This scene should be inserted in the middle of chapter 30.
Elizabeth has gone to visit Charlotte in her new home in Kent. She spends an interesting three weeks visiting and watching Charlotte navigate her new marriage. She meets Lady Catherin and finds her to be an overbearing busybody. Mr. Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam were expected to come to spend the Easter season with their aunt. Mr. Collins watched the road so that he would know exactly when they arrived. The next morning Mr. Collins went to Rosings to greet them.
Thank you for your patience with my slow updates. Comments and corrections are welcome.
Mr. Collins was shown into the morning room at Rosings where the family were assembled. With deference he greeted Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh. Lady Catherin returned his civilities then proceeded to introduce him to her nephews, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who each bowed their heads in turn.
"How wonderful it is to meet with you again Mr. Darcy, and so soon after making your acquaintance at Netherfield," Mr. Collins began. "I can assure you that all is well with our Hertfordshire friends, for I maintain a diligent correspondence with some of them."
"The pleasure is mine sir," Darcy said rather flatly, anticipating no pleasure at all in conversing with the man who had procured the object of his affection. Despite his disdain, he forced himself to remain civil out of respect for his aunt. "Allow me to offer you my congratulations. Lady Catherine has informed us of your recent marriage."
"I do thank you sir, most graciously. You are too kind," said Mr. Collins, bowing his head. "I believe you knew my wife in Hertfordshire?"
"Yes. A lovely young lady," Darcy said, attempting not to betray the hateful jealousy that was fomenting within him. He measured the man before him and found him woefully lacking. It was not merit or superior understanding that had secured him his living. Rather, it was his peculiar penchant for supplication that had won the approval of his patroness. How could he stand seeing Elizabeth with him? Had he touched her with those weak simpering hands? Had he kissed her with that vile mouth that was better suited for bootlicking?
"Indeed, I am very thankful that I heeded Lady Catherine when she advised me that I ought to take a wife. My dear Charlotte has been the greatest blessing a man could wish for."
"Charlotte?" Darcy hastily blurted out. His face turned red, as he attempted to cover his blunder with a cough. "Pray excuse me" he uttered. He walked over to the table where the tea had been set and was served a cup by Mrs. Jenkinson.
Mr. Collins went on speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam, undisturbed by Darcy's outburst. The Colonel was intrigued by the exchange. He examined his normally inviolable cousin, wondering what it was about the Parson that had unnerved him so. He'd noted Darcy's discomfort the moment the man had entered the room.
"I would be most honoured to introduce Mrs. Collins to you Colonel, at the conclusion of services this Sunday. And there are two other young ladies at the parsonage who will also wish to be made known to you. I believe, Mr. Darcy, you will recall them from your time in Hertfordshire. They are Mrs. Collins's sister, Miss Mariah Lucas. And her dear friend, my cousin Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They have been staying with us these three weeks."
Darcy nearly dropped his cup, it rattled loudly on its saucer. His face, which was still red, suddenly turned white.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, seeing that his cousin would not, or rather could not answer, spoke instead. "We would be honoured sir."
The two gentlemen continued their discourse while Darcy stood mute. He could not attend to their conversation, as his mind was in a state of absolute frenzy. Elizabeth was not Collins's wife, and as if this wasn't felicity enough, she was also in Kent. He tried to recall what Caroline had said. He'd understood from her that the two were practically engaged. Perhaps that bit of gossip had been nothing but unguarded speculation on the part of Mrs. Bennett. Its retelling had likely been exaggerated by Caroline.
There was a lull in the conversation, Darcy looked up to see Mr. Collins was taking leave. Before he could finish his goodbyes Mr. Darcy interrupted,-
"Sir, will you allow the Colonel and I to return with you to the parsonage so that we may ourselves offer Mrs. Collins our congratulations?"
Mr. Collins smiled broadly. He immediately assented with many effusions of thanks, and repeated assurances that his wife would be honoured to receive them.
When Mr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room, crossing the road, and immediately running into the other, told the girls what an honour they might expect, adding, —
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me."
Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment before their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman.
Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire. He paid his compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs. Collins; and whatever might be his feelings towards her friend, met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely curtsied to him, without saying a word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly, with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly. Mr Darcy, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anybody. Outwardly he appeared calm, but behind his silence he was busily forming thoughts and questions that he had no hope of expressing. At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to inquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause, added, —
"My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?"
She was perfectly sensible that he never had, but she wished to see whether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between the Bingleys and Jane. She thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no further, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.
That night Darcy lay sleepless in his bed, lamenting the fact that he had ever laid eyes upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Neither time nor distance had diminished his admiration for her.
Before he'd met her his life was in order. He was resigned to the future his mother and his aunt had laid for him. But now, he knew he could never be content in a marriage of convenience with his cousin.
Ann was nothing when compared to Elizabeth. Ann was weak of spirit, sickly and feeble, and so verry repressed. She did not possess a single thought or opinion that was not explicitly cultivated by Lady Catherine.
He left the fruitless comfort of his bed to gaze out the window. Its prospect overlooked the grounds of Rosings. In the dim moonlight he could make out the row of trees that bordered the lane. Though he could not see it, he knew the parsonage, and Elizabeth lay just beyond.
When he'd learned that she was free his heart had leapt with joy, his impulse had been to rush to her at once. But upon admittance to the parsonage the feeling soon soured as he recalled all the barriers that lay between them. He wished that he'd had the courage to speak to her. But what was there to say? What does a man say when he is placed in an impossible situation?
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold windowpane. He wanted her more than he could bear. He envied her, resting peacefully in sleep, her innocent mind unmolested by irrational desires.
But had he been privy to the goings on inside the quiet little house just beyond the park railing, he would know that Elizabeth was not asleep.
Something had awakened in her when she had read that stolen book. A yearning that would not be satisfied. She'd brought herself to pleasure countless times, envisioning herself the heroine of its pages, and was as yet eager for more. No longer content with its offerings, she'd begun to consult her own imagination for inspiration. She laid out the most torrid fantasies her mind could conceive. With patience and persistence, she began to know herself.
As she readied for sleep she was struck by an odd sensation, as if she was being watched. She paused, listening intently to the quiet house. She looked out her window but saw nothing except the shadow that was Rosings looming beyond the trees. She closed the curtain securely against the night before turning down the linen and settling onto the bed. She turned the matter over in her mind, realizing with a little grin, that it might be something to be watched.
She pictured her imaginary lover entering her room. His dark eyes fixed on her, as he seated himself in the chair near the foot of the bed. He made no move toward her, he only watched intently.
Aroused and excited by the turn her thoughts had taken, she rubbed her palms up her thighs, allowing the anticipation to build. She would draw it out, putting her pleasure on display for him. She untied the string at the front of her chemise, letting the neckline fall lower. She traced her fingers over her decolletage, teasing him with her eyes as they dipped between her breasts. She groped a breast in each hand, arching back into the pillows as she pulled at her nipples. She pinched until they were pebbled, standing hard and visible through the fabric. Her observer bit his lip, silently betraying his desire. She pulled the neckline lower, exposing herself to his gaze. She licked her finger, then traced a circle of wetness around one tortured peak. His brows rose and his nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath.
She dragged her hands through her hair, piling her mass of dark brown curls above her head, displaying her pale neck and shoulders. She let the ringlets fall as she ran her hands down, slowly descending her body, over her breasts and down the sides of her torso.
As her hand moved between her legs she pressed her thighs together, savouring the heat, and the pressure right at her centre. She slid her heels up the mattress, bending her knees, keeping them pressed together, obscuring his view. She rubbed her hand over her mound, moaning and rocking her hips, focusing on her sensitive bud.
"Elizabeth," he called her name sternly in warning.
She could hear him shifting in his chair as he vied for a view of what she concealed. She smiled devilishly and went on pleasing herself. She ignored him, until she heard the legs of his chair scraping the floor. He rose abruptly from his seat and clasped his hands around her ankles. She gasped as he dragged her down the bed. Her chemise bunched up under her, revealing her lower body.
"Spread your legs," he demanded as he parted them. "I'm not to be trifled with, I want to see how wet you've made your cunt for me."
His eyes raked over her, focusing on her centre as a sardonic smile curved his mouth. Her lips were pink and swollen, the glossy sheen at her entrance was a testament to her arousal.
"Go on, I want to watch you come."
She dipped her fingers inside her opening, then spread her wetness up over her bud. She could feel his eyes on her, burning hot as the desire that flamed within her.
He remained at the foot of the bed, placing a hand over the outline of his hardened cock. He squeezed it firmly, as it strained against his breeches. She longed to know what it would feel like when he thrust that hard length inside her. She pulsed her fingers into her cunt. With her other hand, she teased her bud, slowly drawing all the desire in her body to that one precarious point. Strumming faster and faster until the pleasure boiled over, and she lost herself. She grabbed the pillow and covered her face, stifling her cries. Her pulse beat rapidly as she panted with exertion.
When she opened her eyes to the empty room, she tried to suppress the mournful feeling that invaded her heart. She thought about her uncertain future, and wondered if her fantasies would ever become reality.