It may come as a surprise to some of you that I do read some erotica, given the chasteness of the Constant Love series, compared to some other books in this genre. But the series has always been about continuing from where the original left off, in the closest tone to Austen's work that I can manage. And when I first began working with these characters, in their sweet little repressed Regency way, they would basically throw me out of the bedroom before anything got too heated. So I left them be.
When I published A Constant Love, I noticed what seemed a rash of Austenesque erotica stories on the historical romance lists around it, and checked out some that were Kindle Unlimited offers. They just didn't work for me, because I could not see the characters, as people of their times, acting in ways that felt very unrealistic to me. So I started mulling over a scenario that would let them be realistic, and still have hot, lovely sex. I did think of the scenario, and periodically have been piecing together bits of the plot in my head, but given I am editing the second book in the ACL series, and writing the third, I told myself I needed to be disciplined and save this story for later.
On Friday, whole sentences started forming themselves in my head, rapid-fire, and I decided discipline had to go out the window for awhile. Sometimes writing is just that -- discipline -- and requires sitting down and working at thoughtfully crafting each sentence. Sometimes, and these are the most magical times, the story just seems to well up in my head, and it is all I can do to get it typed out at the pace that it forms. So I decided to give in to the creative rush.
I may or may not need to finish at least a draft of this story before I move back to my other works. It's long been possible that my self-imposed deadline of having A Change of Legacies ready for publication by the end of this year will not be met, and I may decide to bring out the shorter Less Proud and More Persuasive first, so at least I've managed to get something out before the end of the year (it also helps that I will most certainly have this new story as a gap-filler between longer works ready for publication at some point next year).
I know some readers have been impatient for the next book in the series to come out -- and I love that you want to read it! I work full-time in addition to my writing endeavors, so I only have so much time to work on writing and publishing. Getting to spend a weekend doing what I truly love -- hammering out a huge portion of a story -- has been absolutely delightful for me. And at some point, all of these stories will be published, I promise.
For now, I'll at least leave you with something of my productive weekend, the prologue from the new story, which is tentatively titled Temporary Mistress. It's not smutty at all, and indeed I expect that the smut-to-story ratio will hopefully make it a worthwhile read even for those who prefer to skip the naughty bits. This is very much in draft form, and probably still contains some present tense -- that is my natural voice, and when I'm writing quickly I tend to find myself slipping into it. I'd love feedback, positive or negative!
Prologue
May 29, 1815
Near Meryton village, in Hertfordshire, two sisters
who had always been particularly close were so fortunate as to live within
three miles of each other. One was happily married, and while it would be
impolite to say the other was happily widowed, it may be said that she was more
content in her widowed state than she had been in her married one.
“My dear Lizzy,” said the married sister, who was
called Jane, to the other. “We are to have company at Netherfield soon -- a
small house-party, only, but I hope you will join in our dinners, and perhaps a
ball, if I am able to convince Charles that we should have one.”
“My year is very nearly complete,” replied
Elizabeth, who would have rejoined society earlier, if she could have done so
without any damage to her reputation. “I have for some time been desirous of
participating in society, and I would be very pleased to make my re-entrance at
Netherfield.”
“Oh, Lizzy, I am so delighted that you should say
that,” said Jane. “I must tell you, though, that Mr. Darcy is to be one of the
party. I know you and he did not get on well, and I hope you shall be able to
meet as polite acquaintances, at least.”
“Jane, dear sister, it has been better than three
years since I have seen him, although he did write to express his condolences
on the death of my husband, which quite surprised me. I cannot say that I am
looking forward to making his acquaintance again, but I shall certainly be
polite to him. I do wonder, though, at his coming to Netherfield. I had thought
the breach between him and Charles to be irreconcilable.”
“Charles is much too amiable to maintain an
irreconcilable breach,” said Jane, smiling as though to indicate thoroughly how
well her own amiableness mirrored that of her husband. “He and Mr. Darcy met at
White’s last winter, and they have gradually renewed their acquaintance, with
some apology -- I understand -- on the part of Mr. Darcy, who felt himself in
the wrong for that which occurred between them some years ago, although Charles
says it was as much his fault as Mr. Darcy’s.”
“Well, I had not imagined Mr. Darcy capable of
admitting wrongdoing in any matter, so I am quite surprised at what you say,
Jane. I shall meet Mr. Darcy politely, as you ask, and perhaps if he is capable
of admitting himself in the wrong, now, we shall get on better than we did
before.”
Before the two ladies could converse further, Mrs.
Hill entered the parlour, and said, “Mrs. Collins, if you please, one of your
tenants is in the kitchen, and requesting an audience with you.”
Elizabeth rose, and smiled apologetically at her
sister, who rose as well, and said she should be going anyway; there were a
great many preparations to make, for the house party. Thus they separated, Mrs.
Bingley to make her return to Netherfield Park, and Mrs. Collins for
Longbourn’s kitchen.
+++
November 30,1811
Breakfast at Darcy House, and Charles Bingley
moping over the sideboard. Fitzwilliam Darcy surveyed his friend, and wondered
if he has taken on an impossible task, in attempting to make him forget Jane
Bennet.
It had been easy enough at first. With the eager
assistance of Charles’s sister, Caroline Bingley, the flaws of Miss Bingley’s
family had been noted, and to these flaws Darcy had added, gently, the lack of
evidence that Miss Bennet held any romantic affections for the man who stood
dangerously close to becoming her particular suitor.
Charles could rather easily be convinced into
believing these things, but those things believed by Charles Bingley’s head
were not so easily absorbed by his heart, and this accounted for his moping
over the sideboard.
This could be rectified, though, Darcy thought. He
abhorred the idea of conspiring over anything with Caroline Bingley, but he
agreed with her that this was necessary, and that with a little distance from
Jane Bingley, Charles would soon enough forget the young lady he had called his
angel. In time, then, he might find another angel, one of more appropriate
family and fortune.
Charles sat down with his plate, eventually, and
the selections thereupon made it clear to Darcy that his friend’s appetite had
not been much affected, which he took as a positive sign. Time, time was all
that was needed to make everyone forget of the Bennets, and time would be
afforded to them there, along with every distraction London had to offer.
Darcy’s plan seemed poised for success through
breakfast, and the pot of coffee that followed it, taken leisurely in the
parlour. Miller came in with the post, and there was a letter for Charles,
which was studied silently for some time, before he attempted to comment upon
it.
“My God,” Charles said, “Mr. Bennet has passed.
There was some trouble with his heart, and apparently he succumbed to it.”
“Charles, are you quite sure?” Darcy asked, for his
mind was racing as to how this affected Elizabeth Bennet, and as he had
determined to think no more of any Bennets, this was most troubling.
“Sir William Lucas wrote me of it,” Charles said.
“He has been assisting Mr. Phillips and Mr. Collins with the preparations for
the funeral.”
“Those poor girls,” Darcy murmured, although he
thought only, poor Elizabeth!
“I think the same, Darcy. I think that I should go
to them -- to Jane,” Charles said. “I know you said you do not think she has
affection for me, but everything has changed, and I am not sure that she did
not -- “
“Charles, I beg you, do not act hastily. Miss
Bennet will only be more vulnerable in her present situation, for losing all
her security in life. I expect she would gladly accept anyone that came to her
and seemed likely to secure her a home. Is that all you seek in a wife, is
gratitude, for putting a roof above her head?”
It was at this moment that Fitzwilliam Darcy lost
his particular friend, for Charles Bingley, not ever before having been
required to seriously examine anything his life, did now examine his present
situation, and his most recent courtship, and said, “Err -- no. What I seek in
a wife is a sweet, amiable temper, a pretty turn of countenance, and a respect
of my thoughts, and all of these things I had in Miss Bennet, and you convinced
me I should not pursue her because of her family, and because she was not
attached to me.”
Darcy nodded, acknowledging that all his friend was
true, and wondering what was to come next.
“I am going to go back to Netherfield,” Charles
said. “I hope Miss Bennet is still able to see me in her present situation, and
if she is, that she shall accept my hand in marriage. For even if such an
exquisite creature is marrying me for my fortune, I will care not. I will enjoy
my sweet wife, and even if she does not love me as I do her, I have no doubt of
her faithfulness and continuing sweet temper.”
"This is precisely why we determined to
separate you from Miss Bennet," Darcy said, unthinkingly.
“You determined? You mean this was planned?
All of these seemingly casual conversations about Miss Bennet was the result of
some determination between you and my sister?”
“Yes, Charles, we thought it best for you.”
“Did no-one think perhaps I might be able to
determine what is best for myself!” Charles shouted. “Do you all think I am a
child, rather than the head of my household? A feeble-minded half-wit, that you
must conspire around?”
“That is not at all what we thought. But a man in
love may not think so clearly -- “
“I am thinking clearly enough! I am thinking that
if there is a woman in this world that I love, and I can secure her hand, there
is absolutely no reason why I should not!”
“Charles, think of what you are saying. Think of
what you are taking on -- not just Miss Bennet, but the whole family. Are you
prepared to have the mother and the silly sisters living under your roof at
Netherfield?”
“I am not so selfish as you, Darcy. If I can ease
Miss Bennet’s present distress by offering a home to her family, that will be
pleasing to me, not abhorrent.”
“You think me selfish?”
“Yes, Darcy, I do, although if I must sum you up in
one word, I suppose it would be pride, and I suppose I would say that you have
spent so long in pride of the Darcy name, and presuming of what those who hold
the Darcy name should do -- and apparently what friends of those who hold the
Darcy name must do -- that you have never, since I have known you, acted in a
manner as to pursue your own happiness. Now that I am presented with the
choice, I have no interest in being like you. I will pursue my own happiness,
and I will ask for Miss Bennet’s hand, and I do not care if you do not like it,
you arrogant arse.”
And that had been the end. The words, meant to
wound; the acquaintance, meant to end. Darcy, left reeling amongst the
words of his protégé, wondering what was it like to do what Charles had
mentioned -- what was it like to pursue his own happiness?
+++
November 27,1811
It happened so quickly, they did not even have time
to send for Mr. Jones. They were recounting all that had happened at the
Netherfield ball over breakfast, when Mr. Bennet complained of a strange
sensation in his arm. His wife said it sounded precisely like her nervous
attacks, which silenced him for awhile, but Elizabeth could see that he was
truly not well. His countenance appeared pale, glistening with sweat, and she
asked if they should send for the apothecary.
“Not yet, Lizzy. I think I shall just go and sit
quietly in my library for a time,” he said.
He rose, took a few steps toward the door, and
collapsed, clutching his chest. Minutes later, he was gone.
Elizabeth was not allowed the luxury of shock, or
grief, for her mother and younger sisters descended into hysterics, her mother
worst of all, and someone was required to manage things, to order the servants
to carry the body of their master to the parlour, to lay him out there and
cover him. Jane was as hysterical as the rest of them, at first, but Elizabeth
found that if she gave her sister a command, it would be followed, and that
Jane seemed calmer, when she had tasks to accomplish. As for Mr. Collins, he
determined that his proper function was to assist with prayer, and quoting
bible verses, which perhaps soothed Mary a little, but was of little benefit to
anyone else in the household.
Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips came to lend
their assistance, and Elizabeth went up to the bedchamber she shared with Jane,
to rest for a few minutes, and have a little time in privacy, to finally mourn
her father. She was not alone for five minutes, before there came a knock at
the door.
It was Mr. Collins. She knew what he was going to
ask, and she was horrified by it. Her father was not even cold, much less
buried. That he would choose this time, of her greatest shock and
vulnerability, that he would not even allow her a half-hour of quietude before
forcing her to think of where her family was going to live, was completely
abhorrent to her.
In that moment, she hated him, and yet she knew she
would have to marry him regardless.
+++
December 6, 1811
Darcy heard no more from his friend. He spent the
days following the breach in quiet reflection, shaken that his closest friend
could call him proud, selfish, and arrogant, and shameful that as he considered
his past behaviour, he could see the rightness of what Charles had said.
He did not know if Charles had sensed his tendre
for Elizabeth Bennet, and if therefore his comment about Darcy’s pursuing his
own happiness had been meant specifically, and not generally. He thought about
this -- this alien concept of doing what he wished, without a thought of
society, of asking the loveliest creature of his acquaintance to marry him. Yet
if Charles thought these things of him, what must she think?
Still, he considered it, until one day, there was
an announcement in the papers, short, simple, and incredibly wounding. It was
not the one he had been expecting. “Miss E. Bennet, of Longbourn, in
Hertfordshire, is betrothed to Mr. W. Collins, vicar of Hunsford, in Kent.”
Oh, Elizabeth, what have you done? was his only thought at first. Yet it was clear
enough what she had done: she had acted to secure a home for herself and the
remains of her family, and accepted the offer of that odious parson cousin of
hers. Charles must by now have made his return to Netherfield, but not his
offer, and poor Elizabeth had sacrificed happiness for security.
Darcy thought, in that moment, of going to
Hertfordshire, of staying at an inn, if Charles would not have him at
Netherfield, of making, in essence, a counter-proposal to her. Surely she would
prefer him to Mr. Collins! Yet every reason to order his trunks packed and his
carriage readied seemed to be followed by two reasons why he should not. The
mother and the silly sisters could be set up in a separate establishment,
somewhere in Derbyshire but not too near to Pemberley. To ask her to
break her existing engagement would be substantial, but she was a woman, and
could do so if she decided in Darcy’s favour. But, acting on the perceived
impossibility of a marriage between them, he had been guarded with his
affections; any proposal from him would come as a shock to her. Thinking of
this returned his thoughts to conjecturing as to her opinion of him. If it was
poor -- if she would refuse him, to choose that horrid man over him -- it would
be his undoing. He thought of how it would be, of riding from an inn to Longbourn,
of requesting a private audience, and the myriad ways in which she could refuse
him.
It would be better to write to her, he thought.
Putting his proposal in a letter would enable her to spend some time in
deliberation between her two offers, to be informed of his affections in a
manner that would be better done than what he would likely manage in speaking.
And if she did choose to refuse him, whether out of preference or out of honour
in keeping her present engagement, at least he would not have to hear her speak
it. The shattering of his soul could occur in private, in the comfort of his
study, with a decanter of brandy at hand.
Darcy gathered his writing things, and after
spending the better part of the morning and a quire of paper on various drafts,
finally arrived at:
“Dear Miss Bennet,
“Please accept my sincerest condolences on the
death of your father. I believe you and he were close, and I am sure this makes
what would already have been a difficult time all the more unbearable. Having
lost both of my own parents, I can say that time will heal the wound somewhat,
but never completely. I still feel their absence, even now, and believe I shall
for the rest of my own life.
“Having seen news of your engagement in the papers,
I should now congratulate you upon it. However, I cannot, for Mr. Collins has
secured the very hand in marriage that I myself desire, and while I abhor
breaking a commitment, and expect you do as well, I am going to request you do
just that.
“I admire you greatly, and I have felt my
affections towards you growing for some time, and wish that I had declared
myself sooner, before another offer could be made to you. As I now find myself
second, I will not attempt to compare myself with your betrothed, but will make
the case for myself as best I can.
“Pemberley brings in more than 10,000 pounds every
year, and sometimes nearer 11,000. Of that, I had thought 700 pounds an
appropriate amount for your pin money, but that may be increased if you think
it insufficient for your needs as a married woman. Your jointure, on my death,
I would settle at 1,000 pounds, so that you have a sufficient amount to set up
your own establishment. I do regret to say that Pemberley does not have a dower
house, so this may be necessary. I would also set up an establishment for your
mother and younger sisters, and to ensure Mrs. Bennet and any of your sisters
who do not marry are kept in comfort for the whole of their lives.
“You would have your own bedchamber and dressing
room, and no expense would be spared in decorating them to your taste, as well
as any updates you desire to the rest of the house. It is a large house, but my
housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, has held that post for eight years and is a most
diligent and trustworthy woman, so you may decide for yourself what proportion
of your time you wish to spend in household management.
“I would hope for a marriage in which your
affections matched my own, but I fully understand that they may not, at the
time of your reading this letter. I would ask only that you allow me to do all
that I can to grow them over time. I await your response, and remain --
“Your most humble and obedient servant,
“FITZWILLIAM DARCY”
Once he had read it through several times, and
determined it to be what he wished to say, and of appropriate tone to be
proposing marriage to a young woman who has just lost her father, and accepted
the hand of her cousin, Darcy then turned his mind to how to get it to her. It
would not be appropriate to send it to her directly; the best thing to do would
have been to send it to Charles, and ask that his friend give it to her
discreetly. But as that was not an option, he eventually decided that the best
thing to do would be to send it under cover to Mrs. Bennet. He did not think
that woman liked his company, but he also did not think she would turn down the
possibility of her daughter marrying into a greater income. Indeed, he thought,
she might be his greatest ally at Longbourn. Thus another letter of condolence
was written, to Mrs. Bennet, informing the woman that it covered one to her
daughter, a proposal of marriage. He gave this packet to a servant to post, and
then there was nothing to be done but wait.
+++
December 15, 1811
"I publish the banns of marriage between Miss
Bennet, of Longbourn, and Mr. Bingley, of Netherfield Park. If any of you know
cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in
holy matrimony, ye are to declare it: This is the second time of asking."
"I publish the banns of marriage between Miss
Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn, and Mr. Collins, of Hunsford. If any of you
know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined
together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it: This is the third time of
asking."
Elizabeth listened to the banns in that mixture of
sorrow and dread she had known since her father’s death and Mr. Collins’s
proposal. Had she known that Mr. Bingley was to return, was not to stay in town
for the winter as his sister had said he would, and had she known that he was
to return and offer marriage to Jane, she most certainly would not have
accepted Mr. Collins’s proposal. Mr. Bingley had been surprised at learning of
Elizabeth’s betrothal, but it had made no impediment to him making his own
declaration, and now Jane had the greatest comfort that could be had, in such a
time, in the gentle sympathy of her husband-to-be.
Whenever the tide of dread rose too high, Elizabeth
considered breaking the engagement. She considered it, and she desired it more
than anything she had ever desired, and yet she would not go through with it.
Some women, in some engagements, might be able to do so with little damage to
their reputations, but Elizabeth knew that would not be the case for her
situation. To break an engagement merely because another man had stepped in to
provide her family the promise of security would be to expose herself to their
neighborhood as fickle, and ungrateful. Nor was she entirely sure she would
prefer being dependent on Mr. Bingley over being mistress of her own household,
and in command of her own pin money, even if it meant she must be married to
Mr. Collins.
Still, it was a relief to have him gone from the
house, if just for a little while, for he had returned to Kent to settle his
affairs there, and take his leave of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Of all the
misfortunes surrounding her father’s death, it was but one of them that Mr.
Collins was living with them at the time, but it was one Elizabeth felt
acutely. Not only was he there, to offer her marriage at such an inappropriate
time, but there had also been no formal handover of the house, due to his
constant presence. One day, he was a guest, and the next, he was the master.
And in three days, he would be her husband.
+++
December 20, 1811
When a fortnight passed with no response from
Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy began to fear he would not receive one at all. He
thought over his letter, and wondered if it was too businesslike, not affectionate
enough. He wondered if merely asking for her hand in marriage, when she was
already betrothed, had been abhorrent to her -- so abhorrent, that she did not
even think it worth a response. He wondered if her response had been
misdirected in the post, or his own letter had gone astray, or whether he had
been wrong about Mrs. Bennet’s willingness to give his offer to her daughter.
Misdirection of one letter or another could, at
least, be rectified, and now, finally, Darcy ordered his trunks packed, and his
carriage readied. Later that day, he saw the wedding announcement in the
papers.
His despair upon seeing that Elizabeth was now
irretrievably lost to him was complete. She was lost to him, and whether it was
by choice, or by lack of knowledge that another option existed for her, he
alone had been responsible. Oh, Elizabeth! Poor, lovely Elizabeth, to be
locked in matrimony with such a man!
Darcy amended his orders, now, that the journey
should be a return to Pemberley, that it should be delayed until after
Christmas, and that Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley should prepare their things as well.
For that was his only desire, now, to take his sister and return home.
It was too late to make any improvements as a
lover, but he could improve himself as a brother, and as a man. There might not
be any promise of happiness in that, but there would be satisfaction, at least,
in correcting his ways, in better doing his duty. That was all he had to live
for, now.
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