Discipline & Devotion: A Pride and Prejudice Intimate: Submitting To Mr. Darcy, #1

By Temperance McGraw

A daringly sensual continuation of Pride & Prejudice—for readers who've always wondered what happens after "I do"…

Elizabeth Bennet married for love—but she never imagined the depths of passion and submission her husband would awaken in her.

Fitzwilliam Darcy is a man of honour, pride, and precise control. But behind closed doors, he reveals a darker, more commanding nature—and Elizabeth discovers that obedience can be its own form of pleasure.

Their marriage begins with tenderness and trust… and deepens into something far more intoxicating. With every whispered order, every blush-inducing punishment, Lizzy is brought to her knees—in the most exquisite ways.

Set against the backdrop of Pemberley's grand halls and whispered secrets, Discipline & Devotion is the first novella in the Submitting to Mr. Darcy series. Steamy, elegant, and emotionally rich, this is Jane Austen fan fiction as you've never read it before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Temperance McGraw
• Release date: Apr 30, 2025
• ISBN: 9798231424689

Book preview

​Discipline & Devotion

Submitting to Mr. Darcy, Book 1

Temperance McGraw

​Chapter 1

The carriage rolled with stately progress beneath the stone archway, its wheels hushed by the gravelled approach, and Elizabeth Darcy, late of Longbourn and, until recently, Miss Bennet, found herself gazing from the window with a composure not quite unmarred by awe. Her fingers, gloved in fine kid leather, brushed the velvet lining of the interior as she beheld for the first time, as its mistress, the noble façade of Pemberley.

It was not a new sight to her, but it was now a sight transformed. Once a marvel observed from the respectful distance of a guest, it had become her charge, her dwelling, her inheritance by marriage—and the weight of that alteration lay upon her heart with mingled solemnity and delight.

It is very fine, she observed, with all the lightness she could summon, though her heart fluttered in a manner more suggestive of trepidation than gaiety.

Mr. Darcy, seated opposite, replied with the quiet gravity that had become familiar to her. It is yours, Elizabeth.

Those words, plain as they were, struck her with a peculiar force. His tone, ever calm and deep, had a way of fixing her attention, of binding her thoughts as surely as any elaborate declaration might. She met his gaze and, in that look, forgot for a moment the grandeur of the house to which she had come.

When the carriage drew to a halt, he descended first and offered his hand. She accepted it, her fingers alighting in his with a tremor that was not caused by cold. The pressure he applied was scarcely more than polite, but the manner of it suggested something far more intimate. There was, in his bearing, a kind of silent possession, felt rather than stated.

At the grand entrance, Mrs. Reynolds appeared with a company of servants arrayed behind her. Their countenances bore that particular mixture of ceremony and curiosity which domestic decorum demands and barely suppresses.

Welcome home, Mrs. Darcy, the housekeeper said. Her curtsey was one of stately precision and Elizabeth returned it with grace.

Thank you. I shall endeavour not to bring the house to ruin in my first week.

There was a murmur of subdued amusement, though Mrs. Reynolds’s expression held a shrewdness which did not escape the new mistress’s notice.

Together, she and her husband crossed the threshold. The great hall expanded before them, its floors gleaming with polish and its windows welcoming the pale sunlight of a spring afternoon. The ancestral portraits observed her arrival with silent judgment. Her name was not yet recorded amongst them, but already she felt their regard, their expectation.

Mr. Darcy said little, but his presence beside her—solid, silent, near—did more to steady her spirits than a thousand speeches might have done.

At the head of the principal staircase, the final of the attendants withdrew. Elizabeth turned to her husband with a smile that was not without irony. Well, sir, am I to be led to my tower and imprisoned without ceremony?

A shadow of amusement played about his lips. You are not imprisoned. You are home.

From his coat, he withdrew a ring of keys and selected one of delicate workmanship, which he placed into her hand.

This, said he, is for your chambers. You may enter mine at your pleasure, but I would have you know that your liberty remains untouched. You are mistress here, and mistress of yourself.

She turned the key in her palm, the chill of the silver surprising even through her glove.

And if I should choose solitude over your society? she asked, her voice light but her glance steady.

His expression altered, subtly. Then I shall knock.

And if I do not answer?

He did not smile, but his tone held a shade of something both tender and resolute. I have other keys, Elizabeth. Though I would never use them without just cause.

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