Chapter 12

Darcy had found himself there, in the bushes, in spite of his best efforts. Since her conversation with Fitzwilliam, her eyes lambent with enthusiasm, he would catch himself steering towards the parts of the forest he knew she would now seek out, the areas she had discussed with Fitzwilliam. Yesterday he had resisted, driving his horse hard, he cared not where, as long as she was not there, and had arrived home damp and tired, yet tense all the same. Today he had cracked. He had lied to himself- he only needed to see her, he had convinced himself; he might find her and leave undetected, if he was careful. This had led to him standing sentinel in the shrubbery watching her crest the top of a hill and wait. His curiosity was piqued when she leaned forward and seemed about to tip over, before throwing herself down the hill, skirts flying, arms extended as she hurtled to the bottom. She stopped not thirty feet from him. He observed her heaving chest and reddened lips, but it was her little ear- a robust pink- that fascinated him. She is a Goddess! And her innocent smile drew him in.


Under the pretence of picking a flower, Elizabeth dropped Mr. Darcy's arm almost as soon as they reached the cover of the trees. She rolled the stem of the ephemeral white thimbleweed between her fingers. It was perfectly formed, dew droplets clinging to it petals, and she examined it closely to evade Mr. Darcy's company. She could not do so for long and returned to walk at his side, though at enough distance that she would not be obliged to take his arm. She knew not why he felt the need to walk with her, some distorted sense of pride, she supposed, born of a similar conceit that produced Lady Catherine's high-handed attentiveness. She was appalled by his proximity. He did not physically touch her, now, as he strolled with hands by his sides, occasionally scuffing the ground with his cane, but she felt he emitted a commanding aura that besieged her own and could not be shrugged off. She endeavoured to spare them both any future occurrence of this misfortune and took care to inform him of her favourite haunts, that he might avoid them.

They descended into silence and, at the next fork in the path, she took the route towards home, which she knew would lead her there within a quarter of an hour. He seemed to recognise this also, as he was roused to make some weak attempts at conversation, before they parted. These attempts did not take, as she was determined not to encourage him in his efforts.

"What think you of books?" he finally tried.

"Books?! Who can think of books when faced with so much beauty?" She waved her hand around at the moss covered vegetation. "No Mr. Darcy I cannot turn my mind to such staid subjects when out of doors. Moreover, I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."

"I am sorry you think so, though given your preferences in poetry, it can hardly come as a surprise; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."

"As I say, I cannot think of books at this moment. When in nature, I wish to appreciate nature and I find I can do so more fully in silence." She had almost said solitude, but restrained herself. Still she knew she was being ill-mannered. Mr. Darcy did not seem put out, however, as he had now been given license to return to his natural reticence. Had she been crueller she would have allowed him to continue on with his limp non-sequiturs, but as it was she had relieved him of observing the civilities and lightened his mood, in the belief of their common inclination. He did not trouble her with conversation again, except to remark that she could not have the opportunity for such extensive rambling in Hertfordshire where she was without the benefit of a large estate.

As they neared the parsonage, she asked if he would come in and visit Mrs. Collins, though it was really too early for polite callers. He demurred and came to a stop, causing her to do so. After an awkward pause, during which he made no overtures to depart, she took her leave instead, hoping never to repeat the experience.

Imagine her astonishment then, when she came across Mr. Darcy again the next day and when she was only a short distance from the house. She could not sensibly turn back, and so she suffered him to accompany her on the whole of her walk. He was again bent on stilted conversation and, of all possible subjects, he raised their time in Hertfordshire. He spent their ramble making disconnected observations about Netherfield and the time they spent there, all the time skirting the imperative topic. He enjoyed the blushes this discussion and its obvious omission elicited in her, but when she did not volunteer anything more than the most diffident of responses, he promptly dropped the subject entirely.


Colonel Fitzwilliam came often to the parsonage at this time. His presence offered a welcome variety to their number, his society was engaging, and his obvious pleasure in their company recommended him still more. His cousin did not habitually accompany him, though the Colonel always had a ready excuse for his absence. Today, however, he was there, re-dressed since his walk with Elizabeth in a finely cut coat. He said very little, and then only when necessary for civility's sake. He did not seem to enjoy their society and he only added to theirs by the Colonel's laughing at his stupidity.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he did most days, sat near Elizabeth so that they may have some conversation during the visit. He had noticed his cousin's glowering attention to their discussion and leaning into Elizabeth's side said, "Are you not intimidated by my cousin's fearsome countenance, Miss Bennet."

"Well I am not in the least tempted to talk to him, which I believe the purpose of said grimace, and as such it is quite effective."

"Yes, I am afraid my cousin says hardly a word when he comes into Kent, though he is lively enough in other places."

Elizabeth was surprised at this description of the man, but thought better than to mention this. "Well, to be reserved is not necessarily a cause for censure, after all did Plato not say, 'Wise men talk because they have something to say; Fools, because they have to say something,' " she countered. Darcy, while harassed by Mr. Collins' attentions, had managed to catch some of their conversation and this last remark in particular, and felt excessively pleased with himself, fighting to present a phlegmatic front.

"Your cousin could uphold his introversion, without trying to offend the rest of us, though." They had lowered their voices to prevent the object of their discussion from hearing, but the Colonel's similarly intimate and amused response, while unheard by Mr. Darcy, ruined his good mood. By the end of their call, Kitty was not the only person dissatisfied with the exclusiveness of Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam's conversation.


Kitty, however, was dealing with troubles of her own. She had allowed Mr. Collins to enter her chamber twice since her talk with Elizabeth and, while he seemed content enough, she still did not look forward to his visits with pleasure, or even forbearance. When they reconvened to discuss the subject again, Elizabeth, in as chaste and demure language as she could muster, suggested that perhaps it was the speed of the encounters that was the problem. She diffidently suggested that they slow down and do other things.

"But what else is there to do?" Kitty pouted. Elizabeth pitied herself terribly for the situation she found herself in, but was very deliberate in her answer: she was now on very dangerous ground: she would have to advise her sister, while convincing Kitty that she was more innocent that she truly was.

"Does Mr. Collins ever…kiss you?" She affected timidity, all the while feeling secure in her experience and the authority it gave her on the matter. That is until a lightning bolt hit her square in the stomach: she had never been kissed. For all her exploits at Netherfield, she did not know what it felt like to have a man place his lips to hers, lick her flesh, or suck on her bottom lip. She was suddenly aware of the conceited self-assurance with which she had treated Kitty's ordeal and upbraided herself for the arrogance in herself that she had so recently criticised in others.

Elizabeth then endeavoured to give her advice in terms more respectful of her sister's intelligence and with less artifice than she would have previously. When Kitty admitted that, though Mr. Collins had kissed her, it had been brief and infrequent, she suggested, "Perhaps that is a place to start. If you want your situation to change, you will have to take responsibility for altering it- and in Mr. Collins' defence, he cannot be expected to know that you are dissatisfied, if you will not tell him so. Only be careful, Kitty. If I may speak freely… though your husband is not malicious, he is somewhat delicate in his opinion of himself- his pride- and you must be patient and kind, or he is likely to reject your amendments. If you are sympathetic, however, I do not think he will be unwilling. You never know- he may be as eager to explore the possibilities as you are!"

"I am nervous." Kitty's small voice nearly broke her sister's heart.

"I know, Kitty. But consider, you are in a better situation than many young ladies: you have a comfortable home with a man who is honest and decent. I have seen Mr. Collins' attentions towards you in these last few days and I believe that you can have happiness, of a sort, with him, if you are willing to work for it. I will not lie to you. Judging by your respective characters, I believe that you will have to be the one to modify your demeanour the most and work the hardest for marital harmony. But then, so it is with all married women: being a woman is a terribly difficult occupation since it consists principally of dealings with men. And that is why I shall end an old maid!"

She did not offer to teach Kitty's ten children to embroider and play their instruments very ill, as she once had Jane; not because she did not believe Kitty capable of bearing such a brood- indeed, if they kept up their current pace she conjectured her sister would be increasing before Elizabeth left the parsonage- but because she did not think she could tolerate constant residence in the same house as their father. The ensuing question of where exactly she would live out her approaching spinsterhood if not at Longbourn with the Collinses was filed away as one for another day.

Kitty did not attempt to match her sister's witticisms on marriage and departed deep in contemplation. She had been left with food for thought and Elizabeth was left with a dim vision of the future and an unsettled stomach.

Mr. Collins' performance that night- for perform he valiantly did- varied in several respects, from what Elizabeth could hear, from his previous forays into the realm of seduction. He knocked on Kitty's door as always, but the arrhythmic creak of the bed did not immediately follow. The muffled voices she heard were gentle and caressing and even urgent at times. The other noises, when they did begin, included the grunts and groans whose origin could not be mistaken. Most, unfortunately, originated from Mr. Collins, but somewhere in the middle, a higher wispy moan could be discerned and Elizabeth smiled into her pillow.


Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Collins had not returned to his own room that night and she tiptoed past the door the next morning, fearful of what she may witness. On exiting the parsonage, she intentionally took a different route than she ever had before, walking the road bordering the park for a time before re-entering the woods over a low wall. Yet still she came upon him, or he came upon her, she was not sure which. She began to think that this was some voluntary penance for Mr. Darcy; she could explain it in no other way. Surely he could derive no more pleasure than her from these uncomfortable meetings. He began eventually to speak about Colonel Fitzwilliam, frequently returning to the topic of the Colonel, his family and situation in life. His single-mindedness on this topic puzzled her; she briefly considered that he had in his thoughts a match between herself and the Colonel. She coloured at the idea and the more she thought of it, the more agitated she felt. What must he be thinking? Would he interfere; speak to the Colonel; warn him of her unsuitability?

Her uncertainty lasted until he abruptly stopped, turned to her and pronounced, "Miss Elizabeth, I feel that it is my duty to warn you that I have observed your behaviour with Colonel Fitzwilliam and I must tell you that you are placing yourself in a vulnerable position. Do not alarm yourself," he assured when her eyes widened. "The Colonel is an honourable man, and you need have no fear of him, but you should not comport yourself towards any man, as you have towards him. The danger of which I speak is that to your reputation, as well as your safety, should you behave generally, in the manner that is your wont. You have lived in a sheltered community all your life, but, with more worldly men, your naturally sociable, unguarded nature may be misconstrued and lead you into a perilous situation."

Yet again Mr. Darcy had found his talent for rendering her speechless. She had believed that the Colonel admired her, but had never aspired to any serious attention from the man. Nor did his conduct- agreeable, but not insinuating- lead to her to believe it was a possibility. She conveyed as much to Mr. Darcy, mortified and disturbed to have to explain her expectations to him.

"As for any other behaviour to which I may be exposed, it is not your place, Mr. Darcy, to express such concern. You do not share a relationship with me that might make such direction by you acceptable, and given the history of our acquaintance, and your eagerness to put an end to it last December, you have no place in giving me guidance on such an issue." Begrudgingly she concluded, through gritted teeth, "I thank you, of course, for your concern, but I have done nothing that I am ashamed of. Your warning is not necessary, sir and I would beg you not to raise the subject again."

Her ensuing silence was defiant and forbidding. She felt that she had riposted his argument well and was proud that she had stood up to this man- who probably believed she should be grateful for such attentiveness- even having hinted at his hypocrisy. She could not be satisfied, however, as Mr. Darcy's assured smirk in reply haunted her vision, long after she had turned away in disgust.

When he again accompanied the Colonel to the parsonage that day, she hated that his speech- and sharp observation- affected her, though she knew him to be mistaken in his views. The Colonel, she was sure, also felt the change in her demeanour and his discomfort made her feel more dreadful still. Darcy was as pre-occupied by their disagreement as she was, though more pleasantly so. He was delighted by her fire. But underneath her rancour, he thought he sensed her wistfulness for the intimacy now lost between them and her eagerness for its return.


After the pair had left and Mr. Collins had gone about his duties, Kitty called Elizabeth into her parlour and could hardly wait until she had closed the door before launching into her story of the night before. As Elizabeth suspected, she had taken charge and not allowed Mr. Collins to rush through the act, though he begged her to allow it. Kitty described reaching a pinnacle that her sister recognised, but her shy confession that she had closed her eyes and thought of the Colonel was more than Elizabeth had needed to know. Mr. Collins had then fallen asleep in Kitty's bed and woken her that morning in a very surprising way: one on which she, thankfully, did not elaborate. Altogether, her tale was an amalgam of the hopeful and disturbing, but Kitty's own insight gave Elizabeth some small optimism for her sister's fortitude.

"I was lying there this morning, and I realised that I had been a fool to resist this. I think it will come to be one of the better aspects of my marriage- one that I can enjoy, even when Mr. Collins and I do not share an affinity in other ways."

Elizabeth was saddened and heartened by her determination to muddle through.

"And this literal closeness may lead to more ease and intimacy between you," she suggested on a happier note.

Kitty could not leave the topic of her revelatory night alone quite yet. "It really was so surprising. And I feel as if… it is as if I am still feeling the effects of it." Elizabeth recognised the physical bliss in Kitty that she had once enjoyed and she left her to it.


Darcy and Elizabeth's meeting the next Saturday seemed more obviously deliberate on his part than ever before: he was waiting for her just out of view of the parsonage. By this time her resentment at his presence had been worn down into resignation. She had developed a strategy for dealing with him: she would tolerate his presence, allowing him to talk when he wished and be silent when he wished; she did not put herself to the trouble of talking or of listening much and retreated into her own thoughts as often as possible. Today, however, the routine they had created had been disturbed, beginning with his waiting so close to the parsonage, and continuing with his demeanour once she arrived. She could feel an energy emanating from him, not excessive movement or agitation, just a quiet potential and conviction: anticipation. He asked her immediately whether she had any particular plans for her walk today. In the spirit of nonchalance with which she treated all their meetings she said that she did not.

"I am glad; for there is something I would show you." At this, he turned and began to walk away, apparently in the direction of his object, without seeking approval or acquiescence and she was left to follow him. When he saw that she was following, he slowed, allowing her to catch up and commented, "It is quite a walk from here, but I know that that will not present any difficulties for you."

They continued at a brisk pace passing some of the spots that they had visited in their past outings. Darcy was sure to explain their position, or any interesting features in the landscape that they came across, but he did not speak otherwise, too affected to feign easiness. When he came to steer them down a track that Elizabeth had never seen before, he informed her that they were on the very edge of the Rosings estate. Their path wound through the forest and became narrower and more neglected as they progressed until they were walking single file; Darcy in front, occasionally having to beat away an intruding branch. At length, the track broadened, until she could come up beside him and look out from an opening in the edge of the trees onto a small and neglected road. On the other side, stood a large field, which had obviously, until fairly recently, grazed livestock. The grass was long, but the forest had not yet reclaimed the land. There was a small cottage inside the rusted gate, which similarly, was clearly unoccupied, but had not fallen into too bad a state of disrepair. The roof was still intact and strong, and a sturdy outbuilding sat alongside it. All of this was overshadowed, however, by an enormous circle of earth and vegetation which was situated on the apex of an incline behind the house. Huge ash, oak and birch trees and an undergrowth of brambles and ferns could be seen growing on the mound, which sat square in the middle of the field. Elizabeth's curiosity had driven her forward and, by this time, she had outstripped Darcy and stood on the edge of the road marvelling up at the structure.

"It is a hillfort (1)." She almost jumped at Mr. Darcy's voice behind her, so close to her ear. "They were the dwellings of our ancestors in the ancient past. Would you like to see it?" She could hear the smile in his voice, but she didn't care. She nodded eagerly and he led the way. He opened the gate, cumbersomely due to its rusted state, and walked up to the house. Though he bypassed the door to the cottage, which had been boarded up, he entered the outbuilding and stepped inside, emerging shortly with a blanket-covered basket.

At her inquisitive look he explained, "This house has been unoccupied for over two years and my aunt has found it hard to obtain a tenant in such a remote location. I occasionally have a basket brought here if I am to ride in the area."

Whatever the explanation for its manifestation, she was grateful for the prospect of food. She would not return in time for breakfast and she had worked up quite an appetite.

She turned her attention back to the mound. "Colonel Fitzwilliam did not mention this place when we discussed the views around Rosings," she remarked. Darcy was not pleased at her mentioning his cousin- he had no place here, even in her mind. He only said, "Well I doubt that Fitzwilliam realised your readiness to wander for miles on the slightest pretext." Elizabeth's countenance, which had opened in the face of such a wonderful location, closed off once more. Darcy knew he had stung her with his terseness and cursed his temper, determined to control it in her presence.

He led her, then, around the other side of the cottage into the field and up to the base of the hillfort. It was even more impressive close up: The enormous trees reached into the heavens as she peered up at them. She could see the dimensions of the fort more clearly. It consisted of two concentric circles of raised earth with a rampart and shallow ditch between the ground and the highest level. The entire fort must have been a hundred and fifty feet across and the uppermost ring of earth was at least fifteen feet off the ground. Darcy moved along the bottom of the ring looking for something, until, having found it, he beckoned her over. She saw that an entrance, of gentler incline, would allow them easy access to the first tier. From there it was more difficult to get to the upper level and, after an indecorous attempt to scramble up it, she was forced to accept Mr. Darcy's hand in assistance, his clasp on her gloved fingers matched by one on her waist. He removed his beaver and his leap up after her was surprisingly athletic: she had always thought of him as a staid, sedate man, but there was a vigour there that he hid well.

Now she turned into the fort and discovered herself to be in a magical place. Bluebells freckled the ground in a carpet of violet-blue stars and the light percolating through the trees gave a dreamy, twilit quality to the scene. She wandered around trailing her hands along the trunks of the moss-covered trees and fronds of the larger ferns. She could not have removed the smile from her face had she tried, even when she became aware of Mr. Darcy's steadfast gaze. His eyes when she met them, were earnest, and she felt that he was enjoying her reaction to the sight, rather than the sight itself.

"I need not ask whether you approve of this place, I think."

"No, indeed. It is charming. I was just thinking that we could be in A Midsummer Night's Dream. If a sprite were to leap out from behind the nearest tree, I would hardly bat an eyelid."

"You are right, I am sure. But then, who can think of books when faced with so much beauty?" She had not actually been looking at him during much of their exchange, but now snapped her gaze to his face, shocked at his cheeky quip and anticipating his smug expression. But his eyes bore into hers and his face was open and communicative.

Eventually he broke their stalemate and came forward into the centre of the fort. He began to set up their breakfast, rolling out the blanket in a clear patch under a tree. Before he could reach for it, Elizabeth sat down with the basket, unpacking its contents so that she could concentrate on something other than Mr. Darcy. It contained some rolls- with condiments carefully potted to accompany them- pound cake, pigeon pie, cold ham and cheese. To drink there was iced tea, flavoured with mint, which was still cool, having been kept indoors all morning.

She laid it all out slowly and exactly, with Mr. Darcy's weight, on the blanket beside her, demanding her attention all the while. They ate in silence. She peered about the fort, taking in details that she had missed before; she was transfixed by the stack of large flat mushrooms growing from one of the oak trees (2). Darcy had leaned sideways onto his elbow, legs stretched out in front of him, when he had finished the little that he ate. She suspected that he was watching her, but when she turned to take a peak, he was holding a bluebell in his long fingers, and relishing the sweet scent of its nodding flowers.

"I have never seen them flower so early," Elizabeth said, thinking out loud, rather than seeking interaction.

"Nor I. At Pemberley they flower considerably later than here, or even in Hertfordshire, I should think."

They were looking at each other now and Elizabeth needed to avoid that, so she went about clearing up. She put everything back into the basket, until all that was left was the blanket. She stood, hoping that Mr. Darcy would take the hint. When he did not immediately do so, she moved to the tree under which they had sat and began tracing the patterns of its bark with her finger, waiting for him to get up. She did not notice that Darcy, whose attention had not wavered for a moment of their time together that morning, was closely following every stroke. When Elizabeth turned back around he had gotten up, and he was there, standing a foot away from her. Standing over her, rather, as he was so much taller than she. She stumbled back in mute surprise, almost tripping on the uneven roots. He followed her, never taking his eyes off of her face, and she continued to retreat until he had backed her up against the tree and she could go no further. He continued his advance, however, placing his hands on either side of her against the tree trunk and did not break eye contact until he bowed his head, so that it rested to the right of hers. His curls tickled her ear. She was too overwhelmed by his alacrity to consider his motive or his next move. He audibly inhaled, turning his face so that his nose was nestled in her hair.

"You smell sweeter than any flower," he spoke in hushed tones. She briefly considered that, after her sweaty trek of that morning, she undoubtedly did not. She could not dwell on this, though, as Mr. Darcy had taken to nuzzling her. He was bent forward to run his nose and closed mouth along her slender neck and up around the curve of her ear; his arms tense as he grasped the rough bark of the tree behind her. His warm breath tickled her and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the sensation of his bottom lip dragging lustfully across her skin. Just when she was becoming tremulous from the experience, Darcy pushed himself back from the tree and sank to his knees. He was at eye level with her crotch and she let out a gasp when he stuck his nose into it, shaking his head slightly as he inhaled noisily through her skirts. His cheeky grin up at her- like a little boy, aware he is being indulged in his silliness- precluded an angry response. She did not have much chance to give any response, as the new shock of his hand snaking its way up her leg caught her attention. The other followed it and his fingers trailed their way up to her centre, pausing only briefly to push her legs apart and she prepared herself for the inevitable assault, which soon was upon her. She was in familiar territory now and feelings and responses came flooding back to her. This familiarity calmed her somewhat, and she rested her head back against the tree-trunk, only now realising all that she had missed since their last assignation of four months before.

He moved his hands away from her crotch to lift up her dress and the sudden breeze startled her. He bunched up her skirts and pressed them into her hand. She peered down quizzically, but his attention was fixed on her hairy bush. She squirmed under his determined gaze, but he only hovered a moment, before moving slowly in its direction. What is he doing! At the last moment he dove at it, like a ravenous beast and what she felt on his making contact was much like her previous experiences and yet so alien all at once. His tongue was moving on her bud like his finger had done, but it was so much more: it morphed from one form to another, in one instant hard and probing, then soft and caressing , moulding around her form; and it was warm, so warm and moist that she ached for it, though it was still upon her. He thrust it up into her, greedily savouring her tang and spread her legs further in impatience. He bobbed his head as he drove his tongue repeatedly and eagerly up her hole, his free hand reaching under her and alternately clenching and stoking her soft buttocks and thighs.

Unlike their prior encounters, which had taken place in spite of their venue, their current surroundings only added to the experience. Elizabeth chanced to look around her at this cloistered, enchanted location- abundant with life and seemingly designed for romance. She watched the sun dappling the scene and, hearing Darcy's enthusiasm in every lap and groan, she felt her reactions heightening, sensations peaking. She did something daring, even considering her current position: she reached down and hesitantly touched his head. It was the first time she had ever touched him voluntarily, except in the heat of her release, which she would hardly have said was voluntary. Her fingers wove their way through his hair in what could be mistaken for a caress and, finding that she liked the sensation, they stayed there as she mindlessly played with his dark locks.

She was enjoying herself: she was not here for comfort, or to relieve frustration or loneliness, to console her in her grief; she was here- still here, even though she should have bolted the minute he sniffed her- because she was enjoying herself. She was enjoying the attention, the location, the illicit activity, the sensations and the novelty of this new act, but also, to a large extent, she was enjoying Darcy. Darcy, who was selfish and cruel and odd… and suddenly gentle and feasting on her cunt at that very moment in a manner well poised to send her mad.

It scared Elizabeth to admit this and her mind was in upheaval so that her crisis, when she reached it, was unexpected and all the stronger for it (3). Darcy had inserted his fingers and was stroking that rough spot that he remembered, while alternately licking and sucking devotedly at her pearl, and she could feel the pull of the oncoming wave. She had time only to grab his hair and force him closer (for which she would later not be proud), as a signal that it was nearly upon her. He responded appropriately, quickening and lengthening and deepening his movements to meet his objective. She huffed and puffed, trying to maintain control as it built until she could hold back no longer and screamed out her pleasure and tenderness into the air not caring how loud, or unbecoming her expression may be: a pigeon in the trees took fright and fled in a rustle of wings and greenery, and Mr. Darcy's sympathetic groan was felt rather than heard. She realised, at his continuous suckling, that she was again experiencing that release that had so mortified her the first time it had occured, and that Mr. Darcy was diligently swallowing her emissions. She was brought to a second peak at the thought of it, of Darcy's total submission to the satisfaction of her desires and the physical act of discharge felt as if she was being milked of any residual tension. When she had finished, her fading groans finally petering out, she noticed that Darcy was perfectly composed and his eyes were closed, though his tongue was still completing its work, lazily now and he finished with one long pass between her folds. She had kept her hand in his hair, touching it all the while- sometimes tenderly and later nothing short of insistently- and her release of it now was the signal to finish, which he did.

"I did not know that such a thing was possible," she commented through the haze. He smiled boyishly up at her, his hair in suggestive disarray and she recognised that this place had worked a change on him: he had shed the cynicism and hauteur that she had thought so fundamental to his character and, while his dimples were very attractive, his unpredictability was confusing.

He bent his head and removed his cravat, which at this stage was rather unkempt, and she took the opportunity to slip out past him and put some distance between them. What would happen now? In Netherfield, they had existed within the confines of a house full of people and a day, rigidly structured, with all their time accounted for. Now, she was in the middle of nowhere with him; even if they only walked home, it would take the greater part of an hour before she could be rid of him.

But that was presuming that he would want to immediately return home, or at least end their activities. 'You smell sweeter than any flower'? That was incongruous and did not bode well. Was he trying to seduce her? Is that why he had brought her here? Was this all just a prelude, to lure her in so that he could tup her, leant up against a tree; or splayed on the picnic blanket, staring up at the leafy canopy? Stop that! That is not helping. And since when did Mr. Darcy show any passionate inclinations? He was cold and sedate, a heartless stone, and now he had suddenly become a rake!

By the time Mr. Darcy stood up and turned around, some moments later, Elizabeth was physically shaking and ready to run at the first sign of a lure. He was beaming and his obvious contentment rattled her. All considerations fled from her head, except that she must leave, get away from here, and from him.

"My apologies, Mr. Darcy, I find that I must leave precipitously." He was noticeably crestfallen, but rallied admirably and moved to speak. She would not give him the chance to object and spoke again directly.

"Kitty… will be wanting me. Forgive me, I… I must go." He had begun to propose that they walk back together, but she quietened him, refusing in a very incoherent manner. Before he was fully cognisant of what was going on she had disappeared through the ferns and he could just make out her figure, between the openings in the foliage, bolting through the long grass towards the road.


(1) A hill fort is a type of earthworks used as a fortified refuge or defended settlement, located on the top of a hill for defensive advantage. They are typically European and of the Bronze and Iron Ages (They are not to be confused with the later ring forts of the Middle Ages, which are usually larger and include stone walls). The fortification usually follows the contours of a hill, consisting of one or more lines of earthworks with ramparts (a bank and a ditch) between. Most examples I have seen from England tend to be very manicured and well-kept, if they still exist- many were levelled to farm the land, or sheep were grazed on them; though I'm basing this on internet research and I stand to be corrected. In my description, I am thinking more of an Irish 'fairy fort', which is what they are known as there. Superstition towards fairy forts (that they were a gateway into the sídh, or fairy underworld, which it was unlucky to disturb) and their use as burial grounds for unbaptised babies in centuries past led to many remaining untouched and growing wild like a mini, isolated forest, as even grazing them was discouraged. Often they can be discerned by a circle of trees and undergrowth. My description here is of a wild hill fort, that is not grazed or manicured in anyway.

(2) In case anyone is interested, the mushroom I envision here is the 'chicken of the woods' which grow on tree trunks without stems, just pale yellow caps stacked on top of each other.

(3) 'Crisis' is a term for orgasm that is associated with the theory of Female Hysteria. This fit with the medicalised view of female arousal as a disease and was treated by bringing the patient to a crisis from which they would they recover, not unlike a fever.