An Immodest Proposal

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/25223878.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, AUSTEN Jane - Works
Relationship: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet & Jane Bennet,
Elizabeth Bennet & Charlotte Lucas
Character: Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Bennet, Original Characters, historical
characters, Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet, Charlotte
Lucas
Additional Tags: Regency, Angst, Romance, Drama, Humour, historical realism, Counter-
narrative, Elizabeth is Darcy's mistress, it was her idea, He wanted to
marry her, Darcy Is a Hot Mess, Elizabeth may be a hotter mess,
Sexual Content, occasional bad language, Mature and difficult themes,
Implied family violence, Canon over fanon, I'm a history geek, Regency
politics, Improper women, Eventual HEA
Stats: Published: 2020-07-12 Updated: 2020-08-23 Chapters: 5/30 Words:
15963

An Immodest Proposal
by LucyQ

Summary

After the cruel and unhappy marriages of Mrs. Bennet and Jane, Elizabeth is determined
that wedding bells will never be her fate. So when rich and arrogant Mr. Darcy makes her
an offer, she makes him a counter-offer of her own: to be his mistress, but not his wife.
 Foreword / Proposal and Counter-Proposal

FOREWORD

To understand what this story means to me, you need to know that about three weeks ago, I was
banned from Meryton.com, a charitable status organization that runs A Happy Assembly (AHA), a
popular Jane Austen Fanfic (JAFF) website.

It was OK. I had exiled myself two years ago, so this was little more than the official confirmation,
or maybe reciprocation.

Also banned, a day or so before me, was Penina, an AHA member almost from its inception in
2007. Fathima, a 3-year member who had been posting a modern fic of rare beauty and
sophistication, quit when she learned of Penina’s banning. All of which feels not OK to me,
although I can’t presume to speak for them.

We are all people of colour (POC). We had been participating in a discussion thread titled “How to
make JAFF more inclusive,” me breaking my silence to do it.

We were all, I think, a little upset at the premise of the initial post, which is that JAFF is a white
space, there are hardly any POC writing and participating in JAFF, and therefore white writers
must take it upon themselves to write more POC into their stories to give us some presence.

I was also exasperated at the direction of the conversation -- all of these presumably white writers
were in a sad tizzy thinking they had to shoehorn a bunch of POC into their fics and wondering
how they could afford to pay for the diversity consultants needed to do it without giving offence.

So I bulled into the discussion to point out the site had once had available to it -- free, gratis! -- one
of the most diverse and prolific minority voices out there, JRTT, a writer of colour whose ousting
by the site administrators over her propensity to speak her mind had led to my self-exile.

By that time, one writer had already hearkened to the valuable advice JRTT had offered her on
diversity, and Fathima had pointed out that any time minority issues get raised on the site -- e.g.,
the portrayal of India and the East India Company, or any discussion about slavery, racism or
colonialism -- it quickly got dismissed, then shut down by the site administrators. Penina joined in
to say it had happened to her -- most recently when she had insisted in a Mansfield Park discussion
that Sir Thomas Bertram’s participation in slavery could not be considered a negligible factor in
any accurate assessment of his character.

To their credit, most of the thread participants got it quickly. The original poster apologized for
implying JAFF is a white space and agreed the real solution was to encourage POC to speak for
themselves. Another contributed good research links to minority perspectives and suggested the
site add guidelines against racist content to all of their other guidelines so that POC could feel more
comfortable and included. Another suggested the best way to balance the site’s desire to keep AHA
a safe space for those seeking mindless escapism was to create a forum especially marked
“controversial” where difficult topics could be aired.

The site admins did not get it. They said the thread had gone “off-topic” by straying from the
narrow subject of how white writers can write POC into their stories; that we were just airing
“personal grievances”; and that if we didn’t like the way they moderated, we should “feel free to
find another site that aligns with (our) preferences.” And then they banned Penina, Fathima quit
and I got banned -- so that people could discuss “How to make JAFF more inclusive“ without
including the outspoken POC.

Which shows, IMO, that the site admins have a blind spot.

But on the other hand, maybe we all do. Because when I showed the thread to two white people
whose opinions I value -- my own diversity consultants if you will, although I call them my
husband and my friend -- along with their sympathy was a plea for forbearance for the other side*:
“When you used a phrase like ‘white-dominated moderators,’ they may have just heard the r-word
and got terrified and shut down. And then the conversation was doomed.” *

Which, OK, I admit, I do not really get. But maybe that’s because, just as the site admins have not
walked a mile in my shoes, I have not walked a mile in theirs. Maybe I am scary. (Really? LOL.)
Maybe they do have valid reasons. Maybe the only way to preserve AHA as a place of joy and
happiness for everybody else is to define the issues of minorities as offensive, and their passion for
those issues as offensive, and then moderate off the site the ones who dare to speak up.

Or maybe it isn’t the only way, but it’s the only thing the site admins -- in all their human
limitations that we all share -- can figure out to do at this time. Given more time, maybe they will
figure out a better way. Because as one of them said, just before banning me: We are only
volunteers. We have feelings too.

How the heck would I know? My part in the conversation was ended before I could learn anything
further.

Which brings me to my story posting today. An Immodest Proposal (AIP) was conceived at AHA.
I wrote it when JRTT and I felt like we had targets on our backs and walked on eggshells in
anticipation of the next AHA moderator message requiring our silence or deletion of posts.

Its purpose was to carve out a small space where we could have our say, because too often when
we tried, somebody felt offended and would file a complaint -- or so we were told anyway, as the
site admins told of many complainants and many complaints but never showed us any.

AIP has little to do with race per se, and JRTT’s ousting and my self-exile does not, to my
knowledge, have anything to do with race. However, it does have to do with marginalization. It has
to do with being an outsider and thinking and saying things those in power do not want to hear. It is
intended as a counter-narrative to the master narrative that concludes that there is only one way of
being right, that important people are always right, and that anybody who questions that -- no
matter what they have contributed in other ways -- is a troublemaker and a bad person.

To write AIP, I had to appropriate a host of identities that are foreign to me: white people and
British people; Regency aristocrats and gentry; the writer of a mistress story -- because sometimes
to be properly heard, you need to speak in another guise.

As it is a tale of outsiders, I also had to tell of people who have always existed in the Regency, but
don’t often get much play (even brilliant JA had her blind spots): servants, a Black man and former
slave, illiterate labourers, and Methodists and evangelical Christians. (Yes, Christians can suffer
marginalization too, and some of them sure did in the Regency.) And if I have been insensitive or
offensive in any of those portrayals, just say so, because maybe I'll learn something and you have a
right and a need to express yourself too.

In this fic, Elizabeth is not a good, proper and passive woman, but an angry one. In her anger, she
rejects Darcy’s proposal to join a power structure that has brought her only pain and instead
determines to use one man’s overwhelming love and desire to buy a seat at the table to write her
own story.
What happens next is not what either of them expect. And they misspeak and misunderstand, hurt
each other, and sometimes have to separate for their own health and sanity. But because the door is
never fully closed -- because they eventually learn to communicate and understand -- they are not
doomed to a lifetime of eternal separation from the Other. In the end, they do find some common
ground, and use it to begin a better world.

P.S. The story is not quite finished, although, as others have said, it has been previously posted to
a good place. I intend to complete it here, with major and minor edits to fix the clumsiness of the
initial narrative. Whether or not this story ever comes to a final end, the conversation, I hope, will
always go on.

*OVERDUE UPDATE: My diversity consultants protest that in no way were they pleading for
forbearance or condoning what the AHA admins did, they were merely trying to help me
understand how the white admins viewed it and why they were reacting the way they did, which is
exactly what I asked them to do. I apologize for any misrepresentation of my husband's and my
friend's stance.

***

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. Proposal and Counter-Proposal

2. The Response

3. Family Ties

4. Crossing Over

5. Losing It

6. A Modest Beginning

7. Spring Idylls

8. A Party

9. An Altercation

10. A Separation

11. Reconciliation

12. Gone Fishing

13. Lady Sophia

14. Decisions

15. Reflections

16. Flight

17. A New Home

18. Sisters
19. A Meeting

20. Discussions

21. Good-byes

22. Peace at Pemberley

23. An Unwanted Visit

24. A Very Unwanted Visit

25. Mr. Darcy is Summoned

26. Tories, Whigs and Radicals

27. The Rehabilitation of a Fallen Woman

28. The Writ is Dropped

29. Another Party

30. Epilogue

CHAPTER 1 - PROPOSAL AND COUNTER-PROPOSAL

Lizzy Bennet, age 10, stared up in awe at the tiers of the Royal Theatre. She had never seen such a
spectacle. The men were terribly handsome, the women positively glittering.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, followed by an eruption of whispering, pointing and catcalls.
Lizzy turned her head to where the crowd’s attention was directed. A beautifully dressed young
lady had entered a well-lit box near the stage. She was accompanied by another woman, not quite
so young and lovely, and a number of well-dressed and clearly wealthy men who paid her the
greatest deference.

“That’s Miss Wilson … “1

“Scandalous … “

“Fifteen hundred a year, I heard and her own apartment in Mayfair … ”

“Oh yes, head over heels, my dear. He must be…”

“Who is that?” asked Lizzy of her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.

“It is nobody, my dear. Do not look, I pray,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Why ever not? She is a very pretty woman.”

“She is not a proper lady, Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner. “You must keep your eyes to the stage.”

But she could not. The whispering around her had grown intense and the actors’ voices could not
be heard over it.

“Should not be allowed…”

“Look at them, all their tongues hanging out! Improper, I say … “

“I dunno … seems to have more fun than them wives over there. Look at them, ever so green …”

“That’s the Duke of – and the Earl of -- . Lords of the land, they say. Who’s lording it now? She’s
got them good and proper … “

Lizzy’s head whirled.

***

Approximately ten years later

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to
tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth stared, coloured, doubted and was silent. Mr. Darcy loved her! All of this time she had
assumed he hated her! And yet here he was, his eyes tormented, his agitation extreme.

“I realize, of course, that a connexion formed between a man of my birth and consequence and a
woman of your sphere will not be countenanced by society -- indeed I scarcely know how to
countenance it myself. Yet I have tried to put you from my mind. I have tried to fix my affections
on more fitting and proper objects. To no avail.”

She had opened her mouth to respond after his initial confession, but at this last statement, she
closed her mouth again with a faint snap. More fitting and proper objects?

But he, pacing around the room and back to stand before her, did not see her expression of
indignation.

“The first time we met at the assembly at Meryton -- little did I know that there, among the
insignificant landowners and linen drapers and greengrocers of a small country town, I would find
my future wife. ‘You must meet Mr. Sandys’s daughters, the eldest especially,’ the master of
ceremonies had said before I could escape. And then I was facing you and you were laughing at
me: ‘It is a ball, not a funeral, sir. Be so good as to pretend to enjoy a dance with me.’ Do you
remember?”

She remembered. He had been very proud and very rude, to come into their company to look down
on them all. He had deserved her set-down, delivered sweetly and archly to avoid giving any overt
offence for which she could be punished by her stepfather.

“I think I knew then, though I feared it. I knew I should not consider you, I -- Fitzwilliam Darcy,
master of the Pemberley estates, nephew to the Earl Fitzwilliam, grand-nephew of the Marquis of
Rockingham -- to consider allying with you, the unknown daughter of a country wine merchant!
But by the end of the dance, there was little else I could think of. You were lovely, Elizabeth. You
are lovely — you can have no idea how bewitching you are when you look at a man just so. I
knew there was no escape, though I struggled for months more against so irrational a scheme.
Elizabeth -”

Her eyes widened at his bold use of her Christian name. At the intake of her breath, he took a step
closer, sank to one knee and tenderly took her hand. “Elizabeth, I will not hold it against you. I will
not even remember it, though our alliance will impair my estate and expose me to the scorn of all
society. Henceforth we will be one, joined in hand and mind, and one day, in body -- if you will
only consent to be my wife.”

For a moment, she stared as he held her hand and gazed eagerly into her face. The arrogance! The
insufferable presumption! To call her his wife before he had even delivered his proposal! To make
free with her name and take her hand without asking! Were her thoughts, her wishes, of so little
consequence to him?

She opened her lips to deliver a stinging setdown, then caught his look of eager anticipation. So he
was sure he knew what she would say, was he? An impish idea blossomed in her mind, an idea she
and her friend Charlotte Collins had teased each other with, laughing at its ridiculousness. Before
she could think twice against it, she spoke.

“Mr. Darcy, I will not consent to be your wife,” she said sweetly. “But I would be prepared to be
your mistress, if you will give me the terms I seek.“

“What?”

She wanted to laugh out loud at his recoil, and the dumbfounded expression on his face. Good, let
him learn never to make assumptions where a lady was concerned.

“I said, I would be prepared to be your mistress,” she repeated, her eyes glinting with humour. Oh,
if only her dear Papa was still alive, how he would have laughed at her outrageousness and the
absurdity of the situation, even as he scolded. But Papa, for what else do we live but to make sport
of our neighbours? Had you not told me so often enough?

Darcy released her hand and leant on his knee. “My mistress? You do not understand. I am offering
you a place as my wife.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, schooling her expression into seriousness. “But I am not interested in that. I
would prefer to be your mistress. It would give me greater freedom and independence to lead the
life I wish to lead.”

“But … but … you would be Mrs. Darcy. You would have standing and influence as the mistress
of Pemberley. It is my estate in Derbyshire, a very great estate in Derbyshire.”

“Yes, I know all of that. I have heard about Pemberley, Mr. Darcy. But I would prefer a life close
to Town. And I do not wish for a husband to tell me what to do, who I may be friends with and
when I may see my family.”

“But that is the proper role of a husband.”

“Precisely. And that is why I do not wish for one.”

Darcy was silent, stunned.

“Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy got off his knees and absently groped behind himself for a chair, found it and sat down
across from her, a confused look on his face.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“I am sorry,” he said, fixing his eyes on her face again. “I never envisioned you would have such a
response. I need a moment to collect my wits.”

“Of course.”

She waited patiently and after a few moments, when the look of confusion had left his face, he
spoke again.
“I thought when I met a woman I could love, she would wish to be my wife.”

“Perhaps another lady would have. You certainly owe me no obligation. I encourage you to seek
the hand of another lady if that is your desire.” She smiled at him encouragingly. Yes, go. Go
importune another woman and leave me in peace.

He looked at her swiftly. “It is not. However, I have never had a mistress. It is not something I
have ever considered.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. Perhaps it was true. Marriage to a docile and obedient wife entirely at
his disposal would certainly suit him much better than a mistress with her fickle demands and
desires. So long as she did not have to be his wife! She wondered how to end the interview.

“I am not saying it is something I would never consider, however,” he continued. “What do you
envision to be your terms?”

Her eyes widened and she had to stop herself from laughing out loud. He believed her! He actually
thought she was serious! But she had her answer at the ready. She and Charlotte had discussed it
many times, daydreaming. How far would you go in order to purchase an independence that
allowed you to live as you pleased? How much would you demand?

She said glibly: “Two thousand pounds on entry into the relationship, my own apartment, a
carriage purchased in my name, all my expenses paid and an additional two thousand pounds when
you sever the arrangement."

His eyebrows lifted. "That seems rather high."

"I do not deny it,” she said coolly. She knew there was no way he would pay such sums, not when
any number of lovely women might be had for a small fraction of such a sum. But he would
wonder, and it would torture him. Oh yes, she had read the desire in his eyes when he looked at
her.

He looked at her appraisingly. "I would need complete fidelity."

"Of course. Terminable by you without severance upon proof of my infidelity."

He considered. “I will need to think about this before I make any final commitment. Again, I did
not come here today seeking a mistress.”

She gave him a glimmer of a smile. “No, but apparently she seeks you.”

He leant forward in his chair and seized her hand again. “Elizabeth, I love you. I would have made
you my wife if you agreed.”

His words smote her and for a moment she hesitated before the earnest expression in his eyes. Was
it, perhaps, a little too cruel to make sport of a man’s feelings? Then she dismissed the thought. No,
if he could not even pay her the respect of waiting for her to speak before assuming her decision,
any feelings he had for her must be imaginary. And what did this man, with his wealth and power
and ability to order everybody about, know about the cruelty of life? Mayhap it would do him good
to have a small taste of it.

He continued. “What happens … what happens if you tire of me? Can you leave me?”

“Yes, if I tire of you, then I may end the relationship at any time, without payment of severance by
you.”
“I do not like the sound of that.”

“Why not? It is fair. You will be none the loser.”

“But what if I pay you to enter into the arrangement, only to have you sever it immediately?”

Elizabeth pondered this. “Yes, that is unfair. I suppose I could guarantee you a minimum amount
of time. Say … three months?”

“Three months!” He shook his head sharply in the negative.

“Six months?”

“One year.”

“Six months is all I can promise,” she said firmly.

In reality, it could not have lasted more than one week. By then they would have surely quarreled.
But six months would have given her two thousand pounds, or even more, if he tired of her first. It
was enough to live on — more than enough to run away with Jane on.

It was a pretty thought, and for a moment she wished he would actually go through with it.

He nodded. “And now?”

“Now?”

“What happens now?”

She shrugged indifferently. “If you wish to proceed, then I suppose we must retain attorneys to
effect the arrangement.”

“And then?”

“Once that is done, I will need to return home to arrange things, say good-bye to my family. But
then I can come to you. Perhaps … in two weeks?”

She saw the tiny, imperceptible flare of his nostrils and watched as his heavy-lidded gaze swept
over her. Oh, she was bad, she was wicked, to tease a man so! But oh, he so richly deserved it.

“Two weeks, then.”

He picked up his hat and gloves and cane from the table where he had laid them, paused on the
threshold to cast one last, lingering look at her, then bowed and left.

***

FOOTNOTES:

1. Harriette Wilson (1786-1845) was born to respectable beginnings as the daughter of a

London clockmaker and laundress. Expressing a great cynicism about men and marriage, she
decided to follow in her older sister’s footsteps to become a courtesan. At the age of 15, she
became mistress of the 1st Earl of Craven (an interesting man with a remarkable mother, but
we won’t get into that). From there, she went on to count many of the most illustrious names
of the day as her lovers and clients -- the Duke of Wellington, the Duke of Argyle, the future
Duke of Beaufort, et al. In 1825, Wilson published The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Written
 by Herself. While a bestseller, it is likely that she made far more money blackmailing people
for her silence than she did from book sales. Jane Austen makes reference to Wilson in a
letter to Cassandra, in which she described the handsome and charming Lord Craven’s new
young mistress as his “little flaw.”

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton.com, "LucyQT" at Fanfiction.net and "LucyQ" at

Archiveofourown.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 The Response

Darcy strode into the sitting room of the gentlemen's guest quarters at Rosings Park and went
directly to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff drink. When he proceeded to throw it down and
pour himself another, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows raised.

“Trouble, cousin?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired, straightening up from the billiard table where he
had his shot nicely lined up.

Darcy only shook his head as he downed his second drink, his eyes closed. When he proceeded to
pour himself a third, Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled pleasantly and leant on his cue.

“I do not dispute that an evening with our esteemed aunt undiluted by outside company requires
fortification, but you are beginning a little early, are you not? If you continue in this vein, you will
be under the table before you sit down to it, and then she will turn her attention to me.” He
shuddered.

Darcy’s only response was to pull out his cravat and throw himself onto the sofa, then take another
gulp of whiskey. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him curiously.

“Did Miss Bennet refuse you?”

Darcy looked at him quickly. “You knew about that?”

His cousin shrugged. “You were rather obvious. You do not normally stare at women as if you
would burn holes into their head. A lesser woman than Miss Bennet might have found it
intimidating. Could that be why she refused you?”

“She did not refuse me.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam whistled. “Well then, there will be hell to pay. I will have my batman pack me
up tonight and be ready to depart at dawn tomorrow.”

“What? Why do you have to depart?”

“So we can put some distance between ourselves and Lady Catherine and my parents before you
inform them of the happy news, of course. My friend has a lovely grouse moor in Scotland, I
expect we can go there until the furor dies down.”

Darcy gave him a withering glare. “Please stop being ridiculous. She did not accept my offer, and I
am in no mood for your jokes.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled whimsically and said under his breath, “People seldom are when they
are the butt of them.” He added, more loudly, “So she did not refuse you and she did not accept
you, What is the problem, Darcy? Are Miss Bennet’s demands higher than you expected? Just
because her family is nobody and she hasn’t a penny to her name, does not mean she would be
satisfied with nothing in the way of pin-money and carriages. Why not give a little, you have
plenty. I call it shrewd myself, and will salute her for it when next I see -- ”

“She offered to be my mistress.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s flow of speech came to an abrupt end, like a trickling stream crashing into a
rock wall. He put his billiard cue carefully on the table, walked over to the sideboard to pour
himself a large tumbler of whiskey, then came and sat down by his cousin. After a few sips and a
few moments of silence, he said, with vicious emphasis, “You lucky dog.”

Darcy turned his head sharply. “ Lucky? I told you, she rejected my proposal of marriage.”

“Yes, but you do not really want to marry her. Pemberley allied to the Hertfordshire House of
Wine, Spirits & Other Fine Liquors?” He shuddered. “This way you receive everything you want,
without any of the drawbacks, and you did not even have to be put in the position of making an
invidious proposal to a gentlewoman.”

Darcy shook his head angrily, then looked away.

“You are accepting, of course.”

“I have not yet decided.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him in dismay. “You must accept! It is quite likely that such an offer
will never fall your way again. I have never heard of such a thing.”

Darcy looked at his cousin again. “Why did she not accept me? Do you have reason to think she
dislikes me?”

“None at all,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said honestly. “In fact, she seems to rather enjoy plaguing you.
It is a refreshing style, although I cannot say it would have brought on an offer from me. How
much is she asking, by the way?”

Darcy told him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows spiked heavenward again.

“Miss Bennet does not sell herself cheaply.”

“I am not concerned with the money.”

“No. But even so.” Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped on his teeth. “I suppose she knew, after you made
your proposal, that she held the whip hand. Yes, you were doomed from that point. You should
never have mentioned marriage, Darcy. You made yourself the weaker party in the negotiations.”

“I was not trying to negotiate.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam continued as if he had not spoken. “Even so, it is a lucky escape. Yes, it might
have been worse. She might have agreed to your proposal and then you would have been stuck.
You are a lucky dog, Darcy.”

“What are you talking about?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to fetch the decanter, then brought it back to refill Darcy’s glass. He said,
looking at his cousin hard as if to brace him for the news, “Clearly, this is not Miss Bennet’s first
time.”

Darcy recoiled in horror. “You think she has done this before?”

“Perhaps not this exact thing. But clearly someone has been there before or she would not have
even suggested such a thing. It may be that she loves him still. Perhaps she is doing this so that
they may be together.”

His words propelled Darcy out of the chair and set him pacing.
“No! No, I will not be party to such a thing! If she thinks she can use me for my money while she
pines after another man --”

“I cannot see that you have much choice,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, lounging in most un-military
fashion.

Darcy rounded on his heel to confront his cousin. “I can refuse her.”

“Very well. Refuse her. Never see her again. Is that what you want?”

In reply, Darcy only turned away, striding to the window to look out. But his cousin’s words
followed him inexorably.

“Or refuse her, only to see her on the arm of another man, who is enjoying her smiles and her
favours, and a chance to win her heart. Does that picture seem more enticing?” He knew from the
rigid set of Darcy’s shoulders, and the way they rose and fell with his breath, that his point had
gone home.

After a moment, Darcy turned around and leant against the window sill.

“What am I to do?”

“Accept her offer. Enjoy yourself, but guard your heart. At the end of six months -- throw the little
baggage out! That will teach her to trifle with a man of family and substance.”

Darcy frowned. At his expression, Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged.

“Or continue to keep her, if that is your preference. But really, it is providential. Six months of bliss
and a lifetime of memories, and then you can accept any of the heiresses foisted upon you by my
Lady Mama.”

He picked up Darcy’s glass from the table and brought it over to him, pouring him another
generous portion of whiskey.

“Here. It is nearly time to dress for dinner, but we can write my attorney first thing in the morning.
There is nothing easier than these sorts of things, believe me.”

He looked pointedly at the glass Darcy held in his hand. Darcy shook off his reverie and looked at
his cousin.

“To love,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. His tone was dry.

They both drank.

***

Elizabeth did not see Darcy for the remainder of the week. It appeared that her immodest proposal
had frightened him so well that he had fled Rosings to escape her pollution. The thought gave her a
chuckle -- apparently she had happened on the most effective means to rid oneself of an unwanted
suitor! Perhaps she should write a treatise to that effect and publish it anonymously.

Any further thoughts on the matter were driven from her head when the post arrived, bearing a
letter from Jane -- the weekly letter that her husband permitted her to write. Elizabeth opened it at
Hunsford and scanned it eagerly for news, then betook herself to the park to enjoy it at greater
leisure.
The letter contained no actual complaint, nor was there any communication of present suffering.
Jane even assured her sister that she was improved in health and was enjoying some of the
distractions of the London season -- she had attended a benefit concert given by the wife of one of
her husband’s friends, and had been taken to a play, she wrote. Yet Elizabeth fancied there was a
want of cheerfulness, a greater effort that had to be exerted, to maintain the habitual facade of
serenity. She had to take deep breaths several times as she read the letter, and by the time she
finished, she struggled against the onset of tears.

Elizabeth was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice Darcy step out from the path and
hurry over to her, and did not look up until his shadow fell upon her.

“Oh!” she said.

“Miss Bennet.” He bowed, then looked at her letter. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

Elizabeth hastily folded up her letter and rose, forcing a smile. “You are, sir, but it does not follow
that the interruption must be unwelcome.”

“I have been considering our last conversation” -- too late, Elizabeth remembered the farce that was
their last conversation and blushed -- “and I wonder if you would do me the honour of reading my
proposal.”

Elizabeth was too astonished to resist the package he presented to her.

“I apologize for the delay, but there was some back and forth with the attorney, and ultimately a
trip to Town was required. Nevertheless, I believe it captured everything we spoke of. You may
even find it a slight improvement.” At her continued surprised silence, he said, “I will leave you
now, and walk the grove and return in hope of your answer.”

And after looking hard at her one last time, he suited his action to his word.

For a moment, Elizabeth stared at his stiff, retreating figure. Then she sat back down and broke the
seal. It contained a letter from his attorney, a Mr. Hicks, followed by a form of deed of trust. It was
closely written, in complex language, and in her fever of excitement she had to read it several
times. Nevertheless, its meaning was plain enough.

If she entered into an arrangement of cohabitation with Mr. Darcy, twenty-five hundred pounds
would immediately be put in trust for her, to be transferred to her sole possession at the end of a
six-month term, provided only that she remain faithful and devoted to him for the duration.1 In
addition to this, she would receive another twenty-five hundred pounds if at any time Mr. Darcy
chose to sever the arrangement.2 He would also pay all of her expenses, on a reasonable and
generous basis, and provide her with a carriage, residence in or near town, servants, etc. for the
length of the arrangement. He had even made provision for children: they were to be relinquished
to his care, and educated and outfitted for a respectable occupation or marriage, as required in the
circumstances. 3

She could see Darcy already emerging from the shrubbery and coming toward her on the path, but
it did not matter. She knew what she would do. She had known it as soon as she had realized that
he was calling her bluff. Looking at the two letters she held in her hands, it seemed an easy choice.

“Miss Bennet.”

“Mr. Darcy.” She rose and gave him a sunny smile. “I confess I had not expected you to take my
offer seriously.”
“Do you not wish to proceed, then?”

“Not at all. When you have been so generous? Perhaps it was not wise on your part, but for mine, I
must say I find your proposal irresistible.”

His face, immobile until then, seemed to relax slightly and he returned her smile. He picked up her
bonnet from the rock where she had left it, then gave it to her and they walked down the path.

“You will want to have your own attorney review it, of course,” he said conversationally. “If you
need assistance going to Town to speak to him, I would be happy to undertake your travel
arrangements.”

“Thank you, but it is not necessary. Lady Catherine has generously offered me a seat in her carriage
going to Town to fetch her friends, so my visit with Mrs. Collins is almost at an end in any case.”

They spoke of logistics and pleasantries for a few more minutes. Just before the intersection of the
path, where one fork led to Rosings and the other to the parsonage, he paused by the tall
shrubberies.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, seeing that he was looking at her expectantly.

“I will leave you now, as I have an engagement for the remainder of the afternoon.”

“I wish you good day, then.”

“If I do not see you again before your departure, you have my direction from my attorney. If there
is anything you need, please do not hesitate to write.”

“Thank you.”

When he still did not move from the spot, she said, “I will bid you adieu now, Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Bennet.”

“Yes?”

“I believe it is customary in such arrangements to seal the bargain with a kiss.”

“Oh!”

She had never kissed a man before. Not that she foresaw any difficulty with the act, as it seemed
straightforward enough and she was not an ignorant child. But she had not expected to do it today.
She eyed him warily, taking in his tall, imposing figure, arms crossed over his chest. The brim of
his hat was pulled slightly over his eyes, shading them so that she could not read his expression.
She noticed his lips, elegantly formed, their warm fullness contrasting with the otherwise ascetic
planes of his face. A stranger’s mouth, curved upward in a small smile.

She drew herself up with dignity. "As I said, the arrangement is not yet finalized as I still wish for
my attorney to review it. But be assured that I shall meet all of my obligations when the time
comes."

There was a brief silence, then the corner of his mouth twitched and he inclined his head in
acquiescence.

"Of course, Miss Bennet. I will look forward to it."

His voice was a low rumble, as if amused. Was he laughing at her? Before she could produce a
sharp retort, he tipped his hat and gestured for her to proceed. She wondered, as she walked down
the path leading to Hunsford Parsonage with her head held high, whether he was still standing there
looking after her or had struck out on his own way. But she kept her face determinedly turned
away, glad that he could not see her burning cheeks.

***

FOOTNOTES:

1. A prospective mistress contract, or agreement for future cohabitation, was held void and
unenforceable on the grounds of immorality. To get around this, Darcy has proposed an
arrangement whereby he would pay funds at the outset in trust to a lawyer, who would be under the
trust obligation to transfer the funds to Elizabeth at the end of a six-month term, when she had
presumably fulfilled her minimum obligation. Such an agreement was governed by the law of
equity, and could not be unwound by the man if he came with “unclean hands” -- i.e., participated
in the immoral contract. However, it could be unwound to relieve him of his obligation to pay if his
hands remained clean -- i.e., if the immoral cohabitation had not taken place. See for example the
case of Sismey v Eley, reported in Chitty’s Index to All the Reported Cases, 1885, p. 1788.

2. Regency courts regularly enforced pensions and severance payments at the termination of a
cohabitation arrangement. As they reasoned, while a money-for-sex arrangement was void on the
grounds of immorality, an end payment did not constitute money-for-sex, but rather money to stop
having sex, which was fine. See p. 516 on “immoral contracts” in A Practical Treatise on the Law
of Contracts: Not Under Seal; and Upon the Usual Defences to … by Joseph Chitty, 1834.

3. The amounts discussed here, while generous, were not beyond the range of the Regency
aristocracy. Case law suggests that mistress pensions of £100 to £300 per annum were common. At
the going rate of 3% to 5% in government funds, this would need capital of about £2,000 to £9,000
to generate.

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Archiveofourown.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 Family Ties

The Gardiner carriage stopped before the stately Mayfair residence of Sir Henry and Lady
Blemmell and Elizabeth stepped out. Knocking on the door, she was admitted directly by the butler
and shown up to Lady Blemmell's boudoir on the first storey.

At the sight of her, the footman standing in the hall stepped forward to knock and, at Lady
Blemmell's gentle invitation, opened the door with a bow.

"Jane!" Elizabeth cried, rushing forward.

"Elizabeth!" Jane dropped her embroidery and rose to embrace her sister.

Elizabeth frowned. Her sister looked peaked and it seemed to Elizabeth that she had winced a little
in the embrace.

"Did he hurt you again?" Elizabeth whispered fiercely, glancing over her shoulder at the door,
which Sir Henry insisted must always remain ajar, with a footman posted beside it.

"No … no, Lizzy. I am well."

"Jane, tell me the truth," said Elizabeth sternly, though still in the same low tone. "I am your sister.
We have never had concealments from each other."

Jane looked up and her eyes were full of shame. "It was my fault, Lizzy. I had dropped the teapot at
breakfast and the tea had spilled all over Sir Henry's letters. There were several important ones he
had been expecting."

"That is not an excuse for what he does," Elizabeth flared.

Jane only shook her head and changed the subject, saying in a louder voice, "How was your visit to
Kent? How is your dear old friend Charlotte?"

Jane had not seen Charlotte in five years, not since she had married at age sixteen to Sir Henry,
thirty-three years her senior, and gone to live with him. That had been an eventful year in their
lives. After Mr. Bennet's death, Mrs. Bennet had remarried to her current husband, Mr. Sandys, a
prosperous wine merchant who lived in the area.

"Charlotte is well, quite astonished still at her good fortune in catching Mr. Collins of both
Longbourn and Hunsford Parsonage," Elizabeth observed wryly. "As for my visit? It was …
eventful. I have much to tell you."

"About Hunsford Parsonage?" Jane widened her eyes and smiled with a ghost of her former
sparkle. "Did you not write me that spending four weeks in the company of Mr. Collins and his
equally silly curate would mean the graveyard for all your hopes of sense and sensibility?"

"Oh! Well, Charlotte and I amused ourselves at coming up with new ways for her to bow and
scrape to Mr. Collins and his patron, Lady Catherine. But it was not just that," said Elizabeth. "I
received a surprise offer of marriage."

"From whom?"

"Mr. Darcy."
Jane frowned. "Mr. Darcy? Lady Catherine's nephew and that proud and disagreeable man you had
to dance with at the Meryton Assembly?"

"The very same."

"And … and … what did you say?" Jane looked at her sister with trepidation.

"Do not worry, my dear sister. I did not accept his proposal."

Jane looked relieved. "Thank heaven. I know how much you dislike him, and from your letters, he
certainly does not sound like a good man." She looked nervous again. "Does Mr. Sandys know?"

Mr. Sandys's strictness as a father was matched only by his greed and ambition. If he knew that
Elizabeth had received an offer of marriage from a wealthy man, both sisters knew that he would
bring considerable pressure to bear to make her accept.

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously at Jane's question. "I do not think so. Mr. Darcy made no
mention of speaking to Mr. Sandys. In any case, it does not matter." She took a deep breath and
said, dropping her voice again, "Jane, dearest Jane. I am going to do something very wicked."

Jane smiled wryly. "Are you, my dear? Is it more wicked than mixing the spoons in with the forks
after you wash them?"

Shortly after Mr. Sandys had entered their lives, he had decreed that his daughters could no longer
lead the life of the idle rich, but must help out in the home. Their first attempts at housekeeping
were so bad it would have been laughable had it not ended in a whipping for all five girls. In
retrospect it was not nearly as bad as the whippings they received subsequently. But that first time,
only Elizabeth, 14 and bristling with loud indignation on behalf of her sisters, had been cut until she
bled, with Mr. Sandys stopping only when Jane had thrown herself into the fray and tried to take
the lash for her. After that, whenever Mr. Sandys executed his fatherly duties to its highest degree,
the sisters, salving each other's wounds, would refer to it as a "spoons and forks day."

"It is much more wicked than that," said Elizabeth soberly. "It is so wicked that even you would
deem it wicked. And you know you are the only living creature whose judgment I fear."

"I would never judge you, Lizzy. I know anything you do will be right."

"Do you?" Elizabeth smiled. "Then prepare yourself for something very awful, for I intend to test
your forbearance. I offered to be Mr. Darcy's mistress."

From the silence, Elizabeth knew that her sister was shocked. But as this was fully expected, she
felt no need to rush to explain herself.

"Why, Lizzy?"

"Why not, Jane? You know I have said I would never marry."

"I know," said Jane slowly. "But I thought you might change your mind. I thought perhaps if you
met a kind, decent man, who would respect you and love you for who you are … "

"I am convinced such a creature does not exist. Or if he does, he is as rare as a winning lottery
ticket, and can be revealed only after one is irrevocably committed. Happiness in marriage is
entirely a matter of chance, Jane, and I am not so foolish as to accept the odds. And thus - my
choice is between abject poverty, continuing with our stepfather or this."
"Oh, Lizzy." Jane looked at her sister with eyes full of worry. "It is not that I judge you. But is
it safe?"

"Safe?"

"Men have such power," she whispered. "Once they have you in their control ... You do not know,
Lizzy. You have only experienced Mr. Sandys, and all he ever did was whip us. But a husband …
they can be infinitely worse."

Jane trembled a bit and Elizabeth put her arms around her gently and held her until the trembling
stopped. Her heart swelled with rage and indignation. Her sister had been so full of hope and good
intentions when Sir Henry, a customer of Mr. Sandys, had first spied her working in Mr. Sandys's
shop. She was still full of good intentions, but the hope was long gone, replaced by fear and a sad
resignation that broke Elizabeth's heart every time she saw it.

"That is why I will never accept a husband, Jane," she said briskly, sitting back down in the chair
opposite. "Wives must obey their husbands, but mistresses may do whatever they please. If he does
not treat me with the most tender consideration, I shall throw him out."

"But then what will you do?" Jane asked fearfully. "Where will you go? Mr. Sandys would never
allow you to return to his house and Sir Henry does not allow me any money so I would have
nothing to send you. Will you have to continue, finding another man to protect you?"

"Perhaps I shall, if I find a decent one whom I can trust. Do not worry so!" she said at her sister's
stricken face. "I have a plan. Mr. Darcy has offered me a large sum of money to become his
mistress, and if I can make him fall very in love with me, perhaps he will give me many expensive
presents besides."

She explained the terms of the contract, glossing over the fact that she had to endure to the end of
six months before she would receive any payment. There was no need to worry Jane.

"So you see, I shall be quite comfortable. Who knows? Perhaps I will become rich! Rich enough to
run away with you," she added in an undertone.

Jane looked alarmed. She whispered, "No, Lizzy, do not think of that. It is too late for me. I am
content, truly I am."

Elizabeth squeezed her hands fiercely. "You are not content, Jane! Do not pretend. No woman
should have to endure what you do."

"Lizzy, it is my fault too. Sir Henry married me to give him an heir and I have failed. Perhaps if I
succeeded … "

"You did succeed," Elizabeth whispered hotly. "You would have bore him a fine son if he had not
lost his temper that day, and infected you with licentious diseases every other time ..."

A spasm of pain passed over Jane's face at the mention of the lost babies. Elizabeth immediately
looked contrite.

"Never mind! We shall not talk of this now. But perhaps one day, when I have a home of my own,
you can come to me. Mary and Kitty too, if they wish to. We will have a nice cottage and grow
flowers and turnips, and I shall have many stories to tell."

They planned and schemed for the remainder of the visit. Elizabeth explained that she intended to
be incognito, adopting the name of Mrs. Smith and passing herself off as a young widow. That
way, her name would not be about, and she would take care to wear veils when she went out in
public. The only people who were likely to see her would be Mr. Darcy's men friends or other
women like herself.

As for Mr. Sandys, he would no doubt disown her and deny her existence as soon as he read her
note. Just as he did with Lydia, their youngest sister who had run off two years earlier with an
officer. If Lydia ever attempted to write home, Mr. Sandys did not permit anybody to know, and
her name was never again uttered in the vicinity of their home. She was dead to them, and thus Mr.
Sandys' respectability flourished like a green bay tree.

The sisters' final discussion was the most hushed of all, as they mulled over how Elizabeth might
manage to get messages to Jane undetected. Sir Henry was quite open in reading Jane's mail, both
incoming and outgoing, and frequently quizzed the servants on her movements to make sure she
was not encountering any handsome young men who might be moved by her situation. The fact
that he thought Jane capable of such deceit and conniving was just more proof that he did not know
her at all, Elizabeth reflected. Now if she had been such a situation, she would have done
everything she could to cheat him, and without an ounce of shame.

Standing on the steps a little later as she waited for the Gardiner carriage to come around, Elizabeth
took a deep breath. It carried the usual smells of the city, but was still welcome respite from the
oppressiveness of her brother's home, where everything seemed to watch her.

The Gardiners' sole manservant touched his hat to her. "Home, Miss Bennet?" he inquired.

"Not yet, John," she said. "Take me to the Bazaar on Bond Street first. Mr. Sandys charged me
with purchasing him a number of items."

This was true, but her real interest lay with the attorney tucked into the back of the bazaar, whom
she and Mrs. Gardiner had consulted about Jane the last time she had been staying with the
Gardiners in London. She had been impressed by his knowledge, but even more so by his
discretion. She thought he could help her with Mr. Darcy's contract, or find her someone who
could. And he could probably communicate directly with Mr. Darcy's attorney as well, to put the
final touches on the papers.

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 Crossing Over

Inside the mail coach, the other three passengers slept, but Elizabeth was wide awake. They were
approaching the crossroads that marked the end of the neighbourhood of Meryton. In a moment
they would be across and she would be cast out, perhaps never to return.

Overhead, the gallows that hung at the highway crossing as a warning to all wrongdoers reached
high into the stygian darkness. Still, she could see - and smell - the gibbeted convicts who hung
there in their cages and chains. One had been a woman, judging from the remnant of her pale
gown, which flapped in the wind.

She had come to a bad end, whoever she was, Elizabeth thought. Perhaps a gently born lady who
had slid into sin and regret, before succumbing to desperation and finally, the violent embrace of
the scaffold.

Perhaps it was not too late to turn back. She had told no one where she was going, deciding in the
end that saying good-bye to her sisters exposed them to too great a risk. She could demand that the
coach stop now to let her out. It was six miles back to Meryton, to Mr. Sandys's handsome, modern
house, and the Bennet girls' secure, confined existence. She knew the way, even in the dark. If she
walked quickly, she could be there before daybreak. She could reclaim the note she had left in Mr.
Sandys's office, slip into her cold bed, pretend the night had never been -

The coachman snapped the whip. The horses leapt forward. The coach raced into the night, toward
its destination.

***

The emeralds sparkled under the bright lights of many Argand lamps and Darcy nodded his head to
indicate his approval. The jeweller, Mr. Rundell,1 smiled at the acquisition of another customer of
the best kind, a rich man besotted with his mistress. He closed the velvet lid lovingly over the
expensive bauble and presented the box to Darcy, who slipped it in his pocket.

It was another expense, one Darcy had not planned for. But while he had plenty of precious gems
at his disposal, one did not exactly put the family jewels on one's mistress.

His mistress. Darcy tested the word carefully, still undetermined if it brought more pleasure or
pain. He thought about the meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam's attorney and then his own solicitor,
who had held the Darcy family retainer since his grandfather's time. The old man had not been
happy to receive his instructions to liquidate one of his investments for the settlement.

"Your father would never have done such injury to the estate," said Mr. Hedworth in querulous
disapproval. "Nor your great uncle the judge. Ah! They were fine gentlemen, not like these young
lords who will go to the devil anyhow, gambling and whoring."

Darcy had rolled his eyes and shrugged. It was his money, was it not? And what was a few
thousand pounds to him? Had he not been a model heir since inheriting the estate, living well
below his means and pouring everything extra into improving and expanding Pemberley?

"A man needs his pleasures, cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam had teased him, clapping him on the
shoulder. "It does not do to be too pure and perfect, or before you know it, you will turn into one of
those stiff, moralizing busybodies, whose life is consumed with making sure everybody is as
miserable as themselves. I see signs it is happening already."
Indeed. He had been a bugbear in Hertfordshire, brooding over the frailty of his sister, Georgiana,
and the latest, fresh betrayal of his boyhood friend, George Wickham. Until he met Elizabeth. She
had mocked his bad humour and teased him out of his misery. He had never met such a woman,
who slew him with his own words and was indifferent to his - or anybody's - judgment. Her eyes
had asked all the right questions and her body seemed to promise all of the answers he would need
in this world and maybe the next one.

He frowned. He had made her an honourable offer and she had rejected it. This whole situation was
not his idea, but hers.

***

The mail coach drew into the large coaching inn at exactly four o'clock in the morning. Given the
early hour, the inn yard was quiet. She looked around. Had he kept his word? Would her new
carriage be waiting for her as she had asked? Plain with no identifying marks, she had told her
attorney, who had communicated with Mr. Darcy's attorney. And enclosed with shades, so she
could drive without being seen. Other than that, small or secondhand, she did not care.

The only thing she could see was a smart barouche-landau with silver fittings, the black paint
gleaming with newness. It was the type of carriage that fashionable women paraded proudly
through Hyde Park. That was not it, surely? But the young coachman who had been napping atop
the coach box, his hat over his eyes, had roused himself and was approaching her.

"Mrs. Smith?" he inquired.

She nodded. "You are employed by Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, ma'am. I am your coachman. James is the name. This way, please, and then I will see to your
luggage."

"There is no need. This is all I have."

It was all she could carry, knowing she had had two miles to walk in the dark from Mr. Sandys's
house to the nearest posting inn. In any case, Mr. Darcy had told her he would provide for her and
his attorney had given hers a silk purse bulging with coins for her travelling and other expenses.
When she counted it, it came to forty pounds, far more than she had ever had in her possession. She
liked the feel of it, secreted in a pocket in her gown. It gave her a feeling of security.

James took her meagre possessions and placed them in the boot.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she mounted the little steps he had unfolded for her and seated
herself in the carriage. She was curious to see what lodgings Mr. Darcy could have found that
granted her the privacy and anonymity she requested. Not Mayfair, surely, and hopefully nowhere
near Gracechurch Street, where Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lived.

"Kensington, ma'am," he said as he took the reins back from the yard-boy. "About a mile from
Town."

That was clever of him. Kensington was a country area west of Hyde Park where the royal dukes
and one of the princesses lived in a stately palace. Surrounding the royal grounds to the North,
South and West were many small farms and commons, intermingled with the country homes of
wealthy bankers and merchants who disliked the noise and crowds of the city. It would be easy to
hide away in Kensington.

As the carriage pulled off the paved road onto a little used track hidden by trees, her approval
turned to misgivings. Was the house, perhaps, a little too isolated? Quickly she scanned the
landscape, squinting in the darkness to make note of lanes and pathways and breaks in the trees
that allowed for easy escape. She saw with relief that the trees were not really so thick except
around the property itself and it was all open country beyond, with easily surmountable fences and
barriers.

The house was a good-sized farmhouse, standing in a small clearing and kept in good repair. When
the carriage entered the yard, a respectably dressed middle-aged woman greeted them and ushered
her into the house to help her remove her things.

Inside, the house was furnished on a comfortable, even sumptuous, scale, though the drawing room
was half the size of the one at Sandys House. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor consisted
of kitchen and servants' quarters. That meant the bedchamber floor was upstairs.

"Would you like some breakfast, ma'am, or would you prefer to rest?" said the woman, who had
introduced herself as Mrs. Worsley. "I can bring up a tray to your bedchamber."

She opted for the latter, then followed the woman into the kitchen to help her make it. Mrs.
Worsley seemed unsurprised at her assistance and chatted willingly under her questioning.
Elizabeth wondered if she had done this before, kept house for a young lady under the protection of
a man.

"Yes, ma'am. I was with my last young lady for two years. That was for the Earl of Benning."

"What happened to her, do you know?"

"Ah! She did not turn out well, that one. Ran up the gambling debts and became embroiled in an
intrigue with Lord Benning's youngest son. When the old lord found out, he threw them both out,
though the Countess made him forgive his son and take him back. But she was cast out with just
the clothes on her back and that was it for her. I warned her, but would she listen? She loved him,
she said." Mrs. Worsley shook her head in disapproval. "Love! As if that would pay the bills.
Captain Londes did not have a farthing to his name other than his army pay and what the Earl
allowed him. But then, the gentlemen who intrigue are only too willing to walk away when they've
had their fun, I find, so perhaps there was nothing for her even if he had."

"How do you know Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not particularly. But I needed a new place and Mr. Hicks said this would be a good one."

Mr. Hicks was Darcy's attorney, the one who had drafted the documents.

They went upstairs. There was a single bedchamber and separate dressing rooms, and Elizabeth
saw that James had put her case into one of the dressing rooms. Mrs. Worsley went over to her case
and began unpacking its contents, shaking out the few gowns.

"There is a maid for you, but she will not arrive until tomorrow," Mrs. Worsley explained. "If you
need anything, just ask and I will help you."

"When will Mr. Darcy come, do you know?"

"This evening, he said. After six o'clock."

She nodded. That gave her time. Time for what, she did not know, as there was nothing to do. But
she was still glad he would not come right away. She had been afraid he would be there when she
arrived, with immediate demands.
Mrs. Worsley continued to chatter as she worked, about her life after her husband, a shopkeeper,
had died and she had taken up her present occupation. To be sure, she had kept house for
respectable families, families with sheltered, pampered daughters, whose greatest worry was
whether the latest style in bonnets flattered or offended their faces. But the work she did now was
no harder. In fact, it was easier with only one lady to look after, and it paid more besides.

Elizabeth had finished her tray and was wondering how to ask Mrs. Worsley politely to leave so
she could rest, but there was no need. As soon as Mrs. Worsley saw that she was finished, the
housekeeper picked up her tray and told her to ring if she wanted anything.

Left alone, Elizabeth slipped out of her gown, lay down in her chemise on the day bed in the
dressing room and thought about what was to come. She knew a little, mostly from books and
discussions with Charlotte, who had been her closest friend and ally since Jane's departure had left
her bereft. They had no secrets from each other and they prided themselves on being blunt-spoken.

"What is it like, Charlotte? Does it hurt?" she had asked shortly after Charlotte's marriage to Mr.
Collins.

"Only the first time, Eliza, and only at first. After that, not at all, though it can be uncomfortable at
times."

"How do you stand it?"

"It is not really so bad, Eliza. Not every man is a Sir Henry. Mr. Collins is perfectly gentle and
considerate. And it is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement. He even
thanks me afterward."

"Thanks you!"

"Truly, he does. He says, 'Thank you, Mrs. Collins, you are a very good wife.' And then he pats me
on the shoulder and goes to sleep."

Astonished and a little disgusted at this intimate picture of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth had burst into
laughter. Charlotte laughed with her, then sobered.

"Are you sorry, Elizabeth? That you did not marry him yourself?"

"Me? Marry Mr. Collins?" she said incredulously.

"I know he intended to ask you first, because you are his cousin," Charlotte said, somewhat
shamefacedly.

Elizabeth had shaken her head vigorously. Mr. Collins was the last man in the world she could ever
be prevailed upon to marry. Immediately after taking possession of Longbourn, he had allowed the
Bennet women to remain, but sold off the entire contents of Mr. Bennet's library, decreeing that it
contained material unfit for ladies to read.

Elizabeth, who had been away with the Gardiners when the sale happened, had not forgotten nor
forgiven. Indeed, that was how her friendship with Charlotte had been cemented, for Charlotte had
persuaded her father, Sir William, to purchase a few of the books, the most well-worn and well-
read ones. When she showed them to Elizabeth and told her she would keep them for her, Elizabeth
had wept for the first time since her father's death. The books remained at Lucas Lodge, for Mr.
Sandys also prohibited his womenfolk anything other than conduct manuals, cookery books and
the Bible.
"What will you do, Eliza? You must marry sometime," Charlotte asked. "You must not be too
choosy or you will find yourself married off to someone like Sir Henry."

This was true. Elizabeth knew Mr. Sandys sought a similar match to Jane's for her. Though Sir
Henry did not deign to admit the Sandys family to his circle of acquaintance, he had proved a very
profitable connection - both for the investment he made in the Sandys wine business, and the
patronage he brought from his other wealthy friends. Elizabeth did not like the wealthy customers
Mr. Sandys liked to introduce her to, many old enough to be her father or grandfather.

"I know, Charlotte," she replied in despair. "But I cannot. I cannot do it. It is forever."

"I understand why you did not like Mr. Collins. But someone like him would be best. Someone
foolish and simple, who can be made to believe that your wishes are his own."

"Stupid men are the only ones worth marrying after all!" Elizabeth joked.

"It is better than the alternative," Charlotte said practically.

Yes, if that was the only other alternative, Elizabeth thought. But was it?

She thought about Mr. Darcy. Was he a Mr. Collins or a Sir Henry? He did not seem a simpleton
like Mr. Collins, but nor did he appear to be ruled by base passion like Sir Henry. If anything, the
man was cold and controlled, with too high an opinion of himself and too low of one of others. And
he had cheated Mr. Wickham.

Although, she was less disposed to believe Mr. Wickham after what he had attempted to do to her
that week. If the imprint of her hand across his face faded quickly, she hoped the tongue-lashing
she had given him would ring in his ears for longer. He had given her a wide berth since.

"Why were you so surprised, Eliza?" Charlotte had asked, amused at her disappointment at the
discovery of Wickham's libidinousness.

"I believed him to be my friend," she said, stung.

"Men do not pay attention to pretty young women out of a sense of friendship."

No, they did not. She should have known. Even cold and critical Mr. Darcy had only one thing on
his mind. But at least he was prepared to pay the price, and he was willing to pay it to her and not
Mr. Sandys.

***

By a quarter to six, she was as pretty as her efforts and Mrs. Worsley could make her. She had
brought her best gown to wear, but Mrs. Worsley had told her that the men typically preferred to
see their ladies dressed informally, so she was in her second-best gown with her hair loosely bound
and flowing about her shoulders.

He arrived exactly at six o'clock in his curricle, driving, with a footman behind. Elizabeth, peeking
out from between the drapes, saw him toss the reins to the footman and jump out. He strode
purposefully for the door, his expensive coat swirling behind him. She retreated and sat down on
the chaise lounge nearest the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Mrs. Worsley opened the door on his knock. She rose to face him. He remained standing on the
threshold for a moment, tall and intimidating, looking her up and down.
"Good evening," she said, forcing her face into the warmest smile he had ever received from her.

"Elizabeth."

His smile lit his face and banished its usual haughtiness. In two strides, he crossed to her and put
his arm around her waist. She froze and tensed in his grip, but he only kissed her on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," he said, stepping back.

"Thank you. May I take your coat?"

"Oh yes, thank you."

She helped him strip it off and after he retrieved some items from its pockets, he let her take it
away.

When she returned, it was with Mrs. Worsley, bearing a wine tray. He had seated himself on the
sofa and Mrs. Worsley put it down in front of him, then curtsied and said she would be in her
chambers if needed but otherwise would retire for the night. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth noticed
her go.

"Will you not sit down?" Darcy asked, indicating the space by him.

She sat down, as far away from him as possible without making it look like she was doing so, then
poured them both glasses of wine and handed him his.

"To love," he proposed, raising his glass to her.

She refrained with difficulty from rolling her eyes and instead smiled. "To love."

They clinked glasses and drank. He drank his down so she did as well. Then he took her glass away
and put them both down on the table. He moved over, bridging the space between them so that
now their knees were touching and they were turned to each other. He stretched his arm across the
back of the sofa.

"I have a present for you," he said.

She dimpled. "What is it?"

In silence, he withdrew the Rundell & Bridge box from his pocket and placed it on her lap. She
glanced at him, then the box, then carefully lifted the lid. The emeralds sparkled and winked in the
candlelight. Very expensive and easily resaleable, Elizabeth thought happily.

"They are lovely," she said with perfect sincerity, then smiled, dipping her eyelashes in what she
hoped was a flirtatious manner. "Would you like a kiss for it?"

He fingered one of her curls that lay on her shoulder, wrapping it around his finger. She willed
herself not to flinch or pull away. "Two, I think."

"Two?"

"You promised me one when you signed the agreement, but then I did not have an opportunity to
see you."

She took a deep breath, then leant forward toward his lips, hoping he would know what to do when
she actually made it there. Thankfully, he did, pulling her closer with one hand around her waist. It
was an odd sensation, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. When they parted, he smiled in her eyes.
"That is one."

Taking another deep breath, she leant in again. This time he met her partway, pulling her close to
him with both hands. Remembering her role, she pressed her body against his, to which he
responded by pushing his tongue into her mouth. This caused her to squawk in surprise and
squeeze his lapels in her hands, but apparently he took it as encouragement, because suddenly she
was completely wrapped in his arms and half-lying across the sofa, pushed into it by his weight.
She could feel his excitement pressing into her thigh.

It is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement. Charlotte's words echoed in her
head. She moved her hands off his lapels and put them around his neck instead, pulling him in
closer. He groaned and shifted his weight so now he was lying between her legs, his hands sliding
down to her buttocks. She wriggled under him and put her hands in his hair.

"Elizabeth," he said in a strangled voice, his breath coming hard and fast. He pulled her hands off
him and struggled upright. "I had best go soak the preservative."

It had been part of the agreement, conveyed between their attorneys, that their congress would take
place with him in armour2 and that he would supply them. It was not something she had been
aware of and she was grateful, though deeply embarrassed, that her attorney had raised it. It was
not a legally enforceable term, he had warned her - indeed the bulk of the cohabitation agreement
was likely unenforceable on the grounds of immorality, except for the deed that created the
settlement - but there was still benefit in putting it in writing to record the understanding.

"They need to soak?" she asked, surprised, and sitting up in turn.

"Yes, for two hours or they cannot be put on."

"Two hours!"

He misread her dismay and grinned. He gave her a quick kiss and stood up to go to the kitchen,
walking a little stiffly. "I will be back soon."

Left alone, Elizabeth groaned. Two hours! How was she to make it through such a length of time?
She had never been able to spend more than a minute in his company without becoming embroiled
in an argument. If she could challenge him to a debate perhaps they could fill the time. Be it
resolved, the men of England have it far better than the women.

He returned and she gave him a falsely cheery smile. He poured them both more wine and handed
her a glass. She pretended to drink hers and watched in satisfaction as he downed half his glass.
Perhaps if she could get him drunk he would sleep away the next two hours.

"What would you like to do?" she asked, topping up his glass adroitly when he placed it on the
table.

"You know what I would like to do," he said, smiling meaningfully at her. He fingered the sleeve
of her gown. "But I think I had best refrain or I will not be able to resist you."

"Oh, I am sure you can resist me if you try," she said with an arch smile. "I understand in some
circles I am considered barely tolerable."

"I cannot imagine who would say that," he said, gazing into her eyes.

She choked back a laugh. He did not remember his insult at the Meryton Assembly! She supposed
he went through life issuing such a stream of offence against defenceless young ladies that they all
blended into one after a while. However, she could not goad him into an argument or the
arrangement would be over before it had begun. What they needed was an activity of some kind.

"I do not suppose you brought a deck of cards with you?" she asked.

"A deck of cards?" he said, surprised at this non sequitur.

"I thought it would make the time pass more quickly." She batted her eyelashes at him.

He smiled at this and said, "I will bring some next time. There is a chessboard here, however.
Would you like to play? I can teach you if you do not know how."

"Oh!" She had played chess with Mr. Bennet frequently, and sometimes with Jane, but after Jane
had left, there had been nobody in the family who would play with her. "Yes, I would like to play."

He said the chessboard was upstairs and he went to fetch it. When he came down, he set it up at
the games table in the room, which was square with four hard chairs. It was a beautiful board,
polished mahogany with mother-of-pearl inlays. Elizabeth brought the wine over and seated herself
across from him. She graciously accepted the white pieces and made the first move, a conventional
opening. He also moved conventionally and the opening proceeded uneventfully.

Elizabeth then deployed her attack and they battled for control of the centre, exchanging pawns
and knights and bishops as they went along.

"You are a good player," Darcy commented, hunching down to study the board.

"Thank you; so are you," she returned.

The battle continued, with neither ceding an advantage or gaining a step on the other. The wine
bottle was empty and they cracked another. She leant over the board, her eyes sparkling and her
cheeks pink with excitement. Darcy watched her in admiration.

He was distracted, she thought. Would he fall for her trap for his queen? She had set it up with a
screen of her real intent, hoping to lure him in. Yes! He had fallen for it. She moved one of her
rooks to lock the trap into place. Either way he went, he would lose his queen to one of her rooks.

She saw his hand reach for his piece, then pause over the board. He had spied her trap! But it was
too late, she had him. He looked up and his eyes met hers.

"Very clever," he smiled.

"Thank you," she smiled back, for real this time.

He moved his queen into the path of one of her rooks, his hand resting on it for a moment. Then he
lifted it. Almost too quickly, she sent her rook in for the kill.

Again, he smiled at her. She smiled back, pleasantly surprised that he would be such a good loser.

He moved a pawn into place. "Checkmate," he said.

What! Hastily she scanned the board. She groaned. It was all too true. She had been so eager to
take his queen that she had failed to notice the peril that had been slowly gathering around her king.

He stood up and went to the kitchen while she studied the chessboard. When he returned, he held
the glass of water soaking the preservative. "Two hours, Elizabeth." He smiled warmly at her, his
eyes alight with anticipation, and held out his hand.

She stood up. Sighing at the defeat, she gave him her hand and he led her up the stairs.

***

FOOTNOTES:

1. Rundell & Bridge -- or Rundell, Bridge & Rundell as it was known at this point in history -- was
the jeweller to royalty and nobility.

2. Preservatives aka cundums, preventatives and armour were made of sheep's gut scraped thin.
They were used by upper class men as both birth control and for the prevention of sexually
transmitted diseases. However, they were very expensive, costing a week of wages for the average
worker, or even more for the highest quality. This and the fact that they were packaged dried and
had to be soaked for two hours before use greatly limited their application. Preservatives would
generally not have been used by respectable married couples due to the taint of immorality. A
picture and further description can be found here: magazine/archive/2014/12/vsbe-
condoms/382245/.
 Losing It

Dearest darling J,

I arrived yesterday, safe and sound. My departure was uneventful and our stepfather was informed
that I went to visit an elderly and ailing aunt in Scotland and may remain if we suit each other. I
know not what he will believe, but at least he has a story to tell the neighbourhood if he wishes for
one. Please comfort our family as best you can and help them believe what will cause them least
pain. I leave it to your discretion as to how much you wish to reveal, and to whom, but above all,
do not risk yourself.

Mr. D. called yesterday evening. He has met all of his obligations in a satisfactory manner so I do
not believe there is any cause for concern. We did have an initial misunderstanding as to a
fundamental condition of our arrangement …

***

At the doorway to the bedchamber, he pulled on her hand to draw her closer. Elizabeth, conceding
his superiority in the matter of chess and conscious of his rights under their arrangement, allowed
herself to be drawn. She raised her face to his when he bent down for a kiss. When his arms
encircled her and he pressed her into the door jamb, she put her hands around his neck. The door
jamb dug into her spine a little, but she ignored it.

"Elizabeth," he said huskily, his hands smoothing her gown down her backside. "Yes?" she asked,
but he said nothing further, only continued kissing her, his mouth travelling down from her lips to
her throat to her bosom. She arched against him and tangled her fingers into his hair and was happy
to find he appeared satisfied with this level of encouragement. Or perhaps satisfied was not the
right word. Animated would be more accurate, she thought. Or perhaps, inflamed.

One of his hands touched her breast, causing her to jump. This is what you bargained for, she
thought, forcing herself to relax. At her sigh, he reached with both hands for her breasts and began
kissing them. It tickled and she squirmed against him, trying not to laugh or pull away.

"Oh God," he said. His hands groped for the buttons at the back of her gown. He had stopped
kissing her and was now looking at her. Uncomfortable under the intensity of his scrutiny, she
glanced away, into the bedchamber.

"Do you wish to go to the bed?" she asked, her gaze falling on it.

She felt the squeeze of his fingers on her breast, then he said, emphatically, "Yes."

He led her into the room, closing the door behind them, then to the bed. He sat her down on the
edge of it, then finished unbuttoning the back of the gown and raised it over her head. He untied
her stays next, slipping them off her shoulders, but when he made to lift her chemise above her
waist, she put a hand on his.

"No," she said.

He smiled at her and contented himself with lifting her chemise to her hips, leaving her thighs
bared. Then he knelt to remove her slippers and stockings. Be easy, she told herself as he stared at
her bare legs. She was breathing quickly through nervousness, but when he lifted his eyes to hers,
she gave him a bright smile and a nod of encouragement. His eyes fell to her thighs again and she
pressed her knees together in nervousness at the heat of his gaze.
He rose off his knees and his lips met hers again, his hands squeezing her thighs and stroking her
bare hips. She had to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling backward onto the bed, but she
did not mind so much; anything was better than his disconcerting stares. Then she felt his thumbs
dipping between her thighs, in towards her secret place.

"Mm … mm," she said against his lips and writhed under his hands. Apparently he took this as
further encouragement, for one hand slid almost entirely between her thighs while the other
clutched her hip, holding her in place. Whatever he was doing, it was definitely obscene and not
something Charlotte had mentioned to her. On the other hand, it was not entirely unpleasant, and
she supposed such things could not be helped. She allowed him to nudge her thighs a little further
apart and sighed, letting the tension ebb.

Suddenly his mouth left hers. Her eyes flew open to see that he had stood up and was going to
retrieve the glass holding the soaking preservative from where he had left it at the table beside the
door. He placed it on the bedside table and sat down beside her on the bed and removed his shoes
and stockings.

"Will you help me undress?" he asked as he untied his cravat.

She nodded and helped him shrug out of his tailcoat, then worked on his waistcoat buttons,
dropping them on the table. He removed his watch chain, pocket watch and sleeve buttons. He
threw his waistcoat then his shirtsleeves over a nearby chair, leaving him bare-chested. His
trousers were next. She reached with trepidation for the first button, but apparently not quickly
enough for him, for he batted her hands aside and ripped open the fall of his trousers. Then he was
on top of her as he stripped off the rest of his trousers, his arousal throbbing against her thigh and
his weight pressing her into the mattress.

"I want you, Elizabeth."

She was not sure what to say to this, so she murmured - awkwardly in her mind, although he
seemed too absorbed in kissing her various body parts to mind -- "I want you as well."

At this, he briefly rolled off her to help himself to the preservative. She gasped a little in shock at
the sight of his full arousal as he donned the armour, then her courage rose at this attempt to
intimidate her. It only hurts at first, Charlotte had said. She would have to trust Charlotte. In any
case, there seemed to be little turning back now.

His weight fell on her again, his lips on her lips, his hands pushing her chemise up past her waist.
Her hands were between them, pressed against his upper chest, and she willed herself to hold them
still and not push him away. He settled himself between her legs and she half-clenched her hands,
bracing herself for the assault. It came swiftly.

"Ow … Ow! … OW!" she screamed. Before she knew what she was about, she had kicked him and
pushed at him with all of her might. He rolled off of her.

"My God, what is the matter?" Darcy cried.

"I am sorry. I did not think it would hurt so much," she said, dashing involuntary tears from her
eyes and struggling to sitting position.

"Did not think what would hurt so much …"

Elizabeth checked her person and the sheets, looking for blood. There was none. Did that mean it
was still not over? When she looked up, Darcy was also sitting up looking at her, an odd
expression on his face. Why did he constantly have to stare at her, she thought in irritation.

"Elizabeth," he said at last, very quietly. "Are you a maiden?"

"Of course I am a maiden!" she snapped. Then his words sank in and she said indignantly, "You
thought I was not?"

"Erm. I was given to understand that no maiden would make me such an offer. That only a woman
with certain … er … appetites would prefer a relationship of cohabitation to marriage."

"You thought I had appetites?" she said, insulted.

"You did not act like a maiden."

She opened her mouth to give furious reply, but as she did, she remembered her efforts throughout
the evening to encourage him.

"You should not have assumed," she said finally, folding her arms across her chest crossly.

He merely nodded dazedly. When he did not speak further, she tossed her head.

"Does it make a difference?"

"A difference?"

"That I am a maiden."

He shook his head as if to clear it. "It would certainly have resulted in a significant variance in my
approach."

"In what way?"

"I would have proceeded far more slowly, for one. In a calm and controlled manner."

"Why can you not do that now?" she asked, holding her hands out in appeal.

His eyes flew up to meet hers, then moved to her lips, which were swollen and tender from all of
the kissing. They slid lingeringly down her person, then stopped at the hem of her chemise,
bunched above her hips.

"Excuse me," he said, then bolted for the door of his dressing room.

***

Elizabeth watched him go in dismay. Did he not want her anymore, simply because she was a
maiden? Had he expected a woman with greater experience and abilities than she had? Everything
had been going so well. If he withdrew now, all would be for nought. There was no blood
anywhere; there was no doubt that she remained virgo intacta, and her attorney had warned her that
this was the key condition that needed to be lifted to make it impossible for him to unwind the trust
he had created and take the money back.

What should she do now? She could not return to Mr. Sandys's house, pretending nothing had
happened. Could she go to the Gardiners? Her heart rebelled against the idea. The Bennets had
overtaxed them already, what with the dowry Mr. Sandys had demanded to marry her mother, and
then the expense of the many, vain attempts to locate Lydia, which Mr. Sandys had refused to
assist in. Her aunt and uncle had been very good, but while they were human there must be
resentment. They had their own children to provide for after all.

She began to feel angry. It was not fair. She had risked so much and been so careful. She had never
represented herself not to be a maiden. She had understood that men preferred maidens! What
terrible luck that she would happen across the one man in England with strange and warped tastes.

Or was it her fault? Perhaps she had not encouraged him enough. But what more could she have
done? She supposed kicking him was a bad idea, but she had done it unthinkingly before she could
stop herself. Oh why could she not have controlled herself better!

Swiftly she began assessing the options. There was the remainder of the forty pounds he had given
her, the emeralds and the carriage. She could sell the carriage; it was supposed to be hers. That
would give her enough money to start a new life, perhaps in America or Canada. But that would
mean leaving Jane. And she could not transport the carriage, especially if he took the servants and
horses, for the latter were not supposed to be hers, nor did she have a way for tending to them if
they were. Would a carriage dealer be willing to come to her?

While Elizabeth's mind raced, the door opened and Darcy re-entered the room in a dressing gown
and holding another one over his arm. He draped it over her shoulders, then sat down on the edge
of the bed. Elizabeth, relieved to be covered again even if momentarily, pulled it on and belted it
tightly at her waist.

"Why did you go just now?" she asked when he was silent.

He looked sheepish. "I, er, needed a moment to gather myself." Then he looked at her. "Elizabeth,
we must talk."

"What about?" she said warily.

"About you being a maiden."

"Did you not think I was a maiden when you asked me to marry you?"

"Yes."

"If you were prepared to do it then, why are you not now?"

He looked at her quizzically. "That is not the issue."

"Then what is it?"

He was a silent for a moment, then asked, "Have you any experience with men, Elizabeth?"

"What do you mean - experience?"

"Has any man ever touched you - kissed you?"

She thought of Mr. Wickham, accosting her alone in the lane that evening. "Some have tried. But I
did not permit it."

"No prior attachments? No claims to your heart?"

She shook her head. "No." At his momentary silence, she added, "Why do you ask?"

He smiled and took her hand. "It is nothing. Only I did not fully understand. I am not sure I
understand now, in fact. Why if you are yet untouched are you willing to enter into an arrangement
such as we have, yet unwilling to marry me? Why not simply agree to my proposal?"

Because I do not like you, she thought. But she doubted he would welcome the truth. And after this
evening, her feelings did not seem so strong as to warrant the word dislike. At least, not strong
dislike, although she still found his presence burdensome.

"Because I scarcely know you - and I had not intended to marry, ever, if I could help it." When this
only produced a further quizzical look from Darcy, she added firmly, "And perhaps for other
reasons, but they are my own reasons and need not concern you. Mr. Darcy, we are here now. We
made a bargain and I relied upon your honour as a gentleman and came to you in good faith. If you
intend to withdraw at this juncture, I confess I will feel hardly dealt with."

He shook his head. "I have no intention of withdrawing. However, if you do not feel that you know
me, I wonder if we should take a little more time for you to come to know me. For my part, I must
confess" - his eyes crinkled in a little smile - "that I would not mind a little more time to consider
the position. I was not expecting you to be a maiden."

Perhaps he did not mind, but she certainly did! She could not continue in this state of uncertainty.
And his words were confusing. Did he want to, or did he not? If he did, what was the sense of
waiting? It sounded suspiciously like equivocation to her, and her attorney had warned her to be on
guard for such things.

She must have revealed her dismay, for Darcy asked, "You have another preference?"

She nodded. "I would prefer to proceed. If your intention is to do so in any case, as you have stated,
then it seems to me there is nothing to be lost in making this a settled thing."

"I am not averse to that," he said quickly. "And now that I know that you are a maiden, I will
certainly endeavour to be more careful. I had not intended to injure or cause you pain."

"I understand it is a matter of some inevitability at first," she said in a resigned tone. "It is partly
why I prefer to have it over with."

He looked relieved. "Well, if you understand that, and do not judge the entire proceedings by the
first time, then my way is easier."

She nodded. "I understand." She added as an afterthought, but with genuine sincerity, "I am sorry I
kicked you."

He chuckled. "Fair recompense, I suppose. Luckily, your aim was fortuitous or waiting might have
been in order whether I would or no."

He seemed to be making a joke, but she was not sure she understood it.

"So we will call it even and begin again," he continued. "Perhaps with a kiss. May I kiss you?"

She looked at him. She had always thought him handsome, and he was even more so now, when he
did not look haughty and arrogant but instead tender and somewhat sheepish. The only person who
looked at her with such tenderness now was Jane. Despite the dim evening light, she noticed that
there were green flecks in his brown eyes.

"Yes," she said.

***
… but dearest J, as that issue was amicably resolved to the mutual satisfaction of both parties, I do
not believe it will pose any obstacle. Mr. D is not entirely as I expected, but I find that is to the
good and have no complaints. All my love to the end of time, and for your own safety, do not forget
to dispose of this note directly after you read it,

© 2017-20 by "LucyQ" at AO3 and Meryton.com and LucyQT at fanfiction.net. ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

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