11-13-2018, 11:03 PM
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<p>
“My nerves Mrs. Bennett, have pity on my poor nerves!” The waifish Mr. Bennett whines as he retreats into his study. The woman of the house watches him go with an aloof feline pleasure, not because he’s anything to look at, but because it means she won't have to endure his mousy sniffling. He’s half in the grave already and will likely worry himself the rest of the way over nothing.
She calls a farewell into the garden as soon as her husband has closed his heavy oaken door. Four girls, all of them too lean and too frizzy-haired, wave disinterestedly from their various activities. Children still, and boring ones at that.
She eschews silk slippers for riding boots, always, and now disappears out the front door and into the yard where her son Michael waits with their horses. He holds her side-saddled bay as she mounts, and then climbs aboard his own seal brown beast. The two of them spur out of the pebble strewn yard and down the pale carriage-rutted road. Away from the too small house, and the frail husband, and the silly stupid girls.
They ride the country lanes, and leap tired splintering fences. For Jane (for she can shed the moldering sackcloth of <i>Mrs. Bennett</i> while on these rides) these outings are a much needed opportunity to shed the guise of pallid housewife. She was too young married, too quickly bred, and these escapes are the only protection from darkest melancholy.
Gregarious Michael begs to visit with a friend, and she lets him go with a reminder to be home before dark lest his father send the hounds after him. She is bound for Netherfield Park where Mr. Morris’ estate sits quietly empty and where she knows she can ride as she likes without disturbance.
She passes near the house, just to be sure it’s still unoccupied. It looks as though the place is still buttoned up. Satisfied by this cursory inspection she rides out into the trees toward the rolling green hills. Entirely missing the approach of a carriage down the lane.
Fitzwilliam Darcy is a man who cannot be altered by time, or space, or universe. He is strong, and sloe eyed, and full of dark moods that somehow make him more desirable rather than less. Country estates in quiet counties do not displease him as much as he would like everyone to believe, but he still scowls as he rides up behind the carriage with Bingley. His best friend in the world is retreating to a small estate called Netherfield in order to hide out and recover from his most recent tryst, his love affair with the King’s nephew having imploded rather dramatically.
He excuses himself to explore the grounds on his dark hunter, and rides out away from the party who will take hours to fuss and settle into the house. It doesn’t take long for him to discover a brunette woman, cheeks flush galloping her mare over the rolling hills out of sight of the house. For all his sour reserve, he is amused, though he not a smiling man. He spurs his horse after hers, and they race until her mare grows tired. Jane is laughing, green eyes flashing. Beneath a rangy oak, Darcy slides from his horse and plucks her from her own without ceremony. In the cool shade he pulls her body to his and they come together like lovers, rather than the strangers they are.
Many such days are spent on the grounds of Netherfield after that. When at last he must return to Pemberley they conjure a furious disagreement as if it can seal the parting for good.
By the next month Mr. Bennett’s nerves have sent him to the churchyard. Mr. Collins snatches up all their property--except for the bay mare--and makes a proposal to 12 year old Jane, which motivates Jane senior to pack up the children and send them to live with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Having done her duty as a mother she remains to manage the sweat-stained Mr. Collins new estate as he cannot abandon his parish or his benevolent benefactor.
And then a letter comes from Pemberley. Condolences. A wish to make amends. As brief and cold as Darcy could have managed to make an apology. Jane does not delay.
On the grounds of Pemberley a few weeks later she rides her horse pell mell into the reed lined lake, to meet him, dropping from its back and into the cold water, wading to meet him in a soaked white dress (she could not come to him in widow’s weeds!) that clings to her body and molds to the full curves of her breasts, her hair damp waves that he grasps desperately when he captures her cherry lips.
</p></div><p class="lo2_name">Orb Quest</p>
</div></center>
Word Count: 799
Characters Submitted: Leokadia, Tunnel
TLDR: One sexy Mrs. Bennett (Jane Bennett nee Gardiner). Lame Daughters. Mary is a boy named Michael who doesn't suck. Mr. Bennet does suck and dies. Mr Collins gets everything and is probs a pedophile. Mom gets Mr. Darcy. The End.
<p>
“My nerves Mrs. Bennett, have pity on my poor nerves!” The waifish Mr. Bennett whines as he retreats into his study. The woman of the house watches him go with an aloof feline pleasure, not because he’s anything to look at, but because it means she won't have to endure his mousy sniffling. He’s half in the grave already and will likely worry himself the rest of the way over nothing.
She calls a farewell into the garden as soon as her husband has closed his heavy oaken door. Four girls, all of them too lean and too frizzy-haired, wave disinterestedly from their various activities. Children still, and boring ones at that.
She eschews silk slippers for riding boots, always, and now disappears out the front door and into the yard where her son Michael waits with their horses. He holds her side-saddled bay as she mounts, and then climbs aboard his own seal brown beast. The two of them spur out of the pebble strewn yard and down the pale carriage-rutted road. Away from the too small house, and the frail husband, and the silly stupid girls.
They ride the country lanes, and leap tired splintering fences. For Jane (for she can shed the moldering sackcloth of <i>Mrs. Bennett</i> while on these rides) these outings are a much needed opportunity to shed the guise of pallid housewife. She was too young married, too quickly bred, and these escapes are the only protection from darkest melancholy.
Gregarious Michael begs to visit with a friend, and she lets him go with a reminder to be home before dark lest his father send the hounds after him. She is bound for Netherfield Park where Mr. Morris’ estate sits quietly empty and where she knows she can ride as she likes without disturbance.
She passes near the house, just to be sure it’s still unoccupied. It looks as though the place is still buttoned up. Satisfied by this cursory inspection she rides out into the trees toward the rolling green hills. Entirely missing the approach of a carriage down the lane.
Fitzwilliam Darcy is a man who cannot be altered by time, or space, or universe. He is strong, and sloe eyed, and full of dark moods that somehow make him more desirable rather than less. Country estates in quiet counties do not displease him as much as he would like everyone to believe, but he still scowls as he rides up behind the carriage with Bingley. His best friend in the world is retreating to a small estate called Netherfield in order to hide out and recover from his most recent tryst, his love affair with the King’s nephew having imploded rather dramatically.
He excuses himself to explore the grounds on his dark hunter, and rides out away from the party who will take hours to fuss and settle into the house. It doesn’t take long for him to discover a brunette woman, cheeks flush galloping her mare over the rolling hills out of sight of the house. For all his sour reserve, he is amused, though he not a smiling man. He spurs his horse after hers, and they race until her mare grows tired. Jane is laughing, green eyes flashing. Beneath a rangy oak, Darcy slides from his horse and plucks her from her own without ceremony. In the cool shade he pulls her body to his and they come together like lovers, rather than the strangers they are.
Many such days are spent on the grounds of Netherfield after that. When at last he must return to Pemberley they conjure a furious disagreement as if it can seal the parting for good.
By the next month Mr. Bennett’s nerves have sent him to the churchyard. Mr. Collins snatches up all their property--except for the bay mare--and makes a proposal to 12 year old Jane, which motivates Jane senior to pack up the children and send them to live with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Having done her duty as a mother she remains to manage the sweat-stained Mr. Collins new estate as he cannot abandon his parish or his benevolent benefactor.
And then a letter comes from Pemberley. Condolences. A wish to make amends. As brief and cold as Darcy could have managed to make an apology. Jane does not delay.
On the grounds of Pemberley a few weeks later she rides her horse pell mell into the reed lined lake, to meet him, dropping from its back and into the cold water, wading to meet him in a soaked white dress (she could not come to him in widow’s weeds!) that clings to her body and molds to the full curves of her breasts, her hair damp waves that he grasps desperately when he captures her cherry lips.
</p></div><p class="lo2_name">Orb Quest</p>
</div></center>
Word Count: 799
Characters Submitted: Leokadia, Tunnel
TLDR: One sexy Mrs. Bennett (Jane Bennett nee Gardiner). Lame Daughters. Mary is a boy named Michael who doesn't suck. Mr. Bennet does suck and dies. Mr Collins gets everything and is probs a pedophile. Mom gets Mr. Darcy. The End.