The Scandalous Mr Darcy Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Scandalous Mr. Darcy

  a Pride and Prejudice variation

  Valerie Lennox

  THE SCANDALOUS MR. DARCY

  © copyright 2018 by Valerie Lennox

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

  Author’s Note

  A few characters in the story bear the names of Jane Austen’s characters but have different dispositions than they are presented in the original novel. Most notably, Mr. Collins is quite different, and Georgiana is older than in the original and more vivacious and mischievous.

  I beg your indulgence in this and in the other variations I have made.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Do you see him?” Lydia Bennet gestured with her head, a smile on her lips.

  Elizabeth Bennet refused to look where her sister was gesturing. “You’re being childish.”

  “Oh, come now. You’re just as interested as I am.” Lydia sipped carefully at her glass of negus, a wine punch. The truth was that Lydia was always childish, even on her best behavior, and this was not her best behavior at all. Elizabeth had little to say to her sister but found herself often trapped with her these days.

  She had somehow been prevailed upon by her father to bring Lydia along with her when she went to London to visit her aunt and uncle Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. In the past, when visiting, Elizabeth had often been accompanied by her older sister Jane, but that was not to be anymore, as Jane was now a married woman. Since Jane and Elizabeth were the only of his daughters to have any sense, or so her father claimed, he would not hear of Elizabeth quitting the house for London and leaving him alone there with his wife and younger daughters. No, he said, if Elizabeth proposed to leave, she must take Lydia along, for that would reduce the silliness by at least half. Her father could not abide silliness in too great of amounts.

  Lydia was still talking. “I can’t see him, because I’d have to turn my head, and then we’d both be gawking, which would be most unseemly. But you should be able to see him from your vantage point.”

  Elizabeth sighed, studying her own drink instead. She was thinking of how much easier this entire evening would be if it were Jane with her and not her frustrating younger sister. But that fall, a man named Bingley had come to Netherfield, and he’d been quite taken with Jane. Which was no surprise. Jane was truly a sweet soul, the best company, truly. She was nothing like Lydia, who was frivolous and thoughtless and impulsive.

  “You really aren’t going to look?” Lydia was incredulous.

  “No.” Elizabeth raised her chin.

  At any rate, Jane was married now, and Elizabeth was stuck with Lydia. There was nothing to be done about it.

  Lydia tossed her hair, turning her head and peering out over the gathering. “He’s supposedly very wicked. He ruined a gentlewoman and didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

  “If he’s really as horrible as all of that, then I don’t see why you’d want to meet him.”

  “Oh, it’s terribly dangerous and exciting, don’t you think? I hope he’s dashingly handsome. Quite tall, with broad shoulders and penetrating eyes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Lydia giggled. “Oh, you can’t be made entirely of stone, Lizzy. You must be at least somewhat curious about him.”

  Elizabeth sighed again. “Perhaps a bit. But that doesn’t mean that we should fling ourselves in his path like drowning fish. For one thing, it wouldn’t be at all proper if we haven’t gotten an introduction to speak to him, and we should look incredibly ridiculous.”

  “Fish don’t drown.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “I don’t really. Why have you compared us to fish?”

  Elizabeth set down her drink, feeling agitated. Lydia generally spent her days prattling to anyone who would listen about all manner of minutia. Last fall and into the winter, she had spent every day preoccupied with their daily walk into Meryton, where the men from the regiment were stationed. Lydia had been quite taken by the men in uniform, but now that they were in London, she had suddenly been taken with this flight of fancy about a rakish man instead. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was trying to be sensible.

  “At any rate,” Lydia continued, “I know that we can’t ‘fling’ ourselves into his path. But we must find some way to meet him. And I want to dance with him. Don’t you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You admitted you were curious.”

  “Curiosity does not mean that I want to dance with him. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

  “Well, you’ll probably get your wish, because I don’t even see him. I thought for sure he was just behind me, but everyone I see back there are people I already know, which is incredibly disappointing.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Oh, don’t be that way. Sometimes, you aren’t any fun at all.”

  Elizabeth thought the same thing about Lydia, sometimes. “I’m sorry I don’t amuse you.”

  “You wouldn’t amuse anyone. I try to show you how to have a good time at these things, but it’s as if you’re thick in the head. You can’t be bothered to do anything other than stand around with a pinched expression on your face.”

  Elizabeth didn’t respond. She hardly thought her expression was pinched. Her sister wasn’t complimentary, that was all there was to—

  “Oh, there he is!” Lydia squealed. “Look, look.” She pointed.

  Elizabeth cringed, thinking about telling her sister not to point like that. It was most indelicate. But she knew Lydia wouldn’t even listen, so she let it go.

  “And he’s with Mr. Watham,” said Lydia. “We know Mr. Watham. He can introduce us. Come on.” She seized Elizabeth’s hand and tugged.

  Elizabeth sputtered. “I told you, I don’t want to—”

  “Come on.”

  And she didn’t seem to be able to stop it. She was being dragged across the room to meet Lydia’s wicked man.

  Lydia waved to Mr. Watham. “Oh, Mr. Watham, isn’t it a beautiful night?”

  Mr. Watham smiled at Lydia, all politeness. “Miss Lydia.” He nodded at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet.”

  “Good to see you, Mr. Watham,” said Elizabeth, who was still getting used to being called Miss Bennet instead of Miss Elizabeth when out. Since she was the oldest unmarried sister now, it was expected.

  Mr. Watham turned. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mr. Darcy?”

  “Why, no, we have not.” Lydia was almost giddy with excitement.

  And there he was. The wicked man. Elizabeth looked him over.

  Mr. Darcy was dark enough and tall enough to be wicked, Elizabeth supposed. But he was altogether too pretty of a man to be truly wicked. He had a finely wrought chin and large, brown eyes… Eyes big enough to swim in.

  If she were a fish.

  Which, as Lydia had pointed out, she was not.

  But then Elizabeth set eyes on Mr. Darcy’s companio
n, and she found him a rather pretty man as well. He was shorter than Mr. Darcy, fairer. He had long, long eyelashes and a smiling mouth.

  “Mr. Burlington,” Mr. Watham was saying. “He is Mr. Darcy’s guest.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him. Burlington. She knew of him, though she had never seen him. Crispin Burlington was said to have quite a fortune. She had thought he was older and altogether less… well, agreeable. What a lovely surprise. “So nice to make your acquaintance, sir. Both of you.”

  The men nodded.

  Burlington looked rather bored, barely making eye contact with her. “I say, Darcy, aren’t we to find some gaming this evening?”

  “Oh, you aren’t leaving, are you?” said Elizabeth. “Not when we’ve just met you both. That would be too bad indeed.”

  “Indeed,” said Lydia, shooting her a surreptitious grin.

  Elizabeth had practically forgotten about Lydia. She was feeling emboldened by the look of Mr. Burlington. Something about him awoke something inside her. Something brave. “It really would be terrible. Then there could be no dancing.”

  “I assure you,” said Darcy, “we aren’t leaving yet. In fact, if you would like to dance, Miss Bennet—”

  “Certainly, she can’t just be thrust into it like that,” protested Lydia, glaring at her.

  Elizabeth was relieved. She had no desire to dance with Darcy, anyway. After all, he was probably a rake. With a face like that, it was no wonder a girl had allowed him to ruin her. Some women liked men with pretty faces like that. But not Elizabeth. She was entirely put off him. No, it was Burlington she was interested in.

  If only he would look at her.

  “No?” said Darcy. “My apologies. It’s only that it seemed…”

  “Mr. Burlington, aren’t you at all inclined to dance?” said Elizabeth. She was shameless! Oh, how could she bear having said that? It was all folly, anyway. She could dance with as many men as she liked, but she was as good as engaged as it was. Surely, there had been no formal inquiry, but there would be. The match was agreeable, after all, and with Jane married off, she was the eldest Bennet sister.

  “I don’t think he is,” said Darcy. “In all honesty, Burlington is quite—”

  “I can dance,” said Burlington to Darcy, almost as if he were offended.

  “Of course, sir.” Darcy bowed his head. “It’s only that you seemed quite keen on a game of cards.”

  “Yes,” said Burlington. “In fact, I would fancy that. But if you think I can’t dance—”

  “I never said anything of the sort.” Mr. Darcy looked pained. He turned back to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, if you would do me the honor—”

  “I’ll dance with her,” said Burlington.

  Elizabeth’s heart sped up. She hadn’t realized she was so hoping for a dance with him.

  Darcy pressed his lips together in a firm line.

  “That is,” said Burlington, turning to Elizabeth. “Would you dance with me, Miss Bennet?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” said Elizabeth.

  Lydia looked expectantly at Mr. Darcy. “And you, sir? Do you dance?”

  Darcy’s lip curled. “Not just now, Miss Lydia, I apologize.”

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open.

  Elizabeth glared at Darcy. That was dreadfully rude. Not only was he a rake, he was impolite as well. She felt sorry for Lydia, but her sister was also probably lucky to be shut of the man.

  * * *

  Lydia thought that Elizabeth should refuse the dance. Her sister had an ulterior motive, of course. She didn’t want to be on the sidelines while Elizabeth was dancing.

  Elizabeth supposed the entire thing was ridiculous. As she had thought, she was practically engaged. Her father’s estate was entailed, and it would go to a distant cousin. It was expected that Elizabeth would marry him.

  So, here she was, out in society, but there was no real chance that she would make some match and choose her own husband. She would marry William Collins. That was the way of things.

  Still, she couldn’t help but be pleased at the fact that she was finally going to be dancing. Though there was no chance of her making a match with Mr. Burlington, that didn’t mean she couldn’t daydream.

  When it came time for them to dance, she lined up with the rest of the couples, and she sized him up. Burlington wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was watching the other couples at the end of the row, who were striking up the dance.

  She and Mr. Burlington were toward the end of the row. They would watch the other couples dance until it was their turn. Other couples were using this time to chat.

  But not Mr. Burlington. He, true to form, wasn’t even looking at her.

  Elizabeth tried desperately to think of something to say to him. She must engage him in conversation. She must say something bright and witty.

  But when she opened her mouth, all that came out was, “The weather has been quite mild lately, hasn’t it?” The weather? That was what she decided to speak about? She was thoroughly disappointed in herself.

  Mr. Burlington’s gaze snapped over to her. “Yes, quite.”

  Well, that seem to be the end of the exchange. She needed to think of something else to say, apparently. Mr. Burlington was not much of a conversationalist, was he?

  But she did enjoy looking at him. He was a powerful man. She noticed that even his hands looked strong. His fingers were thick. There was a faint smattering of light hair on the back of his knuckles. She wondered if the hair was soft or coarse. Not that she would ever do something as intimate as brushing the hair on the back of a man’s hand. Of course not.

  Why, the very thought was scandalous. She felt her face heat up. Now, she was blushing. She was positively mortified. What had gotten into her?

  There was something about Crispin Burlington that affected her deeply. She didn’t know what it was.

  “Are you enjoying your time in London?” she said.

  “Yes, quite,” he said.

  Did the man not know how to say anything else?

  He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “And you? Are you enjoying your time?”

  She nodded. “Yes, very much.”

  “Good.”

  Silence.

  Burlington made a face, seeming to realize that he needed to come up with something else to say.

  But by this time, it was their turn to dance. He stepped toward her.

  She stepped too, moving her arms into position.

  And then they were touching. Not skin to skin, of course. No, she could only feel him through layers of clothing. Her gloves, his sleeves.

  And yet, she could feel the heat from his body.

  She swallowed. Her heart sped up again. It was practically racing. She was close enough to Burlington now that she could hear his breath, that she could feel it.

  But he still wasn’t looking at her at all.

  What was wrong with her? What had driven her to seek this man out when he clearly had no interest in her whatsoever?

  And why was she so taken with him? What had he done? There was nothing to him besides the fact that he was favorable to look upon.

  She and Burlington turned around each other. Now they weren’t touching. They were following the movements of the dance as required, and they were to be on their own for this section.

  But then they joined again, and his heat cut into her, making her heart pound. Under her gloves, her palms started to sweat. She felt vaguely out of breath.

  This physical reaction within her was starting to frighten her. There was no reason for it. She could not make heads or tails of it.

  But then Burlington seemed to look at her. She felt his gaze sear over her form, lingering on the swell of her breasts for a few moments. That was scandalous, even improper. Oh, it did make something surge within her, something untamed and new. It pleased her. It pleased her that he was looking at her in the way that he was. It pleased her that he was being improper.

  Their gazes met, and she peered in
to his cool, gray eyes.

  His mouth curved into a smile. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Ms. Bennet.” And his voice was deep, deeper than it had been before, as if looking at her had changed him somehow.

  He was still looking into her eyes, she was still looking into his. Even as the dance ended and they moved back to their places in the line, they gazed at each other. Her insides quivered.

  There was something about Mr. Burlington. There was definitely something.

  * * *

  George Wickham laughed easily in the dark of the carriage. “A good night for cards indeed, Darcy.”

  Darcy glared at him in the scant light. “If it was cards you were after, we could have spent less time at that dread ball. I didn’t think you were one for dancing when there was gambling to be done.”

  “Aha,” said Wickham. “You’re jealous.”

  “What?” Darcy was offended.

  “You’re just annoyed because I snatched her away from you. What was her name? Miss Bennet?”

  “She was beneath me socially,” said Darcy.

  “You should take what you can get these days,” said Wickham. “Just think, you’d never have thought you’d be associating with the likes of me in society, did you? And introducing me as the wealthy Mr. Burlington to boot. How the mighty have sunk.”

  Darcy clenched his hands into fists, but he said nothing.

  It was better that way, and they both knew it. Wickham had brought Darcy to heel like a trained dog. The man was at Wickham’s service and would do as he said. Years ago, he could never have imagined this. Wickham had always had high hopes for his future, but he had never expected that things would go quite so swimmingly for him.

  In fact, at first, it had seemed as if his luck was going rather badly. He’d managed to get a sum of money from Darcy in lieu of being forced into the horrid profession of the church, but the money hadn’t lasted nearly as long as he’d thought it would. In debt, on his own, and with no prospects, he’d gone back to Darcy for help.

  And the cur had done nothing, telling him that he had made his own bed and must lie in it. Wickham still felt angry thinking of it. To think, with all his self-righteousness, that Darcy could be so cruel and unfeeling. He wasn’t the man he made himself out to be, that was certain.