One Night with Mr. Darcy, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
More P&P Variations
Chapter One
Chapter Two
The Netherfield Ball
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
The Netherfield Ball
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
The Netherfield Ball
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Netherfield Ball
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
ONE NIGHT WITH MR. DARCY
a Pride and Prejudice variation
Valerie Lennox
ONE NIGHT WITH MR. DARCY
© copyright 2023 by Valerie Lennox
http://vjchambers.com
Punk Rawk Books
More P&P Variations
by Valerie Lennox
Pride and Prejudice as Jane Austen never intended!
Mr. Darcy, Downstairs
The Fae Prince Darcy
The Bewitchment of Mr. Darcy
Completely and Utterly Mr. Darcy’s
Designation and Deceit
Mr. Darcy and the Island
Mr. Darcy and the Governess
Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Fitzwilliam
Mr. Darcy the Rake
Entrancing Mr. Darcy
Finding Mr. Darcy
Beyond Mr. Darcy’s Reach
Barely Betrothed to Mr. Darcy
Compromised by Mr. Darcy
Mr. Darcy, the Beast
Mr. Darcy and the Lost Slipper
In the Tower with Mr. Darcy
Mr. Darcy’s Downfall
Mr. Darcy, the Dance, and Desire
Pledged to Mr. Darcy
Mr. Darcy’s Courtesan
Escape with Mr. Darcy
The Dread Mr. Darcy
The Scandalous Mr. Darcy
The Unraveling of Mr. Darcy
Join my email list here.
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN MISS ELIZABETH Bennet found herself to be with child, it was not a cause for celebration but rather a calamity of the highest order.
As the prefix in front of her name indicated, she was not married, and that was the primary reason why the news was not joyful. She had gotten herself into this predicament after the gentleman who’d contributed to the formation of the child had promised her several times the very thing—matrimony.
Of course, that had not materialized.
She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, was this not the typical warning that young women were always given about men? Do not believe them when they claim they will look after you. Demand that they marry you before giving in to them.
She had heard such advice bandied about, of course, and she was not the sort of woman who would easily give in to most men. But the man in question had been so very convincing, and besides, she knew things of his character, things that led her to believe he would be as good as his word.
For instance, he had a very strong sense of duty and rightness. He certainly claimed, at least, to be a man of upright nature who cared deeply for propriety and goodness. He had many things to say about that—well, when it came to women, anyway. She remembered his enumeration of what made a woman accomplished, for instance. He’d been very exacting with all of that. And he’d comported himself in such a way so as to make her believe that he was an honorable man.
She had trusted him.
She had also been very drunk.
And not just on alcohol, although there had been that—strong drink, in fact, and a lot of it. But there had been absinthe within the mix, too, and there had been… sort of… well, everything had been unreal.
But she had trusted him.
And that was why, the morning after it all occurred, when she had been accosted by her horrid cousin Mr. Collins and he had asked for her hand in marriage, she had refused him. She had waited all day for Mr. Darcy, the man she’d been with the night before, to appear. He had not.
So, she had gone to seek him out.
It was not unlike her to be so forward, truly. It was not the first time she had walked from her house all the way to the house where he was staying, all alone, though she knew such behavior might be frowned upon.
But when she’d arrived, he only looked at her with a very confused expression writ upon his countenance. “Did I say I would call upon you today?” he said, as if the thought of such a thing was beyond all sense. “At your house? At Longbourn?” As if setting foot in Longbourn was beneath him.
“You claim you didn’t say that?” Her voice had been a squeak, a horrified squeak.
“To be frank, Miss Bennet,” he said, “last night is entirely a blur. I might have said a number of things, but I can’t rightly claim to remember them.”
He had been drunk too.
He’d had quite more of the absinthe than she’d had.
Everyone had been drunk.
There had been a ball. It had gone on until the dawn, which was why she and he had been capable of slipping away, drinking so much, divesting her of her virtue, and then getting dressed again—well, she had, he’d stayed in his bed—and getting back in her family’s carriage and going home with the thought—the promise—that he would come for her the next day, that he would marry her.
“You remember nothing about us last night?” Her voice was still a squeak, a higher squeak. Inside her heart was struggling to beat, going out of rhythm every third time it squeezed.
“We danced, did we not?” He squinted. “And then, erm…” He shook his head, face turning a bright shade of red.
Why was he embarrassed?
“What do you remember?” She pitched her voice lower, a whisper, leaning closer. “Please, sir, if you but remember being alone upstairs at the very least?”
He drew his brows together. “What?”
She licked her lips. Well, she’d come this far, had she not? She might as well—
But then someone else appeared in the doorway, a Miss Caroline Bingley, who did not like Elizabeth and had various designs on Mr. Darcy herself. “Are you two going to converse like heathens here in the entryway? If you have come to call, Miss Eliza, which I must say is highly irregular at this hour, do come into the sitting room.”
Elizabeth’s nostrils flared. She considered all her options in the moments that followed. Perhaps she could write a letter to him, explaining it all, explaining his promises, explaining what had happened.
But if so, if so, well, what if he shared it with someone? It was well known that Elizabeth’s mother wanted to snag wealthy gentlemen for her daughters. Why, one of the reasons that Elizabeth had been so indulgent in drink last night was the clearly embarrassing loudness of her mother declaring this fact to anyone who would listen at the ball. So, perhaps he would think it was an awful scheme on her part, that she was lying.
She certainly couldn’t speak of it with him now, not in front of Caroline.
She was not feeling well, and she had not really entirely recovered from last night—what with all the drinking, the lack of sleep, and the bit of tenderness in odd areas of her body, areas she wasn’t aware had been really used for the purpose of having her virtue divested. Her muscles were sore nonetheless. So many of her muscles were sore.
And it was blurry for her, too.
She couldn’t remember all the sequences of it.
There was a point when they were kissing and then, somehow, they’d not been wearing clothing. Perhaps if she thought about it, she’d piece together how they’d gotten from one to the other, but as of now, it all seemed vague. She did remember the divesting of her virtue bit, though. That was very clear.
She looked at the gentleman in question now, looked at his crotch area, and remembered what that had looked like.
Oh, Lord.
She left.
But she didn’t go home. She couldn’t. She went to Lucas Lodge, where her friend Charlotte lived, practical and sweet Charlotte, who would never have gotten herself into a predicament like this, never.
Except she didn’t quite make it there.
Instead, she came across Mr. Collins in the road, whistling to himself.
She had no desire to speak to him, but then it was too late, for he looked up and took her in. She had been crying, tears making long rivulets down her cheek for she had stopped trying to dash them away at this point. She was still sniveling rather badly. The truth was, this was likely the worst day of her life.
Be sure your sins will find you out! She’d heard that sentiment from the pulpit on a number of occasions, and here was the real and obvious illustration of such a thing. Having done this, it wasn’t anything like her. Why, it was something her ridiculous and silly and idiotic younger sister Lydia might have done, but Elizabeth would never have done it, never.
Except she had.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Collins. “You are… are walking on the road.” It cannot be stressed how much this stumbling over speech was indicative of Mr. Collin’s sheer surprise to see his cousin wal
She had no idea what to say to him. So, she simply agreed. “How astute you are to notice, sir.”
He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. He looked over his shoulder. Lucas Lodge was still visible in the distance, a short walk away, but Elizabeth could not go there now. There was nothing for it.
No, she saw her future laid out in front of her suddenly, blindingly brilliant in its clarity. She let out a shaking breath, and it sounded like a sob.
“You are… are crying.”
“Because I have reconsidered your proposal, sir, and have been feeling terror that you will not forgive me for my behavior earlier,” she said, all in one breath, more tears squeezing out of her eyes as her heart seemed to wrench itself in two. She didn’t want to marry this man, but it was this knowledge—that Mr. Collins wanted her—that had also led her to drink in excess last night and to give in to improprieties with Mr. Darcy. She had thought to herself that if she were going to be married to a man that disgusted her, she might as well know what it was like to kiss a man who was pleasing to the eye. But then Mr. Darcy had made all those promises—empty promises, it turned out—and she had begun to envision herself as Mr. Darcy’s wife, head of his vast estate in Derbyshire, comfortable and well-kept, a storybook ending. How foolish she’d been!
“Oh,” said Mr. Collins and his shoulders slumped.
Now, she straightened. Lord, he did not sound pleased. “You will forgive me, sir?”
“Miss Lucas, she is so very pleasant, isn’t she?”
Elizabeth was horrified. What? He wanted Charlotte? Charlotte was a full seven years older than Elizabeth, and her father might be a knight, but they couldn’t even afford servants to keep them all, and that was truly an inferior match, but trust Mr. Collins not to know such things, of course. He was truly an idiotic imbecile of a man.
Still, Elizabeth would have never have said no to his proposal that morning if she hadn’t thought she had Mr. Darcy coming to rescue her. She owed it to her family, after all. She had struggled with it, gone back and forth in her mind, and she had tried to find the strength to choose herself above the plight of her family, but… but…
Well, it would have been one thing if Jane weren’t still so ill.
They thought that all Jane had was a trifling cold when she was first laid up at Netherfield, and indeed, their mother kept insisting that’s all it was. But Jane hadn’t been well enough to come along to the ball the night before, and she had been spending almost all her time in bed, and Elizabeth had been moved out of Jane’s bed and forced to sleep with Lydia instead, because her father was alarmed that Jane’s illness might be catching for whoever was sharing a bed with her.
That, truly, was the reason that Mr. Collins had passed over Jane for Elizabeth, the second eldest daughter, even though Mrs. Bennet had tried to go on as if Jane had some connection with Mr. Bingley, Caroline’s brother. Jane was too ill for any admiration, however.
If Elizabeth were honest with herself, she knew this had been true for some time. It was not so much that Jane had caught a cold from being in the rain on her trip to luncheon with the Bingleys back in early November, but that the rain had worsened the underlying condition that Jane’d had for some time. Moving Elizabeth out of Jane’s bed was likely too little, too late. Assuming that Jane’s illness was even infectious. It was just as likely she’d been born with it or that it was something her own body had done to herself. The doctors who’d examined her had all put forth such theories.
Anyway, the fact remained that Elizabeth had a lot on her shoulders. Jane was ill, and her sister was never going to marry. Elizabeth sometimes knew—with an awful certainty—that Jane would die quite young, and when she thought this, she felt such despair that it seemed to tear her in two. She and Jane had always been so close. And Jane was so good. But perhaps that was the way of the very ill, sort of angelic beings given to the earth for their sheer goodness, too good to be anywhere but Heaven.
Elizabeth must make sure to marry. This marriage, to Mr. Collins, it would mean that after the death of her father (though she hated to think of such a thing), Longbourn would be hers and her husband’s. Jane (as long as she was still alive) would be there, and Elizabeth would be able to care for her sister.
A marriage to Mr. Darcy?
Well, Elizabeth had fantasized about bringing Jane along to Derbyshire, about convincing her new husband that they should take a holiday to the sea to help improve her sister’s health, which Mr. Darcy would well be able to afford.
None of that was to be.
She must marry Mr. Collins.
At that point, she wasn’t even thinking about the possibility of being with child, just of duty and Jane and how much of a mess of everything she had made.
“I am wretched, sir,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s as my mother said, that I do not know my own interest.”
“That you are foolish and headstrong?” said Mr. Collins in a low voice.
“Aye, perhaps. I have my faults, sir, but all have faults, do we not? We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord and we all suffer from defects of—”
“Miss Lucas, she seems neither headstrong nor foolish,” said Mr. Collins, doleful, looking back over his shoulder at Lucas Lodge.
“No,” said Elizabeth, hanging her head, for it was likely true that Charlotte would make Mr. Collins a better wife than she. Charlotte was seven and twenty and so eager to leave her parents’ household as to excuse all manner of things in a husband, even one as odious as Mr. Collins. Charlotte would likely be quite docile and agreeable. Elizabeth, well, she was unsure she could bear being married to Mr. Collins.
Mr. Collins closed the distance between them and took one of her hands in his. He patted the top of it. “Now, now, then, my dear Miss Elizabeth. You needn’t sound that way. I am a gentleman, and a gentleman does not back out of a marriage commitment, my dear. There is no need for concern on your part.”
Elizabeth drew in a sharp, relieved breath. She had refused him. He was free. “Y-you’re too good to me, Mr. Collins.”
“Mmm,” said Mr. Collins, still patting her hand. “Well, I must say that your mention of our sinful, worser natures has moved the better part of myself. I struggle sometimes with pride, I suppose, and I think it will humble me muchly to have a wife such as you, who challenges me at every turn.”
Humble him to have her as a wife? Elizabeth gritted her teeth.
“I think, however, this is a path given to me by the Lord himself, and it will sharpen me to a point, like a whetstone, and make me into holy weapon for his service.”
Elizabeth thought his metaphors were becoming a bit muddled there, but she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, my wife-to-be,” said Mr. Collins. “This is my destiny, I think.”
They gazed at each other.
“But perhaps there is no rush in it?”
“No!” she said, letting out a laugh. “No, no rush indeed.”
“A long engagement, then, wherein we take our time getting to know one another.”
“That sounds perfect,” she said.
Quite perfect.
Yes.
Until she found herself with child with no set wedding date.
CHAPTER TWO
ELIZABETH’S FIRST LETTERS to Mr. Collins came back unanswered.
Her next ones grew more and more desperate. I find I am exceedingly eager to begin our lives together, actually. I do not know what led me to wish for any delay.
Finally, a letter came back, and Mr. Collins detailed within that he was ill. He had taken ill after his visit to Hertfordshire. His symptoms sounded rather frighteningly similar to Jane’s.
Elizabeth was full of fresh horror. What if Mr. Collins were never well enough to marry her at all? What if people didn’t believe he was well enough to have put this babe within her?
During this period of time she wrote and tore to shreds no less than five letters to Mr. Darcy.
Dear sir, you may not remember what happened when you were very drunk, but I am with child now and it is your babe growing inside me.
Dear sir, if you do not marry me, I shall come and stand on your doorstep with our bawling babe until you do something about the existence of it.
