A Small Preface:
Please feel free to share this email or SubStack link of the first chapter of A Quiver Full, or how Mr. Darcy will not sit on that sofa again! with any friends and family who enjoy slightly skewed humor, historical or Regency stories, and | or Jane Austen.
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Rating: Not very salacious, although more than slightly vulgar in Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy's opinion, he will not sit on that sofa again but Mr. Bennet will. If you are a Clean and Sweet reader, there are only mentions of kissing but please note that while the law of the story is pretty clean, the spirit is on a madcap romp around Regency England as Mr. Bennet tries to assure an heir for his estate.
Warning: If you love Canon accurate Jane Austen Fan Fiction (JAFF) stories, please click on your back button now. This is a humor story where I explore the consequences of several main characters actions which will cause plot and characters to diverge/grow in a different direction from Canon.
Alternate Universe Notes: This book is an AU, aka Alternate Universe, What-if of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. This is a story occurs in a Regency England one or two universe instances parallel to our own historical universe.
*The Library world’s various services take a few weeks to approve, so AQF should be available to check out by October 2024.
A Quiver Full
Chapter 1 : The 1780s were a very Different Time...
"Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them..." - Psalm 127:3-5, KJV
Friday, November 1, 1811
Lucas Lodge, Longbourn Parish
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Across the ancient, great hall of Lucas Lodge, a man with his cousin Lewis's countenance raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s intent gaze. That must be Aunt Catherine's cicisbeo of long standing. Darcy shook his head to clear out the invading thought, but it crept back in. Good Lord, she boldly admitted that her lover of many years fathered both Anne and Lewis! And here he is in Hertfordshire...
"I can guess the subject of your reverie,” Miss Bingley, who in her court shoes was almost taller than Mr. Darcy, whispered into his ear. Darcy jumped forward as she accosted him from behind. He noticed with some irritation that the man leaning against the fireplace mantle was watching with amusement. Darcy wondered, with a shudder, if Miss Bingley was going to bite his earlobe or lick the soft skin just behind his ear.
"I should imagine not," Mr. Darcy said as he stepped a full stride away from Miss Bingley. She did not take any hints and continued to move forward towards him.
"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion." Miss Bingley licked her lips. "I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise. Look at the youngest Bennet girl, she is a hoyden!"
Mr. Darcy looked at the youngest Bennet, a Miss Lydia, who for all of her height and womanly curves could be the sister of his cousin Anne de Bourgh. While his cousin's hair was a dark coffee color and Miss Lydia's was a light auburn, the shape of Lydia's face, her nose, her eyebrows and how they arched, her chin, and the curve of her cheeks - it was his cousin Anne - exactly. The more he looked at Miss Lydia, the more disconcerted he became, as her eyes were the same bright green as his disgraced childhood friend - George Wickham's eyes. However could Miss Lydia have his cousin Anne's countenance with George Wickham's eyes? What manner of witchcraft was abroad here in dreary Hertfordshire?
Aunt Catherine called him the great love of her life. How could she so casually dismiss that they were both married at various times to others? Darcy's thoughts intruded over Miss Bingley's speech as his mind drifted back to an unpleasant conversation two weeks previous. My Aunt dismissed that objection with a wave of her hand and sigh, claiming that his family's comedown in the world due to his brother's profligacy prevented any public attachment.
Mon, Oct. 14, 1811
Lady Catherine's sitting room
The de Bourgh Townhouse
Mayfair, London
"Nephew, you must apprehend that my cicisbeo's connections are excellent. His mother is from the cadet branch of the Manners family and his grandmother was a Howard. In fact, she is the aunt of your aunt Matlock! His eldest sister, as you well know, is Lady Beauchamp. His father's line is ancient and they were the largest landholder in Hertfordshire before his brother's gambling destroyed their wealth. My Thomas has worked hard these past five and twenty years to restore his family's fortunes and consequence."
Lady Catherine pinned him with her piercing gaze. "I have called you to attend me today, as your help in a matter related to this is necessary."
Darcy raised an eyebrow at this preposterous statement and sat down on a rather passé gilded shell sofa. He wondered when his aunt would have the sofa upholstered anew in a modern fabric, though a new elegant fabric could not remedy the gilded shell ornamentation.
"It is a shame his heir is an idiot! As Lewis, Anne, and I well know, the man is a toad eater of the..."
"Aunt?"
"My parson. I am speaking of my parson, who is the heir to the entail on the last remaining portion of what was once the greatest estate in Hertfordshire. Indeed, the estate was granted to Thomas's many times great-grandfather as a favor from King Henry III for exemplary service. Nearly 600 years in the same family, Nephew, 600 years! It is a crime that my illiterate, low born parson, Mr. Collins, will inherit!"
"Your parson attended university and cannot truly be illiterate. Do you mean that he does not like to read or that he is not well read?"
Lady Catherine ignored his questions. "It is more than a shame! Thomas kindly provided two heirs for my departed Sir Lewis..."
"Aunt!"
"My dearly departed Lewis was incapable... Oh, Darcy, stop pulling such a face, one would think you were a prudish old maid! As I was saying, Sir Lewis' staff of life had not enough water of life..."
"AUNT!!!"
“Attend to my words, Nephew. Hope to heaven that it never happens to you! Sir Lewis could not increase any lady, not even his mistress of..."
"Aunt Catherine, please desist!"
Per her usual wont, Lady Catherine did not.
"In the year 1784, I had been married nearly thirteen years. I was six and thirty and despairing of ever giving birth to an heir. My dear departed husband suggested that Kympton's Reverend Thomas Bennet - the very same parson who christened you - was the right man to do the job. Now seven and twenty years later, Rosings and the de Bourgh fortunes are secure."
Darcy struggled to keep an implacable countenance as he considered the horrifying implications. Mr. Bennet, the beloved parson who taught me to read, was my aunt's lover and my cousin's... Darcy, thoroughly appalled, became restless on the shell sofa.
“Nephew, attend my words carefully. My Thomas will speak to you after you have arrived in Hertfordshire to help teach that tradesman friend of yours how to be a gentleman and manage an estate.”
Before he could protest that Mr. Bingley was not in trade, she skewered him with one of her trademarked stares, “Nonetheless, you will listen to Thomas and help us. It is the least you can do since you have not married Anne and she has found another to marry.”
Lady Catherine required no reply before she continued, this time with less force.
"The 1780s were a different time, truly." With a fond smile and a lovely soft sigh, Lady Catherine ceased speaking and stared off dreamily to some point below Darcy's right shoulder.
Lounging on a modern Egyptian themed sofa opposite the golden shell sofa, Darcy's cousin, the new Sir Lewis de Bourgh, the seventh of that name, sardonically raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders at his mother's revelations, not saying a word.
Friday, November 1, 1811
Lucas Lodge, Longbourn Parish
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Miss Bingley continued to move towards him as she droned on, "...the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"
"Your conjecture is wrong, I assure you."
With that statement, Mr. Darcy stalked off in search of the punch bowl and hoped beyond hope that someone had poured some decent brandy into the punch. He reached the punch bowl, leaned in, sniffed, and determined that the brandy in the punch was weak and of no vintage, when the man from the fireplace approached from the other direction and pulled out a silver, engraved flask from his waistcoat.
Mr. Darcy spied the engraved initials on the flask - CdB.
"Mr. Darcy, would you like a bit of '99 Armagnac to add to your punch? A dear friend buys it from a reputable and exemplary smuggler, or so she claims." Mr. Bennet's dear friend had an estate in Kent and made it her business to always get the best Armagnac, Cognac, and Port, no matter the state of the war or blockade. Mr. Bennet greatly appreciated his friend.
Mr. Darcy picked up an empty punch glass and held it up to Mr. Bennet. "Armagnac, straight - please."
"Well, well, a young man of taste and distinction."
Mr. Darcy raised his punch glass in a salute to the older man, sniffed the fiery liquid, sighed with happiness, and took a sip. "It tastes like the excellent French brandy my aunt procures."
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I presume?"
Darcy raised an eyebrow back at Mr. Bennet as his answer.
"The very same. Please, Mr. Darcy, why don't you join me in a quieter space where the echoes of this old hall won't reach us, such as the alcove beyond the fireplace? I have a few things I would like to speak to you about. The Armagnac will come with us. Indeed, I have more if necessary." Mr. Bennet held the current flask and patted the right side of his waistcoat.
Darcy surveyed the various groupings of people in the hall - Miss Bingley was being detained by the ever loquacious Sir William Lucas, many of the younger persons were dancing as the fine eyed Miss Elizabeth Bennet - Mr. Bennet's second eldest - played the pianoforte, his friend Charles Bingley was ensconced on a love seat with the eldest Miss Bennet, as the vulgar Mrs. Bennet was cackling with a few matrons, and others were conversing with militia officers or playing cards.
"Indeed, Mr. Bennet, as long as there is enough fine brandy in your flask for two more glasses, let us proceed."
Ensconced in the alcove beyond the fireplace, Mr. Bennet poured them both a dram. "Mr. Darcy, you may remember, or possibly not, that I was the rector with the living at Kympton for some few years before your birth and some few years after."
"Yes, Mr. Bennet, I do remember that you taught me to read. I could not have been more than three or four."
"You were three and a very fast learner. Your Uncle de Bourgh bet that even I could not teach the brightest young lad of three to read. I must share the earnings of twenty pounds with you, as it was a joint endeavor."
Darcy relaxed and laughed. "No need, Mr. Bennet, no need. Lady Catherine intimated that you left the rectory to help your family."
"Indeed, the troubles commenced in the late 1770s when my elder brother, while I was at Oxford, sowed his wild oats long and deep through London society and nearly bankrupted the whole of the Bennets to the tune of nearly one hundred thousand pounds. My esteemed grandfather and father, much to the horror of the family and our connections, decided to sell two-thirds of Longbourn's acreage, as well as the townhouse in London. Once the debts were paid, my grandfather put an entail on the remaining property to keep my brother's gambling from mortgaging it further."
"In 1779, I finished reading mathematics and theology at Oxford. The next year when I reached five and twenty, my sister's husband, Lord Beauchamp secured the living at Kympton for me. The following seven years were the best of my life - the society of most clever persons, illuminating conversation, and friendships worth more than gold. I met the love of my life at that time and was able to help several friends in need. It all came crashing down in late 1787, when my brother passed away from his excesses and I was called home as the new heir to a very reduced Longbourn."
Mr. Darcy nodded and held up his now empty small punch glass. Mr. Bennet attended to his alcove hosting duties pouring them both another dram of the brandy.
"During the Kympton years, I was able to earn a good amount of ready cash through a few good deeds and I put it into funds. When I returned to Longbourn in late 1787 my grandmother, the Lady Margaret Howard Bennet, confessed that she had secretly purchased the Longbourn Old Rectory and adjacent farmland with monies from her dowry trust, and that it would be mine separate and free of the entail when she passed. I used a portion of the monies from selling the Kympton living to one of Beauchamp's cousins to purchase additional acres of good farmland. I have invested the rents from the farmland and the Rectory into the funds and a few ventures." Mr. Bennet paused to take a breath and a sip of brandy before continuing on, to Darcy's amusement. How very like his Aunt Catherine, Mr. Bennet was in these long historical discourses!
"Reading maths at university can be rewarding in life when one utilizes the magics of compound interest and keeping the knowledge of said income investments secret from one's spendthrift wife. I have nearly earned back all the funds my brother lost these thirty years ago, of which I will use for my daughters' dowries and to the Chancery Court to break the entail."
Mr. Bennet held up his hand to halt any questions. "Let me get to the crux of the matter. I must break the entail before I die. While my health is good and I do not expect to expire soon, I cannot in good conscience allow the estate of Longbourn to fall out of the hands of the Bennets and into the hands of my grandfather's cousin's grandson. If your aunt is to be believed, Mr. Collins, who I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, has even less understanding than his illiterate father."
"By illiterate, do you mean to say that Mr. Collins cannot read or that he does not like to read or does not read well?” Mr. Darcy asked.
"The father could not read and your aunt states the younger Mr. Collins is of mean understanding and does not apprehend very well what he has read." Mr. Bennet took another sip and started patting his waistcoat to locate another flask. "The original entail was to keep my very wayward brother from completely wasting his inheritance, but the second part is my fault and must be mine to remedy."
Darcy scanned the hall again to make sure no one was listening and to assess Miss Bingley's whereabouts. To his great fortune, the oldest Lucas son was happily conversing with Miss Bingley's bosom due to the height of her court shoes' heels, her natural stature, and his lack thereof.
Mr. Bennet pressed on. "In early 1788, the scheming Miss Gardiner, now Mrs. Bennet, decided that she was no longer content being the daughter of a country solicitor. She was determined to become the wife of the heir of the local prominent estate. I was dazed with the details of everything I needed to learn to run the estate and she compromised me. My family, particularly my grandfather, was horrified and insisted that Gardiner send his wanton hussy of a daughter off to the far reaches of Scotland, or at least Cumbria. After much to-do, I found myself married and my angry grandfather added the codicil to his will and the entail to make Mr. Collins the heir to Longbourn if I was unable to produce a legitimate living male heir of my body."
Mr. Darcy waited.
"The key word here is legitimate. After Lydia was born, my disgust for my wife had grown to the point where my... umm... well... ((cough)) ... I was unable to grow and remain stiff, if you understand me, and I have been unable to father an heir with my wife."
Darcy continued to wait.
"This is where you come in."
"Pardon?"
"Mrs. Bennet was just sixteen when she accosted me. She is not yet nine and thirty, there is still time for her, as my legal wife, to increase and birth a male heir of my body."
"I will not. I cannot. And I SHALL NOT!"
"No, no, no, not you! You are not a male heir of my body. Please, do not trouble yourself." Mr. Bennet uncorked the second flask and poured both of them another dram of vintage '99 brandy. "I cannot ask Lewis, who is a male of my body, as I like and respect him too much. Also, your Aunt Catherine would have none of it and told me not to even consider such an idea. Thus, I must locate the other young man I sired in the '80s. From what your Aunt has told me, he may be in dire enough straits to accept my proposal."
Darcy was astonished and appalled. "I must insist that I do not see how I can help either you or my Aunt in this endeavor. I thank you very kindly for the brandy, but..."
"Wickham. I must find George Wickham. Catherine's men have been unable to track him down in his usual environs after the unfortunate incident in Ramsgate. She thought you might be having him followed. Do you know his whereabouts?"
Anger welled up in Darcy's breast at the mention of George Wickham; it chased out the appalling astonishment of Mr. Bennet's tale, who was this man to... The image of Miss Lydia Bennet's bright green eyes came to him. "You are George Wickham's sire?"
"Yes, he was the first stud fee I earned." At this flippant reply from Mr. Bennet, Darcy remembered a conversation from the last month of his father's life wherein his esteemed father explained a few oddities in Pemberley's books.
"I may have been aware of something to that effect, but I was not informed who did the deed."
"It was I." At this, Mr. Bennet pulled out from his coat pocket a miniature of his brother Andrew painted in 1785. "Does George Wickham look like this man?"
"Indeed! Truly." Darcy's anger receded as astonishment came to the forefront, other than the white wig in the '80s fashion, George Wickham was peering up at him from the small painting. "The George Wickham I know is tall, slender, has dark sandy blonde hair, bright green eyes such as Miss Lydia's eye color, and a very straight nose very much like this gentleman."
"From what Lady Catherine has confided in me, it sounds like Mr. Wickham has inherited my brother's tastes and gambling along with his looks, and thus might be desperate and willing to do anything to make some ready money."
"How is your brother the father of George Wickham?"
"He is not. I am. Are you aware that Mr. Ernest Wickham, as fine a man as you will find anywhere, was unable to complete his marital duties with his lovely young wife? He had no problems with tupping several of Pemberley's grooms and the blacksmith in Lambton, but he could not and would not with a lady. He was completely unable to worship at the altar of Venus, it was Mars or nothing for him. Your father knew how much old Mr. Wickham desired a family, so he paid me to do the deed as I was from a good family, clever, educated, etc."
"My g_d! The vicarage at Kympton was a busy place!"
"No, the gilded shell sofa in the alcove of the library at Pemberley was a busy place. The housekeeper at the vicarage was a gossip and a busybody, but your father ran a tight ship at Pemberley and no gossip leaked out about Mrs. Wickham nor your Aunt Catherine." Mr. Bennet giggled a bit drunkenly. "A great deal of wonderful memories were made on that sofa. I was glad to see your father gave it to Lady Catherine for her sitting room in London."
The silly grin on Mr. Bennet's face became a large smile. While Mr. Bennet recollected happier times, horror was the emotion that stampeded over the previous astonishment in Darcy's mind, bafflement followed close behind.
"How ever can the reprobate, profligate George Wickham help you end the entail?"
"Can you not apprehend? George Wickham, who I sired at the request of your father and his father, looks like my brother's twin. Thus, if I can locate him and pay him, as I was paid to sire Wickham and various de Bourghs, no one can doubt that the male heirs of Mrs. Bennet's body as my wife are of my get!"
"Look over there at Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bennet indicated to his wife in a loud gaggle of matrons. "She is as handsome as any of the young ladies and is a rival in looks to my Jane, who is the belle of Hertfordshire. It will be no feat at all for Mrs. Bennet to incite lust in a known rake. For money and a case of French brandy, not the '99 mind you, he can be quiet about the job and ignore her vulgarity which unmans me. When a male heir is born, it will be in truth a male heir of my body, thus we can break the entail."
A quiet and taciturn man by nature, by now all words had fled from Mr. Darcy. His jaw worked up and down a few times with nary a squeak emitting from his vocal cords.
"The entail codicil making Collins heir is my fault for falling into Mrs. Bennet's trap, as it is my responsibility to finish restoring the Bennet wealth and holdings, so must the remedy to end the entail be mine. It is imperative I find Wickham."
Darcy drained his glass of the last finger of brandy. "I will write to my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and see if he can have more luck than my Aunt's men at locating Mr. Wickham in his usual haunts."
"We thank you. Another pour?"
"No, thank you. Please do not mention this to anyone else, nor of my involvement. I will not inform the Colonel why I am looking for Wickham."
Darcy changed his mind. He was on the verge of tipsy and decided to tip on over. He held out his glass to Mr. Bennet. "However did the young, studious rector at Kympton get involved in the stud business?"
"Mind you, the 1780s were a very different time, not quite so many strictures as now and quite a bit more fun to be had, I was eight and twenty and had been in my living for three and a half years. The good Lady Anne Darcy was increasing with you and Mr. Ernest Wickham had recently married the young and handsome Miss Lavinia Hinton of Mayfield Rectory, Staffordshire. Pemberley was a happy place with the best library north of Oxford and a very comfortable gilded sofa..."
When it was time to depart the Lucas's soiree, Darcy wobbled to the Bingley carriage declaring to his new best friend, Mr. Thomas Bennet, "I understand how you started, but after all these years why do you still visit with my aunt? Is it to see my cousins?"
"Lady Cat is like riding a tiger, being on top is the most invigorating, exhilarating activity in the world, but falling under her claws is most fearsome! Fearsome!" Mr. Bennet made claw shapes with his hands, as he let out a big growl and shook his head from side to side, dislodging his spectacles in the process. "Grrrrrrrr!"
Miss Elizabeth Bennet exited Lucas Lodge rapidly walking toward her father, with Mr. Bingley and a concerned Miss Jane Bennet following behind. "Papa! Oh no, the brandy..."
"Grrrrrrrr! Tigersh! Tigersh clawsh!"
Miss Elizabeth gently took her father's elbow and steered him away. "Papa, our carriage is over here."
Mr. Hurst poked his head out of the Bingley carriage. "Whatever have you been drinking and where is my portion?"
Mr. Darcy leaned on the side of the carriage, as he tried to smile and wave at Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her fine eyes. It took effort.
Mr. Bennet stopped, disentangled his elbow from his daughter's hands, reached into his waistcoat and handed Mr. Hurst a flask. " '02, Cognac..."
"Thank you, kind sir!"
Darcy attempted to mount the carriage steps and turned back to Mr. Bennet. "I will never sit on that gilded shell sofa again! Do you know that she refuses to get it re-upholstered?"
Mr. Bennet weaved about as he proclaimed, "The 1780s were very good years, my friend, very good yearsh! Comfortable gilded shell shofas most of all!"
© Copyright 2024 Jenifer Hanen
Please feel free to share this email or SubStack link of the first chapter of A Quiver Full, or how Mr. Darcy will not sit on that sofa again! with any friends and family who enjoy slightly skewed humor, historical or Regency stories, and | or Jane Austen.
Link to Purchase eBook & paperback or Library* borrow: A Quiver Full, or how Mr. Darcy will not sit on that sofa again!