An Unpleasant Walk

An Unpleasant Walk

C. Rafe C.

Published by C. Rafe C. at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 C. Rafe C.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Endnotes

About the Author

Acknowledgements

First, I would like to offer profuse thanks to the people who volunteered their time and expertise to aid in the writing and revision of this tale: Jack, Gayle, Kat and Matt! Together, they kept me track and have made this story much better than it otherwise would have been. Thanks also to everybody who read and commented on this story when it was being posted online in serial form. And of course, I could not leave this section without expressing my gratitude to the ladies of the AHA chatroom for encouraging me to publish.

Chapter 1

April 9, 1812

On the whole, Elizabeth was enjoying her visit with Mrs. Collins. It afforded her the opportunity to study Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins – two individuals who had taken absurdity to new heights – and she eagerly catalogued each spectacular incident with an eye to amusing her father on her return home. The park was beautiful, and she took great pleasure in her daily rambles. Also, it was pleasant to see her friend so happy in her situation. There was only one source of anything resembling sadness threatening her stay: she did not have Jane for company, and was worried for her sister.

She was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane's last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when she saw on looking up, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said,

I did not know before that you ever walked this way.

I have been making the tour of the Park, he replied, as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?

No, I should have turned in a moment.

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.

Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday? said she.

Yes – if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.

And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know any body who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.

He likes to have his own way very well, replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence.

In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring any thing you had a fancy for?

These are home questions – and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.

Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.

Our habits of expense make us too dependant, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.

Is this, thought Elizabeth, meant for me? and she colored at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, And pray, what is the usual price of an earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.

He answered her in the same style, and the subject might have dropped then, had Elizabeth been quicker in introducing a change of topic. Instead the silence grew, and Colonel Fitzwilliam began to fancy her affected with what had passed. Taking this as proof of her attachment to himself, he decided to utilize her feelings to his advantage an act on an idea that had been tempting him for the duration of his acquaintance with the enchanting Miss Bennet.

You are correct, said he, "in one aspect of the matter. Although I freely admit that I cannot afford a love match, it does not follow that I cannot procure that which I fancy."

Elizabeth stopped walking and stared at him in astonishment. She must have misunderstood him; he could not be…no. The colonel was too much a gentleman to make her such an offer, was he not?

She forced her attention back to her companion, who had continued speaking. My wages and allowance together let me live quite comfortably, and I promise that you will never want for anything while under my care.

There was no mistaking his meaning now; Colonel Fitzwilliam had just offered to make her his mistress. She responded as any gently bred female would be expected to: she drew her hand back and slapped him hard across his cheek. Flexing her hand against the sting from the impact, she took several steps away from him, glaring with all her might. How dare you! You, sir, are no gentleman! What presumption, to think that I would accept such an offer. The very idea is repellant to me, even if I did not consider the effect such a course would have on my family and the reputation of my sisters. No. Not even if you were the last man on earth!

With that she turned to leave, but only made it a few steps before being brought up short by a painfully tight grip on her upper arm. Before she could react, he spun her around to face him and backed her up against a tree. Such fire. I very much look forward to taming your wild spirit, my sweet. With that he brought his lips down on hers with bruising force, claiming her mouth so tightly that she could not cry out. Both of her arms were held in his crushing grip, so she lashed out with her feet, managing to catch him on the shin and prompting an oath.

As he drew away in pain, he released one of her arms, but before she could attempt to break free, he delivered a slap across her cheek that sent her reeling back, her head spinning.

You misunderstand your situation, Elizabeth, he growled. "You are acting as though you have a choice in the matter. The fact is that you do have four sisters. If you attempt to refuse me I will see to it that no respectable man will have anything to do with your family again, and, he added menacingly, you will still be mine."

Elizabeth was horrified to realize that he was not in the least put off by her resistance. If anything, his determination seemed to grow as she struggled. In truth, he had anticipated her to acquiesce quickly, perhaps even expressing some gratitude for his protection. However, her obvious antipathy to the idea would not stop him now that he had decided to have her. The violence of her refusal had, in fact, sparked a part of him that he usually kept well hidden. He actually smiled to see the anger in her eyes replaced by fear. That look was incredibly satisfying. Arousing, even.

His mood shifted again, the rapid changes adding to her bewilderment. He gave her a soft smile and drew his thumb across her bruised lips, Do not worry, my sweet; when you are mine I will make sure no harm comes to them. Of course, they will think you dead, so you can never contact them again, but their reputations will not suffer, I promise. The kindness of his tone was at odds with his words, and cold gripped Elizabeth’s whole being as she thought of what the man in front of her was capable of.

Panting, Elizabeth backed away as far as his grip on her arm and the oak tree at her back would allow, and began to plead. Please, please Colonel. Do not do this. I will tell no one. Just let me go, please.

Shhhh, none of that, now, he said, closing in again and using his body to pin hers firmly against the trunk of the tree, kissing her once again with punishing force. He had her trapped, and her strength was nothing to that of a trained solder. She closed her eyes and attempted to think on anything other than her immediate circumstances, but to no avail. Her mind refused to obey her, and instead of blocking out his unwelcome attentions, it seemed determined to register and commit to memory every single touch and kiss.

Shifting his grip on her right arm down to her wrist, he brought her hand up over her head, and soon captured her left wrist as well managing to keep both of her small wrists captive in one hand, which left his right hand free to roam over the rest of her body, and roam it did. She shuddered in revulsion and closed her eyes against her tears of shame as he pinched her buttocks and squeezed her breasts, sliding his hand underneath her gown to tease her nipples.

Her whimper of fear was answered with a throaty moan – almost a growl – and he suddenly thrust his hips forward pinning her even more tightly against the rough bark of the tree. The tears she had just managed to keep in check to this point began to flow when she felt his arousal pressed against her, and she sobbed uncontrollably as he rubbed himself against her, grunting with his exertions and never ceasing his vile attentions to the rest of her body. At some point she realized he had stopped kissing her lips, but that was little comfort, as his mouth now was moving down her neck and across her breasts in concert with his hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, his mouth ceased its activity, and she heard his breathing change in rhythm. Soon after that she felt his body suddenly stiffen and them spasm briefly against hers, his hips thrusting forward one last time before he ceased moving entirely for a few moments.

Next time, my sweet, I promise we will do this properly, he said huskily, kissing away her tears for all the world like a caring husband with his new bride, though he still held her wrists captive. "Soon, though, Elizabeth. I will not wait long. Soon, I promise, you will be mine forever. Do not worry. Perhaps while your cousin and his family visit at Rosings tonight I can find some time to slip away unnoticed and come to you. You will wait for me at Hunsford." This last was said with an air of command. After he finished kissing the tears from her cheeks, he planted a soft kiss on her lips and stepped back, finally releasing her.

Now, I ought to return to my chambers before somebody finds me in such a condition, he gestured unabashedly to the spreading dampness on the front of his still-buttoned breeches. Do not worry, sweet one, I will take care of everything. And, raking her body with his eyes one last time, he turned and walked briskly back to Rosings, as though nothing of greater import than a casual conversation had passed between them.

Chapter 2

April 9, 1812

She was not sure how much time had passed. After watching the colonel until he was out of sight, Elizabeth’s legs had given way, and she had sat down heavily at the base of the oak tree. Doubting that her legs could support her even now, she had yet to move from that position. Certainly the day had gone from the brisk cool of an early spring morning to a heat that made her shawl uncomfortable, but she did not consider removing it; it hid the marks of her shame, at least the ones she was sure would soon be visible on her arms and wrists. The other bruises would not be so easily concealed. Her lips felt sore and her left cheek was throbbing with painful intensity. Vaguely, she wondered if Charlotte would believe that she had tripped over a root while on her walk and received the bruise as a result. She doubted it. Her friend was altogether too perceptive.

Charlotte. That thought presented itself as important. But why?

She thought on it for a minute, forcing her confused thoughts into some semblance of order, but it took longer than it should have for her to realize that Charlotte would be worried. A quick glance at the shadows on the ground confirmed that she had been gone far longer than usual and had probably missed the noontime meal.

Her head cleared somewhat as the reality of her situation crashed down on her, pulling her out of the haze of the trauma. As bad as things were, they would be even worse should she be found sitting here as she was. She would have to think of an explanation on her walk back to the parsonage.

Wearily, and with trembling legs, she stood up and walked back to the path. She had not even realized that Colonel Fitzwilliam had dragged her this far out of sight, but she supposed it was not surprising. Paying attention only to not tripping over her own feet, she did not notice Mr. Darcy’s approach until he called her name. She looked up to see him nearly running towards her, and had to suppress the urge to turn and flee from what her overwrought mind could only interpret as a new source of danger. Carefully, she arranged her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression, and waited for him to approach.

Miss Bennet, are you well? Darcy asked when he was within polite speaking distance, still somewhat out of breath from his brisk pace. Mrs. Collins said you have been out since breakfast. She was very worried for you. His tone indicated clearly that Mrs. Collins was not the only one worried, and Elizabeth blinked at the novelty of that thought.

He squinted slightly as he looked at her, making Elizabeth realize that the sun was at her back. Good, she thought, that made it less likely that he would be able to distinguish the true nature of the mark on her cheek. However, she had just lost her opportunity to plan her story in advance. With no other inspiration forthcoming, she gave the feeble explanation that had first occurred to her. I am well enough sir. I did trip earlier, she touched her injured cheek and tried to force a chagrined smile, but it is nothing really.

As she spoke she had begun walking – as steadily as possible to avoid further suspicion – back towards the parsonage, and Darcy fell in step beside her. I guess I was just enjoying the day so much that I lost track of time. I am sorry to have given anybody alarm.

He gave her a dubious look, but might have let her excuse pass had she not chosen that moment to actually trip over an exposed root. It was not much of a stumble, and she probably would have righted herself without falling, but for Darcy’s quick reaction, reaching out and grabbing her elbow to steady her.

Darcy’s gesture was reflexive and not in any way aggressive, but Elizabeth’s body had its own set of reflexes—reflexes which were highly strained after the morning’s encounter. At the sudden grip on her arm she started badly, crying out and pulling herself sharply away, completely upsetting her already precarious balance. Before either had time to process what had happened, Elizabeth was sitting on the ground, her breath rapid and panicked, and staring up at Darcy’s tall form with undisguised terror, an expression which quickly transformed itself into one of mortification, though the fear did not vanish completely.

Frozen in place as she was, Elizabeth could not miss the moment when his eyes widened in shock, or the disgust that followed quickly. Only then did she notice that she had dropped her shawl, leaving the angry red marks on her arms and wrists clearly visible. She felt her face burn with shame, and quickly dropped her eyes to the ground. Now the proud Mr. Darcy had one more reason to find fault with her. She was irrevocably ruined, and with her, her family.

~*~ *~* ~*~

Darcy was disgusted – utterly and completely disgusted – but not with Elizabeth. He had seen that hunted look several times before, and each time it had been caused by one of two men. Wickham he had long given up as a lost cause, but he had tried to reason with Fitzwilliam. Five years ago, when he and Fitzwilliam had been given joint charge of Georgiana, Darcy had sat him down, saying clearly that if he did not reform Darcy would do everything in his power, even to the point of legal action, to keep him away from his impressionable younger sister. Of course Andrew had agreed at the time, but now it appeared as if he had not changed at all, he had merely taken better care to hide his proclivities from his cousin’s notice.

His anger peaked even higher when she cringed as he approached, and he schooled himself to move slowly, making each movement painfully deliberate, finally attaining a position kneeling next to her. For a few moments he just sat very still, observing the paired bruises marring her fair skin at her wrists and upper arms. There was no way she would be able to claim those came from a fall. Not when they were so evenly matched, with the outline of a man’s large hand clearly discernable on her arm.

Carefully, he reached out and retrieved her shawl from behind her. He did not want to further alarm her, but she was shivering. With a care that would have been inordinate under any other circumstance, he placed the garment on her shoulders. At least this time she did not flinch at his movement, though she still had not lifted her eyes from their determined study of the path. Knowing it would probably frighten her, but unable to stop himself now that his hand was so near, he gently took her chin in his hand – prompting another small flinch, quickly suppressed – and lifted it slightly so that he might examine the vivid red mark on her cheek.

Her breaths were quick, shallow pants, and her eyes were screwed shut as if she expected him to strike her as well. The thought that her lively spirit had been so damaged made him feel as though his heart was being crushed, and he released her chin and – being careful not to startle her – moved away before he gave way to his roiling emotions. That, certainly, would do more harm than good at this point. When he saw her begin to cry, it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her into his arms. Physical contact would not be comforting to her right now, he told himself firmly, and in all probability he had already pushed her too far when he had replaced her shawl and touched her face. Instead, his frustration expressed itself in the form of tightly balled fists and words spoken quietly, but with undisguised menace, I could kill Andrew for this.

That was clearly not the response she expected, and she finally opened her eyes, though she was still not quite able to look him in the eye, but rather focused her gaze somewhere around the top button of his waistcoat. Not much of an improvement from the grimace of fear she had worn only moments ago, but Darcy was glad of the change nonetheless.

A-andrew? Her voice was quiet and meek. Of all the attitudes he had seen her in, meekness was new, and he most decidedly did not like it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, he clarified, and his suspicions were confirmed by the alarm she displayed at just hearing his name. He is as much a disgrace to his uniform as that dissolute scoundrel Wickham. Neither should be allowed within a hundred miles of any respectable female. He stopped short in his rant, and gave her a contrite look, though she was still not meeting his eyes. I am sorry. Now is not the time for me to vent my anger.

No, no. I find I do not mind being distracted just now, she managed. Nor can I object to any anger directed at. . . . just thinking of saying his name caused her throat to tighten, and she swallowed, unable to complete her sentence

Then I am glad to be of service, Darcy said, trying to keep her from sinking into silence once more. Come, he said, standing slowly and offering his hand, we should keep walking, or at the very least find a more comfortable seat.

She glanced at his hand as if puzzled by it, but then shook her head slightly and accepted his help gaining her feet. Once she was standing, he released her hand and took a step away from her, indicating with a nod that she was to lead the way.

Once again he fell into step beside her, though maintaining slightly more distance than propriety required, and as they walked she found herself watching him intently out of the corner of her eye. It was not that he was moving awkwardly, far from it, but there was something unusual about how he was carrying himself, and despite herself she was fascinated. She was not to know that he was taking care to act as he might around a spooked horse. He might not always feel confident in his interactions with people, but he was good with horses, and with little other relevant experience to draw on he thought that this course of action could at least do no further harm. That she appeared as skittish as a spooked thoroughbred was not an observation to which he ever intended to admit; despite the truth behind it, he sincerely doubted she would appreciate the comparison.

Presently, they reached a stone bench set off the path, and she sank down onto it in a graceless move that revealed more to Darcy of her exhaustion than any words could have done. Darcy sat down on the other end of the bench, as far from her as he could get, and put his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers together. She had expected stuffy, proper Mr. Darcy to sit as stiffly as he normally did in company, but instead here he was leaning back against the bench with his legs extended in front of him crossed at the ankles and his head cradled in his hands as if he were all alone in the world, and planning to enjoy a brief nap in the sunshine.

His relaxed posture allowed her to relax slightly as well, and Darcy suppressed a satisfied grin at the success of his strategy. If he was to help her – and he would help her, he just preferred her to willingly accept such assistance – she had to trust him enough to confide in him, and for that she needed to be comfortable in his presence. Fighting against the need to demand she tell him everything so that he could make it right, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. He was not a man accustomed to waiting, but for her sake he would be patient; he would wait for her to speak first.

Will you tell me about Mr. Wickham? she asked after several minutes of silence.

Darcy almost swallowed his own tongue at the unexpected question, but managed not to bolt upright in his seat. He pondered how to respond to her request, but it only took a moment to decide to tell her the whole history. He reasoned that if he wanted her to trust him, then he should show her the same courtesy. So he did, explaining their childhood together, his father’s will, and their pecuniary dealings, ending with Georgiana’s near elopement, and his devastation.

No, no, no! Elizabeth thought, Everything is backwards. Wickham is kind and gentlemanly, and Mr. Darcy is cold and unfeeling. But then, I thought Colonel Fitzwilliam to be kind as well. Foolish, foolish Lizzy! To fall for the flattery of such men because of a single insult. It felt so right to dislike Mr. Darcy after he slighted me, and it was nice to show him that other men would pay attention to me, even if he thought I was only tolerable. I am just as bad as Lydia. I could not have acted worse had I been trying to inspire Mr. Darcy to jealousy in order to make him rethink his slighting me. That thought unexpectedly struck a chord. No…I cannot possibly be attracted to Mr. Darcy. True, he is exceedingly well-favored, but no…No! But then, ‘love and hate are both feelings of passion, and are strangely easy to confuse.’ Father said that to me years ago when I had first come out and had taken a decided dislike to one of the Gouldings. Oh, this is too confusing.

Darcy had waited patiently, allowing her time to process what he had just said, but her prolonged silence was beginning to concern him. His worry was not alleviated when the next words to pass her lips were "Who are you?" It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, and he struggled for a moment to draw breath. Had Fitzwilliam struck her so hard as to addle her wits? Or maybe the trauma of the day had taken its toll, or she had hit her head. A surreptitious glance did not reveal any blood. . . .

In Hertfordshire you were haughty and rude, nothing and nobody could please you. Darcy gasped in a relieved breath – she had not lost her memory after all. Mr. Wickham told us all of your history together – his version of it that is – and you gave us no reason to disbelieve him. Instead, his lies confirmed everybody’s general opinion of your arrogance and selfish disdain for the feelings of others. But despite my being part of the community you so despised, and being only tolerable, she saw him wince in recognition of her reference, you are all politeness and consideration right now. It even seemed as though there were times in the last few weeks that you sought out my company. You clearly thought yourself above my relations, yet Lady Catherine is every bit as nonsensical as my own mother in her own, overbearing way, and nobody in my family would ever act in such a base manner as your cousin has today, so you could not truly have any basis for disparaging my family or any of the families in Meryton. I say again, who are you, Mr. Darcy? Which is the real man: the kind stranger I have just met or the proud man I have known since last autumn?

He was silent for a full minute before answering, and the pain of his admission was evident in his voice, "At times, I hardly know the answer to that question myself. I – I hope that I am the ‘kind stranger’ you describe, but I fear I often fall short. Last autumn, I think, I would have been displeased with any society I found myself in, not that that is any excuse for my actions. I was not in a mood to be pleased by anyone; I was much too busy being angry with myself. I had nearly failed to protect my sister, and I had failed at drawing her out of the misery and guilt that consumed her after Ramsgate."

He lapsed into silence for some moments, I owe you an apology for my abominable behavior. My first excuse, you have just heard, and I hope you will credit the facts even if you do not believe they justify my actions. The second reason I had for acting as I did, towards you at least, was that I found you enchanting.

Elizabeth started and gave him a look of complete incredulity, and he realized how completely unaware of his admiration she had been. At least after this declaration he had some basis for understanding not only her but how she had seen him. No wonder she was confused now. Collecting his somewhat scattered thoughts he said, Yes, you may well be surprised at such an admission. I denied my feelings even to myself for so long that I could hardly expect anybody else to notice them, he shook his head at his own idiocy – he had expected her to notice, but now was not the time to indulge his own conceit. I did not want to be happy last autumn. I felt I did not deserve pleasure, not when my sister was miserable because of my failings. Yet, despite my resolution to be sullen, I never failed to enjoy myself in your company. You teased me out of my ill humor – oh, I know it did not appear that way as I was trying most strenuously to be certain it did not show, but you did – and I had the gall to resent you for it while at the same time falling violently in love with you.

You. . .in love? I. . .with me. . . ? Elizabeth could not form a coherent sentence. To hear what she had only begun to suspect, now confirmed in such an open manner, was shocking. From indifferent acquaintances, through enchanting, to love in the space of a minute’s conversation was almost too much to take in. Charlotte said she thought he was partial to me. Oh, Good Lord, how blind I have been. With that, she dissolved into tears yet again.

Abruptly remembering that he had a handkerchief, Darcy extracted the square of cloth from his pocket and pressed it into her hand before shifting back to his edge of the bench. As soon as she composed herself, he would insist she return to the parsonage to rest. And he would make sure that his aunt’s fool of a parson did not disturb her. It would be just like the sniveling sycophant to insist that Elizabeth accompany the party to Rosings after such a day.

Elizabeth hastily tried to order her thoughts as she dried her tears. If somebody had asked her this morning, she would have said that she had never desired Mr. Darcy’s good opinion, but she was now forced to admit that this was far from the truth. At first, she had used her wit to extract her pound of flesh as payment for his careless insult, but it had moved beyond that so gradually that she had hardly noticed the change. She enjoyed debating with him. His ideas challenged her own and, unlike most men of her acquaintance, he was not threatened by her challenging him in return. It was not love – not yet. The emotion was too new to be called by such a name, but she thought it would have been a good beginning if not for the day’s happenings. It was with the half-formed idea of making him less likely to regret her that she resolved to tell him all. The idea that his admiration might persist in the face of such ruination never occurred to her.

He plans to make me his mistress. The words of Elizabeth’s unsolicited, but much desired, explanation were quiet, but filled with an overpowering anguish that struck Darcy dumb, leaving him to listen in growing horror as she continued. He threatened to ruin my sisters if I do not agree, and even then he insists that he will have me. Now that she had started speaking of it, the words seemed to pile up, begging for release. I-I tried to run but he was too fast – t-too st-strong. He struck me when I kicked him in the leg, her fingertips lightly touched her cheek. Then he kissed me, and touched she faltered, pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders, caught up in the remembrance of the colonel’s repulsive caresses, when he started rubbing. . .I-I. . . Her hands unconsciously dropped into her lap as if shielding herself from the memory, leaving Darcy in no doubt of what she had felt rubbing against her. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she drew her feet up onto the bench and hugged her knees tightly to her chest. She continued speaking of her experience for another minute or two before she found herself unable to carry on. Her words were scarcely coherent, but it was enough for Darcy to realize that, while his actions had been vile, Colonel Fitzwilliam had not completely violated Elizabeth.

Darcy, meanwhile, had almost forgotten to breathe, tormented as he was by this evidence of his cousin’s depravity. When Elizabeth began to shiver once again despite the heat of the day, he could no longer resist attempting to comfort her. Cautiously, but firmly, he drew her into his arms, settling her head against his shoulder; she offered no resistance. He plans to come to me tonight and ‘do it properly.’

She trembled more violently and Darcy tightened his grip on