The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Unraveling of Mr. Darcy

  a Pride and Prejudice variation

  Valerie Lennox

  THE UNRAVELING OF MR. DARCY

  © copyright 2018 by Valerie Lennox

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

  CHAPTER ONE

  The moment that Miss Elizabeth Bennet laid eyes on Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, nothing especially remarkable happened. She noted to herself that he was a handsome man. He was tall and dark and had broad shoulders. His arms were rather thicker and more powerful than his companion Mr. Bingley’s arms. If you liked that sort of thing in a man—powerful arms and broad shoulders, that is. If you liked that sort of thing in a man, then Mr. Darcy was altogether pleasing.

  Elizabeth did like that sort of thing in a man, she had to admit. Not that it mattered, of course, because Darcy was part of the party from London that Mr. Bingley had brought to the ball in Meryton. Bingley himself was rather high above the station of Elizabeth and her sisters. Though Elizabeth’s mother thought it possible, even likely, that Bingley would choose a bride among the Bennet sisters—of which there were five—Elizabeth did not harbor any such vain hopes.

  Her desire for the evening was a bit of fun and diversion. She would like to dance and be merry. She would see her friend Miss Charlotte Lucas, and they would laugh together over the assembled gentlemen.

  Elizabeth was not looking for a husband that night.

  But she was struck by Mr. Darcy’s gaze meeting hers across the room. Only a few moments after she laid eyes on him, he seemed to notice her. He held her gaze for a long, long moment, and then he coughed and looked away, and he did not catch her eyes again.

  No matter to Elizabeth. By this time, she had begun to realize that nearly everyone in the room was taken with the appealing looks of Mr. Darcy. She resolved not to give him another thought.

  * * *

  When Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy laid eyes on Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the first time, he reacted rather violently, but he did his best not to let it show. Indeed, he was quite mortified by his reaction, which wasn’t the least bit appropriate or proper, and he spent the next hour walking around the dreadful public ball, trying desperately to get himself under control.

  Mr. Darcy found Miss Bennet attractive. He did not know her name yet. That would come later. For now, she was simply the pretty girl with bright eyes and a lively smile who had been staring openly at him when he looked up to see her. There had been a smile playing on her lips. It bespoke mischief and joy and delight.

  And if it had been just that, it would have been bearable. But he found himself noting other things about her. She was quite nicely put together, and she had long, delicate fingers, and fine features, and there was the matter of her bosom and her hips, which he couldn’t see too clearly under her gown, but what he could see was delectable. One look at this girl, and Darcy’s mind had immediately tunneled into carnal fantasy. He’d thought of unpinning her hair, of freeing her breasts from her—

  He was horrified to be thinking such wanton thoughts.

  And, well, aroused. Physically aroused. He was worried that it was obvious, that anyone who looked at him could see how he had reacted.

  By all rights, he should not have responded this way. It was horrid. It was most improper and entirely embarrassing, as if he were some adolescent boy who was still unschooled in the ways of the world. He wasn’t the sort of man who got excited at the drop of a hat, or at least he hadn’t been for some years now. And yet, here he was, at this dreadful public ball in Meryton, with Bingley and his sisters, walking with his hands clasped in front of his crotch, wishing that it would subside. He might as well have been in the ninth circle of hell as far as he was concerned.

  Darcy tried to convince himself that no one could tell. No one was going to be staring at his crotch anyway, and if they did, it would be easily as embarrassing for them as it was for him. No person would dare to comment on such a thing. They’d pretend they hadn’t noticed. So, in that respect, it was as if it wasn’t happening.

  When he gave off on reassuring himself, he immediately turned to any attempt possible to make the blasted thing go down. He thought of all sorts of boring and disgusting things—anything to get his mind off of it, but nothing worked, not even thoughts of his dead mother, which—by all rights—should have fixed everything.

  He wondered vaguely if there was something wrong with him. Maybe he’d contracted some kind of awful illness that had affected him there. After all, there were soldiers here at the ball, and they were exposed to all manner of ailments. He supposed, as illnesses went, this one was at least not painful, well, not yet, anyway, although he supposed that things might well get there if he stood around for too long in this manner.

  What if it never went away? Darcy tried to imagine going to a doctor and explaining that his clock was striking a perpetual twelve. He was mortified. He couldn’t possibly.

  But no, he would be spared the indignity, because this wasn’t brought about by some sort of malady. This had come upon him after an appropriate stimulus, so it was likely not borne of some sort of illness. Likely, it would go away, eventually.

  He was only puzzled at his reaction. It was hardly like him. He wasn’t the sort of man who was generally taken away by the sight of a pretty woman. And certainly, he didn’t tend to respond in such a base way at a social function like this.

  Well, if one could really term this sad excuse for a ball a social function, he supposed. It was dreadful in every way. Crowded, full of dancing bodies, the music nearly drowned out at times by boisterous conversation.

  Darcy was not the sort of man who enjoyed this sort of thing. He liked his activities to be ordered and neat and civilized. Everything in its place. And, for that matter, a ball was no place for vulgar thoughts or base physical reactions.

  Darcy felt utterly out of control, and he wasn’t happy about that either.

  He gathered that the girl who had wrought this unfortunate circumstance upon him was the sister of the girl that Bingley kept dancing with. Oh, yes, Bingley seemed to be having a really good time. Darcy, hiding behind a chair, glowered at his friend.

  There was nothing special about the girl. No reason that Darcy should see her and be seized in the throes of lust. She was pretty, even tempting, even entrancing—

  He really needed to stop thinking about that girl.

  Of course, he had spent the whole of the evening seeking her out with his eyes, and every time he caught sight of her, he thickened and stiffened and throbbed. He wanted to put his hands on her. He wanted to put his lips on her. He had never felt so violently attracted to a woman in his entire life.

  He didn’t even know a thing about her.

  Mr. Hurst, the husband of one of Bingley’s sisters, lay a hand on Darcy’s shoulder.

  Darcy
jumped. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the other man approach.

  “You know what would improve this assembly?” said Hurst. “A game of whist.”

  Darcy smiled tightly at the man. “Indeed,” he allowed. Hurst seemed only concerned with his card playing.

  “Listen, Darcy,” Hurst continued, “Mrs. Hurst is desirous of another dance, but I’m far too exhausted. Be a good man and dance this one with her in my place?”

  “No,” said Darcy. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Why not?” said Hurst.

  “Yes, why not indeed?” said Mrs. Hurst, giving him a cross look. “You haven’t danced with anyone since arriving.”

  Darcy’s jaw twitched. He looked back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, hoping that a proper excuse would swim to the tip of his tongue. Instead, he thought of that girl with her eyes closed and her head thrown back and his mouth on her—

  “Fine,” said Darcy, moving stiffly around the chair. Mrs. Hurst can’t tell, he assured himself.

  Mrs. Hurst beamed. “Oh, thank you, Darcy.”

  Perhaps dancing with Mrs. Hurst would help, he thought. After all, he didn’t find her attractive in the least. She was the more timid of Bingley’s sisters, which was probably why she’d been married off so quickly when the other, Miss Caroline Bingley, was still hoping for an offer. But, truth be told, Darcy found neither of them the least bit attractive. Partly, he supposed, because he thought of them as Bingley’s sisters, not as desirable women. Mrs. Hurst, of course, was taken. And Caroline was simpering and stupid. There couldn’t be an original thought in her head. She was tiresome.

  Dancing with Mrs. Hurst did not help in the least.

  But he was consoled by the fact that she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. In fact, she hardly seemed to notice him at all. She chattered on about how she thought they should attempt to prevail upon her brother to quit Netherfield for town, even though the entire party had only lately arrived. Besides which, she was a married woman and could go wherever her husband wished, regardless of her brother’s wishes. Darcy didn’t say any of this, however.

  It was nearly impossible to talk, because moving around the room—his drawers too tight against the straining, throbbing part of his body—was a special kind of agony that only worsened the situation.

  At one point, the girl twirled past him in the arms of someone else. Her cheeks were pink and flushed and she was laughing.

  Darcy wanted her so badly in that moment, he thought he wouldn’t be able to continue standing.

  But he managed to keep moving. And eventually, the dance was over. Unfortunately, afterward, Caroline Bingley wanted him to dance with her. Darcy was too addled at that point to know how to refuse her, so he danced with her as well.

  But when that dance was over, he was adamant that he couldn’t dance another dance, not even when Bingley left off with the sister of the siren and came back to try to convince him.

  Darcy said that he wouldn’t. He used the strongest language he could. “It would be insupportable.”

  Bingley was having none of it. “I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom. Upon my honor I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.”

  Darcy glared at his friend darkly. Oh, yes, pretty. Though pretty doesn’t go quite far enough. Bewitching. Maddeningly enticing. But Bingley would leave him alone if he made his friend realize he wasn’t interested. “You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.”

  “Oh,” and Bingley’s voice changed, “she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.” He paused, simply staring at the girl he had been dancing with. “But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay very agreeable.”

  Darcy didn’t have to turn his head to know who it was Bingley was talking about. It was the girl who had made him lose his head, who had put him in this embarrassing situation to begin with. Darcy thought about telling Bingley the truth. I won’t dance with her because looking at her has made me rise to the occasion in the most dreadful of fashions, and I want the floor to open and up and swallow me whole. Instead, he said, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

  Something in his manner must have convinced Bingley, for he didn’t pursue the matter any further, but left Darcy alone.

  There was no more dancing that night for Darcy, and for that, he was pleased. However, he could not help but surreptitiously steal glances at the girl for the rest of the evening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elizabeth Bennet lay in the darkness next to her sister Jane and laughed. “Tolerable? Can you believe he said such a thing? Isn’t it the funniest thing you ever heard?” It was late, but she and Jane never slept after a night out and about. They were both too excited and tended to lie awake together in their room chattering over it until exhaustion claimed them.

  Their younger sisters did the same thing, of course, but Elizabeth and Jane would never own that they had a silly streak buried within them. It would be so disappointing to their dear father, who thought they were the sensible ones in the family. The giggling in the dark, then, was their own secret, and they kept it quiet enough that no one knew.

  “It’s not the least bit funny, Lizzy,” said Jane, shocked. “It’s appalling. To think that he would say that and with you in earshot!”

  “Oh, I don’t think he thought I could hear him.”

  “Even so, it’s shocking,” said Jane. “One would think that a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature and breeding would behave better.”

  “I think it’s quite amusing,” said Elizabeth. “Especially since he said that he wouldn’t dance with me because I was being slighted by other men. That’s utterly nonsensical, isn’t it? Why, every man who asks a partner to dance must ask someone who is not already claimed. The idea that a girl isn’t dancing and is therefore defective is positively backward.”

  “You are not defective,” said Jane, sitting up straight in bed and looking down at her sister. “I won’t have you say such things.”

  “Of course I don’t think I’m defective.” Elizabeth was still laughing.

  Jane lay back down. “You oughtn’t make light of it. Had it been said of me, it would have hurt me deeply. I believe you must feel a bit sore about it. You are making light of it, but he treated you badly.”

  “Oh, Jane, he’s a horribly stuffy man who stood behind a chair all night and had a pinched look on his face. I couldn’t care less what he thinks of me. To win his favor would be an insult, don’t you think? A man such as him?”

  Jane sighed. “Perhaps you are right, dear Lizzy, but I shan’t laugh at such a thing. Instead, I fear I shall always think less of Mr. Darcy, no matter what good things that Mr. Bingley says about him.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Elizabeth, turning on her side to grin at her sister. “When you are Mrs. Bingley, you will have Mr. Darcy barred from Netherfield—”

  “Stop it,” said Jane, and her voice was soft. “You shouldn’t say things like that, even in jest. Saying it out loud makes the thought of it far too real.”

  Elizabeth laughed again. “Oh, Jane, my dear, you have fallen for Mr. Bingley.”

  “Of course I haven’t. I barely know him. It is only… well, I have never met a man quite like him before.” There was something wistful in Jane’s tone.

  Elizabeth didn’t laugh this time. She had become sensible to the knowledge that her sister had deeper feelings for Mr. Bingley than Elizabeth might have at first thought, and that made things a bit more serious.

  “But there is nothing in it,” said Jane, clutching the covers to her chin. “He is a great man, and I am only me, and there is no chance on earth that he would feel that I… that I…”
>
  “He danced with you more than once,” said Elizabeth quietly. “And when I overheard him and Mr. Darcy, he said you were the most beautiful creature he ever beheld.”

  “He was exaggerating. I can’t allow myself to hope—”

  “Why not?” said Elizabeth, her voice too loud.

  “Shh, you’ll wake the house,” said Jane.

  “Sorry,” said Elizabeth more quietly. “It is only that you are beautiful Jane. And what’s more, you are the soul of goodness. There is no one that I know who deserves to be happy more than you do. Why not allow yourself a bit of hope? He seemed taken with you, and I mean that.”

  “If I allow myself to hope for it, I shall be crushed when he is indifferent. No, Lizzy, pray don’t say anything further on that subject. What were we talking about?” She paused for a moment. “Oh, yes, the dreadful Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “The dreadful Mr. Darcy indeed. Although, it is funny that at first, I did think he was handsome. Until it became obvious he was quite proud.”

  “And rude,” said Jane. “His manners leave much to be desired.”

  “Everything about him leaves much to be desired,” said Elizabeth. “But what would I know. I am only ‘tolerable.’” She smothered a fit of giggles with her pillow.

  “Lizzy!” admonished Jane, but she was laughing as well.

  * * *

  Mr. Darcy was certain that he would have been successful at putting the girl from the ball out of his mind entirely if it weren’t for the fact that she was now staying at Netherfield.

  Well, to be quite frank, the arrival of the girl’s sister, Jane, might have brought her to his mind, which would have been unbearable on its own, but then Jane had somehow grown ill, and now she required the assistance of her sister, Elizabeth, who had arrived one morning with muddy skirts and bright eyes and the same long, delicate fingers and rounded bosom as he had admired before. The sight of her sent him tumbling into the same dreadful erotic fantasies.

  The only good thing he could say about her presence was that the continued sight of her seemed to have tamed his base reaction to her. When she first arrived, he’d wandered around for nearly a quarter of an hour waiting for his erection to subside, but it had gone away. And then, dining with her, spending hours in her presence, he finally had himself somewhat under control.