Chapter One
Hunsford, Kent
“I pray you will do me the courtesy of reading this letter.”
Before she could protest that she could not possibly accept any letter from him – the impropriety of such an action! – he had stuffed it into her hand.
Elizabeth stared at the folded paper in her hand, her name written clearly on the outside in Mr. Darcy’s strong hand.
She looked up to speak to him, to tell him that she could not accept such a letter; but his back was already retreating between the trees of the grove.
Biting her lip, she looked back at the letter again.
“I daresay I may as well read it as not,” she muttered, and broke the seal with fingers that, she was surprised to note, trembled slightly.
At that very instant she was startled by a rumble of thunder.
Looking up, she saw a line of black storm-clouds advancing from the south, blotting out the fine day.
The clouds were moving quickly, but she estimated that, if she hurried, she might just make it back to the safety of the parsonage before the storm broke.
Tucking the as-yet-unread letter inside her spencer to keep it dry, she began to walk at her swiftest pace back along the path towards the parsonage.
Excellent walker that she was, Elizabeth was still not fast enough to entirely beat the storm. Fat raindrops were falling from the sky before the parsonage was even in sight, and by the time she arrived at the gate her spencer was very damp and her skirts muddied.
Hurrying up the path as the rain beat down ever harder, Elizabeth rushed inside and almost collided with her cousin.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins stepped back, startled. “Whatever are you doing? I thought you gone with Charlotte and Maria to visit Mrs.Garman – surely they are not with you, in the rain?”
“No, sir, I went for a walk. I was not aware that they planned to go out,” Elizabeth replied, brushing past him and heading for the parlour, where she hoped to find a fire burning.
She was quite wet and her teeth were beginning to chatter.
Tugging at the soggy ribbons of her bonnet, she finally managed to yank it off and dropped it on the table before approaching the fire.
“You must take more care, cousin,” Mr. Collins said unctuously. “Had you only asked me before going out, I could have told you that there would likely be a storm this morning. Indeed, Lady Catherine predicted it yesterday at dinner, which you sadly missed.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, trying to ignore his foolish wittering. Unbuttoning her soaked spencer, she struggled to peel the sodden fabric off over her wet arms, not noticing for a moment the folded paper which fell to the floor.
Mr. Collins glanced down, frowning. He recognised the seal on the back instantly – had Lady Catherine not shown him several letters from her nephew? – and stooped to pick it up.
“How came you by this, Cousin Elizabeth? Did Mr. Darcy drop it somewhere?” Turning it over, he looked at the direction on the front.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“You trollop!”
“Mr. Collins!” Elizabeth gasped in horror, recoiling as she saw the letter in his hand.
“Lady Catherine warned me – oh, she saw you casting your allurements his way. ‘Mr. Collins,’ she said, ‘have an eye to your cousin. She seeks to tempt good men from their duty’.”
“Mr. Collins, I have not…”
“You will be silent!” he thundered, towering over her. He was a tall, solid man, and the small, lightly-built Elizabeth, who until that moment had never been intimidated in her life, was suddenly frightened that he would strike her. She shrank away.
“I knew at Longbourn, when you refused me! Dragging your tail like a bitch in heat, and then refusing me to increase my ardour, oh yes, but I was wise to your game! I chose a good and virtuous woman instead, and now you have turned your sights on a bigger prize – well, you shall not have him. He would never marry you,” Mr. Collins sneered, “the very fact that he writes to you should tell you that. A house in London or a cottage on his estate is all Mr. Darcy, or any other decent man, would offer you.”
Pressed against the wall, shaking her head in horrified, speechless denial, Elizabeth found her whole body trembling before her cousin’s senseless rage as he paced before her.
“Well,” Mr. Collins turned around and stared at her, and then he paused, seemingly struck by something.
Elizabeth looked around to see what had caught his attention. Checking the direction of his gaze, she realised that it was fixed on her bosom, heaving rapidly beneath the thin, damp bodice of her gown with her panicky, frightened breath. “No,” was all she had time to gasp before he was on her.
“Why should you give so freely to him that which you deny me?” was all Mr. Collins said before his mouth mashed down on hers, his hands tearing at her dress.
“Just a little taste,” he panted, his breath hot against her cheek as Elizabeth fought to get away, snapping her head from side to side, unable to scream as she could not get her breath.
He was crushing her against the wall, his hands brutally rough on her breasts, his leg forcing in between hers and rubbing hard at her.
“You can stay at Longbourn. We can all live there happily together,” Mr. Collins groaned, grinding his hips against her, lost in some sick fantasy.
Elizabeth finally saw her chance and managed to jam one hand up hard under his chin, snapping his head back.
He took his weight off her for the merest moment and she stamped on his foot.
“Ouch! What was that for? Elizabeth…” he took a step back and she ran, out of the room, out of the house, going she knew not where; uncaring of the rain still pouring down, she clutched her torn bodice to her and ran until her breath gave out.
Finally dropping to her knees, unable to run another step, she looked up and recognised that she was on a path where she had several times met Mr. Darcy.
Did I run here hoping to see him? she could not help but wonder.
He would help her, of that she had no doubt, despite the harsh words that had passed between them the previous evening.
She struggled to her feet and began to walk.
Showing up at Rosings in this state would be a disaster, but she had nowhere else to go.
She knew only that Darcy would help her.
Putting one foot slowly in front of the other, another clap of thunder made her jump.
Panicking, she looked behind her, expecting irrationally to see Mr. Collins chasing after her, and her foot slipped in the mud on the path.
Holding her dress up with both hands as she was, she could not save herself, and tumbled down the grassy bank beside the path.
The stream at the bottom, burbling merrily over stones, that always looked so inviting in the sunshine, suddenly looked cold and treacherous.
With a shriek, Elizabeth fell helplessly in, headfirst. Her head struck a protruding rock and suddenly she was still.
“I pray you will do me the courtesy of reading this letter.”
Before she could protest that she could not possibly accept any letter from him – the impropriety of such an action! – he had stuffed it into her hand.
Elizabeth stared at the folded paper in her hand, her name written clearly on the outside in Mr. Darcy’s strong hand.
She looked up to speak to him, to tell him that she could not accept such a letter; but his back was already retreating between the trees of the grove.
Biting her lip, she looked back at the letter again.
“I daresay I may as well read it as not,” she muttered, and broke the seal with fingers that, she was surprised to note, trembled slightly.
At that very instant she was startled by a rumble of thunder.
Looking up, she saw a line of black storm-clouds advancing from the south, blotting out the fine day.
The clouds were moving quickly, but she estimated that, if she hurried, she might just make it back to the safety of the parsonage before the storm broke.
Tucking the as-yet-unread letter inside her spencer to keep it dry, she began to walk at her swiftest pace back along the path towards the parsonage.
Excellent walker that she was, Elizabeth was still not fast enough to entirely beat the storm. Fat raindrops were falling from the sky before the parsonage was even in sight, and by the time she arrived at the gate her spencer was very damp and her skirts muddied.
Hurrying up the path as the rain beat down ever harder, Elizabeth rushed inside and almost collided with her cousin.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins stepped back, startled. “Whatever are you doing? I thought you gone with Charlotte and Maria to visit Mrs.Garman – surely they are not with you, in the rain?”
“No, sir, I went for a walk. I was not aware that they planned to go out,” Elizabeth replied, brushing past him and heading for the parlour, where she hoped to find a fire burning.
She was quite wet and her teeth were beginning to chatter.
Tugging at the soggy ribbons of her bonnet, she finally managed to yank it off and dropped it on the table before approaching the fire.
“You must take more care, cousin,” Mr. Collins said unctuously. “Had you only asked me before going out, I could have told you that there would likely be a storm this morning. Indeed, Lady Catherine predicted it yesterday at dinner, which you sadly missed.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, trying to ignore his foolish wittering. Unbuttoning her soaked spencer, she struggled to peel the sodden fabric off over her wet arms, not noticing for a moment the folded paper which fell to the floor.
Mr. Collins glanced down, frowning. He recognised the seal on the back instantly – had Lady Catherine not shown him several letters from her nephew? – and stooped to pick it up.
“How came you by this, Cousin Elizabeth? Did Mr. Darcy drop it somewhere?” Turning it over, he looked at the direction on the front.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“You trollop!”
“Mr. Collins!” Elizabeth gasped in horror, recoiling as she saw the letter in his hand.
“Lady Catherine warned me – oh, she saw you casting your allurements his way. ‘Mr. Collins,’ she said, ‘have an eye to your cousin. She seeks to tempt good men from their duty’.”
“Mr. Collins, I have not…”
“You will be silent!” he thundered, towering over her. He was a tall, solid man, and the small, lightly-built Elizabeth, who until that moment had never been intimidated in her life, was suddenly frightened that he would strike her. She shrank away.
“I knew at Longbourn, when you refused me! Dragging your tail like a bitch in heat, and then refusing me to increase my ardour, oh yes, but I was wise to your game! I chose a good and virtuous woman instead, and now you have turned your sights on a bigger prize – well, you shall not have him. He would never marry you,” Mr. Collins sneered, “the very fact that he writes to you should tell you that. A house in London or a cottage on his estate is all Mr. Darcy, or any other decent man, would offer you.”
Pressed against the wall, shaking her head in horrified, speechless denial, Elizabeth found her whole body trembling before her cousin’s senseless rage as he paced before her.
“Well,” Mr. Collins turned around and stared at her, and then he paused, seemingly struck by something.
Elizabeth looked around to see what had caught his attention. Checking the direction of his gaze, she realised that it was fixed on her bosom, heaving rapidly beneath the thin, damp bodice of her gown with her panicky, frightened breath. “No,” was all she had time to gasp before he was on her.
“Why should you give so freely to him that which you deny me?” was all Mr. Collins said before his mouth mashed down on hers, his hands tearing at her dress.
“Just a little taste,” he panted, his breath hot against her cheek as Elizabeth fought to get away, snapping her head from side to side, unable to scream as she could not get her breath.
He was crushing her against the wall, his hands brutally rough on her breasts, his leg forcing in between hers and rubbing hard at her.
“You can stay at Longbourn. We can all live there happily together,” Mr. Collins groaned, grinding his hips against her, lost in some sick fantasy.
Elizabeth finally saw her chance and managed to jam one hand up hard under his chin, snapping his head back.
He took his weight off her for the merest moment and she stamped on his foot.
“Ouch! What was that for? Elizabeth…” he took a step back and she ran, out of the room, out of the house, going she knew not where; uncaring of the rain still pouring down, she clutched her torn bodice to her and ran until her breath gave out.
Finally dropping to her knees, unable to run another step, she looked up and recognised that she was on a path where she had several times met Mr. Darcy.
Did I run here hoping to see him? she could not help but wonder.
He would help her, of that she had no doubt, despite the harsh words that had passed between them the previous evening.
She struggled to her feet and began to walk.
Showing up at Rosings in this state would be a disaster, but she had nowhere else to go.
She knew only that Darcy would help her.
Putting one foot slowly in front of the other, another clap of thunder made her jump.
Panicking, she looked behind her, expecting irrationally to see Mr. Collins chasing after her, and her foot slipped in the mud on the path.
Holding her dress up with both hands as she was, she could not save herself, and tumbled down the grassy bank beside the path.
The stream at the bottom, burbling merrily over stones, that always looked so inviting in the sunshine, suddenly looked cold and treacherous.
With a shriek, Elizabeth fell helplessly in, headfirst. Her head struck a protruding rock and suddenly she was still.