It seems like several reviewers have automatically jumped to assuming that from where I left the last chapter that Darcy is or is going to r*pe Elizabeth. For anyone familiar with my writing, I would hope you would know I wouldn't do that to you or ODC. Yes, this is a darker Darcy, but he is no Wickham. Try to have a little faith in Darcy's innate goodness. He is all sorts of messed up, but he isn't evil. And I do want you to keep in mind that (as Darcy expresses), the morays of the time were quite a bit different in what a husband could expect from his wife.

The younger generations may be unaware of this, but romance novels with r*ape fantasy used to be a thing, and I always thought that was particularly sick. I guess it can be explained by the idea that women were supposed to be pure and so not allowed to have any sexual feelings before marriage and so could not admit any attraction or any wish to engage in premarital sex because they were pure, so the only way anything would happen was if it was forced and then the woman could magically admit to feelings she was not supposed to have. But there are still men trying to justify attacking women based upon how they looked, acted, or the man being attracted to her and being rejected but still persisting in believing that "she wanted it." Personal self integrity is incredibly important to me and it should be so to everyone. I won't write that sort of stuff to titillate some. That doesn't mean I won't ever write about r*pe, but it will never be depicted as a good thing and it will never come from our heroes.

It has been a bad couple of days. My dear elderly dog had a seizure and afterwards could not get up and we had to put her to sleep. One of my sons just tested positive for covid, putting a mission trip to Guatemala that another son and I are supposed to leave for on Wednesday in jeopardy. As everyone probably knows, the folk wisdom is that bad things come in threes. I hope having to cancel our mission trip isn't the third bad thing. But as always, writing is of solace to me.


Chapter 40: I am a Fool, Again

I have long prided myself on having good sense, on being a better man than my father and so many others I have known. But not a minute later, I saw that I was not so much better, given what I almost did.

In kissing my wife just then while holding her down, I wanted to erase any thought of Richard from her mind, to claim all of her as my own. But no matter that in England, nay, in all the civilized world, a woman is basically chattel, belongs to the husband, her own separate existence merged into his when they marry, she was not a thing to simply be claimed, at least not to me. If that was all I wanted in a wife, I could have married almost anyone.

I did not want to simply have Elizabeth (although I had expressed that was part of what I desired when I proposed). I wanted her to love me, to desire me, to be with my because that is what she desired also.

Elizabeth did not return my kiss, would not part her lips for me, and turned her face away, crying out "You are hurting me!"

Those four words were enough to make me pause and take stock of the situation. I had flung her on my bed, was holding her down and forcing my attentions on her. True, it was merely a kiss, but I had wanted to do far more than that, whether she wanted to do that right now or not. My hard yard pressing against her thigh (although separated from her by my breeches and her skirt) was proof of my animal desires.

Her words were like a bucket of water tipped upon my head, and I suddenly saw things more clearly. I jumped off my bed, flung open our connecting doors and bid her "Go to your room."

With a squeak of surprise and wide eyes, she quickly obeyed, shutting the door behind her. I touched the door with my hand and then slid down to sit upon the ground, the wood of the door against my side. My sudden passion, anger and jealousy vanished as quickly as it had come. My anatomy returned to its relaxed state, leaving me confused as I was able to reason more clearly. What had I been doing? What had I been thinking? I wanted Lizzy to love me, not to be scared of me, not to submit in fear and trembling. I did not want us to be John and Lavinia.

I cannot say what future generations will think of the behavior of a man taking his wife whenever he desires it, but from what I understood then, from all the bawdy talk which men indulge in, it was not unusual, perhaps even commonplace. Most men of my acquaintance viewed their wives as mere vessels for their desire, repositories for their passions who would birth their children at semi-regular intervals in return. Some professed a certain fondness for their wives, but most men I knew would have never proclaimed themselves in love unless that was a form of expressing admiration for a cunning actress, or someone they desired but could not have.

Bingley was the exception to this, but though he often frequently proclaimed himself in love, I was not certain that he actually understood the true emotion to be behind it. For how could it actually be love for him to so often fall into and out of it? He never seemed all that resolute in his decisions. I wondered then if his sisters had been correct that he was going (perhaps had already) proposed to my new sister. It seemed equally possibly that while planning to leave for Hertfordshire, that he might have met randomly with one of his many friends and gone off to attend a house party instead.

Miss Bennet would not bring much to a marriage but herself and her status as the daughter of a gentleman, but her own preexisting status was sunk quite low by her sister's circumstances. My own marriage to Elizabeth would have made such a match more acceptable, but Bingley was in ignorance of it when he left, although I could not imagine him exchanging more than a few words of conversation with anyone in Meryton without learning the news. Mrs. Bennet especially would have liked to crow about the match.

I murmured aloud to myself "Should they marry, I hope they shall be happy, that they shall share a true love." Then again my lips moved. "As for me and mine, what can I do, what shall I do, to her my wife's affections?"

I was not asking anyone in particular, but as the words left my lips, they seemed more prayer, than anything else. But if anyone was listening, I felt no answer return to me.

My mind circled around to the marriages I knew, and the purposes behind men claiming various women to wife. My father, my uncle, my cousins John and Richard, and most of the men with which I attended Cambridge, well they only hoped to improve or retain their status in life in who they chose to propose to and marry. They wanted a pretty ornament with a fat dowry and noble relations, someone who could play the piano forte or the harp and sing like an angel to amuse them and impress their friends. They wanted her to have auburn hair because that was the color most desired, but a pretty blonde or brunette would also do if she came with the right assets. Richard perhaps wanted something a little more, for he had not yet found his heiress, but once he got over the idea that my wife could have been his, he would surely return to seeking one out.

Then I thought of the state of those marriages. Of those men I knew who were married, they seemed content enough, unaltered by their unions. There was very little closeness there, their wives were more seen as an opportunity for diversion, an available repository for their passions, valued very little in their own right. But the women hardly seemed to expect more; were content to dress well and direct the home.

These women were valued for their bodies, for looking well on their husbands' arms, for producing an heir, for being good hostesses. They wanted their wives to keep themselves occupied and then drop everything to cater to their needs. They had no interest in these wives' feelings or desires, to know their thoughts and feelings.

Seldom did I hear any of them praise their wives minds. Instead, if it seemed the woman was intelligent and did not simply defer to all her husband wanted as her superior, well many of these women were labeled shrews.

In such a situation, it was simply understood that women were to be disciplined freely, like children and servants, to be taken in hand. Such correction was thought necessary so that they would know their place. As backwards as it may seem, while I was taught by my father to not raise a hand to a woman, I was also taught by him that intercourse with whomever I wanted was my right as a man, so long as it was someone within my power, be it wife, mistress or maid. My peers with their deeds also taught me the same.

It might be unseemly and impractical to get the maids with child (my father had always advised against doing so), but many men acted with impunity in doing so, acted as if women hired to serve the house were there to be plucked at his whim. But as for mistresses and wives, it was commonly understood that access to their commodity was part of what was bought by providing for either.

The only dangerous ground was seeking favors from a woman under the dominion of another, be it a man's wife, child or mistress. The danger lay in how the man whose protection she was under would react afterwards, should he find out. While dueling was illegal, no one wanted to be called out. There was also a real fear that her protector would seek his revenge, perhaps hire men to administer a beating, take out his fury on the women under the other man's protection, would enjoy ruining his daughter, his sister, stealing his mistress away, or on one well known occasion, I heard of a man whose young widowed step-mother was abducted and used most ill until she was deposited back on his estate thick with child.

Her step-son was angry, oh so angry, but the first to feel his wrath was his step-mother herself, for he was convinced that she must have invited the other man's advances or been too careless in her actions. In his rage, he beat her before the staff as she begged for his mercy, and then while still suffering from this attack, he had her transported to one of his holdings in Scotland. There were rumors that the beating he inflicted had dislodged the baby from her womb and some offered that perhaps that had been his intent. It was universally agreed that she had been fortunate that such a child never drew breath. But of course after such events, she was never seen from again.

Such cautionary tales did not seem to cow the men I knew, for they all believed that this was not a sign such behavior ought not be attempted, but that the other men were too careless in who they chose to inflict their attentions upon. They believed even a man's wife, daughter or mistress could be had, but it had to be done with more care and finesse. Far better to seek the favors of the wife of a nobleman in his dotage, the daughter of a tradesman, a woman who had already borne her husband an heir and spare (and whose husband was happily occupied with a mistress, so could have no real cause for distress) than a beloved and protected woman of some status.

Wickham could do what he did because he selected women who were unprotected. He was not unusual in his proclivities when he sought out maids, daughters of tradesmen and the like. He was only unusual when he reached too high, was too ambitious for the son of a steward. I could have never conceived that he would have the unmitigated gall to try to abscond with my sister, but at least there I believe his goal was indeed marriage. As for what he did with Miss Lydia, well there he could be perhaps excused for thinking that Miss Lydia was unprotected and her lackadaisical father was unlikely to raise any real sort of fuss, that he could get away with using that young woman as he wanted and then discarding her when he was done. It was not right, but it was rational.

But as for me, I never wanted to be like those other men. For I cared for my mother and my sister. I had too good of an imagination in understanding what it would be like for them to be used so ill. I did not want my wife to feel about me like my mother felt about my father. I did not want my sister in a loveless marriage, her well being controlled by a man who cared not a whit for her, but only for the money and status she brought to the marriage. I did not want to be like my father and my cousin John.

I knew I ought to seek my wife out now, to apologize to her, find out just what situation I had walked in upon. While I did not like to think of her sitting near Richard, I understood now that I was calm that I had overreacted. I had no reason to believe her disloyal, and was not sin usually committed in shadow and not in the middle of the day when servants were to be around? Too, I had no faith that my skills as a lover could have instantly transferred to her into a sexual being who would freely welcome another man to her embrace. A lifetime of learning restraint could not be abandoned so quickly.

While men were taught to be predators, women were taught to guard their virtue, the importance of loyalty to their husbands. While rich women might know that lovers could be taken, might have observed flirtations that would culminate in something more, I did not think it would have been common to observe such behavior in the provincial town of Meryton.

I needed to not be thinking the worst of my wife, my cousin. I stood up and readied myself to knock on the communicating door, when I heard a sharp rap on wood. For a moment I thought that she was knocking for me, before I realized that the knock was coming from my door which led to the hall. It had perhaps been only a few minutes since I had hurried my wife up the stairs.

The knock came again and I stumbled forward, loosed the bolt and opened the door. Richard was on the other side of the door. He pushed past me and asked, "Is Elizabeth well?" as he glanced about.

"Yes, fine, but she is Mrs. Darcy to you."

I did not like how Richard used her given name, assumed I might have treated her ill. I wondered if he knew what I had planned to do to her. If so, the timing of his arrival would have been too late to stop me had I proceeded, but perhaps he had not wanted to confront me in the flush of my anger. I wondered what he knew or thought he knew.

"You seemed angry. I thought-" He looked at me, studied me. "I did not want there to be any misunderstanding."

"All is well. But I cannot account for you calling on my wife and not me. Does not anyone notice that the knocker is not upon the door?"

Confusion was writ on his face for a moment. "It was Georgiana who wished to call, this is her home after all, and we found Mrs. Darcy in low spirits. She told us you were occupied, so we did our best to cheer her. Georgiana and I were sharing stories about you. It seemed to help."

I did not like the thought of Richard comforting my wife. But he was better suited to bringing others cheer than I ever was.

"Did she tell you what was bothering her?"

I did not like to imagine Elizabeth confiding in my cousin.

"No."

"We had most unpleasant visit from her uncle. He . . . " I was suddenly wary of sharing any information with Richard. "He is not as honorable as he should be."

"Did he seek to trade on his new connections from your marriage?" Richard guessed.

"Something of that nature. My wife is generous of spirit and forgave him his lapse, but she had every reason to be disappointed in him. Neither of us are in the mood for other visitors now."

Richard took the hint, "I will get Georgiana and we will leave then. I know, though, that she is anxious to see Mrs. Darcy again."

"We will call on your mother soon," I determined. "Please let us be now."

He nodded and began to withdraw, but then glanced toward the connecting door. "Please give her our regrets and our best wishes for her health and happiness. I shall show us all out."

"That would be best," I responded, and then he left and I closed the door again with a displeased thump. A moment later I was standing before the connecting door, my hand raised to knock, but then my doubts stayed my fist. I wondered if Elizabeth had heard our conversation, and if so, what she had thought of it. I wondered if she was cowering, afraid to see me and the wild beast that dwelt within my breast. I was not sure that seeing me right then would not alarm her. I sat down on my bed and stared at the wall, thinking hard for the next two hours until my valet arrived to help me dress for dinner. As I dressed, I imagined her dressing in the room just beyond my own. I was determined to be a pleasant dinner companion, wished to simply ignore what had happened before.

When I was ready, I waited some minutes, knowing that a women's preparations take longer than a man's. But when the hour for dinner was upon us, I determined to fetch her. I could have knocked on the communicating door, but instead I went outside and around to the hallway door and with some trepidation knocked there. Mrs. Darcy opened the door but a crack and peered out, little more than her eyes showing.

"My darling, it is time for dinner," I told her. "Are you ready to go down?"

"I am not coming down tonight," said she.

I did not like that development, not at all.

"Are you unwell?"

"Yes," she said, and nothing more.

I knew she needed to eat and so told her, "I shall send your meal up."

"As you wish," she replied and then shut the door.

I dined alone and the food was too heavy on my tongue and hard to swallow no matter how much wine I drunk. I left much of the food untouched and then took myself off to bed. I tried to read but could not concentrate on any of the words. I tried to sleep then, but could only think of the woman in the room beside me. I wanted to talk to Elizabeth, to apologize, to tell her I would do better, but I also felt what a degradation it would be to speak such words. And perhaps I was mistaken, perhaps she was not unhappy with me but considering further what her uncle had done. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but I feared I would not be welcomed.


A/N: Okay, any predictions for what will happen next? I am thinking of switching to Elizabeth's POV with the next chapter. What do you think? What do you think that she is thinking about and feeling. Was she punishing Darcy by refusing to go down to dinner with him, or just practicing self care. What should Darcy do or say to help mend this rift? Will he actually do what he should?