Beauty & Blackmail #2 First Chapter Up! The Episode continues. . .

The continuation of Daring Darcy is underway and as yet untitled. But I thought I would post the first few thousand words to give you a peek. This is a rough draft freewrite, no planning/plotting, just off the top of my head as the words come to me. I'm having so much fun doing this I only wish I could write faster. Enjoy! And I look forward to your comments in the forum.

CHAPTER ONE

Elizabeth was tired of receiving notes.

Lately, they never brought good news, only ill. Notes, letters, whatever form a slip of paper came to her in, she had begun to dread opening such missives and discovering what new difficulty or disaster it contained.

For once, she would like happy news. A sudden inheritance from a long-lost relative, perhaps. One of her sisters engaged. Mr Collins, passed away in a carriage accident and Charlotte begging her and Jane to come back to Longbourn and live out their days in peace and comfort.

This note, however, asked her why there was no announcement of an engagement in the society pages.

I was very clear, Miss Elizabeth. You assured me you had convinced Mr Darcy to comply with our demands. Yet I see no announcement that Fitzwilliam Darcy, an eminently eligible and notorious bachelor, has chosen as his bride a Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. Need I remind you of the consequences of failure?

Elizabeth tore it up into small pieces and then tossed them into the fireplace. She needed no reminding. Every minute of the last five days her mind had been able to rest on no other thoughts.

She closed her eyes.

Darcy, his breath mingled with hers as his mouth claimed her lips. Darcy, his hands sweeping up her bare skin to cup her breasts. Darcy, his strong body entering hers and claiming her with a ferocity that left her stunned. . .and frightened. A subtle fear, not that he would never hurt her, but that if she married him in time, she would come to be his slave. That she would do anything for him, fade away until her world was nothing but the pleasure of her husband, both in and out of the bedroom.

Had any woman ever loved a man with this all consuming, unreasonable, untenable, disagreeable passion?

But she had told him no, and not just because she had no wish to be consumed. But because she did not deserve him, not after what she had tried to do. Oh, if her motives had been entirely pure—to save Georgiana and nothing else—then she would have forgiven herself.

But she had seized the opportunity Mrs Younge had presented as if she were no better than a common social climber. Seized the chance to attach herself to wealth. Daydreamed for days before carrying out the deed of traveling home to Longbourn in style with Jane at her side, sweeping into her former home with a trail of chests following her. Chests full of dresses, exotic fruits and herbs, enough cloth and doilies and porcelain for all three of her younger sisters to start their homes. And money to dower them.

God, money to dower them. Money to ensure Mary did not have to become a governess, though the prospect did not seem to dismay her overmuch.

Daydreaming was for fools and children. Elizabeth straightened, then recalled that the messenger who had delivered the note was awaiting a reply. She grabbed ink and paper and penned a brief missive.

She could do nothing about the past, but she could change the future. And the future began with determining exactly where Mrs Younge resided, figuring out how to obtain the written evidence she had against Georgiana, and then delivering it anonymously to Darcy.

She must absolve herself of this stain on her character. Only then would she be able to move on with a clear conscious and self-respect.

* * *

“Georgiana, I wonder if—” Darcy entered the drawing room, expecting to see his sister sitting with a stack of letters and calling cards for the morning, and halted.

“Nephew,” Lady Matlock said, rising to come and greet him. She held out her face for a kiss.

He obliged. “Aunt. I did not expect to see you. . .so soon.” He certainly should have expected it, however.

She drew back, the expression in her fine dark eyes full of mirth and scorn. “You send me a note such as that and then do not expect me to come right away?” She turned back to Georgiana. “Men.”

His sister glanced up, inquiry on her face. “Oh?”

Lady Matlock, his mother’s sister and all but a twin in beauty, stopped. “Do not tell me. . .please. Oh, Fitzwilliam, this is rich, even from you. Did you not tell your sister?”

Georgiana looked between Darcy’s determinedly neutral expression and Lady Matlock’s incredulous one. “Fitzwilliam, what have you done now?”

“Me?” he protested.

“Never marry a rogue who knows how to make himself sound innocent,” their aunt said. Her hand crept up to her hip and with a heaving sigh, she gestured towards Georgiana. “Well?”

Darcy shifted, slightly uncomfortable. In the bright light of late morning, with two inquisitive female faces staring him down. . .he began to inch backwards, then stopped. No, he would not be run off by women. He imagined Elizabeth sitting there with them, and nearly paled.

He would be outnumbered. And if they had daughters?

Good Lord, what was he getting himself into?

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet has agreed to marry me,” he heard himself say. Did he feel faint? He felt faint. “I believe I will need reinforcements.”

“Fitz!” Georgiana cried, rising. “When did this happen?”

“Ah. . .last night? Smelling salts, Georgi. . .where are your smelling salts?”

“At the ball?” She stared at him. “When at the ball did you—” she mouth snapped shut as her eyes narrowed. “Brother.”

Their aunt turned and stared him down as well. Darcy felt warmth in his cheeks, and cursed.

“None of that, now,” Lady Matlock said crisply. “Well—this is sudden, Fitzwilliam. Were you and the girl inappropriate?”

“She is of age this year, I believe. Hardly a girl.” He sighed, and relented under the force of her stare. “I will say nothing other than my honour is now involved. She and I will wed, however. . .”

“What is it?” Georgiana asked after he did not continue.

Darcy moved forward, and flung himself into one of the chairs opposite the ladies’ couch. He stretched his legs out in front of him and stared rather moodily at his feet. Were he in any other company he would not have allowed himself so disgraceful a posture, but this was his family. They were not impressed with him, and so he need not have any dignity.

“She technically refused me. So there may be some irregularities.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Georgiana sat down, and howled with laughter. It was not at all ladylike. He gave her a baleful look.

Lady Matlock’s dark eyes glinted. “What reason did she give?”

What could he say without betraying the private business between he and Elizabeth? “There are extenuating circumstances, mostly out of her control. She. . .feels unworthy.”

“Is she a mouse or a fool?”

Darcy scowled at her. “She is neither! And I will thank you not to speak disrespectfully of my wife.”

His aunt stared at him speculatively. “Well, this is unexpected. You love the girl.”

He withdrew into himself. His feelings were his own, and too convoluted to put on display, even to the two of the closest people in his life. “I am pleased with my choice of a wife.”

Finally, his aunt resumed sitting. She pursed her lips, busying herself with pouring a cup of tea. He noticed not just how much she looked like his mother, but for the first time. . .how Elizabeth reminded him of his mother, and his aunt. The same dark hair, snapping eyes, and subtle mirth. The same quiet beauty that could turn intoxicating should the lady wish.

Was that why he had been so irrevocably drawn to her? It was a thought he would examine later.

“I will assist Georgiana with wedding preparations, but we will need to call on the girl.”

“I understand. But please wait until I tell you it is time. As I said, there are circumstances.”

“Very well, nephew. I am dying of curiosity, of course, but we shall be patient.”

* * *

Bingley was shown into the drawing room. A wise man, he immediately stopped, and began to back out.

“Oh, do not leave on my account,” Lady Matlock said with a toothy smile.

“How is Miss Bingley?” Georgiana asked sweetly. “Is she pleased with your new fiancée?”

“Ahh. . .Miss Darcy, Lady Matlock.” Bingley bowed. “A pleasure to see you both.”

“I suppose he sent you a note as well,” Lady Matlock said.

Bingley glanced at Darcy. “Ah, indeed. But our discussion is of no great importance—“

“Oh, sit down, Mr Bingley. No one here is your enemy.”

“Of course not, Lady Matlock, I would never think it so. I would be delighted to take a cup of tea, if I may.”

They spoke for some time on inconsequential things, Lady Matlock surprisingly quiet on the subject of Darcy’s marriage. Though he really should not be surprised. His womenfolk might tease and berate him in private, but they would present a united front before strangers. And anyone who was not family was a stranger, ultimately.

“Georgiana, dear,” his aunt said finally, “let us leave the gentlemen to their business. You and I have matters of our own to see to.”

“Barson has some details for you,” Darcy said.

“I shall consult with him then.” She placed a kiss on his forehead before leaving. “Never fear, my sister’s son. I have everything well in hand, and this will be excellent practice for your sister. It is not everyday one gets to plan an occasion of this magnitude.”

“What? Magnitude—“ but they had already left, and Darcy stared at the closed door with chagrin. Yes, he had told Barson that budget was no matter, but that did not mean he wanted his wedding to become the grand spectacle of the season.

Perhaps that was why his valet had choked when penning the note.

“Do you want my help on the matter?” Bingley asked, setting his teacup down.

“I think the timing of her reappearance is curious, don’t you think?”

Bingley frowned. I have little information tying Mrs Younge to any insurrectionist here in London, and certainly not in the country. Though I haven’t been looking. But. . .” They stared at each other.

“We know of at least two occasions my household was infiltrated,” Darcy said softly. “And two attempts on my life, one of them after I left service.”

“I do not believe anyone thinks you have truly left.”

“How is Amelie?”

“Settling in.” Bingley stood, and began pacing the room. “It would have been better were she your pretend fiancée—you run in better circles than I.”

“Hmm. No one would believe that I would engage myself to a tradesman’s daughter of moderate fortune.”

Bingley stopped in front of one of the tall windows, staring blindly out at the street. “It could have been a love match.”

Unease stirred at those words. Not for the first time, Darcy. . .wondered. Bingley had clearly cared for Jane Bennet, but it could not have been any great love if he had agreed so quietly to set her aside in order to provide Miss Amelie with a cover while she hunted for the murderers.

“Jane Bennet was ill this winter,” Darcy said, watching his friend closely. “She almost died.”

Bingley whirled, face paling to the white of bone. “I must go to her.” He lurched towards the door and Darcy stood, grabbing him by the arm.

“It was winter past, man, she is well enough now. Sit down.”

“No one told me. I did not know.”

“Sit down, Charles.”

Bingley sat, expression dazed, then he closed his eyes. “I was not there for her. I should have been there.”

If there had been any doubt before, there was none now. Darcy sighed, somewhat pained and completely sympathetic. What would he feel if someone had told him, especially now, that Elizabeth had been near death and he had not even gone to see her?

Darcy plopped a sugar cube, then two more for good measure, into Bingley’s cup and topped it up. He shoved it into the man’s hand.

Bingley sipped, then shuddered. “Good Gad, next time give me tea with my sugar, thank you.” They were silent for several moments. “When Amelie’s duty is done, I will go to her. I swear it, Darcy. I will make Jane my wife.”

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Let me know what you think in the forum, and if you haven't read the first episode yet, here is the link: Daring Darcy, Beauty & Blackmail #1