Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (3 page)

Thus the matter was decided, and Jane set off on horseback the three miles to Netherfield. Before long her mother’s prayers were answered, and it began to rain hard. Elizabeth was deeply
concerned for her sister, but Mrs Bennet was delighted with the turn of events.

‘When she arrives at Netherfield her dress will be quite soaked through!’ she declared. ‘Do you not think so, Mr Bennet?’

Mr Bennet, who was a poorly developed character in every way, merely shrugged.

‘Her nipples will be poking through the muslin like chapel hat pegs! Mr Bingley cannot fail to take notice!’

And indeed, the very next morning a note arrived from Netherfield, addressed to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was conflicted. While her compassionate heart urged her to be with her sister at this most worrying time, she was anxious to keep her distance from Mr Darcy. After much cogitation and
anxious pacing of the parlour, at length she made her decision.

‘Mother, I must go to Jane. Bingley’s ministrations are well intentioned, no doubt, but I cannot believe they will result in much easing of her symptoms.’

Mrs Bennet was exasperated. ‘She is being well taken care of, Lizzy! It is but a trifling cold! And Mr Bingley is unlikely to get past first base if Jane is to be chaperoned by
you
.’

Nevertheless, Elizabeth insisted, and when no horse could be found to accommodate her, she determined to walk the short distance to Netherfield across the fields. She leapt over stiles, sprang
over puddles and – being hopelessly accident-prone in a cute yet vulnerable way that made all red-blooded men want to shag her – she arrived thither with her dress in shreds and her
ankle shattered in several places, and was shown into the breakfast parlour.

The Misses Bingley were aghast at her appearance, and shrieked aloud at the muddy state of her petticoats.

‘And what, pray, has happened to your hair?’ asked Carrotslime Bingley, as tendrils of Elizabeth’s mane escaped from under her bonnet and tried to head towards the French
windows.

But Mr Darcy stared upon her countenance with such intent that her cheeks turned even ruddier than before.

‘It is thrilling to see a young lady so invigorated by exercise,’ he murmured, never taking his slate-grey eyes off her own. ‘I am a great believer in it as a
discipline
.’

Elizabeth’s enquiries after Jane’s health were politely answered, and after breakfast she was able to visit her in her bedchamber. Mr Bingley leapt up from the bedside as soon as she
entered.

‘Why Miss Bennet!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was just about to deliver your sister’s daily treatment!’

It was evident that in his anxiety for her sister’s health, Mr Bingley had barely rested – his attire betrayed him. His breeches were loosed, and his shirt was unlaced, and his face
bore the look of someone who had spent the night tossing, and possibly turning, too.

Elizabeth crossed to Jane’s bedside. Her sister was flush of face and breathing heavily.

‘Jane, my dearest, I am here now. I shall nurse you until you are well. Mr Bingley, pray summon the apothecary.’

‘I will send someone at once,’ he replied, tucking his shirt hastily into his breeches. ‘I’ll be back soon, Snuggle Bunny.’

Jane smiled weakly. ‘Don’t be long, Dumpling.’

When Bingley had quit the room, Elizabeth turned down Jane’s bedsheets. Thankfully, they dealt with rejection pretty well – they were turned down every day.

‘I’m so grateful to see you, Lizzy,’ Jane murmured. ‘Yet I am loath to ask you to take on my duties as scribe, as well as those of nursemaid.
The Lady’s Fancy
Bits
will have to do without an article about Fitzwilliam Darcy.’

‘Hush, now, do not tire yourself,’ chided Elizabeth, gently. ‘I will take on your journalistic duties gladly. I am a great reader of novels, as you know. Indeed, on the
strength of that alone, I would no doubt be able to breeze into a job in a prestigious publishing house
just like that
, should such opportunities for young ladies ever exist in the
future.’

‘So you will speak with Mr Darcy, even though you abhor him so?’

‘For you, Jane, I would do much more,’ replied Elizabeth tenderly.

‘It is agreed then.’ Jane settled back gratefully onto her pillow, and soon her breathing settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. Elizabeth kept watch upon the invalid, occasionally
mopping Jane’s brow and at other times dusting and polishing it, but after a while took down a book of poems from the bookshelf and began to read.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the breakfast room, the talk was of the second eldest Miss Bennet, and the exhibition she had made of herself. Her manners were dissected and pronounced to be very ill
indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence. In short, she had no style, no taste, no beauty.

‘My, did you note her countenance on her arrival?’ remarked Looseata Bingley. ‘She looked entirely wild!’

‘To walk three miles! What abominable independence!’ declared her sister.

‘And what of her petticoat? Six inches deep in mud!’

‘All was lost upon me,’ Bingley said gallantly. ‘I confess I did not notice her petticoat. Did you, Darcy?’

‘Indeed not,’ replied Mr Darcy. ‘I was far too busy looking at her tits.’

When luncheon was over and the rest of the party were at the card table, Elizabeth petitioned Mr Darcy for an hour of his time, that she might discern from him some facts that
might pique the interest of readers of
The Lady’s Fancy Bits
.

‘You flatter me, Miss Bennet, to suggest that young ladies may have any curiosity about my life and day-to-day business,’ Darcy remarked. ‘I hardly think myself a fit subject
for anyone to study. Moreover, speaking about myself gives me little pleasure.’

‘Rest assured, Mr Darcy, it will afford me little pleasure either,’ Elizabeth replied archly. ‘I think we are both of an understanding in that regard.’

Nonetheless, together they repaired to the drawing room, where Elizabeth laid out her notebook and writing pencils upon an occasional table, which was keen to let people know that it was only
occasionally a table –most of the time it was a wingback chair. While she did so, she could not help observing that Mr Darcy’s eyes were fixed upon her.

‘If you think to embarrass me, Sir, with your scrutiny, be informed that I am not intimidated easily,’ she said airily. ‘If there is something about my behaviour or appearance
that you find reprehensible, pray tell me, that I might seek to rectify it at once.’

Mr Darcy smiled.

Oh my!
His mouth was so … so …
mouthish
!

‘I make no such observation, Miss Bennet,’ he replied. ‘I was merely wondering how it would be to take up one of those fine pencils of yours, and to insert it, oh so slowly
…’

Elizabeth’s heart thudded in her chest.

‘ … into a pencil sharpener,’ he continued, his grey eyes dancing wickedly, like two evil imps high on cider.

At that moment, a servant Elizabeth did not recognize, his hair cropped close and his visage roughly stubbled, appeared from behind a potted-plant stand.

‘Ah, Taylor,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘Have you made your final appraisal as regards Miss Bennet?’

‘I have, Sir,’ replied Taylor.

‘And your conclusion?’

‘34C, Sir.’

‘Good! Then make haste to Meryton.’

Taylor gave a curt bow, and headed for the door.

‘My manservant, Taylor, has been despatched to buy some new undergarments for you,’ Darcy remarked, by way of explanation. ‘I could not help noticing that your bloomers and
stays were sullied during your journey from Longbourn.’

Elizabeth bristled. Mr Darcy’s impertinence seemingly knew no bounds!

‘I assure you, I have no need of charity, Sir,’ Elizabeth replied, both abashed and affronted. ‘My underthings may not be as finely stitched, nor as decoratively embroidered,
as those belonging to the Misses Bingley, but they are perfectly adequate for my needs.’

‘And what exactly are your
needs
, Miss Bennet?’ Mr Darcy asked playfully.

‘I have no
needs
, as you put it, Sir.’

‘You just said you did.’

God, he was an arse.
‘I think you understand my meaning perfectly, Mr Darcy,’ Elizabeth said firmly. ‘And please, no gifts.’

Mr Darcy looked disappointed. ‘Please indulge me, Miss Bennet,’ he said in a low voice, edging a little closer towards her on the chaise longue. ‘I am an inordinately wealthy
man, and if I wish to buy you a silk shift with little cut-out bits that allow just a fleeting glimpse of nipple, that is my prerogative. Or satin bloomers that cling, like water, to your firm
young …’

Mr Darcy’s eyes were now taking on a feverish intensity. Elizabeth decided it was in everyone’s best interests to cut him short.

‘Pray, do not embarrass me again, Sir. I cannot accept your gifts. I have no wish to be beholden to you.’

‘You are refusing me?’ Mr Darcy looked puzzled. He cocked his head to one side. Then cocked it to the other side. Then cocked his leg for good measure.

‘You are fond of cocking, Sir?’ Elizabeth enquired.

‘Oh, I am, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy murmured. ‘
Very
fond indeed.’

‘Come now, let’s move the plot along!’ shouted Elizabeth’s Subconscious.

Glancing down at her notebook, Elizabeth read the first of her questions in as commanding a voice as she could muster. ‘You have vast wealth at your disposal. Pray tell, how is it possible
to manage your estates and business interests so successfully?’

‘By exercising the
strictest
control,’ Mr Darcy replied. ‘I have over four hundred servants at Pemberley, and those who do not meet my exacting standards, or who
displease me, are soon beaten into shape.’

‘You are speaking metaphorically, I trust?’

‘No. I personally pull down their breeches and give them twenty strokes. Next question, Miss Bennet.’

‘Pemberley is considered one of the foremost houses in the county of Derbyshire, if not in all of England. What do you consider to be its finest merits?’

Mr Darcy gave a wicked smile. ‘Firstly, you must inform the young ladies who read your magazine that I am changing the name of my estate.’

‘Indeed, Mr Darcy?’

‘To
Member
ley.’

Elizabeth fought to keep her composure. She would not be baited into responding to his puerile schoolboy humour.

‘You must do me the honour of visiting, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘There is much there that I would like to show you. I have decorated many rooms after the French
fashion. You would pass many a happy hour there, I’m sure, fingering my
bibelots
.’

Elizabeth, occupied by the hurried writing of notes, was grateful to be looking down at her notebook so Mr Darcy could not see the blush that was now starting to spread across her cheeks.

‘Aside from calling upon friends in the country, how do you spend your time?’

‘I sail. I indulge in various physical pursuits. I ride – hard. And I get up whenever I can in Charlie Tango.’

‘Charlie Tango? Is that your hot-air balloon?’

‘No, he’s my rent boy.’

‘
I knew it!
’ yelled her Gaydar.

Seeing her discomfiture, Mr Darcy appeared to soften. ‘I am toying with you, Miss Bennet,’ he said in an amused voice. ‘Yes, Charlie Tango is my hot-air balloon.’

‘And your charitable pursuits? Are they close to your heart?’

Mr Darcy’s smile instantly vanished. ‘Some would say I have no heart, Miss Bennet.’

‘How can that be so, Mr Darcy?’

‘There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.’

He leant closer, and Elizabeth could smell his enticing, manly smell – she sensed cologne, linen, leather and something else. Pickled onions, perhaps?

‘I have many vices,’ Mr Darcy said huskily. ‘My libido, for one, I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding.’

‘That is a failing indeed!’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Implacable lust is a shade in a character.’

‘I have many shades, Miss Bennet,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘About fifty, last time I counted.’