[Susan Adriani]

You don't necessarily have to have read Pick Me Up in order to enjoy this, but it might help with a few details and references. It is safe, meaning there is no sexual content depicted in this vignette. (To those of you who are card-carrying members of the Pervy Horde, my apologies.) There is a very good chance these two little vignettes will blossom into several chapters at some point down the road, so consider yourself forewarned!



Family Traditions



Mrs. Bennet looked up from an enormous, steaming bowl of buttered macaroni and frowned. “Tom, would you stop that infernal pacing? You’re wearing a hole through my nerves. Here, do something useful with yourself.” She grabbed a cheese grater and thrust it toward her husband. “Shred this,” she ordered as she dropped a large block of cheddar onto a cutting board and turned her attention back to her casserole.

Mr. Bennet reached for it with an irritated huff. “Our daughters should be doing this, not me,” he grumbled. “I’m the master of this house, not some insignificant errand boy.”

“Of course, you are, dear. Now, be sure to take the wrapper off. The plastic causes cancer, you know, and it’ll ruin the consistency of the casserole.”

“Where are our daughters, Fanny? I know your three silliest are here somewhere, no doubt doing nothing of any particular import, but Jane and Elizabeth should have arrived by now. They are coming, aren’t they?” he inquired with narrowed eyes.

“Of course, they’re coming. It’s tradition,” Mrs. Bennet scolded with a roll of her own eyes. “They’ll be here in due time with Charles and William.”

“Tradition,” her husband scoffed. “What do those two sons-in-law of yours know about tradition?”

Mrs. Bennet added some parmesan to the macaroni and grabbed a wooden spoon. “Oh, don’t be a pot of prunes. I’m sure the British have very lovely traditions of their own. Boxing Day for example.”

“Boxing Day?” he snorted. “I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with boxing.”

“No, it doesn’t, and you shouldn’t judge those boys so harshly. It’s very un-Christian of you.”

Mr. Bennet threw down the grater and leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “Let me be rightly understood, Mrs. Bennet: nothing is more un-Christian than the way our two most deserving daughters were stolen from us. Especially my Lizzy. That billion-dollar bastard practically forced himself on her, brain washed her into thinking she was in love with him, then dragged her off to some savage destination without phone service. Their marriage is probably a sham, officiated over by some witch doctor, and without my consent or the presence of her family! Jane’s marriage, thank God, was slightly more civilized, though hardly something to reflect upon with any degree of fondness.”

Mrs. Bennet dropped her spoon with a clatter. “Honestly, Tom, that was ten months ago. Charles has apologized to you again and again for taking a swing at you during the reception, and really, William’s behavior throughout was just impeccable. Both our girls could have done far worse, you know. Just look at Tipple Goulding’s daughter, Marnie. Why, she moved out to California six years ago and got mixed up with those new-age Bohemian people. She lives in a commune with twelve other young people—all unmarried—and has absolutely no idea who amongst the men fathered her three children. Tipple bears it as best she can, but poor Lester is just beside himself with anxiety. Why, Evelyn Lucas told me just the other day that he's taken to smoking the pot.”

Mr. Bennet snorted. “I see you obviously have no recollection of the disgraceful antics that preceded Jane and Elizabeth’s respectability.” He turned on his heels and stalked out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Bennet hollered as she ran after him. “The guests will be here in an hour!”

Mr. Bennet grabbed his golf cap from the coat closet and threw open the front door. “Out,” he announced as he settled the cap on his head and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

“Elizabeth?” Darcy knocked soundly upon the bathroom door. “Elizabeth, for Christ’s sake, we’re going to be late. What on earth are you doing in there?”

From the other side of the door, Elizabeth pushed her tangled mass of curls out of her face and swallowed hard once, twice, three times. There was a sheen of perspiration on her body and her mouth tasted like the bottom of a shoe. Darcy pounded on the door again as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

“Elizabeth? Love, you aren’t ill again are you?” Receiving no answer, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Across the ensuite his wife knelt upon the floor wearing nothing but a pair of cotton panties and a tank top. Her eyes were closed and her head rested upon one of her arms, which was in turn splayed unceremoniously across the toilet seat. Darcy strode to her side, knelt down, and pressed his lips to her forehead as he stroked her hair from her brow. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he crooned.

Elizabeth loosened her grip on the toilet seat and slowly slid to the floor. The cool marble felt wonderful against her clammy skin. At that moment she decided she would be perfectly happy to stay there forever. “You should be,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Ungh. We’re going to be late, aren't we?”

“Shhh,” Darcy said as he caressed her back. “Just lay still for a few moments and it’ll pass. Do you want me to carry you to the bed?”

“No,” she grunted. “Floor feels good.”

“Perhaps, but it can’t be all that sanitary. Let me carry you back to the bed.”

“No,” she protested. “Just leave me here.”

“Elizabeth, you shouldn’t really be on the floor, Love.”

“Go away, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy sat down next to her and exhaled tiredly as he ran one hand through his hair and checked his watch. They were most definitely going to be late. “Would you like me to get you a glass of ginger ale,” he asked, “or a few Saltines?”

“Nmph. Going to be late,” she muttered again.

“I know,” he quietly agreed as he smoothed her hair away from her face. “But I think your mother will understand.”

“We’ve been through this. I’m not telling her, and I don’t want to go anymore.”

Darcy sighed. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad. You can relax by the pool in the bosom of your family. Besides, your mother will work it out eventually, you know.”

Elizabeth snorted and opened her eyes. “Not if I can help it. It’s been five months since Jane and Charles made their announcement and they haven’t had one moment of peace or privacy since.”

“Elizabeth, really, your mother loves you. I have no doubt she’ll be thrilled with the news.”

“That is an understatement. As long as I’m still able to stuff myself into my normal clothes I'm not telling her anything. And now I’m definitely not going. You should go, though. It would be rude for both of us to skip out.”

A horrified look of alarm crossed his face. “Go without you? Are you completely insane? Your mother's entire Rotary Club, or whatever it is, will be there; not to mention the fact that your father still hasn’t forgiven me for marrying you. Can you imagine what he’ll do to me if I arrive there alone today and he learns that you’re pregnant?”

“As long as my mother doesn't find out, I don't see a problem. My father might even be happy.”

Darcy snorted. “Right. Happy to kill me. If you aren’t going, I’m certainly not going.”

Elizabeth smirked. “Oh, you’ll be fine. My doting mother will take excellent care of you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, so thank you, but no thank you. I’d much rather stay at home and take care of you.”

Elizabeth sat up and wrapped her arms around Darcy’s neck. “I bet you would,” she grumbled against his lips. “I love you.”

“And I love you, too," he said with a grimace, "but you really do need to rinse out your mouth.”





Short but sweet!


Would you like Darcy to stay at home and take care of you? You can tell me HERE.