A Compromised Compromise Read online

  A Compromised Compromise

  An Elizabeth and Darcy Story

  By Timothy Underwood

  Copy edit done by DJ Hendrickson

  Copyright © 2018 by Timothy Underwood

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements:

  As always I want to thank my dear beta readers, who caught several important problems in this book. Betty Jo and mandieschwaderer looked at the book and DJ Hendrickson did the copy edit. I also want to thank my fiance, Sára Vitrai for supporting me and always telling me that she is proud of me, and for not complaining when I experiment with different writing schedules, or finish up a scene when the writing is going well in bed with a dim screen after one in the morning.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements:

  Prologue

  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

  Afterward:

  About the Author

  Prologue

  During the first month after she became engaged to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth placed harsh and sometimes resentful blame upon the rug in the Netherfield library.

  This thick lush rug was made from the fur of a bear with the claws still attached. The unfortunate animal had been a victim of the newly minted baronet who built Netherfield. This dapper nabob, flush with the stolen wealth of the Indies (both East and West), killed the impressive animal during a hunt on the continent where such wild beasts yet roamed free. His wife smilingly nodded at her husband’s manly exploits when he returned to merry green England with the rug, but disliking all forms of taxidermy, she stoutly refused to have it placed in her drawing room, or her dining room, or anywhere else she liked to spend time.

  This happenstance occurred many years before, but this baronet and his family were no more enthused by books than Mr. Bingley, to whom the baronet’s great nephew had recently let the stuffy old pile so he could afford to spend all his time with lushly disreputable opera singers in an almost fashionable district of London.

  In the decades since the brave continental quest to shoot the first owner of the skin and soft fur that made the rug had come to its successful conclusion, the rug had been removed and beaten for dust and thoroughly washed as needed, but had never been replaced nor used to any great point. Sadly for the baronet, after an incident that left one of the baronet’s daughters with a small permanent scar on her arm, the teeth had been removed from the bear’s head, and the claws declawed.

  Elizabeth thought the rug delightfully grotesque when her eyes lit upon it while she spent an uncomfortable hour in the library with Mr. Darcy, during which he did not once lift his eyes from his book, even though Elizabeth, much as she was determined in her heart to loathe the man, was constantly aware of his presence. Her eyes going everywhere but Mr. Darcy absently fell upon the head of the bear, and she wondered if anyone had ever tripped over it. Such a thing did not belong in the middle of a library, but in a male den choked with cigar smoke and the smell of spilt port where women were never permitted.

  Promptly Elizabeth forgot about the matter and the tripping danger, and returned to her pretence of reading as she paid attention to how Mr. Darcy paid no attention to her.

  Mr. Darcy on the other hand never thought at all about the rug which would govern his fate, as his mind was brimming to the top with thoughts of the unsuitability of Miss Elizabeth Bennet the unsuitable.

  Upon such objects can the fate of men turn.

  Later Elizabeth changed her mind, and during their honeymoon she convinced Mr. Darcy that everything which happened was an inevitable consequence of their true emotions and fate, and they would have somehow determined to marry each other, even if the presence of the rug had made this event sooner, and perhaps more tumultuous, than it otherwise would have been.

  Chapter One

  On the night of the Netherfield Ball, late in the evening, after the supper party had seen Mrs. Bennet thoroughly embarrass herself, Mr. Darcy took into his head that he needed to explain everything, or at least enough, about Mr. Wickham’s proclivities to warn Elizabeth, in case she was on the course to fall into an infatuation with Wickham. Darcy’s emotion towards Elizabeth was such that he did not believe the scoundrel could seduce her, but he did not wish to see her heart broken, and the more he thought about Wickham, the more he wished to explain and defend himself to Elizabeth, even though it was below him to do so.

  For the purpose of having privacy to allow Mr. Darcy to defend with private particulars his interactions with Wickham, the two of them sought private council in the library, with just a few candles flickering on the indiawood table for light. In this dim light it became almost impossible to see the grinning, toothless maw of the bear.

  “Now explain. How can you possibly justify your horrid treatment of Mr. Wickham?”

  Fitzwilliam Darcy stared with apparent coldness, but in fact from a deep well of passion, at Elizabeth Bennet, as the candle light flickered tantalizingly and seductively on her delicate face. The violins of the ball whispered sweet melodies through the closed door.

  He should not tell the details about Georgiana, even though he trusted Elizabeth.

  She had been strangely angry at him during their dance — Darcy was reasonably certain she became angry mainly because she realized he would not allow his passionate interest in her to override his capable judgement and good reason and cause him to make an offer to her. But if his real intention was to have nothing further to do with her, why in the name of his good name whose tarnish he risked with this conference was he closeted alone with her during a ball?

  However, Darcy reassured himself, he was not jealous of Mr. Wickham. Obviously Elizabeth could not care anything for Mr. Wickham, and that her violent defence of the slithering scoundrel sprung from her unquenchable desire for Darcy (and his wealth), and her knowledge that she would never gain her end.

  She suffered, no doubt, from the same panging pain that pierced his own chest, but the weaker spirit of a woman could not handle such feelings with equanimity and a calm cold countenance.

  Darcy realized as Elizabeth stared at him, her look changing from anger to something else, that he had not spoken in reply.

  The candlelights seductively flickered in the deep mysterious mirrors of her eyes.

  “He seduces women.” Darcy’s voice was low, involuntarily seductive. Darcy tried to roughen his voice. He needed to avoid any such hint of feeling or desire towards the unsuitable, yet perfectly desirable maiden. “For marriage he wishes a fortune. He can have no serious interest in you.”

  Darcy grimaced internally, as Elizabeth’s eyes flashed angrily.

  He knew enough of the vanity of women to know that telling them that any man was not the thrall of their love was certain to raise their ire. He had once attempted to explain the lack of interest on the part of a third party to Caroline Bingley, when she had been sufficiently repelled by his unresponsiveness to her flirtations to dangle her bonnet towards the heir of an earldom.

  Miss Bingley had been quite displeased with him when he suggested that the Viscount had no interest in her. Unfortunately she then determined that Darcy’s caution to her was a sign of his jealousy, and thus his interest in her, and he’d not been able to get her to stop simpering after his approval since.

  No! He did not want to give Elizabeth false hopes. He should have found a different route to condemn Wickham than one which would inevitably lead Elizabeth to believe that he, Darcy, had designs upon her.

  “Proof.” Elizabeth clenched her jaw, the muscles spasming with anger. “Proof. When you make such accusations against a man enormously below you, proof is expected.”

  “I have seen him at university, and when we were at Eton and in the village around Pemberley when we were young men. He is obsessed with women, and he has had surprising success…” Darcy trailed off. As a boy he had been jealous of Wickham’s ease with women. “From the instant he awoke to an awareness that a man could desire a woman,” Darcy continued in a firm voice, “his sole pursuit has been the seduction of female virtues, and the destruction of female honor. And money. And opportunities to gamble. He also drinks a great deal. And he wasted his opportunity to study law.”

  “Proof. Something beyond your word.”

  “I am not in the habit of having my honorable word questioned. You have seen me and spoken with me, and my character is without question. What good have you seen of Wickham?”

  “His manner!” Elizabeth then became still and quiet and spoke in a sharp voice that almost scared Darcy. “I have spoken with him, and judged him as friendly, and kind, and open. You have nothing but arrogance,
and ungentlemanliness, and harsh words. And you wonder why I trust him more?”

  “You trust Wickham?” Darcy sneered and snorted. Obviously she just said that to place a thorn in his socks to dig at the delicate skin.

  “Why should I not? Your father trusted him.”

  Darcy winced, remembering how he’d asked the servants to tell nothing to Papa as he lay dying about Wickham’s seduction of a servant girl in a neighboring estate. It would have done his father no good to know, and Darcy wanted to spare his father the knowledge of his favorite’s indiscretion and callousness — Wickham refused to even speak with the girl after she named him. Perhaps he should have then taken the actions that would have led to Wickham being removed from the will and his life earlier.

  Besides, in honor, Papa had promised Wickham enough that they owed Wickham some chance at education. Darcy was glad Wickham had wasted his chance.

  “Ha!” Elizabeth cried. “You know your father was a better man than you.”

  “My father was a better man than us all. But my sadness is at the knowledge of how disappointed he would be in Wickham if he knew. I hid from him, in his final months, my knowledge of Wickham’s true behavior. Of the women he had seduced, and of the—”

  “What proof do you have?”

  Darcy sneered. “You are entirely decided against me. It is not my place to bow and scrape and prove to you the truth, when you do not wish to listen. You have been warned. You may set my character against his, and decide what to trust.”

  “Enough.” Elizabeth angrily hissed, “I shall leave now, and have nothing further to do with you.”

  Her eyes told a different tale.

  She didn’t want to leave. They glared at each other, panting heavily.

  Her eyes slowly widened. Somehow their faces were drifting towards each other.

  Elizabeth bit her lip and stiffened her back and turning round, she angrily, yet blushingly, walked forward towards the door.

  No. He couldn’t let her leave, not while she was this angry at him. And not when she might still be Wickham’s besotted thrall.

  Elizabeth angrily trod away, stepping, without paying attention to it, past the ridiculous bear rug on the floor.

  Whoooooops.

  Darcy saw, like in slow motion, her pretty silver satin slipper catch on the bear’s jaw. She fell forward, flailing her arms out and holding her hands in front to catch her.

  Without thought Darcy shot forward. He grabbed her with his wide hands around the waist and caught her in his arms before she thudded on the ground.

  Her body. In his arms.

  Her sweet, warm, fragrant, panting body.

  In his arms.

  His fingers inches away from her breasts, the bare skin of her open back against his ungloved palm.

  Their faces inches apart as he pulled her to stand without letting go of her.

  Their eyes stared into each other.

  They moved at the same moment, their lips pressed against each other, in a powerful kiss neither controlled. With desperate passion he pulled her tight against him, he gripped her bum and pressed her hips against his, he felt her soft length against his harder body. They kissed and kissed. A distant part of his mind knew that this was wrong, and that he did not wish to fulfill the promise to her that his body wished to make.

  She whimpered as his tongue slid briefly along her sweet upper lip.

  Darcy’s brain was too full of her taste to do what he must — thrust her away, and tell her to never speak to him again, as he could not control himself in her presence.

  They continued to kiss, wetly and hungrily, with more passion than he had ever felt before. His tongue licked along her lips and touched her tongue.

  The door to library quietly opened, and there were long seconds of continued passionate kissing before Darcy registered that they were no longer alone.

  And before he and Elizabeth could fully leap apart, Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice cried out, “Lizzy and Mr. Darcy kissing! Oh!”

  Both Darcy and Elizabeth stared at her.

  Mr. Bingley and Sir William stood next to Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bingley’s eyes were wide and he started to slyly grin. Darcy still gripped Elizabeth in his arms, her hand was still around his neck, and they both were still too startled to move.

  Mrs. Bennet happily added, “Heavens! As good as a Lord! So much better than Mr. Collins! I would have made you marry him, Lizzy, but clever girl, you knew you had better prospects.”

  *****

  Elizabeth felt numb, dizzy, and as if everything was surreal in the minutes after they interrupted the surprising kiss. A kiss during which she learned several important matters: First, she did not hate Mr. Darcy; Second, she was handsome enough to tempt him; and finally, she really did not hate Mr. Darcy.

  Everything happened so fast, giving Elizabeth no time to contemplate those concerning revelations.

  They were surrounded suddenly by well-wishers as her mother cried out again, again, and again that they were marrying. She looked at Darcy, terrified both that he would leave her suddenly jilted and with her reputation in tatters after three people saw them kissing passionately, and almost as scared that he would agree and make no objection.

  Darcy’s face was his hard mask, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that was his way of allowing him to think. He felt something — he felt as confused and conflicted as she did.

  That was visible to her in his eyes somehow.

  But he did not want everyone to see his confusion. He always, she realized in that moment of clarity, he always needed to appear in command, the grand, arrogant master of Pemberley, even if he was a young man, a young person, like everyone else. He looked like an arrogant aristocrat silently disdaining the congratulations of her neighbors, when that was not what he felt at all.

  But what was he thinking?

  He did not deny that they were to marry.

  Mr. Bennet came up, and he angrily looked at them. “What is this about?” He first looked at Elizabeth for an answer.

  The room was too stuffy. Too many candles had burned too long, and all the fresh air was gone. The windows were all closed up against the late November cold. The band played a quick Irish air whose upbeat mood clashed with Elizabeth’s torn feelings. She was numb, like someone who’d received a wound in a carriage accident, but was still too occupied stumbling around surprised at their survival to notice that they may not have survived.

  “Mr. Darcy and Lizzy are to marry! Isn’t that wonderful, Mr. Bennet! He’s as good as a Lord!”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Bennet replied in a rolling voice. “Lizzy doesn’t like him at all. Mr. Darcy does not look at anyone except to disdain.”

  “I understand your surprise, sir.” Darcy stood taller. The first words he had said since he caught her in his arms and kissed her. “Matters have been so arranged that I have no choice.”

  “What occurred?

  Elizabeth blushed and looked at her neighbors surrounding them. She couldn’t exclaim in front of them all that it was an accident. A mistake. They didn’t mean to kiss. At least Darcy would marry her, thus saving her the terrible embarrassment today of them knowing she’d kissed him like that without any agreement, or even words that were not angry.

  “Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy,” Sir William spoke smilingly, “were caught in a quite pretty embrace when we went to enter the library. Your wife had wanted to talk with me and Mr. Bingley about plans for the next assembly ball, and—”

  “Ha. I thought so.” Darcy spoke firmly, as if something he had been certain of before was now proven to everyone’s satisfaction. He stood tall in his fine green wool coat, with his surprisingly soft, yet well-muscled hands tightly gripped together behind his back.

  “Thought what?” Mr. Bennet asked for Elizabeth.

  Darcy looked towards Elizabeth and tilted his head with a sarcastic smile that somehow let her know exactly what he was thinking: he had decided that she had planned to be interrupted while kissing him by her mother, so that he would have no choice but to marry him.

  Elizabeth ground her teeth so that her cheeks ached. “Ridiculous — I can tell what you are thinking — what you assume is completely wrong.”

  Darcy looked down at her from where he perched his head so high up on top of his shoulders. This time he was being intentionally disdainful. There was a chatter as people chatted excitedly, the echoes bouncing off the wooden walls, but the bustling crowd allowed her, Papa, and Mr. Darcy to speak together in something vaguely like privacy.