Ficamnesty: 'Mrs. Darcy'
I had totally forgotten about this little ditty until I got a bit tipsy and let holdouttrout dig through my fic folder. Lol. I wrote this little snippet for a non-fandom friend last year. We share an unhealthy obsession with Pride and Prejudice sequels (one of these days I will write my comprehensive list of the good, the bad, and the WORSE). I think I probably had loftier goals for this at some point, but I've completely forgotten what they might be. Lol. So here it is in the name of ficamnesty. I claim no historical knowledge of the period or whatnot. Nor a grasp of the language. You've been warned. ;)
Mrs. Darcy
Elizabeth Bennet found that marriage brought a great many adjustments to a woman’s life, not the least of which the fact that she no longer was Elizabeth Bennet. It was a strange thing to be one person for near two decades and then one morning you are no longer Miss Elizabeth, second daughter of Mr. Bennet of Longbourne. Having been in one situation and standing her entire life, it was taking, perhaps understandably, some time to adjust to her new title.
Three full days had passed since her nuptials and yet she still struggled not to look over her shoulder when someone addressed her as ‘Mrs. Darcy’. She half expected to catch the ghost of Darcy’s mother behind her, with a long finger perhaps wagging in consternation that Elizabeth had so callously usurped her son. For surely a blood sister of Lady Catherine’s would be capable of coming back from the dead to share her displeasure at the match.
Fortunately, Elizabeth was not prone to hysterics or lingering flights of fancy and was quickly able to shove aside any imagined specters. Her new title did, however, bring Eilzabeth’s mind to the matter of her husband’s mother quite often. Elizabeth usually imagined her as a slightly taller and younger version of Lady Catherine.
A quick trip to the Portrait Gallery (though three flights of stairs and an endless corridor or two could admittedly hardly be called ‘quick’) put such a vision of the late Mrs. Darcy to rest, for though Anne Darcy did share with her sister an uncomfortably similar sharpness of feature, she had been, in fact, much closer to the ethereal Georgiana in appearance than Lady Catherine. Tall, elegant, fair, but with a spine of steel that was visible even in the varnished canvas already beginning to show its years.
That Georgiana had inherited from her mother everything except this spine of steel was equally clear to Elizabeth.
The youngest Darcy, though pleasant and clearly happy with her brother’s marital felicity, was also much more like the ghost Elizabeth occasionally fancied her mother-in-law to be. Georgiana wafted about the house, not seeming to impact anything, nor making even the smallest sound when not at the pianoforte. She regressed any progress made before her brother’s marriage, once again quite difficult to draw out into conversation among company, not unlike her own brother.
Elizabeth merely filed this away as another project to undertake in her new position. Though her own sisters covered the vast gamut of peculiarities of personality, none of them, not even morose, righteous Mary, were ever uncomfortable with inserting themselves into any social situation as if they belonged there.
Of this one trait, all of the Bennet sisters could be assured.
Hopefully Georgiana could master by practice what they had by blood. Elizabeth briefly toyed with the idea of setting all of her sisters upon Georgiana at once, but quickly abandoned the notion as she wished to draw Georgian out of her shell, not drive her batty to the point of needing to be locked away. Perhaps only Kitty then, in hopes that each would bring positive traits out in the other. God knew Kitty could use her own set of lessons in refinement.
Glancing in her mirror, Elizabeth watched her lady maid finish the last touches on her ensemble. Judging from the stern look on Therese’s face as she wrestled with her unruly curls, she no doubt wished Elizabeth herself possessed a bit more refinement as well. Or at the very least that her hair was a bit more cooperative. Elizabeth refused to wince as one last pin was driven home with excessive force. She had resigned herself to the fate of having a moody French maid attend her, for surely this was the price one must pay to pretend to be a great lady.
Besides, Darcy had seemed so happy to bestow her with her very own servant that she dared not complain, for it would be a poor way to repay such generosity. Even such, Elizabeth thought a bit longingly of the days when Betsy would flitter back and forth between five sisters and their mother. Betsy certainly had no skill close to that of Therese, but at least Elizabeth had never feared her.
Pushing the foolish thought aside, Elizabeth stood. One would hope she was finally coiffed enough to brave the breakfast room. Turning to Therese, she said, “Would you ask Mrs. Reynolds to attend me in my sitting room during the course of the morning, when convenient for her?”
Therese gave her a strange look Elizabeth couldn’t quite interpret, but quickly bobbed a curtsey and slipped out of the chamber. Elizabeth put it from her mind, more concerned with properly navigating her way to the breakfast room without her husband to escort her. She wondered if she might sketch a map of the house on her handkerchief, and whether or not Darcy might notice if she constantly pulled it out, or tried to make use of it in a more traditional manner and ended up with ink on her face. Not quite the beginning to her new life as Mrs. Darcy that she wanted. She therefore resigned herself to discretely asking directions from the staff, sparing her handkerchief an inky fate.
As she began her way downstairs, Elizabeth thought briefly of Charlotte and her serene pleasure in her domestic life, in running her own home. Elizabeth never thought to strike upon an occasion to be jealous of Mrs. Collins for anything, but she did envy her serenity and competence, not to mention her small rectory cottage that would probably never have occasion to swallow her whole and require a sea of servants to be sent out in search of her.
Though, if Mr. Collins were the price of such an easily navigated existence, Elizabeth might just prefer to starve to death within Pemberly’s great hulking insides instead.
By some miracle or alignment of the stars, this fine morning Elizabeth managed to find the breakfast room quite on her own.
Her husband was already at the table. He half rose from his chair at her entrance, and there was something about his face that made her think he was still a bit startled, but not unpleased, to see her walking into his breakfast room.
She nodded at him. “Good morning, husband,” she said, just to let him know his reaction had not gone unobserved.
His lips pressed together in a thin line, but she did not miss the humor about them as he nodded in return. “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied.
Spoken thus by her husband with the slightest edge of possessiveness, her newly bestowed title did not bring rise to images of ghosts at all. Taking her seat across from Darcy, Elizabeth industriously set her attention upon her meal, but, unsurprisingly perhaps, it did not remain fixed for long.
Darcy had already been out riding with his steward and looked becomingly flushed and rumpled from wind and chill, and Elizabeth found herself smiling at him over her tea, quite enraptured with this version of him.
As she might have hoped, he seemed a bit flustered by her attention, but any discomfort on his part was quickly hidden beneath his far too familiar mask of politesse. She felt a brief beat of disappointment before she turned back to her toast. As they were being attended by no less than three servants at the moment, she could hardly expect him to cross the table and nibble upon her lips. Even so, she wondered if a warm smile, or moment of silent communication would truly be so improper in this setting.
Elizabeth loved her husband dearly, but as anyone might expect of any new bride, she found herself learning new things about him all the time. He was even more of a puzzle than she would have expected. Which was just as well, as she could never be happy married to a man that only took her a moment to sketch completely. As much as she liked Mr. Bingley, she would have become bored with his simple joviality in only a matter of weeks. Providential then, that quiet, constant Jane had fallen in love with him and not herself.
Being married to Darcy was a bit like trying to learn a new song while one is both blindfolded and deaf. He had always been a walking conundrum from the first time she met him, the only difference now was that however she analyzed him, whatever role he was shouldering that day or moment, she could still always see the underlying presence of the man she had come to deeply admire and love. It was comforting, and though his chameleon tendencies did spark some displeasure now and again, that part of Elizabeth with the sharp tongue and keen eye was thrilled with the notion of spending the rest of her life trying to figure it out. She dearly loved a challenge.
Do not reveal those secrets too quickly, husband, Elizabeth thought fondly, gazing warmly at him.
Catching her regard once again, Darcy nodded politely, but she caught a spark of what might be heat or mischief in his eye before he looked once more upon his plate and asked about her plans for the day.
Elizabeth smiled. That would do very nicely, for a beginning.
Mrs. Darcy
Elizabeth Bennet found that marriage brought a great many adjustments to a woman’s life, not the least of which the fact that she no longer was Elizabeth Bennet. It was a strange thing to be one person for near two decades and then one morning you are no longer Miss Elizabeth, second daughter of Mr. Bennet of Longbourne. Having been in one situation and standing her entire life, it was taking, perhaps understandably, some time to adjust to her new title.
Three full days had passed since her nuptials and yet she still struggled not to look over her shoulder when someone addressed her as ‘Mrs. Darcy’. She half expected to catch the ghost of Darcy’s mother behind her, with a long finger perhaps wagging in consternation that Elizabeth had so callously usurped her son. For surely a blood sister of Lady Catherine’s would be capable of coming back from the dead to share her displeasure at the match.
Fortunately, Elizabeth was not prone to hysterics or lingering flights of fancy and was quickly able to shove aside any imagined specters. Her new title did, however, bring Eilzabeth’s mind to the matter of her husband’s mother quite often. Elizabeth usually imagined her as a slightly taller and younger version of Lady Catherine.
A quick trip to the Portrait Gallery (though three flights of stairs and an endless corridor or two could admittedly hardly be called ‘quick’) put such a vision of the late Mrs. Darcy to rest, for though Anne Darcy did share with her sister an uncomfortably similar sharpness of feature, she had been, in fact, much closer to the ethereal Georgiana in appearance than Lady Catherine. Tall, elegant, fair, but with a spine of steel that was visible even in the varnished canvas already beginning to show its years.
That Georgiana had inherited from her mother everything except this spine of steel was equally clear to Elizabeth.
The youngest Darcy, though pleasant and clearly happy with her brother’s marital felicity, was also much more like the ghost Elizabeth occasionally fancied her mother-in-law to be. Georgiana wafted about the house, not seeming to impact anything, nor making even the smallest sound when not at the pianoforte. She regressed any progress made before her brother’s marriage, once again quite difficult to draw out into conversation among company, not unlike her own brother.
Elizabeth merely filed this away as another project to undertake in her new position. Though her own sisters covered the vast gamut of peculiarities of personality, none of them, not even morose, righteous Mary, were ever uncomfortable with inserting themselves into any social situation as if they belonged there.
Of this one trait, all of the Bennet sisters could be assured.
Hopefully Georgiana could master by practice what they had by blood. Elizabeth briefly toyed with the idea of setting all of her sisters upon Georgiana at once, but quickly abandoned the notion as she wished to draw Georgian out of her shell, not drive her batty to the point of needing to be locked away. Perhaps only Kitty then, in hopes that each would bring positive traits out in the other. God knew Kitty could use her own set of lessons in refinement.
Glancing in her mirror, Elizabeth watched her lady maid finish the last touches on her ensemble. Judging from the stern look on Therese’s face as she wrestled with her unruly curls, she no doubt wished Elizabeth herself possessed a bit more refinement as well. Or at the very least that her hair was a bit more cooperative. Elizabeth refused to wince as one last pin was driven home with excessive force. She had resigned herself to the fate of having a moody French maid attend her, for surely this was the price one must pay to pretend to be a great lady.
Besides, Darcy had seemed so happy to bestow her with her very own servant that she dared not complain, for it would be a poor way to repay such generosity. Even such, Elizabeth thought a bit longingly of the days when Betsy would flitter back and forth between five sisters and their mother. Betsy certainly had no skill close to that of Therese, but at least Elizabeth had never feared her.
Pushing the foolish thought aside, Elizabeth stood. One would hope she was finally coiffed enough to brave the breakfast room. Turning to Therese, she said, “Would you ask Mrs. Reynolds to attend me in my sitting room during the course of the morning, when convenient for her?”
Therese gave her a strange look Elizabeth couldn’t quite interpret, but quickly bobbed a curtsey and slipped out of the chamber. Elizabeth put it from her mind, more concerned with properly navigating her way to the breakfast room without her husband to escort her. She wondered if she might sketch a map of the house on her handkerchief, and whether or not Darcy might notice if she constantly pulled it out, or tried to make use of it in a more traditional manner and ended up with ink on her face. Not quite the beginning to her new life as Mrs. Darcy that she wanted. She therefore resigned herself to discretely asking directions from the staff, sparing her handkerchief an inky fate.
As she began her way downstairs, Elizabeth thought briefly of Charlotte and her serene pleasure in her domestic life, in running her own home. Elizabeth never thought to strike upon an occasion to be jealous of Mrs. Collins for anything, but she did envy her serenity and competence, not to mention her small rectory cottage that would probably never have occasion to swallow her whole and require a sea of servants to be sent out in search of her.
Though, if Mr. Collins were the price of such an easily navigated existence, Elizabeth might just prefer to starve to death within Pemberly’s great hulking insides instead.
By some miracle or alignment of the stars, this fine morning Elizabeth managed to find the breakfast room quite on her own.
Her husband was already at the table. He half rose from his chair at her entrance, and there was something about his face that made her think he was still a bit startled, but not unpleased, to see her walking into his breakfast room.
She nodded at him. “Good morning, husband,” she said, just to let him know his reaction had not gone unobserved.
His lips pressed together in a thin line, but she did not miss the humor about them as he nodded in return. “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied.
Spoken thus by her husband with the slightest edge of possessiveness, her newly bestowed title did not bring rise to images of ghosts at all. Taking her seat across from Darcy, Elizabeth industriously set her attention upon her meal, but, unsurprisingly perhaps, it did not remain fixed for long.
Darcy had already been out riding with his steward and looked becomingly flushed and rumpled from wind and chill, and Elizabeth found herself smiling at him over her tea, quite enraptured with this version of him.
As she might have hoped, he seemed a bit flustered by her attention, but any discomfort on his part was quickly hidden beneath his far too familiar mask of politesse. She felt a brief beat of disappointment before she turned back to her toast. As they were being attended by no less than three servants at the moment, she could hardly expect him to cross the table and nibble upon her lips. Even so, she wondered if a warm smile, or moment of silent communication would truly be so improper in this setting.
Elizabeth loved her husband dearly, but as anyone might expect of any new bride, she found herself learning new things about him all the time. He was even more of a puzzle than she would have expected. Which was just as well, as she could never be happy married to a man that only took her a moment to sketch completely. As much as she liked Mr. Bingley, she would have become bored with his simple joviality in only a matter of weeks. Providential then, that quiet, constant Jane had fallen in love with him and not herself.
Being married to Darcy was a bit like trying to learn a new song while one is both blindfolded and deaf. He had always been a walking conundrum from the first time she met him, the only difference now was that however she analyzed him, whatever role he was shouldering that day or moment, she could still always see the underlying presence of the man she had come to deeply admire and love. It was comforting, and though his chameleon tendencies did spark some displeasure now and again, that part of Elizabeth with the sharp tongue and keen eye was thrilled with the notion of spending the rest of her life trying to figure it out. She dearly loved a challenge.
Do not reveal those secrets too quickly, husband, Elizabeth thought fondly, gazing warmly at him.
Catching her regard once again, Darcy nodded politely, but she caught a spark of what might be heat or mischief in his eye before he looked once more upon his plate and asked about her plans for the day.
Elizabeth smiled. That would do very nicely, for a beginning.