A Mr. Darcy Night Before Christmas
Apologies to both Jane Austen & Clement C. Moore
Apologies as well to those with delicate sensibilities–please do not read if you’d rather not be, *ahem* exposed to a rated “R” (and not for “Regency”) version of The Night Before Christmas.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Mr. Darcy’s house (you know the one)
Two creatures were stirring, Mr. Darcy and his spouse (that would be me, I’m not a common trollop.)
My stockings were flung by the chimney without a care,
Everything that could possibly be, was entirely bare.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds (in the west wing)
Quite possibly because I had given them a dram of negus, aka Regency kids’ meds.
So I got out my kerchief and I donned Mr. D’s cap
And I asked him very coyly if he’d like me to dance in his lap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
But nothing could make me spring from that bed to see what was the matter!
Instead to Fitzwilliam, I gave him a flash (of my smile, what did you think)
We thrashed around for a few hours and had quite the bash.
Afterwards he told me the moon on my breast reminded him of new-fallen snow
Which made me lustier (again) for objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my usually fiesty Fitz, fallen fast asleep, the dear.
So I pulled on my night shirt, when out on the lawn, I saw a driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, it was Wickham, the *ick.
More rapid than eagles his courtesans they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Daphne! Now, Dancer! Now, Pauline and Vixen!
On Constance! On, Catherine! On, Destiny and Brixen!” (Destiny and Brixen?)
“Back to the fop house! Back to the bawdy hall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As ladies of the night that before the exchange of money fly,
When they meet with a pretending-to-be-wealthy lothario, mount him and don’t ask why,
Then up toward the fop house the courtesans they flew,
With a sleigh full of randy toys, and a few young boys too.
And then, in a twinkling, I needed no proof,
The eyeing and spying of Wickham, looking at our roof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Up the gutter pipe Wickham came with a bound.
He was dressed in tight garments from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were tarnished with lipstick and gutter soot.
A bundle of port bottles he had in a sack,
Though I have to admit he looked rather attractive from his back (side).
When he turned around, his eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how very–
His dark five o’clock shadow gave me a quiver–be wary!
His lips looked so luscious, then he licked them, you know,
And very soon his breeches revealed quite a show.
A bit of snuff he breathed in, and he smiled so wide
I thought to myself I’d better run! And hide!
He had broad shoulders, taut muscles, no belly!
Nothing shook when he laughed–there was no bowlful of jelly.
He was tall, fit, and ripped, the very opposite of an elf,
And I ached with desire when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and twist of his dark-haired head
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And unbuttoned my night shirt until I finally came to and slapped him, the jerk.
And laying his hand on his burning red cheek,
Down the gutter pipe he slid, mild and meek.
He sprang to his curricle, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard Darcy exclaim as he woke and sat with everything upright,
“Come here, my love, for it is still the middle of the night!”
Well, what do you think of this rather naughty Night Before Christmas?!
Merry Christmas from Karen, author of Definitely Not Mr. Darcy & a new Darcyesque novel coming out in October 2013!