Posted on Wednesday, 31 October 2007
“Papa!” Elizabeth cried in shock. “You have arrived a day early.”
“Yes, your mother insisted that we push forward, driving through the whole of the night. She was adamant that under no circumstances would we spend a night at an inn on All Hallow's Eve. You know how superstitious she can be, imagining all sorts of conjurers performing all kinds of hocus pocus. What was I to do?”
“Do not worry,” his favourite daughter replied good-naturedly before placing a kiss upon his weathered cheek. “I only wish Fitzwilliam were here to greet you, but he will not arrive home until tomorrow.”
“Oh Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet squealed while stepping down from out of the carriage. “My nerves are in shreds; for I am in need of rest from such an arduous, exhausting journey. Your father snored in the carriage all night long; therefore, I did not catch a wink of sleep!”
“Then you must rest, mamma. I shall escort you to your bedchamber straightaway, after which I will take my morning constitutional.”
“When you have your mother settled in, I will gladly join you.”
Elizabeth smiled at her father, pleased to have him all to herself for the entire morning.
When Mrs. Bennet was all tucked away, Elizabeth and her father made their way to explore the grounds on such a fine autumn morning.
Mrs. Bennet was too giddy to sleep; the splendours of her daughter's grand home were too enticing for her to ignore. Thus, she stole her way down the corridor to explore territory which had been hither before, off limits. She carried her smelling salts in case the excitement proved too much.
Gingerly, she opened the door to her daughter's chamber. The room was immense and exquisite. The curtains had been opened by the servants but Mrs. Bennet soon remedied that concern; she could not go snooping about in the light of day. When they were drawn, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dimness. The first thing her vision beheld was the massive bed. “Oh!” Elizabeth's mother whispered to herself, “Here is the bed in which my daughter conceived.”
Quickly, she crossed the room and ran her hand over the silken counterpane. “Oh, 'tis the finest silk imaginable.”
Inquisitively, she pulled back the bedding, crawled beneath, and dreamily mused, I have always wanted to sleep between silky-smooth sheets. She did not think for one moment about the impropriety involved—in Mrs. Bennet's head, the master was not expected home until the morrow; and her daughter, seldom, if ever, returned to her chambers after dressing for the day. She was free to indulge.
Mr. Darcy had pressed onward through the course of the night; he was most anxious to be home. He had ridden long and hard since he had been away from his dear wife for a full week. It was the first time in their marriage that they had endured such a separation. Besides, his in-laws were coming on the morrow and Elizabeth seemed to act twitchy with her parents around; similar to the ailment which plagued Maria Lucas.
Thoughts of his wife's smooth skin and alluring curves freely came to his mind and helped to sustain him; thus he was up all night in the saddle. The truth being, he was a man in desperate need of relief. He was hopeful to find his sweet wife still abed. When entering the darkened chamber, he smiled to see Elizabeth's form beneath the covers.
Tiptoeing to the bedside, Darcy unbuttoned his clothes and let them fall to the floor. For eight hours straight, he had been envisioning this precise moment.
Nestling alongside her back, the sleep deprived husband spooned as close as possible. Despite her sleepiness, his wife's response was favourable, for she too pressed against him in return.
In the darkness, Darcy's lips soon made their way behind her neck. She moaned softly in pleasure. Next, his hands began their customary journey. He pulled up her nightgown and began to caress the softness of her flesh.
Murmuring sweetly within her ear the eager husband whispered, “It has been far too long. Allow me to worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped.”
Through her increasing moans, he sensed his wife's wholehearted agreement; but barely before taking possession of her lips as she turned towards him, Darcy had heard her drowsily exclaim, “Oh Thomas! You have been holding back on me. Yes, I grant you free rein!”
In that instant his eyes went wide as did his mother-in-law's. She shrieked and so did Mr. Darcy. Immediately, Mrs. Bennet cried for her smelling salts. Darcy sprang up, nodding his head while reaching for the bottle on the side-table. With outstretched arms, Mrs. Bennet awaited the anticipated fortification, but it never came; for across the room, sprawled out in a chair, donned in his birthday suit, Mr. Darcy was inhaling the life out of the bottle.
Elizabeth and her father returned from their morning ramble to be greeted with the surprised knowledge that the master had arrived home a day premature. Yet, this jolt was nothing in comparison to the astonishment that father and daughter had also received that day, for the initial bafflement remained with them throughout the rest of their lives.
From that day and all days following, Mrs. Bennet was seen strutting round the house with a superior air about her and she would often be found either staring obsessively out the windows, as if in a trance, or in overt flirtation with her panic-stricken husband and any other male who came within her path.
What was more shocking and especially unnerving to Mrs. Darcy was the fact that her very dear, once virile husband, seemed to have experienced a mental break down of sorts. For no apparent reason, he could not and would not make love to her while her parents remained under Pemberley's roof. He jumped at the slightest provocation and appeared to have taken a preference to their being in his bed within his own chamber. Mrs. Reynolds had also informed the mistress that the master had asked her to order several cases of smelling salts from the Mediterranean.
Unbeknownst to the bewildered father and daughter, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had befallen victim to what is known today as, Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.
The End
Author’s Note: Special thanks to Nancy and tJean for their pervious editing and to Sybil for her encouragement. Any errors remaining are mine. The inspiration behind this tale is from a true happening to my dear brother-in-law, who after having worked all night long came home to find his mother-in-law sleeping in his bed regardless of the fact that his children told her not to do so. However, my DBI did not climb in the bed but was instead seething inside that she’d sleep in the only room that had darkened shades and in his bed!