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Abhorrence and Affection

A novel

By No OnePublished 7 years ago 16 min read
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Bethany Benedicts: smart, beautiful, and terribly single... But she won't let that little bump in the road get her down. She has plans, you see, to be married by the end of the year to a rich, handsome gentleman. However, those plans are quickly ruined when her father informs her she must marry her childhood rival, Mr. Nicholas Oakley, to help her family out of their unfortunate debt. Though Mr. Oakley is certainly rich enough, Beth simply cannot bring herself to like him, let alone love him, as a proper wife should.

A silly girl in love with the idea of love... A sarcastic ass with a gentleman's title...

Abhorrence and Affection is a Jane Austen-inspired romance about the ways life and love rarely turn out in the way we'd expect.

Chapter One

Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.-Jane Austen

To Jane,

With love

1796

Bethany Aria Benedicts was an exceptionally beautiful woman, even for a girl with only two thousand to her name. Her hair was the color of burnt cinnamon, a gingery amber shade that, when she decided to keep it down instead of pinning it up to the top of her head, flowed delicately down the length of her back, like a straight waterfall, tumbling from the roots of her skull. Her eyes were a shocking emerald green and always seemed sparkle with some sort of endearment, even when she was angry or upset about something; yes, her eyes were by far her most beautiful feature, and something she was abundantly proud of. And, at this moment, her usually pale cheeks were flushed a violent red in annoyance.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever,” her companion, a Mr. Nicholas Oakley, called out to her. He had fallen a ways behind during their- supposed to be her- walk into town. Mr. Oakley was the son of a long time friend of Mr. Benedicts, Beth’s father, and ever since she was child, she and Nicholas had been constantly pushed together; mainly because they were the same age.

Beth stomped on, not bothering to look back behind her to see just how far away from the man she had gotten. She forced herself not to say anything, to ignore his little jab at trying to get her to talk to him. It wasn’t going to work; not this time, anyway.

“I hate to tell you this, Miss Benedicts,” he hollered sarcastically. “-but you’re being terribly rude.” That seemed to have the effect he wanted because Beth came to a stop and turned around to glare at him. It took him only a moment to catch up to her with his long strides and even longer legs. He opened his mouth to speak, but Beth cut him off.

“I’m being rude?” She demanded, crossing her arms against her chest and shifting her weight to one hip. “I’ve done nothing that could be considered rude at all. I’m not the one who invited myself on a walk that was meant for a lady’s thoughts. I’m not the one who insists on following someone everywhere they go.”

“If you remember correctly,” Mr. Oakley replied in an annoyed sort of way. He dusted off the front of his greatcoat, obviously refusing to meet Beth’s gaze. “You’ll know that I did not invite myself on this walk of yours. That would be your father, who, again if you remember correctly, said he didn’t like the idea of you walking into town on your own; especially with the militia staying there.”

“You didn’t have to agree with him.” Beth seethed through her teeth. “You could have respectfully declined the offer to come.”

“I don’t see why you’re so upset about it.” Mr. Oakley replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders in indifference. “Unless, of course, you’re planning on meeting someone…” His blue eyes shined with something mysterious. He leaned against a stray tree on the side of the road and crossed his arms, smirking at the dumbfounded woman in front of him. “And, judging by the look of surprise on your face… I’d say I’m correct in my assumption.”

“You were spying on me, weren’t you?” Beth demanded, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “How long have you been following me around without my knowledge?”

“Since we were about six,” he admitted sheepishly. He pushed himself off the trunk of the tree and his once almost shy expression quickly sobered. “I think you should be careful, Beth. That Mr. Williams is up to no good.”

“That’s rich, coming from the Mr. Oakley who’s been spying on me my whole life.” Beth replied mildly. “And anyway, Mr. Williams hasn’t done a single thing I would consider ‘no good’. As a matter of fact, he told me about how he saved a poor woman and her daughter from living on the streets and that they’re very comfortable keeping the house his father left him after he passed. Does that sound like somebody up to no good to you?”

Mr. Oakley tried to hold back his laughter, but it shook his shoulders and he bubbled up his throat, making it entirely impossible to restrain. “Beth Benedicts, are you telling me this handsome, single, rich man who happens to be part of the militia gave his probably three thousand pound a year house to a homeless woman and her daughter for free? How daft could you get?” He demanded, laughing even harder now.

Beth’s anger rose even higher now and she stomped over to where her unwanted companion was standing and poked him directly in the chest. “Of course he’s letting them stay there for free, you daft dimwitted cockroach. How would they afford to do so otherwise? He is doing this out of the kindness of his heart.”

“He’s not doing it from the kindness of his heart,” Mr. Oakley insisted, glaring down at the little woman who had poked him (rather hard if he was being entirely honest) square in the chest to get his attention. Miss Benedicts was no more than five foot one, at least a full foot shorter than Mr. Oakley, but she was definitely intimidating for someone so small; especially to someone who had been pushed in the mud by said woman many a time during their childhood.

“He’s doing it,” Mr. Oakley continued on, “because he wants to receive his payment every time he has a chance to go home.”

“But I told you,” Beth said, now sounding a bit confused. “They have no money to pay for his services.” This caused Mr. Oakley to raise his eyebrows at Beth, obviously questioning whether or not she was incompetent. When his meaning sunk in, Beth’s cheeks flushed scarlet (this time in embarrassment instead of anger) and she quickly took a step away from her escort. “That’s disgusting and vile. I don’t know how you could ever think of such a thing… This woman is not his… She’s not his… mistress.” She struggled to speak the hateful word.

“Of course she is.” Mr. Oakley replied indifferently, waving away the gossip like it was an annoying fly.

“She is not. Mr. Williams would never do that. There’s no respect in keeping a mistress.”

“Respect? Maybe not,” Mr. Oakley pretended to muse, enjoying winding Miss Benedicts up. “But there sure is a piece of ass and, at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters to men like Mr. Williams.”

Beth gasped at the way he freely spoke of such a thing. “How dare you speak that way in front of a lady, such as myself.”

“You’re as much a lady as I am. I believe I’ve heard you say things ten times worse than what I just did.”

All the blood drained from Beth’s cheeks, making them white for once instead of tomato red. “That was a long time ago when we were children and I can assure you I don’t speak that way anymore.” She spoke much too quickly, unable to lie to him as well as she could anyone else, as he seemed to know her so well he could almost to read her thoughts, and that caused him to chuckle.

“Fine,” she said loudly, to be heard over her companion’s horse laughs. “If you don’t believe me, you can see for yourself what a gentleman Mr. Williams truly is. I’m sure you’d do it anyway, but I’m giving you full permission to spy on me today. Then you will know that I wasn’t lying about Mr. Williams and you will have to apologize.” She said haughtily, obviously pleased with herself.

“Fine,” Mr. Oakley agreed, giving a slight bow. “I will take your little bet and we will see just who was right. However, I think it would only be fair for me to ask something in return if I win.”

“But I didn’t ask for anything-”

“You said that if you were right about Mr. Williams, then I would have to apologize. Now,” he added slyly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “If I am correct in my assumption about Perfect Mr. Williams, then I think I want…” His voice trailed off teasingly and he struggled not to laugh when he saw Beth’s annoyance spike up to a ten and a half. “A kiss,” he finally said, almost sheepishly.

“What? No way!” She yelped much louder than she meant to. Her throat had suddenly gone dry and she was tempted to push him in the small puddle of mud that sat beside them on the road, much like she would have done when they were children. “You are the last man I would ever be tempted to grace with a kiss,” she added.

“Well, then you better hope that you’re right.” Mr. Oakley said softly, leaning in teasingly and puckering his lips in a mock of form of waiting to receive a kiss.

This time Beth really did push him the mud. She shoved the flats on her hands on his chest with such force that he nearly toppled over. He barely caught himself in time and, instead of falling on his behind like Beth had intended him to do, he ended up just stepping in the puddle, splattering his left boot and the lower part of his pants leg.

“You’re such a pig,” Beth said, smiling sweetly from her spot on higher ground, just under the oak tree. “Pigs enjoy playing in the mud.”

Mr. Oakley glared at her from where he stood in the road. “I’ll have my revenge soon, Miss Benedicts.” He said, glaring at her. “I can promise you that much.”

“Oh, I’m so scared.” She teased and hopped delicately over the puddle and back on the road. “Now, I do believe I have a bet to win.” She threw over her shoulder as she continued her stroll up the lazy, dirty path.

Meryton was a rather small town, though not terribly so, that serviced well to the people of the country. It was within a three mile walking radius of the Benedicts’ farm and a four and a half mile radius to the Oakley Estate (though the Oakley’s so often found themselves dining with the Benedicts it was as if they all shared a home), which were both located on the English country side.

The Oakley’s were, of course, far richer than the Benedicts. Mr. Oakley Senior made a grand total of over seven thousand a year, which was quite extraordinary on its own, and his son, Nicholas, had over thirty thousand pounds to his name. However, the Oakley’s were not simple minded people and truly did enjoy the company of the Benedicts and the comfort of their farm house.

Today though, and for the past three weeks, the tiny town of Meryton was overly populated with the militia; a group of at least three hundred British soldiers. Beth didn’t know or care why they were there; she was just glad to have an excuse to see such fine gentleman and, perhaps, find a suitable husband. (After all, she was three and twenty).

“And where are you to be meeting such a fine gentleman?” Mr. Oakley asked her mockingly as they made their way through the crowded streets.

“The inn,” Beth said excitedly. “Oh, Nicholas, he plans on buying me lunch! How gentlemanlike is that?” She gushed. “No man has offered to buy me lunch before. In fact, I don’t believe I know how to eat in the presence of such a man.” Her teeth latched on to her lower lip and she furrowed her eyebrows. “I do hope I don’t make a fool of myself. That would be awful.”

“I’m sure you’ll be as ladylike as ever,” Mr. Oakley said dully, not bothering to hide how tedious he thought the conversation to be. “Now,” he said more seriously, gripping Beth’s arm gently and pulling her attention back to him. “If your Prince Charming says or does anything you don’t find appropriate, all you need to do is put your hand in the air, like your stretching and I’ll come and get you with some excuse as to why you have to leave.”

Beth found herself smiling dopily at her friend. Though he did get on her nerves more often than not, and they always ended up arguing about one thing or the other, he was truly a good man. “How kind of you,” she replied, teasingly. “I’ll be sure and do that.”

He let out a struggled groan. “I mean it, Beth.”

“I got it,” she said, waving off his offer. She stood on her tip toes to see over the heads of the other town’s people and visitors. “I best go inside. He said to be here at noon and it’s nearly twelve o’clock now.” She turned to face Mr. Oakley. “And you better expect to be apologizing and begging for forgiveness soon.” She added before taking off in the direction of the inn.

******

Beth Benedicts waited. And waited. And waited. For nearly two and a half hours she waited for Mr. Williams to show.

She sat at a table in the middle of the room by herself, fidgeting and glancing at the door every five minutes in hopes of seeing the man who had asked her here in the first place, and not once did he walk through the threshold.

A shadow was cast over the table from behind her and she quickly turned around in hopes of seeing Mr. Williams, but it was only Mr. Oakley and he didn’t look particularly happy. He took a seat in the chair across from her, the one Mr. Williams was supposed to be occupying right now, and stared at her for a very long time.

“Go on and say it,” she said quietly, staring down at her hands entwined on the table top. She didn’t care if this was a rude gesture or not. She was too upset to care about anything other than her aching heart. “You were right. I lost the bet.”

“I, for one,” Mr. Oakley said, ignoring her sorrows and struggling to keep the atmosphere light and bubbly. “-am famished to the point of fainting. It just so happens, that I brought along a decent amount of coin in hopes of dining with a lovely young lady.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Will you be that young lady?”

“Nicholas-” She started, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“I insist.” He interrupted and gave her a soft smile. “What would you like? Anything you want.” He signaled for a waiter to come over.

The waiter, a thin man with graying black hair and beady dark eyes, glared at Mr. Oakley, obviously mistaking him for Mr. Williams, the man who was supposed to be dining with Beth and had kept her waiting so long.

They each gave their orders; Beth, a cold salad with cucumber and Mr. Oakley, a beef stew with bread and cheese that he promised to share with Miss Benedicts.

Beth didn’t talk throughout the whole of their meal, save for a few sniffles and grunts in reply to something Mr. Oakley said. She took the offered bread and cheese and ate silently, occasionally taking a sip of her milk.

They walked back home in companionable silence and, for once, Beth was glad Nicholas had decided to meddle with her life. She couldn’t imagine walking home alone after being stood up like that.

“Thank you for buying me lunch.” Beth said softly just as the Benedicts’ farm was coming into view.

“Your thanks are not needed.” Nicholas replied, not looking at her as he said this. He had always had a problem with expressing his emotions- if it wasn’t laughing at someone making a fool of themselves. He looked terribly uncomfortable now and his arms fidgeted at his side.

Beth’s hand clasped around his to keep him from walking on and she reached up on the tips of her toes to press her lips delicately on his cheek bone. It was a soft kiss, like the caress of a cool breeze in springtime, and it was over almost as soon as it started. “You win,” she muttered darkly when she pulled away and she didn’t sound annoyed as she always did when Mr. Oakley won at a bet; in fact, she just sounded sad. She sank down to her original height and whispered, “Please. Just don’t tell my father about what happened today. He’d surely tell my mother, who would blab to my sisters and I know they’d laugh at me. I already feel like a fool enough.” She let go of his hand.

“I promise I won’t tell.” Mr. Oakley replied softly. He straightened up and cleared his throat. “It’s beginning to get dark. I should be on my way home.”

“You’re not staying the night?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at her friend. Usually, he practically lived on the Benedicts’ farm, only going home when his mother or father called or on special occasions.

“Not tonight.” He replied. He gave Beth a small bow and turned on his way down the winding road that connected the Benedicts’ and the Oakley’s.

“Goodnight, dumbo!” Beth called after him, using the nickname she had given him years ago.

“Goodnight, Bethany,” he called back to her over his shoulder, using her full name like he knew she hated.

She stuck her tongue out at him, though she knew she was too far away for him to see, and headed inside the farm house.

Her father, Mr. Benedicts, was sitting up in his library, reading the book Beth’s aunt had given him for Christmas. He smoked from his long pipe and had watched the whole exchange through his window, before turning back to his novel and pretending not to notice anything.

Mrs. Benedicts was in her own sitting room, along with her three other daughters. They were all younger than Beth; Scarlett being the youngest at twelve, then Elizabeth at fifteen, and finally Margery, who was seventeen and second oldest after Beth. They were all sitting around the fire, having tea and chatting about the up and coming ball at Netherfield they had been invited to. Scarlett refused to join in the conversation, pouting because she was too young to attend and had to stay home with Mandy, the servant girl.

Beth had been hoping to see Mr. Williams at the ball, but that thought was quickly squashed where it came.

As she headed up the stairs without bothering to announce her return, she decided she would find a new gentleman, a more suitable gentleman, at the ball. He would fall in love with her and she with him and she would move away to live in his mansion and everything would be perfect.

Or so she thought.

Copyright © Statement

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, photocopying, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Fiction Statement

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

marriagelove
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About the Creator

No One

Anon

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