Page 1 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

CHAPTER ONE

Lizzy woke with a start, her body flushed, her heart beating in her ears, and that intimate space between her legs tingling. To her consternation, instead of the privacy of her own bedchamber at Longbourn House, she found herself bumping along inside a chaise, seated opposite Sir William Lucas and his second daughter, Maria. To Lizzy’s relief, her travelling companions were fast asleep, with Maria snoring away as loudly as her father. Had they been awake, they could not have seen into her mind, but she blushed nonetheless to think they might have witnessed her in the throes of a most unladylike dream. Winter had yet to give way to spring, but she unbuttoned her pelisse to release the warmth she felt.

Of all men to infiltrate her dreams, especially one of a most prurient nature, why him? She could not have been more rattled and vexed had she dreamt of her cousin, Mr. Collins. Nay, that would have been appalling. She chided herself for summoning such a revulsion to mind. Shuddering, she looked out the window of the chaise, desperately seeking some visual fodder—an interesting formation of rocks, a remarkably tall tree, or a shapely cloud—to replace the vision in her head.

Why could she not have dreamt of George Wickham? That would have been comprehensible. Though he presently pursued another, and her own attachment had subsided, she found him no less amiable or handsome. Their farewell had been perfectly friendly.

Instead, she had dreamt of the one man whom she disliked above all others; the one man she could do without and who, despite his intelligence and articulation, offered nothing, not even the value of amusement afforded by Mr. Collins, when she was able to put aside her exasperation of his personality and observe him with the calm à la her father; this so-called gentleman, whose absence she had enjoyed through winter and whom she was not likely to ever see again, if Caroline Bingley was to be believed that they were never to return to Netherfield; and the last individual on earth to waste her thoughts upon now that she had, at least in her mind, bid good riddance to the lot of them.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Perhaps the stress of the journey had seeped into her subconscious, though she had been in good spirits since leaving London, where they had stopped to see her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, and her sister, Jane, who was staying with them. Jane had looked well enough as to banish all fear for her health, and Mrs. Gardiner had invited Lizzy to tour the northern lakes later in the year. Lizzy was all excitement and good cheer until her dream.

The reverie had begun pleasantly enough. She was lying upon a bed in a luxurious room, a nameless young man seducing her with soft kisses upon her neck. She could feel the ache in her nether region blooming into the most beautiful of sensations. He began untying the top of her stays, then lowered his head to address his lips to the swell of her bosom. What delightful shivers attended this caress! But when he lifted his head to meet her gaze, the face of Mr. Darcy flashed before her.

It was awful. Like finding a spider in one’s pudding. Her state of arousal coupled with his physiognomy was an unnerving pairing. Like instruments playing in discordant keys, the two should never simultaneously occupy the same space. She would sooner listen to Sir William recount the wonders of his presentation and knighthood for the hundredth time or suffer the many laments of her mother for having turned down the marriage proposal of Mr. Collins, thereby sending him into the arms of Charlotte Lucas, than to have that dream reoccur.

She disdained Mr. Darcy, and she was not alone in her sentiments toward him. Though many a gentlemen had pronounced Mr. Darcy a fine figure of a man and the ladies declared him much more handsome than even Mr. Bingley, and both sexes had initially looked at him with great admiration for his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien and the report of his having ten thousand a year, his manners had quickly turned the tide of his popularity. He had been discovered to be proud, to be above his company and above being pleased. Not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance and being unworthy to be compared to his friend Bingley. Charlotte had been the only person to express his right to be proud as he was “so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, and everything in his favour.”

Mr. Darcy’s initial affront to Lizzy had engendered no cordial feelings toward him, but her lively, playful disposition, which delighted in the ridiculous, had compelled her to tell the story with great spirit among her friends:

Due to the scarcity of gentlemen at a ball, Lizzy had been obliged to sit down for two dances, and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who had come from the dance for a few minutes to press his friend to join it. In contrast to Darcy, Bingley was all affability and politesse.

"Come, Darcy," he had said, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," Mr. Darcy had said, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet, Jane.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?"

Turning round he had looked for a moment at Lizzy, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

His very real slight of her had produced only the briefest and most inconsequential anguish, but her most unreal dream disturbed her greatly. She shivered as if doing so could discard the awkwardness of it all before settling back into her seat. Though she had parted London wistfully, having much enjoyed the company of the Gardiners and Jane, and though it was unlikely Mr. Darcy would have ever ventured as far from Grosvenor Square as Gracechurch Street, she was glad she had not stayed in the city long enough for their paths to cross. If she did not see that man for another ten years, it would be a day too soon.

CHAPTER TWO

When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, expecting it come into view at every turn. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side, and once more Mr. Darcy flitted unwanted through Lizzy’s thoughts for it was his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who resided at Rosings. Wickham had had little in the way of compliments for her ladyship and daughter, who was said to be as good as betrothed to Mr. Darcy. For a moment, Lizzy was struck with a premonition that she had not seen the last of that proud and disagreeable man, but Mr. Darcy was in London, and it would be too much the coincidence for him to visit Hunsford during her time.

At length they discerned the Parsonage, standing between green pales and laurel hedges. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which led by a short gravel walk to the house. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Lizzy was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her family. After pointing out the neatness of the entrance, Mr. Collins took them into the house. As soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.

Lizzy was prepared to see him in his glory, and she could not help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in having refused his hand. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, Lizzy involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush, but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in this garden was one of his most respectable pleasure, and Lizzy admired the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Mr. Collins led the way through every walk and cross walk and scarcely allowed them an interval to utter the praises he asked for. Every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every direction and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which the country or kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings. They could see the house, a handsome modern building well situated on rising ground, through an opening in the trees that bordered the park opposite the front of the Parsonage.

Lizzy learned that Mr. Collins’ patroness, Lady Catherine, was still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in, observed,

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for she has several."

"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed," added Charlotte, "and a most attentive neighbor."

"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference."

The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had already been written. Afterwards, in the solitude of her chamber, Lizzy reflected upon Charlotte's degree of contentment and had to acknowledge she bore her husband very well. Lizzy climbed into bed with hopes for a deep and dreamless slumber, but her contrary and perverse mind would dwell on questions best left unasked. Though she had no desire to know the particulars of what Mr. and Mrs. Collins did behind closed doors, she could not help but wonder if matters of the bedchamber were as consonant with what she was able to observe? She wondered that any woman could be excited by Mr. Collins, but perhaps the wifely duty of submitting to a husband’s attentions was no more unbearable than the other chores one was expected to perform on a regular basis. Lizzy could not help but be saddened by such a prospect. If the corporal harmony between a man and wife should ever find easy allowance as a topic of discussion, her mother would doubtlessly dismiss with a snort the need to inquire into such a useless subject and Jane would dampen its importance beneath other qualities, such as the moral character of a husband or his level of affection for wife and family. But Lizzy had not Jane’s virtues nor Charlotte’s practical nature. Perhaps she was alone in the force of her corporal passions. For herself, she could not reconcile to a marriage that did not fulfill in all the important qualities, including what must transpire in the bedchamber.

Her hand crept beneath the hem of her nightshift, and without thought, she grazed her fingers along the softness of her inner thigh. With a sigh, she gave into the concupiscence that had taken a hold of her of late. The first stirrings of desire had come upon her at a tender age, and she had on occasion allowed the passions to overcome her better judgment—twice with a rugged young footman named Francis and once with a barrister and friend of the Lucas family. Both men, fortunately, had not stayed in Hertfordshire. She dreaded that her indiscretions should somehow come to light, not for its impact upon her but the damage it would do to her family. Thus, for the better part of recent years, she had suppressed these inauspicious cravings until coming across Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure a few months ago. She had found the illicit edition at the home of Sir William on a night when the Lucases were hosting a dinner for a number of officers from the regiment stationed at Meryton. Having a vague notion of the banned novel, she had at first been tempted to leave the book where it had fallen upon the ground in the corridor, but she could not leave it to be found by one of the Lucases’ younger children. Inquiring among the guests to see who would claim ownership would have proved too awkward, so she had picked up the story of Fanny Hill.