Elizabeth & Darcy

  Contents

  Elizabeth & Darcy: Unquenchable

  What is a Pride & Prejudice variation?

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Afterword

  Elizabeth & Darcy: Unquenchable

  JL Pearl

  A steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  Copyright 2019 JL Pearl, all rights reserved.

  This short romance features characters from Jane Austen’s perennial classic, Pride & Prejudice, reimagined in new situations. Some of it is quite steamy and should be enjoyed by responsible readers of a certain age.

  What is a Pride & Prejudice Variation?

  I’m so glad you asked!

  If you’re reading this it’s likely because you are already a fan of Jane Austen’s classic novel Pride & Prejudice, or of some adaptation, perhaps via film or a certain television miniseries from across the pond. Welcome, friend. I’m a fan, too! And many of us are also writers. If you’ve never heard of JAFF before, allow me to introduce you to the term: Jane Austen Fan Fiction.

  A variation story takes JAFF a step further. What you’ll find in the pages of any JAFF variation is an answer to the question: what if? What if Mr. Darcy hadn’t been so rude the first time he’d met Elizabeth? What if her family had been better connected, or she hadn’t been doomed to lose her inheritance in an entail? What if Lydia had become pregnant, Mr. Bennet died in a duel, Mr. Bingley been gay—what if?

  This is a story for all lovers of Pride & Prejudice who want MORE Pride & Prejudice. What if there was more?

  This is also a steamy romance, and is intended for readers of a responsible age. The purpose of the story is the central romance, and not the naughty bits, but be advised that some naughtiness may take place.

  If you like what you read, please do have a look at my other titles! Those include: the Darcy’s Darkness collection, a group of separate steamy romance scenes between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy; Becoming His, a serialized mystery romance with the same couple; and my standalone steamy story, “To Dance with Mr. Darcy.”

  Thank you so very much! And now, on to the story…

  CHAPTER 1

  _________

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” Lydia said, tossing her head emphatically to the side.

  “All you care for is what anyone thinks, dear sister.” Elizabeth Bennet corrected his wayward sibling, something between a grin and a grimace on her face. She felt a great deal of affection for her younger sisters, but this was often tempered with a healthy dose of weariness with their childish behavior.

  They had dressed for the dance to be held that evening at Meryton. It was an affair full of promise, and the entire house had been all a-bustle as the Bennet girls prepared. Now Elizabeth stood in the drawing room, waiting for her elder sister, Jane, to come down. Their mother was busy preening over Lydia, tampering with her hair and tut-tutting over the state of her dress.

  “My dear, don’t antagonize your sweet sister,” she said. Elizabeth bit back a sigh. The comment was directed to her.

  “Yes,” Lydia agreed, “pray do not antagonize me, Lizzie. I am a free spirit, not to be corrected.”

  Their mother giggled. Elizabeth might have frowned, had she had any energy left to show disapproval. But long since was the time when either her sister’s words or her mother’s reactions could provoke her overmuch.

  “Ah, there she is!” Mrs. Bennet cried. Elizabeth looked up to see Jane enter the room, the very vision of gentlewomanly beauty. They shared a smile. “There now, Jane! You look like a perfect princess! Those rich young bucks will be fools not to fight over you tonight, won’t they?”

  Jane blushed, but was gracious enough to bow her head in assent. Mrs. Bennet proceeded to whine and pick at Jane, finding reasons to complain even about this nearly perfect presentation. Elizabeth allowed the sigh to escape.

  The promise of the evening, of course, was due to the arrival of two highly eligible bachelors from the south. A certain Mr. Bingley had come to the country for holiday. “You know,” Mrs. Bennet had said, repeatedly, “I’ve heard it said he has five thousand pounds!” Elizabeth was made somewhat uncomfortable by her mother’s utter lack of attempt to disguise her base greed—though she herself privately admitted the thought of marrying a young, handsome man with such an income per annum was not without its attractions. “And his companion,” Mrs. Bennet would go on, “a very mysterious sort, that one, they say he has twice as much. Can you imagine! Twice five thousand! Oh, heavens!”

  Eligible, indeed.

  But it would have taken far less per annum to elicit excitement from Mrs. Bennet. This was one of the great problems of living in the country, of course. Few and far between were prospective matches. And matches for the Bennet sisters, good matches of good connections and incomes, were imperative.

  “How I dream of the day,” Mrs. Bennet said, “I see all you girls married off to fine young men of such means. Then the loss of this house will hardly affect me at all, I daresay.” She glanced about with chagrin as she said this. Yes, it was true; the house was doomed to leave the Bennet family, for the estate was included in an entail, and would pass to Mr. Bennet’s nearest male relative upon his death, rather than to any of his progeny, all girls.

  “I do not care for such things,” said Mary, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with her nose in a book, “so long as the man I wed is pious, a man of prayer. For I believe that virtue of the soul far outweighs virtue of the purse, and I am sure this belief will bear out and reward me with a life of perfect happiness.”

  Such sermons from the self-appointed moralizer of the family were commonplace, and everyone else in the house had long ago grown accustomed to ignoring them. Only this time, Mrs. Bennet, whose imagination was clearly full of matches for her daughters, deigned to respond.

  “Yes,” she said, “well, wait your turn, my dear. Perhaps we shall find you a man of the cloth, at that.” A mischievous glint flashed in her eye, and Elizabeth turned to hide another grimace. Her mother could only be speaking of Mr. Collins, the man destined to benefit from the entail. Was that her mother’s plan, then? Pawn her eldest off to a rich young man, and her middle child to a man twice her age in order to secure the estate? She shook her head. No matter. If anyone was spared Mrs. Bennet’s constant fussing, it was Elizabeth, for she was neither the eldest, nor the prettiest, nor the youngest, and though she was quite spirited, her mother had always preferred the infantile demeanor of Lydia. Elizabeth’s heart tended more toward her father, a man of some wit.

  “Ah,” Mr. Bennet said upon entering the room. “I see we are all ready. Jane, Elizabeth, my dears, let me have a look at you.” He gathered his eldest girls together and stepped back, smiling softly.

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet!” his wife cried. “Are they not just the most beautiful vision you have ever beheld? I declare, we are looking at a pair of great ladies!”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to blush. And as all of them left the home and made their way to the dance, she allowed herself a small bit of enjoyment at her mother’s attentions. Perhaps there was promise in this evening for her, too.

  CHAPTER 2

  _________

  The room at Meryton was warm and full of laughter, the sort of friendly country chatter that makes one feel quite at home when one is among other country folk, but which makes one feel rather self-conscious if the more elite city folk are present. And present they were. In addition to the two bachelors, a pair of ladies attended them—Mr. Bingley’s sisters, Elizabeth was informed—both very fashionable indeed, and with an air of almost resentment at having to attend their brother among the locals.

  But if
the two women were unpleasant, it was far outbalanced by the almost unbelievable pleasantness of their brother. Mr. Bingley was all smiles and courtesy, and more—he seemed almost jolly, with none of the cold, aloof manners of his sisters. Or of his mysterious companion. That last, a certain Mr. Darcy, was a handsome man indeed, or it could be that he would have been, if he had ever deigned to smile, or even assume an expression of anything less than disdain. Alas, he, like Mr. Bingley’s sisters, seemed only present to humor the other man.

  Elizabeth was pleased, however, that all of Mr. Bingley’s attentions were turned to Jane. Of all the young women in the room, only she had drawn his eye all night. And when they danced, his face lit up with even more jollity. Elizabeth laughed quietly to herself at the picture. It was beautiful. Jane was the dearest, kindest soul in this world, and she, more than anyone else Elizabeth could imagine, deserved such a reception.

  Still, it was hard not to feel somewhat disappointed on her own behalf.

  “No matter,” she muttered quietly to herself. She was a girl of some wit as well, and well she knew how to keep herself entertained. She spent a good deal of the evening sitting, for her card was seldom filled, and making uncharitable observations about the visitors. Observations she kept to herself, of course.

  Mr. Darcy’s observations were not so private.

  “Darcy, come!” Mr. Bingley said at one point, addressing his stoic friend. Elizabeth sat near enough to hear this conversation. Whether or not the men believed she could hear them, she did not know. “You cannot stand about all evening, I will not see it! You must dance! Look at these lovely creatures.”

  “You have taken the only pretty one among them,” Mr. Darcy replied. Elizabeth bit back a laugh. Had he been thwarted by his more energetic friend? If Mr. Bingley had not been present, would poor Jane even now be suffering through a joyless dance with that ridiculously rich but ridiculously grumpy man of mystery?

  “Is she not the most glorious woman you’ve ever seen?” Bingley replied. Elizabeth blushed on her sister’s behalf. If there had been any doubt of the young man’s affections before, they were gone now. “But there, look. There, her sister! She is very pretty!”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught. Without moving, she threw a glance about the room. Lydia? No, she was not in sight. Mary? Hardly.

  He could only mean her.

  After a pause, Mr. Darcy replied. “She is tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me.”

  “Darcy, you are fastidious! I would not—”

  Elizabeth’s ears were ringing. Not handsome enough? She hadn’t given it much thought. Was that true? She shook her head, another laugh rising in her throat. The pride of this little man! The rudeness! And to think, she had been embarrassed by her mother.

  Her mother’s impropriety was tame compared to this.

  _______

  Later that night, as they dressed for bed and brushed out their hair, Elizabeth shared the words with Jane, who laughed agreeably with her. But that was to be expected, as Jane had been laughing and glowing since leaving the dance. Elizabeth beamed for her sister, to see her so happy. And she did her best to twist Mr. Darcy’s words of ridicule back at him, to avoid the unpleasant scorn.

  This wasn’t easy to do when their mother was present. “No!” Mrs. Bennet cried, “I cannot forgive him ever, and will not see him set foot in my house, ever! If he attends his friend, the very charming Mr. Bingley, that is one thing, that is one thing indeed…” her voice lilted a bit and her eyes took on a faraway look as she must have been dreaming of the wedding, “but otherwise, I hope to never see his unfriendly face again. The impudence! I don’t care how much he has—he can’t be worth a pence of it!”

  Elizabeth and Jane shared a knowing look. Of course their mother cared how much he had. And Elizabeth knew that most of her mother’s displeasure was due to their loss of that very amount, rather than due to the insult. But she took it in stride, for she had never truly hoped to catch Mr. Darcy’s eye in the first place. So she told herself.

  Of course, he did call upon them, just as predicted, to attend Mr. Bingley. For Mr. Bingley took no time at all before calling on Jane.

  “Why, Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet called at the front door. “Come in, come in! You are very welcome, very welcome indeed, Sir!” Her tone fell somewhat upon her recognizance of Mr. Darcy. “Oh, it’s you, as well. Come in, then.”

  “You are very kind, m’am!” Mr. Bingley replied. Mr. Darcy merely bowed his head a little.

  Jane was called down and made to sit, and Elizabeth was made to leave the room. Mrs. Bennet, all a tizzy, escorted her out herself. “Give them time, Lizzie! For he will propose, I am sure of it!”

  “Mother! Not on his first visit, surely!”

  “Well, no, perhaps not. But one cannot provide too many opportunities.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. The impropriety of leaving her sister alone in a room with two strange men, however eligible, was not lost on her. But she did as her mother demanded and left them alone.

  In the days preceding the next dance, excitement and tensions only rose. Mr. Bingley had not, in fact, proposed yet, though he had visited Jane twice now. In private, she would tell Elizabeth some of their conversations, but it seemed to Elizabeth there was little to be told. The substance of their exchanges was not in words, but in tender feelings expressed through warm smiles, furtive glances, and many, many blushes.

  Such is love, Elizabeth supposed.

  Mr. Darcy continued to operate as their chaperone. It seemed that with every visit he would catch Elizabeth’s eyes in his own at least once. And she found that at the end of those days, as she closed her eyes to sleep, she felt something stir within her at the memory of his look. He was, after all, a very handsome man, it could not be denied. And there was something else about him, something more than just the way he looked. Some sort of raw energy that tugged at something inside her. But then she would remember his rude words, and she would console herself with a little laughter at his expense, and the feeling would pass.

  “He will pass,” she told herself.

  CHAPTER 3

  _________

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy turned his face to the side to discourage a fly from entering his nose. The creature buzzed away, doubtless in search of dung, and Darcy faced forward again. It was a pleasant enough country to ride in. He only wished their destination were more to his liking.

  He was following his longtime friend, Mr. Bingley, up the lane toward the house of one Bennet family, of whom the eldest daughter was the object of all of Bingley’s affection. Well enough—she was, after all, a lovely young woman, and appropriate seeming in manner—but for her family. They were of very little consequence indeed, with no proper connections, and some of them, the mother in particular, with an unfortunate penchant for acting rather ridiculous, so far as Darcy had observed. The match would not do, but even then he might have overlooked it for love of his friend, had he believed Jane Bennet to truly be so enamored of Bingley as he was of her. Of this, however, Darcy was not so far convinced. He had made it his work to watch for some sign from her that he was incorrect in this assumption, but she had not corrected him to his satisfaction.

  The visits had been frequent, and Darcy, acting as their reluctant chaperone, looked forward to their inevitable end when Bingley concluded the match a poor one as well. So he told himself.

  But then there was Elizabeth.

  His own words curled in his mouth. “Not handsome enough to tempt me,” he had said purposefully just loudly enough that she might hear, hoping to… what? Get a rise out of her? Provoke some sort of reaction? That had been childish. If he had wanted so badly to reach out and touch her, he should have simply done so. He should have asked her to stand and dance with him, as a gentleman. But his infernal pride, even now it chastised him for the thought. She was so far beneath him. His instant attraction to her was an embarrassment.

  That did not stop him from stealing sidelong glances at he
r whenever he followed his friend into her house. Just the sight of her, fresh each morning, sent a thrill through his body. It was water to a dying man. Nevermind he knew he could not have her, could never pursue her; he needed to see her.

  “You’re even more taciturn than usual this morning, Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said. Darcy shook himself from his thoughts and looked toward his friend.

  “Am I?”

  “You are. Are you pondering deep things over there in your saddle?”

  “No.”

  “Hm. I find I cannot ride more than ten paces without having to restrain myself from shouting for joy at the mere thought of seeing dear Jane’s face once more. It has been two days, after all. Two entire days! How am I expected to get on without the pleasure of her face?”

  “It shall be a long ride south, then.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Bingley’s tone fell somewhat, then perked up again. “But I will return soon enough. And you will come with me, will you not? And stand beside me in my wedding?”

  Mr. Darcy pulled his horse up short.

  “Bigley, surely you cannot mean her.”

  Mr. Bingley paused and turned. “Well whoever the devil else should I mean? Who have I been visiting this past fortnight? Clean your eyes, Darcy, by God! Can you not see how very much my heart has grown to love her?”

  Darcy frowned. “I see well enough, my friend, but had hoped you would come to see more deeply. Are you quite sure the girl feels the same for you?”

  “She has been happy enough to receive me!”

  “Yes, doubtless. And the entire Bennet clan would be happy enough to be attached to your name. And income.”

  Now it was Bingley’s turn to frown. “Your words do you great discredit, Sir. Be mindful of them. They are crass.”