Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (5 page)

But Elizabeth paid no heed. This man, this beautiful, sensual man, was intrigued by her! And she feared that she was, against all wise judgement, becoming equally drawn to him.

‘I do believe you would not have fainted if you had eaten before you came here, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘A young lady should take nourishment at least five times a
day.’

‘I rarely feel hungry, Mr Darcy. But thank you for your concern.’

Mr Darcy’s eyes darkened.

‘You must eat more, Miss Bennet! I insist upon it!’

At once, Elizabeth’s mood changed from one of desire to one of annoyance. ‘You
insist
? You presume too much, Mr Darcy. We are of but meagre acquaintance. Insistence is the
preserve of those with whom I enjoy more intimate friendship.’

Mr Darcy’s eyes were blazing now, like a malfunctioning boiler. ‘I do not like to be defied, Miss Bennet,’ he breathed huskily. ‘If indeed I knew you more intimately, I
should put you across my knee and spank you!’

Spank
her? Now Elizabeth felt light-headed again. ‘I would remind you, Sir, that we are in polite company. And talk of spanking is both indecorous and insulting.’ Now her own
blue eyes blazed, too, with humiliation and anger.

Mr Darcy stared at her for a long moment. His brow creased, and his expression was pained, as if he was torn between two choices – a cheese sandwich vs tuna mayo, maybe, or between pride
and desire.

All of a sudden, he stood and gave a curt bow.

‘Laters, Baby,’ he said stiffly, and turned upon his heel.

‘Seriously, what a knobend,’ muttered her Subconscious.

But that night Elizabeth dreamt of intense grey eyes, muscly arms and huge, throbbing feet.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton, a most convenient distance for the young Bennet ladies, who were tempted thither three or four times a week to visit the
milliner’s or to run various errands for their mother and stepfather. Lydia and Kitty were ever more frequent visitors now that a whole regiment of the militia had settled in the
neighbourhood for the winter, and even Mrs Bennet was fond of accompanying the girls there for the opportunity of casting her eye upon a pleasing male form made ever more appealing by close-fitting
army breeches.

It happened that Elizabeth walked with her two younger sisters to the village one morning, despite a light autumn drizzle, in order that she might visit the haberdashers for buttons and
patronize the poor of the parish with a basket of groceries. Before long, Kitty and Lydia had become distracted by the sight of a red jacket.

‘Why, there is Captain Carter!’ Lydia declared. ‘Look, Kitty, he is just coming out of Slaggy Sal’s hovel – I do wonder why he has been visiting
her
. Pray,
let us waylay him and ask!’

Thus the sisters parted company and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing the village green at a quick pace and tripping over, vulnerably yet somehow sexily, upon the steps of the
haberdashery shop.

‘Allow me, Miss Bennet.’

Oh, this was insufferable! Here, yet again, was Fitzwilliam Darcy, the last person she hoped to see in Meryton. His hair was tousled from the rain, and his grey eyes sparkled silver in the dull
morning light. He was holding out his powerful hand in order to help her up. Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed him to lift her from the step, and, using a pocket handkerchief he had taken from his
waistcoat, delicately remove one of her teeth from where it had become embedded in her lower lip.

‘I worry for your safety, Miss Bennet,’ he murmured, gently dabbing the blood from her chin. ‘It is clearly not healthy for you to be walking about on your own. I will see to
it that Taylor accompanies you in future.’

‘Good morning, Miss Bennet.’ Taylor’s head suddenly poked out from behind a horse trough beside the shop.
Jeez, he got everywhere!

Elizabeth would have demurred – she was perfectly able to perambulate the neighbourhood unaccompanied – but her mouth still smarted and, under Mr Darcy’s penetrating stare, she
somehow found herself unable to argue.

‘Now, Miss Bennet, we must get you out of this rain.’ His eyes surveyed her gown and petticoat. ‘You are wet, I see.’ Now they ran over her embonpoint. ‘And I am
stiff …’

Elizabeth felt a blush blooming from her cheeks down to her chest.

‘Stiff, Mr Darcy?’

‘Indeed. Bingley and I engaged in an archery contest yesterday. And I fear my aching arms cannot hold this door open for long. Come …’

She knew not why, but she felt powerless to resist his entreaty. Stepping inside the shop, she feigned concentration, shaking the raindrops from her gown as she tried to regain her composure.
Holy catalogue model!
Mr Darcy was the very picture of early nineteenth-century hotness. His white linen shirt was freshly pressed and open at the collar, while his grey flannel trousers
hung off his hips in a most distracting fashion.

‘What brings you to Meryton, Miss Bennet?’

Mr Darcy’s sensuous, low voice startled her from her reverie.

‘Necessity, Mr Darcy. I have a basket of eggs for Granny Egbert, and some butter for Sergeant Butterworth. Oh, and Mr Sexpest requested I bring him some of my unwashed
underthings.’

‘You are visiting the needy?’ Mr Darcy looked pleasantly surprised. ‘It is most commendable for a young lady to take an interest in good works.’ He gazed at her
admiringly, his grey eyes glinting from beneath his floppy copper-coloured locks.

‘I, too, am involved with many charitable causes.’

‘Indeed, Sir, I have heard much of your benevolence.’

‘Then you may know of my plans to open a refuge for fallen women, here in Meryton?’

‘That is most commendable. But it will be necessary, will it not, to find honest labour for the young ladies in question, or they may be tempted back to their licentious ways.’

Mr Darcy nodded in assent.

‘I have considered that, Miss Bennet. I plan to open a tavern in the village, and the girls will work there as serving wenches. I shall call it …’

He paused, and for a moment his smoky-grey eyes lingered over Lizzy’s heaving bosom.

‘… Hooters.

‘An unusual name, Sir.’

‘It is after my manservant, Mr Hooter, who shall be landlord there.’

‘I see,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘And what brings you hither, Mr Darcy?’

‘To Meryton?’

‘To the haberdashers. We ladies are not accustomed to seeing gentlemen perusing ribbons and trimmings.’

Mr Darcy cast his eyes about the shop. ‘I come here often, Miss Bennet,’ he replied, with a hint of a smile. ‘There are many accoutrements a gentleman of my nature requires for
his private pursuits. See here,’ he murmured, running one of his long index fingers down a length of grosgrain ribbon, suspended from a hook on the wall. ‘This may prove
useful.’

‘You are preparing a collage, perhaps?’ Elizabeth enquired.

Mr Darcy’s lips quirked up into a half-smile. ‘No, not a collage, Miss Bennet,’ he murmured.

‘Perhaps trimming a pair of curtains?’

He chuckled softly, as if amused by some private joke. ‘It is true that I favour a pair of neatly trimmed curtains.’ His eyes pierced hers, and for a moment the air between them
seemed to hum.
Had someone farted?

‘Yes, let us say that I am trimming some curtains. Perhaps you could assist me in choosing the materials?’

He proffered his arm and led her across to the counter, where numerous frills and furbelows and bolts of cloth were displayed.

‘How may I oblige you, Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet?’ asked the haberdasher, who, obviously being already acquainted with the former, was nonetheless bowing obsequiously low.

‘Pray, give me four feet of your best horsehair braid,’ Mr Darcy commanded. ‘And ten feet of your finest curtain cord – it must be strong, mind you.’

Mr Darcy ran his eyes over the shelves. ‘Fetch me some of that black leather-look fabric, there.’

‘How much, Sir?’

‘Oh, about enough to wrap once, tightly, about this young lady here.’

Black fabric and horsehair braid? These would certainly be distinctive curtains, Elizabeth thought. There was no denying Mr Darcy had unusual tastes.

‘Will there be anything else, Sir?’ asked the haberdasher.

‘Just this curtain tie-back,’ replied Mr Darcy, picking up a large golden tasselled braid. With a sudden ‘whump!’ he struck it, hard, against the wooden countertop. The
whole counter trembled violently, and – although she could not discern why – so did Elizabeth’s ladyparts.

‘Is that all, Sir?’

‘Let me see …’ Darcy was deep in thought for a moment. ‘Do you have any dildos?’

Elizabeth’s face blushed crimson. She lowered her eyes. This was insufferable! Why did Mr Darcy attempt to bring every conversation down to a crude level? To mortify her and shame her at
every turn? How could he so cruelly disregard her feelings?

‘You know why,’ her Subconscious sighed. ‘He went to private school.’

It was true! Poor Mr Darcy. How else could he possibly be, having been exposed to smut and salaciousness on a daily basis? Years of knob gags and lack of interaction with the opposite sex had
moulded his character into a double-entendre-making, permanently smirking sex maniac, who simply could not help debasing himself.

The shopkeeper appeared to have been frozen to the spot by Mr Darcy’s request.

‘Do not trouble yourself, my good man,’ the latter said, picking up a curtain rod with a decorative finial. ‘This will do instead. Have everything delivered to Netherfield and
charge it to my account.’

The haberdasher recovered his voice at last. ‘As you wish, Mr Darcy. Good day, Sir.’

Elizabeth, who in her shame had turned her back on both gentlemen, was by now halfway to the door.

‘Wait one moment, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy called. ‘You must at least allow Taylor to escort you back to Longbourn.’

She whirled round in anger. ‘Pray, do not go to any trouble on
my
account,’ she retorted. ‘I am able to negotiate my way from Meryton to my home quite satisfactorily.
You may leave me alone hereafter. It would be far better than your continued attempts to harass and embarrass me whenever we have the misfortune to meet.’

Her words appeared to have a dramatic effect upon Mr Darcy. His lips de-quirked themselves at once, and his head ceased its cocking. Did she imagine it, or did his lower lip start to tremble,
and his grey eyes grow dim with tears? Suddenly, he looked so young, so forsaken, that Elizabeth knew that if it was within her power, she wanted to save him. To save him from his dissolute life of
butt plugs, handcuffs, golden showers, fisting, flogging, and anal probing. And to introduce him instead to a genteel world of découpage, shell collecting, lacework, needlepoint, and
harpsichord recitals – gentle pastimes that would salve his damaged soul. But where to begin?

‘If you won’t go with Taylor, at least take hold of my knobkerry,’ Mr Darcy said, proffering his cane. ‘That way, if you are waylaid by ruffians, you will have no trouble
beating them all off.’

Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. The road ahead, she realized, would be long and hard. A bit like an erect penis.
Holy crap, now she was doing it, too!
Mr Darcy was a dangerous
influence indeed.

‘We shall,’ said Mr Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning, ‘have reason to expect an addition to our family party this
evening.’

‘Who do you mean, my dear? I know of no one who should happen to call in,’ replied Mrs Bennet.

‘The person of whom I speak is both known to us, and yet unknown.’

‘Come, come,’ cried Mrs Bennet impatiently. ‘You speak in riddles, which is most out of character for you. Pray tell, who is this guest you speak of?’

‘I have this morning received a letter from my cousin, Mr Phil Collins, and he intends to pay us a visit this very afternoon.’

‘
The
Phil Collins?’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Who used to be in Genesis? And is set to inherit Longbourn upon your death?’

‘The very same!’ Mr Bennet replied. ‘It seems he has newly settled in Hertfordshire and comes hither to Longbourn with the intention of seeking a mistress.’