Confessions of the Scandalous Mrs Darcy Chapter 1: Compromised, a pride and prejudice fanfic

So the premise is basically this: Lizzy is accidentally compromised by Mr. Darcy (or perhaps Mr. Darcy is accidentally compromised by Lizzy . . . no matter) at the Netherfield ball and they are forced to marry.

Has the compromise/forced marriage thing been done before? Most certainly. Has it been done by more accomplished writers, far better than I can do it? Again, most certainly. Has it been done to death and you are all quite sick of reading it and thus will not spare my poor story more than a passing glance? Well, I suppose we shall have to see.

This story is rated M for occasional bawdy jokes, a few instances of mild cursing, several delicately worded penis metaphors, and the strong possibility of sexy times. If any of that offends you perhaps you shouldn't read it.

I swear I really do make an honest attempt to edit, but I have been told my skills in that area leave much to be desired. So if you see a typo or a grammatical error please feel free to tell me in the comments. Doing so will not offend me, in fact I will admire your fastidiousness and thank you for your condescension with obsequious gratitude to rival Mr. Collins. Okay, perhaps not that much gratitude, but I will be grateful.

Also, please note: I plan to publish so the story will only be left up for 10 days after the final chapter has been posted.

Thank you for taking the time to read. Reviews of any kind are most welcome.

29th November, 1811

Charlotte and I were ensconced in an inconspicuous corner of the tearoom, each of us taking our refreshment in a manner which befitted our mood. I swilled my tea and chomped my scones with the gusto of a person who thinks she might at any moment be hauled away and locked in some remote madhouse, ever to be fed on runny porridge. Charlotte picked at her biscuit nervously, nary a morsel crossing her lips as if anticipating a bout of frightful dyspepsia later on.

I did not think her anxiety was owed merely to the fact that she was taking tea with Longbourn's very own scarlet woman. No, it would take far more than that to discompose my dear Charlotte. Whatever it was it must be truly dreadful.

I was on the edge of saying, "Out with it—now. I cannot bear the suspense any longer," when the cheerful little bell upon the door rang out. The chime was superfluous. There was no way the tea shop's proprietress could have possibly missed the entry of her newest customers as they were conversing rather loudly.

"I entered the room and there she was, bodice ripped, standing there bold as anything with her bounty hanging out the front of her gown—of course Miss Elizabeth doesn't have much in the way of bounty—but imagine my shock!"

I dared not turn to glance at the speaker. I had chosen my seat which faced away from the door so that I might spare Charlotte the disgrace of being seen with me. I had even gone so far as to borrow Jane's bonnet so if by chance the back of my head took someone's notice they would think Charlotte was having a tete-a-tete with my virtuous, if ruined by association elder sister rather than the ever-so-scandalous me. Thus I could not wreck all my precautions by peeking over my shoulder.

Besides, I knew exactly who the boisterous voice belonged to. I did not have to imagine Mrs. Long's shock at her discovery. Her stunned visage would ever be imprinted on my mind because, while she must think of the incident as the uncovering of the Absolute Best Piece of Gossip Ever to Titillate Meryton Society, for me it was the Absolute Worst Moment of My Life.

Mrs. Long paused her tale long enough to order tea then set off upon it again, speaking even more loudly than before. "It isn't right, it really isn't right, Mrs. Goulding," she trilled. "Here I was searching her out, doing a good turn for her poor mother who was positively frantic by this time, just to have my sensibilities so thoroughly abused."

Mrs. Goulding made encouraging murmurs of sympathy at this juncture.

"And poor Mr. Collins was right beside me. I can only imagine what he must have felt. The man is a clergyman! And it is said he had intended to make her an offer. Well, he certainly will not make her one now! No one will."

"Surely Mr. Darcy—," began Mrs. Goulding.

"Have you not heard? He has left Netherfield. Mr. Bingley's entire party has gone to town. I fear Miss Elizabeth is completely without hope of redemption. I feel very sorry for the Bennets," finished Mrs. Long gleefully.

"Oh yes, as do I. Very sorry indeed. Mr. Darcy is a most abominable gentleman. If the perfidious man had not made indecent designs upon her, I am sure she never would have done anything so shameful."

"Most certainly not. She always was a good girl, if a little spirited. Although I have heard . . . ." Mrs. Long trailed off, letting her words hang like enticingly ripe fruit on a very low branch.

Mrs. Goulding could not help but pluck it. "What have you heard?" she asked hungrily.

"Oh, I should not speak of it. I do not like to gossip."

Though I of course could not actually see Mrs Goulding, I can only assume at that moment she was looking at her friend entreatingly.

After a brief intermission to show proper reluctance, Mrs. Long gave in. "Oh, I might as well tell you, someone else will anyway. It is all over the village. Now, I have heard no proof, mind—this may all be the fancy of gossips—but it is being said that the Netherfield ball might not have been their first dalliance."

"Not their first?"

"Well, she was at Netherfield for four days tending to Miss Bennet was she not?"

"Yes, but I can hardly believe—."

"Nor I, to be sure! It is certainly just a vicious rumor. But it is what is being said and you cannot deny there would have been plenty of opportunity for such goings on."

"Well, yes—"

"And you must admit that though she was a good sort of girl she always was a little too forward."

"Well, yes—."

"And I'm not saying she intended to be a coquette, but I can see how a man might find her manner encouraging of improper attentions."

"Well—."

"And ten thousand a year could turn any girl's head."

"Oh yes, it certainly could."

"And she might have thought she could catch him by allowing liberties."

"No, I shan't believe it."

"But she did allow him liberties! I saw it with my own eyes."

"Yes, but surely it was just the once. Surely it was all Mr. Darcy. Surely poor Miss Elizabeth didn't know what she was about."

"Of all the words that might be used to describe Elizabeth Bennet 'unwitting' isn't one of them."

"Yes, she is a clever girl. And everyone knows how badly the Bennets need at least one of their girls to make an advantageous match."

"I did think it was an uncharacteristically foolish thing for her to do, getting caught like that. And though Mr. Darcy is certainly a horrid, haughty gentleman he did not really seem like a libertine."

"No, indeed. He struck me as rather puritanical actually."

"Perhaps . . . ." Mrs. Long trailed off and this time Mrs. Goulding did not prompt her to continue. She did not need to, for I am sure they were both thinking the same thing. In the course of a five minute conversation I had gone from being the victim of a wicked despoiler of innocence to a mercenary temptress.

"Is that Mrs. Phillips I see?" asked Mrs. Goulding, presumably spotting my aunt from the tearoom's front window.

"I do believe it is. Oh, I would so like to speak with her. She must know what is to be done with Miss Elizabeth now that Mr. Darcy has run off. But I suppose it would be far too ghoulish to ask her."

"It would, however, be appropriate to condole with her about the tragedy that has befallen her nieces."

The words had barely left Mrs. Goulding's lips before I heard the scraping of chairs followed by the cheerful chime of the bell. Cautiously I peeked over my shoulder. Yes, indeed, there they went, chasing my Aunt Phillips down the high street.

"I am pleased to hear my affair with Mr. Darcy was of some duration. It would be a disappointment if all our imagined passion amounted to was a ripped bodice and a ruined reputation. Not to mention it would make me a rather poor seductress if I had been four days in the same house as my intended victim and he had failed to succumb to my feminine wiles. Oh yes, I am certainly glad of all those goings on at Netherfield during Jane's illness."

"Eliza, how can you jest?" Charlotte scolded in reply to my playful remark.

"I am not ignorant of the severity of my situation, however I must make light of it lest I fall apart completely."

Her expression softened. "What happened at the Netherfield ball?"

"Goodness, Miss Lucas, have not you heard? Miss Elizabeth was found in flagrante delicto with Mr. Darcy," I replied, doing what I thought was a quite accurate impersonation of Mrs. Long. Charlotte however did not even grant me a pity chuckle, she just stared at me with an exasperated mien.

"I did something very foolish."

"I had gathered that much," Charlotte observed dryly after it became clear I would speak no more without further persuasion.

She continued to stare at me expectantly. I knew my reluctance must seem strange to her. One would think I would be bursting to tell my side of the story, yet I would have rather listened to Mr. Collins read a monotonous sermon than tell my tale. I did not like to be made to face my mistake. I had always thought myself clever and it was a bit of a disappointment to find after twenty years that I was actually perfectly stupid.

"You know how vexed I was that evening. Mr. Collins would not let me out of his sight—if manacles could have been found the man would have had us fastened together in a trice—and Mama . . . was being Mama, no word of caution from me could check her exuberance.

"I was anxious for the night to be over lest my family expose themselves to any more ridicule than they already had which only vexed me more. It seemed simply absurd to be wishing for the end of a ball I had so looked forward to attending and I thought if I could find a moment alone to settle myself I might be able to enjoy the rest of the evening. So I slipped away from Mr. Collins and went to the library. Unfortunately I found Mr. Darcy there."

I had not realized the room was occupied when I entered it. A lamp was lit, which I thought strange, but it did not prevent me from idly touring the shelves. I did not notice Mr. Darcy until I was upon him. He sat near the hearth, reading by the light of the fire. He was so engrossed in his book he had apparently not heard me wandering about the room. I released a startled gasp and he rose, wearing a look of surprise to echo my own.

He made a slight bow and then said, "I dare not think of how this shall effect your sketch of my character, Miss Elizabeth—finding me here alone when I ought to be enjoying the ball. Though I believe you have already counted my unsociable nature among my most egregious defects so perhaps this discovery will not alter your project at all." He spoke pleasantly, almost teasingly in complete contrast to the stiff manner in which he usually addressed me.

"Unsociability is hardly a defect at all when compared to arrogance, conceit, and jealousy," I said unthinkingly, shocking myself. Had the words been delivered in the arch tone I often employed they would have still been dangerously censorious, but perhaps blunted enough by charm to avoid raising his ire, however I was tired and vexed and my delivery was harsh.

Mr. Darcy flinched and then smiled coldly. "Ah, I see you are ready to present the final portrait. Oddly I suspect the artist's signature is not your own. I had hoped, with further reflection, you would see through Mr. Wickham's superficial charm, but perhaps I gave your intellect greater credit than it was due."

It was my turn to flinch, but I would not allow him to see that his remark had wounded me. "Miss Bingley hinted earlier that you have something to accuse Mr. Wickham of, though she did not know the particulars. I have heard his account of things, perhaps I might hear yours."

"Unlike Mr. Wickham I do not speak of my private concerns to all who will listen."

"Hmmm, yes, I see," I said with much irony.

"Wickham attempted to elope with my sister," Mr. Darcy blurted. He looked alarmed, as if he had not intended to reveal this information—and, indeed, I am certain he had not—but I had baited him and for some reason he had yielded to it.

There was a long silence and then, as if deciding his revelation needed explanation, he continued, "No doubt Mr. Wickham has spoken to you of the living he was to receive upon its becoming vacant?"

I nodded.

"But perhaps he neglected to inform you that after my father's death he announced his intention of never taking orders and instead studying the law. I must admit I was relieved at the alteration of his plans. I knew he should not be a clergyman for I had upon several instances observed a certain viciousness in his nature—a total want of principle.

"He accepted three thousand pounds in lieu of the living and I thought any duty I might have to him thus fulfilled. However, three years later when the living which had been designed upon him became available, he applied to me by letter for the presentation. It seems the study of law had been a mere pretense; he had frittered away his legacy on a life of idleness and dissipation. I declined his request.

"I do not know exactly what lies he has imposed upon you but doubtless his abuse of me to others was as violent as his reproaches to myself. Our acquaintance was severed—I had hoped permanently, but last summer . . . .

"My sister's fortune is thirty thousand pounds. This was no doubt the primary object of Wickham's scheme, though revenging himself upon me was perhaps another incentive. Georgiana was persuaded to believe herself in love with him and consented to an elopement. She was but fifteen at the time which must excuse her imprudence. Had I not joined her unexpectedly just days before the planned elopement—had her guilt at causing me grief not induced her to reveal their plans—I dare not think of the consequences."

Mr. Darcy had begun his speech in his usual controlled manner, but at the finish his rage was obvious. Even if I had thought his righteous anger counterfeit, I could not doubt the truth of his words. All my prior observation of Mr. Darcy had taught me that his sister was of utmost importance to him and he would never invent such a story about her.

Mr. Wickham was a liar. And I was an utter fool.

"Mr. Darcy," I whispered. I know not what I intended to say. I had never been so embarrassed—never so contrite. Perhaps I might have made some attempt at repentance had I been given time to gather my thoughts, but Mr. Darcy was in no mood to hear my apologies.

He moved towards me, ire still radiating from his eyes. He did not halt until he was standing immediately before me, closer than he had been when we had danced. Then he spoke threateningly, condescendingly, "No word of this conversation shall leave this room. If I hear the slightest whisper—"

My anger, as if sparked by the fire in his eyes, flared to life once more. I interrupted him, "I realize you must think me a credulous imbecile, but I am not a silly gossip and I have sense enough not to sully the reputation of an innocent lady."

"I am glad to hear it," he sneered.

I bit my tongue to keep myself from making further incendiary remarks. My anger ebbed and I noticed then how indecently close we were standing. In the heat of the moment I had taken an unconscious step forward, egged on by the menacing manner in which he towered over me. Any attempt to intimidate me is always met with challenge. I would never change this fact about myself, but I will admit it has got me into scrapes, this being the worst of them.

I began to pull away but a slight tug from the front of my gown accompanied by the soft sound of fine muslin rending stilled me. The ornamentation on the bodice of my gown had by some means become entangled with a button on Mr. Darcy's coat. I gasped in horror and Mr. Darcy grabbed my shoulder as if sensing my impulse to jerk away.

"Calm yourself. Be still."

Our garments were still hooked together and any further movement would make the small rip in my gown a great gaping tear. For a while I stood dumbly as he tried to solve our dilemma, it was not until his hand had brushed my bosom twice and his face had gone red up to the tops of his ears that I realized I really ought to be the one handling the situation.

"I will do that," I said, pushing his hands away.

"I suppose I should apologize," I added.

Darcy made no reply, but after a long silent moment I heard him chuckle dryly. I glanced up at him in surprise.

"What is amusing?" I asked, more accusingly than I intended.

"I am wondering when should I expect this apology."

With as much sincerity as I could muster, I looked him in the eyes and said, "I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I beg your pardon."

He held my gaze, studying me far longer than was comfortable. Then his eyes fell to my lips. Suddenly the inappropriate distance felt inappropriate because it was too great and I had the absurd notion he was about to close it.

And then the door crashed open. We were at the far side of the room with book cases to block the entrants view of us, which gave us a few moments in which we might have freed ourselves, but it was not enough. Despite his warnings of staying calm and remaining still, Darcy leaped away from me rending my gown most thoroughly.

My bounty, as Mrs. Long put it, was no more exposed by the tear in my bodice than it had been before. My chemisette remained perfectly intact, guarding my modesty, but that really did not matter. Mr. Darcy and I had been found alone together in suggestive circumstances and Mrs. Long was willing to make all sorts of suggestions to anyone who would listen.

Mr. Collins was surprisingly tactful. He flushed darkly, muttered something about my modesty, and then quit the room. Mr. Darcy, without a word, followed him. Mrs. Long stayed with me until my mother arrived all the while making shocked exclamations such as: "Oh, Miss Elizabeth—oh, your poor mother—whatever shall be done with you now?"

"What happened with Mr. Darcy?" Charlotte asked, jolting me out of my memories. Her expression was most concerned. I must have been brooding a long while.

Oh, goodness. How could I explain all that had passed between Mr. Darcy and me?

"We argued," I said succinctly.

"What on earth did you argue about?"

"I confronted him about Mr. Wickham's accusations."

"Oh Eliza, you didn't."

"I did. And I made a fool of myself. My trust in Mr. Wickham was misplaced. It seems Mr. Darcy has much to accuse him of."

"Mr. Darcy's evidence must have been most convincing. You were quite charmed by Mr. Wickham."

"Anyone who heard Mr. Darcy's evidence could not doubt it. Mr. Wickham is a dishonorable man."

"You cannot say such intriguing things and then fail to elaborate. What has Mr. Wickham done?"

I shook my head. "Mr. Darcy told me in confidence. His story could harm the reputation of someone he cares about."

Charlotte nodded, smirking knowingly.

"Why are you smiling like that?" I asked irritably.

"Because you are keeping Mr. Darcy's secrets. Because the man who seemingly cares not about what anyone thinks of him was so unable to endure your disapprobation he revealed to you information which could harm someone he loved. I had feared yours was to be a marriage without affection, and knowing how important affection in marriage is to you I feared for your happiness. Yet now I see for all your talk of being determined to hate him and all his remarks about your tolerability there is some inkling of fondness between you."

"There is no fondness between us! He may be vindicated on the subject of Mr. Wickham, but he is still an arrogant, horrible man. And he can have no admiration for me given the fool I made of myself. Besides, it is as Mrs. Long said, he has left Netherfield. There will be no marriage."

"He has not written? There has been no communication between you since the ball?"

I shook my head.

"He will return for you. However little you might think of him, he is a gentleman. A gentleman does not have a dalliance with a lady and then refuse to marry her."

"I have just told you there was no dalliance. Only an argument."

"How did your bodice become ripped?"

"It was an accident."

She raised her brow skeptically.

"His button got caught on my gown."

"Why were you so close to him such a thing could happen?"

She was wearing that smirk again. I could not endure it.

"What did you wish to tell me?"

Her smile fell. "What do you mean?"

"You wanted to meet me for a purpose and not just to condole with me. You have news—what is it?"

Once more she began picking at her food. "Mr. Collins spent the whole of yesterday at Lucas Lodge."

"I know and I am sorry for it. He returned to our house only to cast me a chastising glance and to give my mother a few kind words about our terrible situation before he went up to bed. I have no idea why he has not left our scandalous company. Perhaps he intends to stay until he is certain Mr. Darcy will not make an honorable woman of me. I am sure his esteemed patroness is hungry for any news on that front. I fear until he is satisfied of my utter ruin he will infringe upon your parents' hospitality daily."

Charlotte suddenly looked up from her plate. Drawing a breath as if to steel herself she said, "I'm going to marry him."

"Who?"

"Mr. Collins of course."

"Mr. Collins?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me this is some sort of horribly unamusing jest," I said thoughtlessly. I must really learn to watch my tongue.

"I have never been romantic. He has offered me all I have ever hoped for and I have accepted him," she replied severely, her hard gaze daring me to criticize her.

I checked my rising emotions. "If this is what will make you happy, then I am pleased for you," I said evenly.

"You look as though you are about to weep," she observed with some amusement.

"Would you believe they are tears of joy at your happy announcement?"

"How can you be weeping for me? It is your situation that is dire."

"How kind of you to remind me."

"Mr. Darcy will come back."

With forced levity I said, "Oh goodness, I hope not. Then I will have to marry him."

"Yes, Eliza, you will have to marry him," replied Charlotte, smiling sadly.