In this year of the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth, here are three very different beginnings I have imagined for her best-loved – and my favourite – Austen novel. (Warning: some may find these offensive; Janeites, possibly also sacrilegious).

Trade

‘So, my dear Fitzwilliam, what price do you want to pay for your future sister-in-law’s virginity?’ 

Darcy gripped the table even more tightly. Being in the same room as this savage was bad enough; now he was being invited to barter with him, and in the most offensive and impertinent language imaginable. Darcy reddened. But the complexion of his nonchalant, bright-eyed interlocutor suffered no corresponding colouring of mixed embarrassment and anger. From the question, Darcy knew – and knew that this blackguard sitting opposite him knew he knew – that Wickham held all the cards. Only someone as devious and cynical as he could have worked out that Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy was only here because he had a strong personal interest in legitimising the relationship between Wickham and the girl he had seduced: the youngest Bennet daughter Wickham had deceived into eloping with him at the risk of ruining her reputation – and, by association, the marriage prospects of her elder sisters.

That Darcy was being forced to expiate this man’s sordid conduct with the sixteen-year-old fool was entirely down to his need to keep the door open on the possibility that he might marry one of those sisters. The rogue was so clever he had probably worked out which one as well. And knowing her value to Darcy meant Wickham could name his price. Damn him! Only once before in his life had Darcy felt so much in the power of another. And that had led to his first, unsuccessful proposal to the lady in question. If he was to keep alive his hope of making a second attempt, he would have to comply. His pride momentarily bridled. Then a pair of fine eyes flashed across his mind and his heart swelled. He swallowed, and opened negotiations.

Nonce

George Wickham likes fucking teenage girls, preferably ones from rich families. He nearly managed it with Georgiana Darcy. He got very close with Mary King. But now he is doing it over and over with Lydia Bennet, her insatiable sex drive putting her father’s impecunious circumstances out of his equally libidinous mind, thinking with his penis rather than his purse. Lydia’s second-eldest sister was pleasant enough company but far too old to contemplate in that way, despite being not yet one and twenty. Not young enough to tempt him, at any rate.

When he starts thinking straight again, he will see a way to make this pay. But for now, with the young lady coming up for air, that will have to wait.

Rights of Women

Let us take a look, dear reader, beneath the skin of this society of propriety and staged manners, to the real, if rarely acknowledged, condition of its women. Observe the want of power, property rights and independence which renders them little more than slaves. Note the distortions of their characters and relationships as they fight for husbands – and with each other; witness the competition to survive which divides sister from sister, ceding control of their lives to men without the latter having to raise a finger to assert their ruling authority. Except when the fancy takes them, and roughing the girls up a bit with a fist or a fuck now and again reminds everyone who is master and who is servant. A universal truth if ever there was one.