While "Darcy Forces Elizabeth to Marry him (or Become his Mistress) after her Family is Ruined" stories are nothing new, I came up with my own twist on this trope when Mr. Darcy began reciting his prepared speech to me. He kept practicing it for me, and despite my best efforts was unwilling to reconsider or even tone the whole thing down. As I also couldn't get him to go away or make him be quiet, I decided I would write it all down, so then I could return to the Darcy in My Greatest Regret.
Originally, this story was meant to be a short, stand alone piece of only five chapters. I wrote the first draft of that version all within two days. I wanted to leave it there because I don't do erotica/porn stories, am frankly uncomfortable with the idea of writing something like that, but as this Darcy wouldn't let it go, I compromised by fleshing out the idea, but ending the story before any physical interactions between ODC.
I then proposed that someone else, who didn't mind getting down and dirty with their writing might take it up, thus passing on the baton to any of you who want to pick up where I leave off. All I asked was that anyone doing that credit me and this story with inspiring your further writing on this plot point.
However, no one seems to have wanted to take me up on that offer, and several of you asked that I just continue myself. While the offer still stands, I have decided to finish the story off myself. I don't see any reason why there could not be multiple versions out there. The way I have envisioned continuing, this story will be in three parts, from three POVs: I. Elizabeth Bennet, II. Colonel Fitzwilliam, and III. Mr. Darcy. However, as I have other projects in process, I cannot promise that I will be posting the rest of this story all that fast.
I. Elizabeth Bennet's POV
1. Prelude
Mr. Darcy arrived on April 23rd. It was a grey day, following on from grey days in an unbroken line since the early black days had gradually lightened. The day was not literally grey, indeed it was a fine, crisp day with a bright blue sky, but the weather could do naught to lift the grey sorrow that covered everything.
As per usual, during my few minutes unoccupied with chores, I was walking, round and round the main house, always keeping it within view, where I could be spotted and summoned immediately. I had not been out of sight of the house since I had missed Lydia's arrival home with Mr. Gardiner the previous October 27th and all that followed on from that. Although I had missed it all for I was on my way to Oakham Mount, in hearing the descriptions from Jane, Mary, Kitty and even Mrs. Hill, I could see most clearly in my mind all that had occurred. I had heard of course Mama's version and Lydia's too, but I did not fully trust their accounts.
Lydia had arrived home to the front drive, not meek and apologetic, but brash and bold from her adventure as Lieutenant Wickham's temporary and quickly discarded companion and then her two months at a brothel. The family, save me, met her there. Her first words were "Kitty, I have so much to tell you about men. You shall never believe it all! We shall laugh and laugh together."
Papa roared at Lydia, "Have you nothing to say for your behavior?" His hands shook as he fluttered a missive telling of her misdeeds before her face. "There is no decency in you, no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Do you not understand you who were of the gentry are now naught but a common trollop, ridden by any who have a few coins? You have brought disgrace upon all of us, ruined your sisters' chances. But no more. You'll not set foot in this house."
Lydia was dumbfounded, apparently never having conceived of such an unwelcome welcome, but my mother must have been forewarned, for she recovered quickly and interjected. "Mr. Bennet, how can you be so cruel to our little lamb, who was lost and is now found? I shall not have it. Come Lydia." Mamma reached for Lydia but Papa moved between them.
"She shall not!" My father shouted, his face red with anger.
Jane asked, gently, "Might she be sorry for what she has done?"
Mary remained silent (as she later recounted to me she was inwardly debating over whether Lydia's return was more like that if the Prodigal Son, in which case they should celebrate, or if instead as an unrepentant sinner they should cast her out, but if so, who was to throw the first stone given the sin on all their hearts?), while Kitty stood confused.
"Mamma!" Lydia pouted. She tried to get around our father, but he countered her every movement, but then suddenly, he collapsed, right there on the drive in a heap.
Mamma screamed, even as she gathered Lydia into her arms. Mary shouted for Mrs. Hill, Jane knelt down, straightened Papa's body as best as she could and then commenced to hold one of Papa's hands. He was insensitive, ashen, un-breathing.
Lydia led Mamma into the house, Kitty trailed behind them and once Mrs. Hill had sent for a doctor, although it was plain that nothing could be done, Mary went to her knees. She prayed, loudly, almost shouting "Dear Lord, I beg of you to spare this man, your servant Thomas Bennet. Let his life continue, heal him from whatever has lay him out, mend what is broken."
Mary by her own account continued in similar vein for several long minutes. Jane recalled that Mary's voice was the only sound in the stillness, for even the birds seemed to understand the seriousness of what had happened in their midst.
Mary herself fell silent for a few minutes before continuing, "Oh Lord, if you could please, please spare my father, but not my will but Yours. If You are decided that he shall be taken, I beseech you for you to welcome him to heaven yourself, that he would pass straight through heaven's gates and join his awaiting family, Grandfather and Grandmother Bennet. And I pray for your pity on those of us left behind."
Of course nothing could be done. By the time I returned from my walk, my father's body was laid out in the sitting room, awaiting his burial the next day.
No one tried to enforce Papa's edict against Lydia and we were all well and truly shunned as no one attended Papa's funeral but Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Phillips. They had to use footmen as pall bearers. As we were all in mourning, numb from the pain of losing our father, I don't think we felt it as we would have otherwise as we were not to go anywhere in any event.
Mamma repeatedly bemoaned the fact that we were soon to be evicted from our home by the Collinses any day, but a letter two weeks later silenced her fears for a time. Mr. Collins, after waxing on about his own blessings in being spared a closer association with our family and his patroness's assurance that the child that Mrs. Collins was carrying was likely to be a boy, wrote: "Seeing as God in his wisdom has struck down Mr. Bennet as punishment for not properly commanding his house and preventing my cousin's folly, and on the beneficent advice of the Right Most Honorable Lady Catherine given your circumstances, I shall allow you to observe the forms of mourning for six months, coming to take possession on April 27th."
In the months that followed, Lydia often complained about how miserable it was to be in mourning, how dull it all was (that is when she was not attempting to regale us with the curiosities of the male member, what all she had learned from her exposure to various examples and about the varied acts she had learned to perform). I escaped from her and Mamma by being outside as much as possible, Mary by playing the piano as loudly as she could and shutting herself up in her room to read Fordyce, repent on behalf of our whole family and pray, while Jane busied herself with the duties of a mistress that Mamma had completely abdicated. Kitty faded into the background, hardly speaking two words, and spent much of her time in her room (fortunately largely unbothered by Lydia who now occupied the master's chamber, for as she loudly announced to us all "I have long needed my own chamber, and it is not as if Papa needs it anymore.").
It seemed a terrific irony that Lydia was the healthiest and most unaffected of us all by Papa's passing. I could not help but notice with bitterness that his death and our subsequent precarious circumstances did not seem to have an effect on her appetite, for she grew rather larger while the rest of us became spare. I suppose it was a sign of our womanly virtue that none of us suspected the cause.
It was Mrs. Hill (who was no longer employed by us, but was kind enough to visit occasionally when no one else would) that told us four girls while Lydia was with Mamma in her chambers. "Miss Lydia is with child. Her figure is much altered from when I visited last. I made some inquiries of her to confirm, and indeed she's had no courses since she arrived home and other signs are in accord as well. I suspect the child shall come in March or April."
There was nothing to be done but to await this further sign of my sister's depravity, but with help from our uncles we sold all of our father's personal items, even those that I am sure he expected would stay with the estate. Uncle Phillips arranged to sell an adjoining parcel of land which was not formally part of the entail. Uncle Gardiner took wagons full of books, father's humidor, his telescope and various curiosities he has acquired. Household furniture was pared down, rugs and drapes sold. We waited as long as we could, but Mary still cried when the piano was sold. The money was carefully saved, but it was not nearly enough.
While Uncle Phillips was kind, he told us that we could not live with him, for he was dependent for his livelihood on the good opinion of the neighborhood, and what would be tolerated given our family relationship, did not extend that far. (That seemed rather unfair to me, as I had heard talk that in his youth he had gotten the butcher's daughter in the family way, but of course she was the one disgraced and sent away from her home, while he just carried on.). Mr. Gardiner said much the same; he had his own family to think about, his own daughters to safeguard.
Still, with our uncles' help, my sisters and I (save for Lydia), made tentative plans to rent a cottage composed of four dull rooms: a sitting room, a dining room and two small chambers. We would each have to be three to a bed, plus Lydia's child besides. There was also a kitchen in a small outbuilding. But there would be no funds nor space for a live in maid. Already, we were down to a maid of all trade, the services of a washer woman one day a week, a cook for three meals a week, plus an occasional scullery, in an effort to economize where we could. There would be even less to live on soon. I knew we would have to learn to do all things. Jane, kind Jane, learned to make bread and only suffered a couple of scars by being burned by the wood stove. I fetched all the water for the household and carried in the seasoned wood for our fireplaces. Mary and Kitty mended our clothes. Mamma and Lydia were no help at all.
When we tried to talk to Mamma of these things, I do not think she heard one word out of twelve. In her mind, the arrival of Lydia's son would herald good fortune and from the first she was certain he would be a boy). Mamma seemed to have some thought that the entail could be challenged on the strength of Lydia's son, a Bennet grandson being just as good as a son, for Mr. and Mrs. Collins had received a daughter and not a son. Mamma would not listen to reason. She also seemed to believe that Mr. Collins would in no event turn out a new mother and her family; I was certain that was not the case.
Lydia's baby arrived on March 12th. You would have thought Lydia was being murdered with a dull, rusty knife in how she carried on for most of the day. Mamma doted on the child, who was indeed a boy who Lydia called George Thomas after his supposed father and grandfather. Mamma was always holding young George, save when it was time to change his pilcher and clout, or time for his suck. A maid (our only maid now) handled the former, and Lydia to her dismay had to lend her dairy to the later duty as there were no funds for a wet nurse.
Fussing over the baby raised Mamma's spirits as nothing else had and she insisted repeatedly, "Lydia you must write to Mr. Wickham right away about the arrival of his son. For he shall wish to marry you."
Such a plan was fraught with many difficulties, not the least of which was that no one knew where to find Mr. Wickham and he must have had no interest in Lydia and no conscience besides, to sell her off so easily. But beyond those problems, there was one more prescient. One look at the baby quite convinced me that Mr. Wickham was certainly not the father, for the infant's features from the first day were not like to the fair Mr. Wickham in the slightest. The baby was born with a full head of black hair and his dark blue eyes seemed more apt to turn brown than sky blue.
A/N: We will get to Mr. Darcy's arrival and proposal in chapters 2 and 3. I will be posting every Saturday. If you want me to consider posting the next chapter sooner, review.
