If you are sensitive to content discussing rape and child sex abuse, don't read.

This is an unhappy (now) two-shot from Darcy's POV. In this version Georgiana's character and actions are kind of combined with Lydia's. I have edited and expanded this chapter since first posting it to make it work better with the next chapter. This is still marked "complete" as I don't plan to add anything more although now I have a few ideas for what could be a third chapter. You may wish to "follow" just in case.


1.

Many people have regrets. There is nothing particularly novel about that. Likely some people cannot recount what their greatest regret is because they either have too many regrets or too few. I certainly have my share of regrets, but in most cases I can justify my actions by what I knew or was feeling at the time. Everyone is entitled to a bad day and amends can generally be made afterwards. However one regret stands out because I knew better both before, during and after; certainly I knew better.

I can try to blame it on the vodka, tequila, bourbon and beer. But I have only myself to blame for imbibing. I did not consume so much that I blacked out. My memory of all that transpired when I was well and truly drunk is only fuzzy and vague, not missing.

I recall that evening, drinking far more than I ought. After the alcohol had loosened me up, I laughed at things that held little humor. Caroline Bingley joined in my laughter, but I knew (even in my intoxicated state I knew) that her titters were forced as her eyes held no merriment.

The contrast between Caroline Bingley and Elizabeth Bennet was pronounced. Earlier in the evening, I had beheld delight and amusement in Elizabeth's eyes when she talked to her less attractive friend, made a gesture that seemed to indicate me and then laughed. When I saw that, I felt a stab of regret that I had been rude earlier.

Bingley had been trying to introduce me to some denizens at the local bar. He had said, "I hate to see you standing around and keeping to yourself when there are so many pleasant people that you haven't met. The blonde goddess I danced with earlier, Jane, has a brainy and attractive sister who is just your type. Her name is . . . " he struggled to think and then looked triumphant, "Elizabeth. I think you could hit it off."

"Who do you mean?" I asked. He gestured and indicated a curly-haired brunette sitting by herself who was texting on her phone.

If there is something I cannot abide it is people who are constantly focused on their phones and ignoring the world around them. I used to be more tolerant, I suppose, when my sister G.G. (short for Georgiana Gertrude, whatever were my parents thinking? But of course they named me Fitzwilliam Firth) used to text (or use insta or snap or whatever), but that is when I thought she was communicating with friends rather than being wooed into the arms of that predator with the romantic memes he sent her.

I responded, "I have no interest in meeting someone like her. She's not much of a looker. Just leave me be. I don't know why you dragged me here in the first place."

Still, once I had noticed Elizabeth, I found my eyes alighting on her every once in a while. While doing so, I learned I was wrong in my initial belief that she was obsessed with her phone as I did not see her on it again. Her face, which earlier seemed fairly ordinary was far different when engaged in making what I could only assume were witty comments.

I was called back into the present by seeing Caroline, over dressed in a tight, low-cut red dress, sit down beside me and set down a little round drink tray. "Service here is abysmal, imagine anyone in the city making me carry my own drinks." The tray was full, it had my brand of beer, a wine glass with red wine and various shots. She handed me the beer and put my two empty bottles back on the tray.

"Let's drink and forget our troubles," she proposed. I was a bit surprised at Caroline's insight into my black mood as all she knew of my situation was that my once childhood friend, one George Wickham, had acted horribly. I had told no one of the events that took place earlier that day.

She offered, "Let us toast to better days ahead," bringing her wine glass forward.

I would have toasted to anything. I clinked my glass bottle to her wine glass. I noticed she took a polite, lady-like sip as I guzzled. Within a minute my third beer was gone. Caroline presented me with a shot glass filled with a dark liquid. I downed it and discovered it was bourbon. After I had that she asked, "Better?"

There had been something on my mind but I had lost that thought. I looked around and found the object of my rudeness, and later interest, saying her goodbyes.

"I need another at least," I responded. The next toast I offered, making it "to a lovely woman's fine eyes."

Caroline grinned, apparently believing herself to be the object of the toast. I did not disabuse her of the notion for a jealous Caroline is truly insufferable.

I threw back the shot easily. I stared at the empty shot glass for a while until Caroline presented me with one containing a clear liquid. Vodka was not a preferred poison, but I had a notion it would do. All I wanted was to become drunk enough to forget George Wickham and what he had done to my sister, to have no chance at nightmares where rather than getting a negative stick test she bore his child, a non-human monster with claws and slavering teeth, a form which outwardly reflected all of George's depravity for, while more than ten years her senior, seducing G.G.

Two months earlier when I reported his transgression to the police and awaited their arrival to take a report, G.G. yelled at me, declaring, "How can you do this to me? I love George! What does age have to do with it? Go ahead, send me back to boarding school. I'll be gone within days and you'll never see me again and as soon as I turn eighteen we'll be married."

While technically it was statutory rape, the police had no interest in tracking down George after G.G. declared, "He's my boyfriend but we never had sex. My brother is making the whole thing up to get him in trouble."

I showed the cops the pregnancy test from G.G.'s trash that Mrs. Reynolds had brought to me, which was what made me confront G.G. earlier and led to her confession that she was engaged to George. Detective Tupuola, a burly man who appeared of Asian descent (Samoan, my mind helpfully supplied), was kind but explained, "Without a rape kit with the perp's DNA and no cooperation from your ward, there is no real evidence to pursue this. If she was pregnant, that would be another matter. Really, you've dodged a bullet."

While I seethed inside, I told him, "I understand." When the detective's back was turned, G.G. stuck her tongue out at me. After the cops left she had the audacity to laugh after telling me, "See, they won't do anything!"

"He's using you," I told her. "George is broke, he just wants to get his hands on your inheritance. He probably thinks if he got you pregnant that you could never change your mind and walk away."

Slap! She smacked me hard then. "Take that back. We both just got carried away, that's what it's like when you are in love, you have to have the person no matter what."

I proceeded to lay out for her all of the awful things he had done over the years. G.G. refused to believe me, and as to the things that she perhaps believed she responded, "Love changes a person. He would never betray me."

I smashed her phone, I punched a wall. But later that day I got practical.

I replaced the antiquated security system on the estate that hadn't been updated since my parents' death. Too many people knew the codes, including likely George. I hoped, rather than believed, that anything they had been up to did not happen at the mansion.

The new measures included motion detector cameras that would record anyone entering or leaving the main building and alarms I armed at night, as well as alarms on every window. The security sales man was grinning as if he'd won the lottery when he totaled up the bill. I couldn't have cared less how much it cost for it could never return my sister to the carefree girl of before, but perhaps it might keep her from being able to sneak off or sneak him in.

I took G.G. to the gynecologist, the highly recommended Dr. Sanchez, explaining at the beginning of the appointment, "G.G.'s become sexually active with a much older man. I am worried about her. Can you please talk to her about STDs, test her for them, and get her on birth control, ideally the arm implant?" I had done my research, knew it was the most effective one because it eliminated user error and couldn't just come out.

Doctor Sanchez told me, "I will speak to her about all of that." Naturally, I was not in there for the exam, though they talked to me afterwards. The doctor said, "Mr. Darcy, Georgiana had refused all testing, doesn't want any birth control."

"What!?" I exclaimed. "She can't do that. I'm her guardian and those are things she needs."

"Yes she can," Dr. Sanchez responded. "It is her body and we are not going to do anything to her forcibly. She's a young woman and that would be medical assault."

I shook my head in disbelief. Once again, someone who should be helping was doing nothing.

"If it helps, Mr. Darcy, her exam was normal. She will get a letter in the mail about the results of her pap smear. Now did she get the HPV shot series from her pediatrician?"

"Yes," I recalled.

"That's good then," Dr. Sanchez replied, "as we like girls, all children, to get them before they become sexually active."

Then she focused on G.G. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Georgiana. I hope you will read the pamphlets I gave you. Some guys will lie about their sexual history. You can always come see me again if you change your mind."

G.G. waited until we got home to pout and storm. "Why do you keep trying to ruin what I have with George? That was so embarrassing!"

Later, G.G. demanded to speak to her co-guardian, our cousin Rick Fitzwilliam, so I arranged it. Although I had told Rick all that transpired, he listened sympathetically to her as she railed about how I was trying to control her life. She explained, "No matter what my brother does, I am going to do what I want. He can't watch me all the time, I have to go to school. I'll run away and you'll never find me."

"That's where you are wrong," I told her. "You can do home school or online school. There is no need for you to go anywhere until you gain some common sense."

"G.G.," Rick told her, "Will is your guardian; he gets to decide what is best for you."

"But you're my guardian, too," she whined. G.G. then got a crafty look in her eyes and declared, "I want to talk to Rick alone." I let them, thinking he might be able to get through to her better without me there.

After the visit, Rick called me up and told me, "Keeping G.G. prisoner isn't a solution, it will just drive her into George's arms, make her believe it is then against the world and she'll ruin her life that much faster. I think it would be a good idea if G.G. lived with my parents for a while and went to private school with her cousin Emily. G.G. needs some routine and to be with family who love her. She says she's scared you would hit her, because of what you did to the phone and wall. I know you'd never do that, but you are too emotional right now to be rational. Let me play the good cop for now. I'll get her a new phone, with monitoring installed and she'll never be the wiser. I can also implant a GPS device in a new backpack I will give her, and perhaps in a purse, too. Army tech is awesome. Then if they try to plan anything or she tries to run we will know. She'll come around; you'll see."

What could I do but agree, even though it felt horrible letting her go? The mansion was very lonely without G.G., even though since all of this happened she was constantly pouting, giving me the silent treatment or glaring at me during meals. When Bingley suggested I join his family at his rented vacation home, it seemed like a good idea. However, I could not leave my troubles behind.

Earlier that evening, before Bingley suggested we go out to that bar, I received a call from Rick. He was all business and I immediately knew that something was horribly wrong. He told me, "I need to tell you what happened with G.G. today. We caught her at Grand Central Station. She stole money from my mom's purse and skipped out on school. When I found her, she had a ticket for Ontario, her passport and a different phone. I guess she didn't want to have anything bad on the phone I gave her, since my parents were looking through it regularly. She's okay. We are handling it, but she broke the phone she had with her before we could see what was on it. We are looking into wilderness programs, English speaking boarding schools in other countries, anything we can think of to change this path she seems determined to keep herself on."

I wanted to go charging in, wanted to fix things, but in the end Rick talked me down and I agreed to let him and his parents keep handling things. But now, it was feeling like a mistake, like my sister was slipping even further away.

I reached for the last shot on the tray. "To forgetting." I clinked Caroline's wine glass and then downed what turned out to be tequila. Things got even fuzzier after that and I lay my head down upon the table.

I remember hearing Caroline tell Bingley, "Darcy's tipsy. I'm going to drive him home and call it an evening." She had to help me up, my leaden body did not feel like going anywhere.

Once I was up and moving, I obediently followed her out the door. She clung to my arm while holding me steady. I had a little trouble climbing into her SUV, but made it in. I think I dozed during the ride.

When we got there, she fixed me a glass of water and handed me two ibuprofen. "Trust me, you'll thank me in the morning."

After I drank, Caroline helped me to the guest bedroom and then sent me into the en suite, instructing, "brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to get ready for bed. I'll be waiting to help you."

It took me a long time. I remember staring at myself in the mirror as I slowly brushed. I hardly recognized the man who stared back at me.

When I came out, Caroline helped me take off my shoes and socks and unbuttoned my shirt. "Think you can manage your pants?" Her eyes looked concerned.

I fumbled with my belt for several long seconds and then she said, "I'll do it." She undid my belt, unbuttoned my button and unzipped my zipper. As her thin hands worked she lightly touched me through my placket. I am not sure if it was deliberate or not.

I felt myself stir, just a bit.

Caroline asked, "Do I need to take off your shirt and pull your pants down, too?" as she played with a shiny necklace that dipped between her breasts. I found my eyes focused on the chain and made no response until she asked again.

I nodded, as it was easier than making my rubbery lips form words. As she helped me, I felt more small boy than man. Caroline slid off my shirt, hands pushing over my shoulders, caressing as she removed first one sleeve and then the other. That definitely got my attention. It felt nice.

Then she ordered, "Stand up." I did so slowly, wishing to please. I swayed a little as I tried to maintain my balance.

She pulled my pants down past my hips, caressing and touching as she did so. The way she was leaning over I had a very good look at her cleavage. I felt myself grow hard, but I had no intention of acting on it. It would go away soon enough. I sat down on her orders and rather than just tugging my pants down, she slid her hands down each leg, touching me more boldly now.

When my pants were finally off, she lingered by my legs, kneeling between them. With no excuse now, she slid her hands along my thighs, skimming her thumbs under the bottom edge of my boxer briefs. "Let me make you feel good," she offered.

I was tempted, but I certainly didn't want Caroline to get the wrong idea. I had no real romantic interest in my friend's sister. As if anticipating my reaction, she added, "It doesn't have to mean anything. Sometimes sex is just sex, some fun between two consenting adults.

I was still pondering that, my thinking process slowed down from the alcohol, when she began tugging down my underwear. I let her. She touched, sucked and praised. Everything felt dream-like. Before I could reach a happy ending, she broke away from me, stood up and stripped for me.

Whatever else Caroline might be, she takes care of her body. She has an athletic build with an ample chest that I am not entirely sure is God-given.

Caroline encouraged me to lie down upon the bed. I collapsed back, the effort to turn and pull my legs up too much. She half-pushed, half-shoved me into a more appropriate position, then lay beside me.

Then Caroline begged, "Touch me!" I did so, tentatively, reluctant to touch her most intimate places. "Don't be shy," she told me, grabbing my hand and bringing it where she wanted it. It didn't seem quite right, but I was distracted by how good she was making me feel by touching me at the same time.

Later, I saw Caroline rise over me as if about to . . . so with great effort, I half-rolled to my side. While I was somewhat willing to enjoy what she was offering, I knew I couldn't just yet. In reflecting back on it, this is sufficient evidence that I had enough of my wits about me that I could have turned her away.

"Need a . . . a . . . a condo . . . condo . . . condominium." I laughed and laughed at the word my mouth had formed.

"There's no need," Caroline told me, trying to nudge me back on my back. "I'm on the pill."

"Still, still . . ." I slid over more and tugged open the nightstand table. I knew I had a box of condoms there. I always bring condoms on any trip, not that I have ever needed them for myself unless currently in a relationship. Still my preparedness has come in handy for Rick and Bingley (separately of course) when they found pretty and willing women.

Many years ago my father told me that a man should never trust in a woman's birth control, that especially men of means have to be careful not to accidentally father a child. He told me, "Some women who say they are on the pill are lying. Others forget to take it now and then, and it might not be effective when it needs to be. Even if she is trustworthy and diligent, there is still a small rate of failure, not to mention the chance of disease. Always use a condom before you are married with a prenup. Believe me, you'll thank me."

I was not able to get the first condom on (even when I am sober, sometimes it is confusing to figure out which way it unrolls) and should have taken that as a sign to send Caroline away. Instead I flung it upon the floor and handed the next one to Caroline. She got it on properly (I think) even while she said, "You really don't need this. You'll like it better without, I'm sure."

"If you want it, it's going to be wrapped," I told her (although I think at the time my words were rather garbled). "Saran Wrapped," I added, laughing again.

My laughter suddenly shut off as she slid down on me. It felt good not to think, to only feel, to have someone taking care of me even while I closed my eyes and pretended she was someone else.

I can't say that I was a particularly skilled or generous lover that night. I did precious little for Caroline, but she didn't seem to mind, riding me with enthusiasm. It was over fairly quickly.

Afterwards, she stayed in the bed, curled up next to me. I wanted her to leave, but I didn't want to be rude. While I was trying to puzzle out how to send her away, I fell asleep. When I next awoke, she was stroking me there and I was already partially hard.

"Let's have another go," she suggested, then kissing along my neck.

My stomach rebelled, whether at the thought of what we had done or from all the alcohol earlier I could not be sure. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up, not in the toilet but in the sink. My vision grayed as I clung to the counter. I retched a couple more time, but little more than bile came out.

After I got the mess down the drain and my vision cleared, I began brushing my teeth. Caroline came in and put her arms around me. They felt like a cage.

"Are you okay now?" she asked. "Perhaps we ought to sleep. We can have more fun later, when you are feeling better."

The thought of her in my bed was now abhorrent, more so than before. I had no wish to be cruel, so only said, "It was good, but it needs to end now. I don't want to mess up my friendship with your brother."

"Chuck doesn't care whom I date. There is nothing to worry about." Caroline declared.

I grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her away from me, to where I could look her in the eye. "I wasn't thinking clearly before. We shouldn't have done it. You are just a friend, nothing more."

"But Darcy! We are good together, you know we are." Caroline's lower lip trembled and I felt a bit sorry for her then.

"You said it didn't have to mean anything," I reminded her. I was pretty sure I had not imagined her saying that.

"But it does. Can't you see that? I'm not just Chuck's little sister. Darcy, don't you know I've been in love with you for years? Just give me a chance. Even if you don't feel the same way now, feelings can change." Her eyes grew wet and my shame grew. How could I ever think it wouldn't mean anything to Caroline?

"I'm sorry," I told her. Gently but firmly I led her out of the bathroom and out of the bedroom. Before she could try to get in again, I closed and locked the door between us. I tried to sleep but all I could think about was that I was a cad like George. True, Caroline was 23, hardly a girl to be taken advantage of, but I had known before that she was interested in me. I should have trusted what I knew, instead of her convenient words.

I thought about leaving the next day, but ultimately I stayed. During the remainder of my visit, I tried my best to treat Caroline politely, kindly, but demarcate clearly that I thought of her as nothing but a friend. She, however, clung to me, carried on, and tried to entice me back into her bed. Although I do not think she told her brother, clearly Louisa knew and was always trying to help her get alone with me. I rather felt like prey.

Caroline also seemed determined to get me to drink, bringing me cold beers when I was out by the pool (while wearing a white one piece that was little more than a string in the back), offering after-dinner frozen margaritas on a hot day (which Bingley, when he sampled one, told her were much too strong). I think she thought since it'd worked one time, perhaps it would work again, but I could not, would not be swayed. I'm no fool and I had decided the next morning that I was never, ever going to get drunk again.

During my visit, I did not expect to be thrown into company so often with the Bennet sisters. I did not expect to find myself both attracted to Elizabeth and wanting a relationship with her. Many times I wished to show more interest in Elizabeth, but to do that in front of Caroline seemed too cruel. When we left for town, I was certain I would never see Elizabeth again.

As we drove away, I thought with regret about what might have been if I had talked to Elizabeth that night instead of getting drunk and giving in to Caroline. I have wondered if Caroline purposefully got me drunk that night, if it was her plan from the beginning to get me into bed and try to start something up with me, or if it only became her plan after we'd been together once. I hope she is not that devious, that it was simply a situation that evolved into us having sex. Perhaps she did take advantage of my state, but I know I could have turned her away, probably. I wish I had. I will always regret that I didn't.