Dear Readers,

Before we start, I need to make a few points clear. I like my HISTORY. Especially regarding the English Monarchy. Will I get everything right, all of the time? No, I won't. But the Pride and Prejudice story I'm about to tell, is loosely set in the 15th century. It is debauched, wicked and not for the wholesome.

My figurehead, is a real life historical figure called, "Jane Shore."

Now, Jane was quite the concubine in those days, bedding various important men and even the King, at one stage.

I wanted to base the story, around that of a fictitious sister, giving her Jane's real name, "Elizabeth." Partly to explore the ramifications of having such a promiscuous sister, and partly to write some smut.

Naturally, the one world I thought I could fit these two characters in was "Pride & Prejudice" a novel I read as a child, so not altogether new material for me.

But this is my first P&P fanfic.

So be kind :)

O

Chapter One: The Whispers Begin.

O

Elizabeth Bennet, boyish in nature, had been horrified when her sister Jane, the new flavour at court, had sent word there was a position open for a new Lady-in-waiting. She immediately knew the life that awaited her. Having born the King seven children, reports were Elizabeth Woodville didn't take kindly to the mistresses the King took in-between their trysts.

Jane was rapidly becoming his favourite, with his own words describing her as, "the merriest, the wiliest and the holiest of his harlots." Jane had no shame. She went from bed to bed, uncaring of the rumours that followed her - the stigma and damnation.

She was slowly but surely grinding their family name to the ground.

Back home, Elizabeth hadn't escaped from the unwanted attention. How many noblemen had cornered her at balls, secluded corners of their manors and so on, in order to preposition her? Surely, one sister spreading her thighs, meant open season on the rest of them?

Since she was the second eldest, she could handle it.

But Mary, Kitty and Lydia?

What of them?

Her first instinct was to refuse Jane's invitation to court. But her mother had been overcome with tears. She'd begged and pleaded into the night, for Elizabeth to at least consider, going to London. Lady Bennet had been deeply affected by the rumours of Jane whoring herself, and wanted Elizabeth, the most sensible and pragmatic of the lot, to cast an eye over her.

"Elizabeth!" She wailed. "Must you force me on my knees for you to change your mind? Poor Jane! She needs her family to support her, not cast her aside."

"No-one is casting Jane aside," Lord Bennet said insufferably, looking up from his desk, where he'd been writing with a quill by candlelight. "Elizabeth, put a stop to this nonsense. Go down to London and prove to us, Jane is fine."

"And if she is not?"

Her words cut through the silence, deadly and barbed.

Lord Bennet looked pale, but managed to clear his throat. "Then lie," he said hoarsely, as Lady Bennet began a fresh ratchet of sobs, that flooded from her busom to the skirts fanned about her, making her look small and weak.

Elizabeth, dry-eyed but determined, said, "Father..."

"The carriages will be ready at twilight. Please set out then."

O

As the carriage rattled into London, the cobbles made the path uneven and disjointed. Many a time, she had to brace herself, by placing a hand on either seat beside her. As she saw Eltham Palace for the first time, Elizabeth felt her jaw loosen. A gloved hand rose, and gentled closed her mouth. It was a correction Elizabeth did to herself, whenever she forgot her position, and gaped.

No-one was there to greet her, save for a few servants and a young woman, dressed in a kirtle, pushing her breasts up and out in her long red gown and chemise. The sleeves were ornamented, and tightly fitted to her waist, before the skirt flared down and skimmed her feet.

Elizabeth didn't need her to turn around, to know there was a row of buttons on the back, which would be partly covered by Jane's hair in a crespine, a type of hairnet that swept all the hair from her face.

Everything that Jane wore signified someone of high standing, but the easy access to her womanly...attributes, were pertinent and clear. Jane was a concubine, nothing more. She'd already married once, the man fourteen years her senior, but it had been annulled shortly after.

This meant, she couldn't ever hope to marry someone like a Baron or a Duke!

Elizabeth descended from the carriage.

"Jane."

"You have come, Elizabeth."

"Only at father's behest."

"But still...you are here." Jane came forward, and took hold of Elizabeth's hands. Already, the servants were eyeing her with displeasure. It was like with one touch, Elizabeth had been branded too. Whatever she said, whatever morals she held, would all be forgotten here, as she would be none other than the, "Harlot's sister."

Dear Lord.

What had she done?

The Queen would surely make Elizabeth guilty as Jane, merely by association. She couldn't escape Jane's reputation, only embroil herself further in it. Jane dismissed the servants, and asked Elizabeth for a walk around the grounds. They walked a shoulder length apart, leaving the carriage and horsemen behind, to reach some steps.

"Remember when we used to jump stairs like these, as children?" Jane asked, seeking familiarity.

"It has been a long time."

"But Elizabeth!" Jane suddenly perked, her demeanour lifting. "You have not asked me the important news. I have been rather sly bringing you here, but I can't keep it from you any longer! I have found you a match, Elizabeth. He is ten and three older than you, but a soldier of war and a fine specimen. He seeks a wife to take back to Pemberly, where he has a large estate."

They reached the end of the stairs, but Elizabeth wanted to run up it.

"Jane..."

Jane, you fool!

How can thee?

What if he is horrid, lame or full of stench?

How can I tolerate him then?

What if...

Elizabeth's thoughts grew short. As they walked across the lawn, towards the opening of a grand maze, with tall hedges and obscure turns, and a man stood near the entrance, with his back turned to them. The first thing that struck Elizabeth was the height. He was as tall as King Edward IV, and many put him as the tallest monarch to have ever graced England.

He wore a gambeson, steel plates known as a brigandine and mail armour, but was free from a horse or lance. He'd pushed the fluid chain-linked armour from his head, to reveal fair hair, that clung attractively around his head.

As she viewed him from a distance, a bolt of dread hit her square between the eyes. The way he held himself stiffly, like he was expecting someone, and Jane's unhurried gait, suggested an interlude between the pair.

But then...what if he was really there for her?

"That," Jane breathed, suddenly at her elbow. "Is the Duke of Pemberly. He heard you were coming today, and ordered an introduction, sure of your beauty, because we are sisters. Since he will ask for your hand, there will be no need for me to chaperone you any further." She broke off into a characteristic giggle. "He is then free to ravish you! Have you ever been ravished, Elizabeth?"

Jane kissed both her cheeks, and with a twinkle in her eye, dared to offer a wave after she picked up her skirts and ran. Leaving Elizabeth with half a mind to chase her and shove mild dew down her throat, and also with a sense of responsibility to address this Lord Darcy and let him down lightly and such.

She looked down her front, to check everything was in their rightful place, before lifting her head and walking with solidarity, to clear her throat delicately behind this solider.

Lord Darcy turned.

His eyes, cold and grey, sliced up and down her body before a smirk tugged on his lips, looking down his aristocrat nose at her.

"Not as pretty as Jane, but you'll do. Take my arm?"

The offer was abrupt, that it startled Elizabeth enough to take it. Sensing the command and superiority in his tone, she unofficially yielded. Ten steps later however, she was cursing herself for entering the maze with this strange man. Taking his arm, was close to creating scandal.

Entering the maze, would be akin to him bodily hoisting her up against a hedge, lifting up her skirts, and thrusting himself inside her. Thankfully, nothing of the sort happened, and they continued on in silence.

But not for long.

"Miss Bennet, I hope you will accept my proposal of marriage. My estate desperately requires a heir, and as you can see, I am practically a old man." He said, no hint of irony in his words. Elizabeth, again taken aback, did a side glance, looking at his features that may as well have been cut from marble. So strong, and slanted was the bridge of his nose, but his handsomeness increased with a square jaw and not a weak one.

"Your looks don't bely your age," Elizabeth offered, which caused Darcy to smile imperceptibly at her.

"I am thirty and eight. An experienced man. But unfortunately, a man who is sterile. I cannot sire children."

Elizabeth didn't dare say a word, her mind racing ahead of her.

Sterile? What a disaster.

But it didn't stop Darcy from revealing an alternative plan, which would cause a priest to blush. He reached over, and laid a cold hand on top of hers, where she'd still left it at the crook of his arm. Well, left was the operative word. He'd rather pinned it to his side, and she couldn't tug it away.

"I want to marry you legally, as you have not been married before like dear old Jane, and because there have been rumours the entire family shares the same promiscuous ideals as her. I would like you to uphold those ideals whilst I'm not in the household. So that although we may never have any romantic entanglements with each other, any others you might have will produce me a son."

Duke or not, Lord Darcy deserved a slap.

And she reared back a palm to give the biggest one.

Darcy accepted the slap, but the previous unemotional stare, had been replaced with a slight spark of irritation. What was this wench's problem? He was offering her free reigns of his purse. A good household, with a solid income. And as many lovers as she could take.

But yet, she was affronted?

"Lord Darcy," she threatened. "This is a personal insult. I will not take this lightly. If we were to become man and wife, it will be my prerogative to only sleep with my husband. If he cannot sire children, then I shall remain childless. It is rather unfortunate how you phrased your wording, Lord Darcy, because I had been planning to reject you today. But now I see it nothing more than a ill-made challenge."

Darcy looked confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means..." for a smaller woman, she definitely could look intimidating. The way she lowered her voice, and stepped up close, it was like she was issuing a threat. "That when you sleep, Lord Darcy, I want you to sleep with one eye open. You might never know when your poor, old wife might sneak in to perform fellatio."

The softest part of him began to harden.

For a second, he imagined a hot, suctioning pressure enclosed around his starved cock, and it felt so frighteningly good, he closed that image down at once. What Elizabeth didn't know, but Darcy had done since he was a young child, was that he always slept bottomless, preferring to feel the natural air around his private parts.

Darcy cleared his throat.

"If you dare do such a thing," Darcy said. "Then I will respond accordingly. With discipline!"

"I look forward to our wedding day." Elizabeth looked ominous.