"My Darcy Mutates…" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Enid)

Historical

Apollo’s Stone

“Explain to me, my love, how this great scheme of yours will work,” the woman asked huskily as she caressed the man’s hips.

“The spoiled brat and I will ride ahead. We will arrive here as planned. I shall endeavour to have all three unsuspecting men deep in their cups. Then I shall personally see to his retirement to the designated chamber and let him know that I have arranged for a sensual woman for his enjoyment. From the last experience, I know that he reacted most amorously when he was given this particular type of Scottish whisky.

“At the same time, a friend of mine will overturn a cart on the road to Meryton, thus delaying his father’s carriage for a few hours. Once his father arrives, some commotion will be created, and I shall bring the old goat in. You can scream about the drunkard bastard dragging you into a guest chamber and imposing on you.” The young man gave a sly grin. “The old man will pay a fortune to keep your mouth shut, once he happens upon you and his son in all your glory, with witnesses in tow.”

“Do I get to sample the magnificent body of Fitzwilliam Darcy?” she asked, and licked her lips eagerly.

The man pinched her nipple. “I am ten times more glorious than he. But if you want us to witness his dismal attempt to satisfy you, then go to it, by all means.” He rolled the woman over and thrust into her. “In fact, that is a fine idea. Let him spend his seed in you.” He pushed in and out with mechanical precision, while the lady moaned in high pitch. When he reached the moment of satisfaction, he did not pull out as he usually did, but spilled his fluid into her. “We will pass my child off as his, and the old goat will keep the money rolling in at our door.”

“Yes!” the woman cried. “Excellent idea!”

Caroline Bingley was extremely annoyed with herself. Whatever had prompted her to invite Jane Bennet to Netherfield, two days ago? On further thought, however, she told herself she should not be angry with herself but with that stupid girl. Who else would have ridden across three miles of open roads in heavy rain? Was her family truly so poor that they could not afford a carriage?

Indeed, it appeared to be true that the Bennets could not spare a carriage, because her sister Eliza had arrived on foot, as well, the day before. Why had she felt compelled to trudge around the countryside, all alone on muddy lanes for hours, just because her sister had a cold? Perhaps both of them have designs on Charles, Caroline thought. And it was past annoying that idiot brother of hers had invited both of them to stay until Miss Bennet recovered.

Her scheme would be hindered with two strangers in the house. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and his father would arrive later in the day. Perhaps I should make Miss Eliza sick, as well, to ensure that she will not get in the way. Yes, that is a brilliant idea.

When Miss Elizabeth Bennet sent word that she would not join the host family for breakfast because her sister was still rather sick, Miss Bingley was seen personally taking a tray to the sick room, around noontime.

As Miss Bennet had fallen asleep, Miss Bingley stayed on to take some refreshment with Miss Eliza. She then urged her guest to drink a cup of warm tea in which she had mixed some liquor and a drop of laudanum, observed covertly with keen eyes until her guest had finished all of the drink. To her gratified amazement, Miss Eliza seemed to become both giddy and sleepy.

Miss Bingley asked Miss Eliza if she wished to retire for the day, and the latter agreed. With wobbly legs, the guest excused herself and stumbled out of her sister’s room to walk haphazardly along the corridor, freeing Miss Bingley to start down the stairs, filled with smug contentment.

In the meantime, the dazed young lady walked on until she reached a room which she thought to be hers, whereupon she pushed the door open and toppled onto the bed almost immediately. The curtain was drawn and the room was dark.

Not caring whether Eliza was well settled or not, Caroline rushed away to make preparations for her important guests. She now believed that the problem of Miss Eliza was solved. That importunate young woman would be in no condition to interfere with her scheme.

At two in the afternoon, her other guests arrived. After they were shown to their rooms and had refreshed themselves, they joined the host family in the sitting room.

“Mr. Darcy, welcome to Netherfield.” Miss Bingley batted her lashes and greeted him in her most elegant tones. “But wherever is your esteemed father?”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley. Mr. Wickham and I rode ahead of my father’s carriage. You have met my father’s godson, George Wickham?” Darcy inquired.

“Darce, it is good to have you in Netherfield. Mr. Wickham, welcome.” Charles Bingley shook their hands warmly. “What do you think of it?”

“It is of good size. The house looks fine and the countryside pretty. You did well in leasing it,” Darcy replied whole-heartedly.

The gentlemen discussed the hunting activities in Hertfordshire for some minutes.

“Charles, perhaps you would like to retreat to the study with the gentlemen. I shall let you know when the senior Mr. Darcy’s carriage arrives,” Mrs. Louisa Hurst suggested.

“Excellent!” George Wickham agreed. He clapped the back of Mr. Hurst in a friendly manner and urged the men away.

Mr. Darcy did not care to spend time with Wickham, but his father took his duty as his godfather seriously, and so he vowed to be as polite as he could.

Caroline threw her fan on the couch and said to her sister angrily, “What was that for? Why did you urge the men out of the room so soon?”

“Caroline, you must desist. Did you not see that he is not interested in you?” Louisa replied.

“I see no such thing.” Caroline retorted. “I am smart, elegant and fashionable. Why would he not be interested in me?”

Lousia shook her head and said, “I am saying this only for your good. But if you intend to capture him while he stays here, you had better go and rest now before preparing for tonight’s dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. Perhaps the noise from the Bennet sisters gave you a restless night?”

“Do I really have black bags under the eyes? Why did you not tell me earlier? It was that impertinent country nobody, Eliza, wandering around the corridor, trying to find the library, late at night.” With that, Miss Bingley dashed out of the sitting room and retreated to her own chamber hastily, leaving her sister to shake her head once again.

Half an hour later, Mr. Darcy received a note from his father, stating that the carriage had suffered a minor accident a little distance from Meryton. His father would stretch his legs in the small town for the time being, until the carriage was sorted out. He would arrive at Netherfield in another hour.

Soon, Wickham had Mr. Darcy, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley drunk. He left Hurst and Bingley in the study and helped the tipsy Mr. Darcy up the stairs in person, not wanting Darcy’s valet to intercept him.

When Wickham arrived at the room he had shared with his lady love, it was almost pitch dark because the curtains were drawn close. A dim light that entered through a gap between the curtains was just enough for him to make out the shape of a woman under the bed sheet. She was lying on her stomach, and her hair was loosened. She certainly knows how to stay mute, Wickham thought. She is determined not to let Fitzwilliam know who she is.

Wickham started stripping Fitzwilliam of his clothes. “I have a surprise for you,” he said to the inebriated gentleman.

“What’s…it?” Darcy hiccupped.

“A sensual woman.” Turning Darcy, he pointed to the bed.

“With gorgeous… bosom?” The dazed man chuckled.

“Possibly,” Wickham said, wondering why Darcy’s cravat had to be so complicated. “You’ll have to discover that for yourself.”

“I have not gotten…laid for some years now,” Darcy lamented. “Father keeps…me close and works me hard…ever since you last…got me into mischief…”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Wickham demanded, finally getting the shirt off the half-drunk man.

“She is …willing?” Darcy staggered forward a step.

“Very.” Wickham unbuttoned Darcy’s breeches.

Darcy hesitated, swaying. “I do not sleep with… whores.”

“Her husband is dead,” Wickham lied as he stripped the drunken man naked.

“A lonely widow?”

“A most easily aroused one.”

“She wants…money from me?” Darcy asked stubbornly, not moving.

“Not at all. She only wants affection and warmth.” Blast the spoiled brat, why did he need to ask so many questions? Damn his standards of refusing to mix with fortune hunters and lowly whores.

“But…I do not…trust you.” Darcy argued. “Are you trying to…trick me? You are always up to…no good.”

Wickham swore under his breath. He had no time for Darcy’s censure. He shoved the drunkard onto the bed, walked out the door and closed it. Let her do her job!

“Ouch!”

“Ah!”

Mr. Darcy and the woman both exclaimed as their bodies crashed onto each other.

“I beg your pardon, Madam.” He stood up and bowed awkwardly.

The woman turned over on the bed, had a look at him, laughed and asked cheerily, “Is your apology for …bumping into me or appearing without a… stitch of clothing, in my bed chamber?”

Darcy liked her sound, musical and pleasant. He smiled and looked down at himself in the muted light. “Indeed, I am in all my glory. I do not…know why.”

She sat up, brushed the wayward curls away from her eyes, and took in the sight of his strong frame with apparent curiosity. “You look like a … statue of the Greek god, Apollo,” she said, and hiccupped.

“Your bosom…rivals that of Venus.” He licked his lips and felt a sudden surge of heat rise in his body. Intending to let in some air, he walked to pull the curtains wider apart.

She cast a look at herself. Lit by the bright afternoon sun from outside, she saw that she wore no clothes, either. She remembered feeling oppressively hot, shortly after she went to the bed, scarcely able to breathe. Stifling, she had taken her dress off and then, finding little relief, had shed the rest of her garments before surrendering again to sleep. Now, abruptly awakened, she was covered by nothing but the bed sheet which was now pooled at her waist.

“Thank you, Sir, for the compliment.” She smiled, feeling giddily light-headed beneath the gaze of this handsome young man. She reclined down on the bed again and raised both hands to rub her temples. “But I am not the goddess of love, but simple Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

Mr. Darcy felt the room grow hotter yet. The lovely Elizabeth was lying on the bed, with both hands on her forehead, a gesture which pushed her gorgeous breasts higher still. She had the most vivid green eyes, a very fine pair. He wanted to worship her but was not sure whether she would welcome it. He was a gentleman and would never force himself on a woman. The temptation was so great that he felt as if his head might burst at any moment.

He raised his hand to rub his own temple.

“Are you…not feeling well, Apollo?” she asked with concern.

“I am no Apollo, just Fitzwilliam Darcy…of Pemberley.”

“Perhaps you will feel better if you lie down,” she suggested, and patted the space beside her.

It was an invitation he could not refuse. He slipped in besides her, under the bed sheet.

They stared at each other silently for a minute. Then she smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. Encouraged, he stretched out his hand and touched her, drawing delicate circles around one of her nipples.

The cherry tip peaked and she gasped for air.

“You have the most … magic touch,” she murmured.

“And you are very… responsive.”

She smiled widely at his compliment. The whole-hearted grin made her look fresh and carefree, like his sister Georgiana,

Mr. Darcy thought. Elizabeth seemed too young to have been married and then widowed. But what did he really know about such things? Had his own mother not died very young, too, soon after Georgiana was born?

“How old are you?” he asked. His finger continued the exploration of her twin peaks. He loved the texture of her skin.

“Not yet one-and-twenty,” she whispered. “And you?”

“Not yet eight-and-twenty.”

“In the prime of life.” She gazed at his eyes, which were the deepest blue, like the summer sky. He seemed indeed to be a Greek god, calling out for her to touch him. Emboldened, she traced her fingers from his throat down his chest to his navel. His body was virile and perfect.

His mouth gaped open as he felt his skin burn beneath her touch. His arousal sprang up, proud and tall, making a tent of the bed sheet.

Her eyes widened at the unexpected movement. She lifted the edge of the bed sheet, took one quick glance at his magnificent manhood, and dropped the sheet immediately.

“I did not know that Apollo’s…stone could grow,” she remarked innocently.

He chuckled. “Would you like to feel the stone…expand?” He took her tiny hand, which was soft but surprisingly strong, and placed her fingers around his shaft.

“It is…” She swallowed and bit her lower lip. “It is so hot…and so smooth.”

He slid his other hand down to her apex, where he rubbed the soft bush and slid along her folds. “And you are wet and…blazing.”

She could feel the blood draining from her head, seeming to pool and pulse at her sex. The sensations at the juncture of her thighs were raging, causing her to flex her hand instinctively, squeezing his shaft hard.

He let out a cry of pure ecstasy. He knew that he would explode if he did not join with this lovely Venus.

Carefully, he removed her hand from his straining member, then turned to press his body against her. The moment their naked forms touched, they both shivered. Using his elbows to carry his weight, he positioned himself over her and lowered his head to kiss her sultry lips with passion.

When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she sucked at it tentatively, and her sweet response nearly made him come. He pulled back immediately and lowered his lips to worship her creamy mounds instead.

They were alabaster white, soft and bouncy. He licked the skin around the nipples, then moved to the side once again and took his weight upon a single elbow in order to free one hand to shape her bountiful hips. Enchanted, he paused between each lick to tell her how beautiful she looked. In answer, she moaned in pleasure and buried her fingertips in his hair.

As he suckled her nipples soundly for several long minutes, her soul seemed to draw up and out of her body. She rolled her eyes, twisted her body and, with a final sweet convulsion, reached Heaven. The juice of climax flew out from her secret lips.

Rising over her in earnest, he nudged her thighs apart and used his hand to position his shaft. Insinuating his manhood between her nether lips, he found that she was tight, even with the sweetness of her essence. Bracing himself, he bore down, pushing slowly into her.

The sensation was unexplainable as his tip was swallowed up, a fraction of an inch at a time, by this hot volcano. Bearing down, he thrust with his rigid rod, determined to penetrate into the very heart of her core.

All the while, her inner muscles teased and squeezed and clenched, bombarding him with maddening sensation. Her body seemed to mock his ardor, refusing to yield further. Delirious with desire, he grasped her thighs and pulled them even wider apart, then plunged forward, using every bit of leverage he could muster to break through all barriers, the better to merge with her.

Beneath him, she screamed out in pain.

He froze, stunned, then raised his head as comprehension dawned upon him. “You are a maiden?” he whispered hoarsely.

Elizabeth panted and shifted beneath him, unshed tears brightening her beautiful eyes. “Yes…and I find…your stone…very hard, Apollo.”

A part of him wanted to laugh, touched by the gallant courage of her remark, but her movements were reigniting him. With his hands and mouth, he pleasured her breasts with a determined eagerness, while he exerted all his will power to hold his lower body still.

When she was once again aroused to unbearable heights, and began to twist and squirm beneath him, he withdrew himself almost to her entrance and then thrust into her again in a smooth, heated glide.

Once started, he could not stop. His pace soon grew fast, urgent and lustful. He drove into her like a stud covering a spirited mare, aiming to conquer and to please.

Sweat drenched both of their bodies. She clawed at his muscular back as he pounded into her. The slick sound of his thighs smacking against hers was accompanied by her everlouder moans. His hands and mouth were merciless, nipping and rubbing her nipples and lips, exciting her to new sensory heights.

Lost in this new world of sensual desperation, she cried out his name, “Fitzwilliam!” several times, until at last the world exploded behind her eyes in a torrent of delight, and he cried out as well, flooding her with his essence.

Finally, descending from their cosmic peak, they returned to earth. Pulling the bed sheet up to cover their satiated bodies, he embraced her tightly, and they drifted off to sleep.

Within a few minutes, however, the door was opened by George Wickham, accompanied by old Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley was hot on their heels.

“I thought I heard Fitzwilliam here…” Wickham said, then faltered into silence as he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the unexpected brightness of the room.

Pushing past him, Miss Bingley screamed in fury. “Eliza Bennet, you shameless, penniless chit! What have you done to my Mr. Darcy?”

The disturbance woke the couple in the bed. At that moment, Louisa Hurst opened the servant’s entrance to the room, dressed in a nearly transparent nightgown, her loosened hair tumbled about her shoulders. She took one startled look at the commotion, gasped, and fled the room immediately.

Elizabeth shook her head in an attempt to clear the last lingering effects of the liquor and the drug from her body. She blinked up at the two strange men, one young, one old, who stood with Miss Bingley. Then she noticed a subtle movement by her side. A man was sleeping there, his bare body pressed intimately to hers. She was ready to scream and flee the bed…but she found that she was no longer wearing anything at all.

“What have you done to me?” she demanded of the young man holding her.

Mr. Darcy shook his head and looked up at the lovely vision besides him, remembering the incredible love making that had occurred between them just minutes before. His mind no longer seemed to be dulled by the alcohol so much. But the accusing expressions of the onlookers made him felt guilty. “I am sorry, Father. I was drunk.”

Old Mr. Darcy breathed deeply and asked Mr. Wickham and Miss Bingley to leave the room.

As Elizabeth began to remember what had happened, through the haze of cloud that still filled her head, she burst into tears, and murmured, “How could this have happened? One minute, I was drinking tea with Miss Bingley, and the next minute I felt giddy and so very drowsy. I was sleeping here, all by myself. Why did you come in? What have you done?”

“Do not cry, child,” Old Mr. Darcy said kindly. “I shall step out for just a minute. The two of you must rise and dress. I know that it is highly improper to question you here and now, but I want to get to the bottom of this, without delay.”

As soon as the old gentleman went out into the hallway, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam dressed quickly, in complete silence, without looking at each other. When Elizabeth sat down again upon the bed, he opened the door for his father.

Old Mr. Darcy began the questioning. “My name is George Darcy, and this is my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy. What is your name?”

“Elizabeth Bennet, Sir.”

“Of the Bennets of Longbourn? Amazing. I met your father this very day, while my carriage was being repaired at Meryton. Your father’s estate is quite nearby.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“You are a guest here?”

“Yes, sir. My sister Jane became ill while she was visiting Miss Bingley, two days ago. I came, yesterday, to take care of her. Mr. Bingley invited me to stay on until Jane was better.”

“And you mentioned feeling giddy and sleepy after drinking some tea?”

“Yes, actually. Jane was quite sick, this morning, so I told Miss Bingley that I would not go down for breakfast. She brought me some refreshments and tea personally around noontime. It was very kind of her, but after I drank it, I felt quite strange, and so I went to my...” She looked around uncertainly. “I did not know how I got here. This is not the guest room where I stayed, last night.”

“That is strange.” Young Darcy frowned. “Miss Bingley is not…”

“…known for her kindness,” Old Mr. Darcy completed the sentence, and shared a candid glance with his son.

“I was rather surprised, too, sir,” Elizabeth added. “Ever since Miss Bingley learned that we have little dowry, with our estate entailed away to a male cousin, and our uncle in trade and living in Cheapside, she has been… Well, in truth, sir, she has of late been rather rude to Jane and me.”

Old Mr. Darcy stepped outside again, and called for his valet to check with a maid and have the cups and cutlery used for refreshments from Miss Bennet’s room brought to him discreetly. He then returned to the silent room and turned to his son with a stern expression. “And you, son. How do you come to be here.”

“George, Charles, Hurst and I were drinking in the study while we waited for you. George had this special Scottish whisky that he insisted that we sample. I knew that I should not, but…I did. And I fear that I got drunk quite quickly, just like the last time.”

“Like the last time?” The senior frowned.

“Umh, yes. When I was around three-and-twenty. Wickham and I sampled that same brand of whisky in a tavern when we were at Cambridge.” Fitzwilliam’s face turned bright red. He had later heard that he started singing love songs and dancing on the table, wanted to kiss every one and take off his clothes. Luckily, a friend prevented him.

“Ah that incident.” Old Mr. Darcy nodded. “But how did you come to this bedchamber?”

“I cannot remember clearly. George accompanied me here. He said that…that…” Fitzwilliam stammered to a halt.

“What did he say?” his father demanded.

“He said that he had procured…” He turned to glance at the distraught young lady. “…a sensual widow for my…enjoyment.” He lowered his head, not daring to look at his father or the lovely lady.

“I am no widow!” Elizabeth gasped. “I am still a maiden.” Tears rolled down her pale cheeks again. “At least, I was, until…”

“I am sorry, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said wretchedly. “Sir, I am sorry. I should have stopped as soon as I realized that she was …untouched. But I did not.” He drew in a deep breath, expecting the harshest censure from his father…but his father appeared to be deep in thought. So he walked, instead, to kneel before Elizabeth, his eyes begging for forgiveness. “Miss Bennet, I am deeply sorry for my drunken behaviour. I have compromised you. We must marry.”

“But I do not even know you!” she replied in alarm. “What if you are…witless?”

He shook his head. “I completed Cambridge with honours.”

“Unkind?”

“I have never raised my hand or voice against a defenceless servant. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, can confirm that. She has known me since I was four.”

“A gambler?”

“My fortune is still quite intact, at six thousand so far. You may rest assured that I am not a gambler.”

She gasped at his wealth, but pressed on, for it was of no true consequence in the present burning matter. Instead, she continued. “A drunkard?”

“I shall have to prove myself to you on that score. I do not usually get drunk. But this one special Scottish whisky does appear to have a most peculiar effect upon me. I vow hereafter to stay away from it entirely.”

“But…I want to marry for love.” She wanted desperately to look away from the handsome man in front of her, but her eyes betrayed her, for they would not leave his face.

Mr. Darcy sucked in a deep breath and was about to respond when his father waved him to silence and addressed Elizabeth himself.

“That, my dear young woman, is a rather novel notion. To marry for love. As my son said, he is very rich and you do not have a dowry. Will that not change your mind about the marriage?”

She sighed deeply. “If I cannot respect the man by my side, all the money in the world will not make me happy.”

Old Mr. Darcy nodded with approval, and waved his permission for Fitzwilliam to continue to argue his case.

“Well then, Miss Bennet, you have only to tell me how to win your respect and I shall try my hardest to do so. Indeed, I have already begun to respect you quite sincerely. You did not hesitate to tell us of your ‘less fortunate’ family situation, and you pronounce yourself unwilling to marry me, even though I am quite wealthy. I find that admirable indeed.”

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. “You have no objection to my relations? I must confess, my mother and younger sisters are rather silly.”

“My aunt, Lady Catherine, is not the most reasonable of relations, either.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Old Mr. Darcy chastised his son.

“You seem determined to challenge me, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, then turned crimson, for her accidental use of his Christian name caused her to recall crying out the word in the very throes of passion. She had to admit that this fine young man had a hidden sense of humour, a strong code of honour and the most handsome of physical forms. Perhaps…perhaps she could trust him with her future.

Mr. Darcy rubbed the insides of her palms. He loved the way she spoke his name, and the twinkle in her eyes. He shivered with pleasure as he remembered hearing her endearingly cry out his name at the height of their ecstasy…

Now, kneeling before her, he felt hot and pleasantly flustered, anticipating a lifelong enjoyment of this responsive, intelligent and no-nonsense beauty. He had only known her for a very short interlude but he felt a surprising connection with her.

Old Mr. Darcy was happily satisfied with their conversation so far. His son knew that he had done wrong, and was taking responsibility for his actions, upholding his duty and honour. And this young woman, though without connections or wealth, seemed an exceptional find, nothing at all like the regrettable Miss Bingley. He felt confident that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would stand up to – and stand by – her husband, for better or worse.

He left the young couple to talk and stepped out of the room again, where he found his valet waiting. As he had suspected, the cup smelt of laudanum and liquor, solving the mystery of Elizabeth’s presence in the room.

As for Fitzwilliam’s side of the tale, old Mr. Darcy had a good idea that it was indeed his rakish godson’s doing. It was evident from the way Wickham had insisted on showing him where Fitzwilliam was, immediately after he finally arrived at Netherfield. Then Mrs. Hurst had appeared by way of the servant’s entrant, most improperly attired. And he had not missed the angry glare that was then shared between Wickham and the married woman.

They planned to compromise my son. But what for? To obtain money from me to shut them up, most likely. But were there two separate plans, or did all three of them, Wickham, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, work together?

He found, abruptly, that he did not care. He was altogether sick of providing Wickham with a second, a third, nay, countless chances. It seemed that the young man’s dissolute ways were fixed. Very well, then. Old Mr. Darcy would wash his hands of Wickham. He would buy his godson a commission to India, and have him shipped off immediately. Nor could they stay longer at Netherfield, either.

With a vigorous torrent of plans in his head, old Mr. Darcy returned to the room, where he found that he had interrupted Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth in a sweet embrace. They broke apart, and he told them of his thoughts.

By the time the Darcys and the Bennet sisters drove to Longbourn, Wickham was on his way to Matlock House in London, under the restraint of two sturdy valets, there to await old Mr. Darcy’s nephew Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrangement for his passage to India.

Mr. Bingley was told, gently but firmly, of their suspicions about Miss Bingley’s use of the laudanum, and of Mrs. Hurst’s scheme with Wickham. A horrified Bingley, after some fierce interrogations, extracted the stories from both sisters. Miss Bingley confessed to the use of the drug but denied any involvement with Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Hurst, in her turn, admitted to the blackmailing scheme. She had been having an affair, on and off, with Wickham for some years. On the day of the scheme, she had spent too much primping and had arrived at the guest chamber too late to enact their scheme.

Sick at heart, Bingley sent them both away, back to Scarborough, after their confessions. Mrs. Hurst did not fall pregnant by Wickham, which was fortunate since her husband separated, unofficially but unequivocally, from her after learning about the affairs and the events of the day.

For his part, Bingley apologised to the Bennets and Darcys most profusely, with obvious sincerity. As a result, the incident did not damage his chance with Jane Bennet or his friendship with Darcy.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy married Miss Elizabeth Bennet some three weeks after the incident at Netherfield. Their premarital union did not result in a child. A year and a half later, however, when old Mr. Darcy handed over the full management of Pemberley to his son, Elizabeth gave birth to an heir.  Eventually, old Mr. Darcy was kept busy with his five grandsons and two granddaughters from his son Fitzwilliam’s marriage to Elizabeth. His daughter Georgiana gave him three grandchildren, as well.

The old gentleman did not move out of Pemberley but remained to see the second generation of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy teasing, arguing, comforting and loving each other. The young couple had a happy life, despite the strange beginning of their acquaintance. Old Mr. Darcy gained a good friend in Mr. Bennet, who came to visit his favourite daughter at the most unexpected time. Even the once-silly Mrs. Bennet became rather sensible once she had grown older and all of her daughters were well settled.

As matters transpired, Old Mr. Darcy did not once regret sending his godson to India, despite the fact that the latter was never heard from again.