a gentleman of such consequence.
Yet Elizabeth had witnessed anything but.
She had to admit he was attractive. He was of a good height, with a strong, admirable frame and noble mien. Everything about his physical appearance was handsome and desirable. And for just a moment, when their eyes had locked, she had felt that unmistakable spark of pure, bestial desire one sometimes feels, though rarely with such intensity, when one locks eyes with another whom Mother Nature has crafted in such a way as to be a perfect biological companion. But his was a strange attraction, not like anything she had ever experienced. He was not pleasant like Jane’s gentleman, not the sort with whom Elizabeth might conspire and laugh, as she had always imagined. No, his attraction was a mystery. It spawned from his darkness, his reclusiveness..
He was an enigma to her.
She blew out the candles, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling. His words echoed in her mind. Yes, there was his rude comment that she was “tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him,” but that by itself would have been laughable. It was the other thing she had overheard Mr. Darcy say that night that kept Elizabeth awake for hours, startling every time the old house creaked or the wind shook the window.
2.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a healthy appetite must be in want of a large breakfast. So it was that Elizabeth found herself eating almost twice as much as usual the next morning, for if, as the old saying goes, “he who sleeps, dines,” she reasoned that perhaps the reverse was also true, and she had taken precious little sleep in the course of the night. Perhaps it was her overlarge morning meal that inspired her to take to the lane to walk afterward, and as Jane was otherwise occupied and none of her other sisters were particularly interested in joining her so early, Elizabeth found herself alone with her thoughts.
So much for respite.
She had been alone with her thoughts all through the restless night, too, and was growing tired of them. How handsome Mr. Darcy was. What a fine figure he cut when he crossed the room, or even just standing still! She had wished, more than once, that she had witnessed him dancing. And—fantasy of fantasies—that he had deigned to dance with her. But upon that thought she grew ashamed of herself. She should not have such thoughts for a man so rude and arrogant. Nor for one so potentially dangerous.
It was from these thoughts she was startled when she heard the gentle sound of horse hooves clopping along. She glanced up to see a man approaching, and for a moment she believed it to be the very one of whom she had been thinking. Her instincts warred within her. Everything about him screamed �
�danger!” and told her to throw herself from the path and try to hide from his sight, but something in her body longed to be close to him, to be the object of his gaze once more. It was a short battle, for the man turned out not to be Mr. Darcy at all, but his far more pleasant companion.
“Ah, good day, Ms. Bennet!” Mr. Bingley drew his mount to a stop a few yards from her. “I see you, like me, are out early to greet the day! Has it been a`fine one for you so far?”
His smile was warm and cheery, his voice amiable and honest, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. “It has, thank you. And for you, sir?”
“Indeed. I am happy to see you, for I chanced upon my morning ride to find this lane, and wondered if it might lead to your family’s estate. I, ah… that is…” He blushed, seeming to have given himself away. Elizabeth looked down to hide her smile. She was pleased on Jane’s behalf, in spite of herself. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s faults, this man was clearly not foul.
“Happy chance indeed,” she said, looking up again. “This lane does indeed lead that way. And if you take it at a leisurely pace, you will likely arrive in time to find my elder sister Jane having just finished her lessons at the pianoforte.”
“Ah, excellent!” He flashed another brilliant smile. “She plays, then?”
“She would not have me tell you so, sir, for she does not consider herself an adept. But yes, in my estimation, she has a fine touch.”
“Excellent.”
They fell silent for an awkward moment. A sparrow sang from a branch overhead.
“Are you heading in to town, perhaps?” he asked her.
Elizabeth gently shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I have no goal at present but to clear my mind and enjoy the morning air.”
“I quite understand.” He nodded. “That’s the entire reason I came to the country to begin with! And what lovely air indeed.” As he said these words, Elizabeth marked that his eyes wandered up the lane in the direction of her family’s home.
“Perhaps,” she suggested, “you would like company on your way?”
His smile lit up once more. “I would be delighted, Miss Bennet!”
Just then another rider joined them from behind Mr. Bingley. Too late to escape did Elizabeth recognize him, and when she did, every muscle in her body seized with the thrill of fear.
“Mr. Darcy!” cried Bingley, turning to him. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you join me. You will, of course, continue with Miss Bennet and I up the lane?”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes bored a hole in Elizabeth’s own, his stare inscrutable, as he said, “But of course.”
His voice sent another thrill through her body, this one far more erotic in nature, and she recalled one of the many half-dreams she’d had the night before. A warm blush rose to her pallid cheeks.
“I beg your pardon.” She looked down at the ground, dirt-spattered horse hooves in her periphery, “but I must continue on my way. Please accept my apologies, Mr. Bingley, but I only just recalled—I do indeed have an errand that takes me in the opposite direction as yours.”
Mr. Bingley’s face fell in sympathetic disappointment, but he bowed over his horse and said, “Of course, Miss Bennet. It was a pleasure to see you. Please do continue to enjoy the morning!”
It was not until she had walked a hundred paces as quickly as she could that she paused to turn and glance over her shoulder. The two men had already grown distant, retreating up the lane on their mounts. Nevertheless she was quite sure she saw Mr. Darcy turn back round from staring after her.
3.
It was hard.
Very, very hard.
Fitzwilliam Darcy took a deep breath through his nose and held it a moment before blowing it out in a sigh. He was sitting atop his horse in the lane, waiting for his misguided friend to pay an unadvised visit to the eldest Bennet daughter. It had taken all of his willpower to not once more admonish Mr. Bingley to change his mind. Now he waited, feeling foolish. It was hard for him.
Even if the Bennet family were not of such inferior standing and devoid of any meaningful connections, he would have a difficult time finding this sudden infatuation of Bingley’s convenient, nor the decision to pursue the girl appropriate. But he could not confide his true motivations to his friend, for the one was indeed in the country on pleasure, the other on business.
And that business was not for Bingley’s knowledge.
The clouds overhead parted and for just a moment the sun shone brilliantly all around. Mr. Darcy frowned, uncomfortable, and guided his horse beneath the feeble shade of a maple tree. He’d had no wish to venture outside like this in the light of day, first thing in the morning. But Bingley was clearly not in a right state of mind. He needed to be watched.
He supposed he could try to take the current turn of events in stride by thinking of them as nothing more than a pleasant diversion, a little twist to keep him amused in his work. He had precious few diversions. But though he cared for Bingley, in his way, he found he cared nothing for the man’s insipid desire to find a young woman in the country with whom to settle down.
Now that other Bennet sister—she was diverting indeed.
He shook his head. Such thoughts had no place in it. He had no time to waste considering her lithe figure, her clever smile, the sparkle of knowing jocularity in her eyes. Such pleasures were not his to chase.
He had business, and it was a hard business.
“Yes, please do come inside!” he heard Mrs. Bennet exclaim from the house. “Jane is just finishing up her lesson at the pianoforte. Oh, oh my! Perhaps you would like to hear her play?”
They had agreed—or at least Mr. Darcy had believed he had obtained an agreement from Bingley—that under no circumstances would the man enter the house. It was not appropriate. But although he could not hear Bingley’s response from the lane, he could tell by the tone of the man’s voice that he had every intention of entering, and possibly even staying for some time.
That would not do.
So it was with another sigh that Mr. Darcy resigned himself to this unpleasant impropriety and nudged his horse out from the maple’s shadow, across the lane, and toward the Bennet family house.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy!” Bingley cried, smiling as ever. His foot was already across the threshold as he turned. “You’ve decided to join me after all. Delightful! Won’t you come in with me? Ah—” He turned back to face inside the house, doubtless where the elder Bennet woman stood. “That is, with your permission, m’am.”
There was a pause.
“I suppose. If he comes with you, he must be welcome, of course.” Mrs. Bennet made no attempt to quiet her voice as she delivered the insulting invitation. Mr. Darcy sneered as he alighted from his horse. “Please, do come in.”
4.
The Bennet family house did little to relieve Mr. Darcy’s suspicion that his friend’s time and attentions would be better spent elsewhere. Not that a grandly decorated manor would have done much at this point to turn his opinion. Not after the ridiculous behavior the night before of Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters.
Still, the eyes of that one lingered, having touched something deep within him.
He glanced around, prepared to recoil in disgust at the cheap decor, the paltry furnishings, the utter lack of comfort. Instead he saw only her eyes. Her skin, so fair, must be so soft. He imagined what it would have been like to stand before her in the dance, to hold her gaze like a man, and to endeavor to earn her smiles for the duration of the evening.
Well, for the duration of the evening in society—if it could have been called that. He would have endeavored to earn more than smiles from her after the dance, in the privacy of a secluded room…
He shook his head once more, snapping out of his reverie. What was she, this girl who had suddenly exerted so much influence over his thoughts? Nothing. She was nothing worth his consideration. This is what he told himself now to bring himself back to the situation at hand.
“What brings you to the country, Mr. Bingl
ey?” Mrs. Bennet had sent one of her younger daughters to fetch Jane, and was now seated in the corner of what Mr. Darcy supposed was to pass for a drawing room. He stood, stiff and aloof as ever, against the wall beside the entryway. His friend, upon Mrs. Bennet’s invitation, took a seat of his own.
“Just a simple holiday, m’am,” Bingley said with a smile. “I’ve come to take the country air and to see its many beauties. Though I confess, at present, my eyes seem stolen away by one in particular.”
“Ohh, you!” Mrs. Bennet turned her head, barely concealing a bawdy grin, and patted Mr. Bingley with one aged paw. Mr. Darcy recoiled in sympathetic disgust.
“Ms. Bennet!” Bingley sprang to his feet with a bow as Jane entered the room.
“Mr. Bingley, good morning!”
Mr. Darcy studied his friend carefully. Alas, he had to admit to himself that his enthusiasm seemed sincere. Of the lady’s reciprocation, he was not as sure.
“I happened to be riding in the lane that passes by your father’s estate, and thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to call on you.”
“I am very glad of it,” she replied with a little courtesy.
“Might you be inclined to join me for a stroll in the fresh air?” He then turned to Mrs. Bennet. “With your permission, of course, m’am. And we shall have supervision, for my companion, Mr. Darcy, is fastidious in his care for me. Is it not so, Mr. Darcy?”
“It is,” Mr. Darcy replied quietly.
“I shall be glad to join you,” Jane said softly.
Mr. Darcy frowned. Her enthusiasm did not match Bingley’s; surely the man must have also noticed. Or perhaps not, judging by the boyish grin plastered across his face. Perhaps he was blind to the true nature of her feelings by a superimposition of his own. But no matter; it did not signify. It bore little weight on the more important matters that should be occupying Darcy’s mind.