Mr. Lockwood joined the conversation, “Mrs. Reynolds is correct. servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”
“Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.” Mrs. Reynolds set down her teacup. “And just as with his sister, Mr. Darcy gives his wife freedom to be who she chooses to be. I do not believe every woman should pick up a sword, but Mrs. Darcy wishes to, and she does so with her husband’s permission and his participation.And as far as Mrs. Darcy is concerned, she treats each of us with kindness. I am impressed with her civility.”
“That she is, Ma’am,” one of the footmen added. “Mrs. Darcy was all apologies when we moved furniture for the Master.”
Mrs. Reynolds nodded in agreement. “He is exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suits her, and she him. The man is happy—at last, after all these years of loneliness, he is happy, and I would tolerate the worst harpy to see him such. Thank the heavens that all I have to do is look the other way when the Master playfully shows affection for his wife. When Mr. Darcy is contented, so are the members of his staff.”
Milly blushed with the reprimand.“Of course, Mrs. Reynolds. I meant nothing by my remark.”
“Then it is best not mentioned.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He sat in the Bennets’ parlor, paying homage to Lydia Bennet while other officers from the troop flirted with Kitty and Mary Bennet, along with Charlotte and Maria Lucas. Wickham hated such dalliances; he preferred the feast to the hunt.Yet he wanted no one suspicious until he reeled in his prey—until it was too late for the Bennets or the Darcys.
“Will you travel with the Forsters, Miss Lydia?” As usual, he
Lydia frowned in response.“Papa has not relented.”
“I do so hope you attend the ball, Miss Lydia, and I wish to claim the first set.”Wickham gave her one of his best smiles.
Lydia batted her eyelashes at him and fanned her face.“You will be in London, Mr.Wickham?”
Now,Wickham thought, now, she is ready. As if to entice her, he lowered his voice.“I will be in London if you will, Miss Lydia, and it would give me great pleasure if I might take you to see the sights. Of course, none of the beauties of the city will be able to compete with your beauty. If I might be so bold, I would like to take you riding in Hyde Park or to the theatre while you are in town. Anything you wish, Miss Lydia.”
He thought she might rebuke his forwardness, but Lydia Bennet relished his attentions. Wickham knew wedding bells rang in her head, but as it was for many others, marriage to him would be more than a life-long commitment; it would be eternal damnation.
“Mr.Wickham, I would entertain your wishes most readily.”
He could barely keep a straight face when she rolled her eyes up to his. If he could get her alone, Lydia Bennet would easily succumb to his temptations. “Then, Miss Lydia, we need to do what we can to convince your father to change his mind. Our happiness depends on it.”
Wickham captured her with his gaze, thundercloud grey eyes promising things of which she had no knowledge. “Oh, Mr. Wickham,” she said with a sigh.
The day that the Darcys admitted to their growing love, the forces holding them together changed dramatically. For Fitzwilliam, his need to touch her became even more intense. For weeks, he had cautiously guarded his emotions.Yet each resolution to ignore her disappeared the moment Elizabeth swept into a room. Her presence
For Elizabeth, dreams of a family permeated her waking and resting moments. These dreams made her more aware of Darcy’s masculinity—made her want to act in a manner such as her Aunt Merry had described in her motherly talk before Elizabeth married. She found that she flirted more than ever with Darcy, never passing up a chance to wrap her arms around him or to kiss him.
For both of them, their desperation to defeat Wickham increased. By silent assent, they set the day of Wickham’s demise as the day they would begin their “real” life.Their need for a normal life together fueled their daily search for facts in the books that she had purchased in London. When Georgiana tired of reading passage after passage, Darcy and Elizabeth pressed on, as did Mrs. Annesley. It was a matter of life and death.
“It says here,” Elizabeth summarized a passage, “that vampires often have the ability to physically transform themselves. This is obviously true; I thought I followed Fitzwilliam through the woods, but it was really Wickham.”
“That does not make me feel safer,” Georgiana commented before adding transformation to their growing list of characteristics.
“Repeat what we have on the list so far,” Mrs. Annesley said, and she sat back to listen to Georgiana’s recitation.
“Let me see—does not eat or drink, has the power of the wind, can disappear, probably carried forward at a great speed, has no reflection, is affected by iron and by holy objects, needs native soil to rest.” Georgiana laid the paper down.
Darcy repeated what he had learned about his enemy.“We think Wickham is from somewhere in Northumberland because Arawn
Georgiana picked up another list. “To kill a vampire, the number of ways grows. A stake through the heart, cut off and burn the head, pile stones on the grave, place a coin in the mouth, drive a nail through the neck, use a silver bullet.The list goes on and on.”
“If I find Wickham, I will use them all for good measure,” Darcy asserted.
Mrs. Annesley read from the book currently in front of her. “Burn the heart, producing a plate of ashes. Mix those ashes with local well water to create a drink to cure those infected by the beast.” She laughed. “Sounds delicious. I still think your best bet is to apply Mrs. Darcy’s dream to interpret what we read.”
“I dreamed of Wickham before my dream in London,” Elizabeth interjected.
Darcy demanded,“When?”
“The day of the attack at the manor house.”
“Why did you not tell me before?”
“I suppose it just slipped my mind.”
Mrs.Annesley interrupted,“What do you remember, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Well, …I was running through the woods, trying to escape. Wickham did not run, but he kept pace with me.The wind carried him forward or perhaps he floated.” Elizabeth looked up at Darcy, ashamed of the next part.“Wickham bade me to come to him, and I could do nothing else.Then it began to rain, but only on me; only I was tormented by the wind and the rain.”
Darcy sat down beside her.“Go on.”
“The mud was pulling at my feet and legs, but I kept trying to reach where Wickham stood, waiting for me. My body moved on its own. Finally, a gigantic deer stepped from the shadows. He had your eyes, Fitzwilliam, so I trusted him implicitly. Then he lowered his head, and I took hold of his antlers. Easily removing them, I charged at Wickham, and the horns pierced his chest.
Georgiana leaned forward, anxious to hear the rest.“Then?”
“Then nothing.” Elizabeth looked around sheepishly. “Then I woke up.”
Georgiana wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “What could such a silly dream mean?”
Mrs. Annesley’s gentle eyes told them she had her own opinions. “It seems to me that Mrs. Darcy’s dream tells us that the legends of vampires not tolerating running water might have some merit, as well as what we read yesterday about driving an ash or white thorn stake through the heart with a single strike to destroy them. We just need to figure out the deer and the many-colored blood. All the answers are there; I am sure of it.We just need to ask the right questions.”
It was Christmas Eve, and Wickham knew that he need not spend it in Meryton, trying to woo the youngest Bennet sister. Miss Jane Bennet and the aunt and uncle from London had arrived several days earlier, along with a houseful of nieces and nephews. He would make little progress in his quest, so he took himself off to one of the gaming halls peppering the London b
ack streets. Even with the religious holiday on the next day, patrons packed the place. He supposed it was because the Black Ghost served as both a tavern and a gaming establishment. The tavern, with its locals and its lowlifes, was filled with boisterous drunks, while the three private rooms in the back burst with some of the ton’s finest. Men won and lost fortunes while laborers and sailors pissed away their hard-earned money on a tankard of watered-down ale.The owner of the Black Ghost thought of everything.
Wickham did not gamble—just as he did not eat or drink. He had no need for such activities, but he took a jaunt through the gaming rooms, seeing if anyone interested him. It did not matter consummate lover.
However, if no woman was available, a man or a boy would do, and it was more an issue of brute force.The feasting became an act of base survival, like an animal overcoming its prey. Actually, he hated it when he took someone simply because he hungered for him like a lion claiming a gazelle as food in the wild.Wickham preferred a woman.With a woman, he considered himself an artist.
Finding no one whom he thought might consider leaving with him, he returned to the public rooms. Laying on a good one for the holidays, probably to cover their loneliness, drunken louts spoke loudly and shoved each other.Aware of the alcohol-induced happiness circulating around him, Wickham found a small table in a darkened corner, where he could watch the goings-on. As he settled himself, he took on the image of James Denny. He could not be seen leaving the bar as himself.
In a few minutes, a busty bar maid, no longer young, came to the table, swiping at it with a none-too-clean rag. “Need some Christmas cheer, Guv’nor?” she asked as she circled the table a second time with the cloth.
“A tankard of ale, if you please.”Wickham’s eyes found hers. She was not what he would normally choose, but as he knew the Christian holiday kept many people at home, he would make do. The woman’s breasts swelled from the tight-fitting bodice of an equally
The woman took full note of his appearance, and Wickham offered up a lonely smile, playing on her pity. He usually took more time with his seduction, but after what had happened in Meryton, the possibility of his disguise fading played on his mind.
The chaos swirled behind her as she made the mistake of looking deeply into his eyes to judge his character. He changed instantly from affable gentleman to supreme seducer. “I might be persuaded, Dearie, if ye be interested.” Her voice cleared away the inebriated din of the room.
Wickham’s hand lightly stroked her bare forearm. “May I ask your name, Sweet Lady?”
Enthralled by the gleam in the swirling grey of his eyes, the woman did not move. “Me mama named me Lucinda. Most call me Lucy.”
“I will call you Lucy or Love or my Heart.” The words made little difference because she could not withdraw even if she wished to do so. “When do you leave work, my lovely Lucy?” His voice was sweet.
“Me thinks it be mighty soon. I come in early today.” She leaned into his light touch.
Wickham winked at her, solidifying his hold.“You have a place we might visit?”
“It be just a sleeping room.”
“I have no desire to sleep.”Wickham leaned back in the chair to release his hold on her.“Say we will not sleep, my lovely Lucy.”
The woman shook her head, trying to clear it. “No, Guv’nor, we will take no sleep.” She gave him a smile, showing one missing tooth.“I will bring ye the tankard. I be askin’ Harry about leavin’.”
“That would be capital, Lucy.”
The woman disappeared into the crowded room.As she departed, Wickham visualized what he would do to her. Getting her to a room, he would make her submit to him with a twitch of his eyes.
Surprisingly, Lucy appeared at the table in less than a quarter hour.“Ye be ready, Guv’nor?” She extended a hand to him.
Wickham, as Denny, took the hand and brought her to him as he stood.“Never been more ready, lovely Lucy.”
He slung his arm about her shoulder and maneuvered the bar maid out into the crisp December air. “Whew,” she uttered, her breath forming a solid film,“it be colder.”
“I will keep you warm,” he growled close to her ear.
Lucy laughed, a bit nervously, but she never paused or faltered as they crossed the intersecting streets. “I live just down here.” She pointed to a row of tenements, shabby-looking buildings even in the daylight. In the cold night, they seemed to huddle together to keep themselves warm.“Ye be tellin’ Lucy yer name, Guv’nor?”
“I am James,” he said as he followed her up the narrow stairs of the second row house.
“James be an honest-soundin’ name,” she observed as they reached her door. Unlocking the bolt, Lucy opened it to a darkened room.“I find us a candle.” She fumbled along the mantelpiece.
“Allow me.” Needing no light to see clearly,Wickham managed to find the flint and the stub of the candle easily.
Lucy removed the scarf she wore around her neck for warmth. “My, ye be handy.”
“I am here to please.” He gave her an exaggerated bow. “You settle yourself, Lucy, and I will stoke the fire.”
When the fire was blazing, he came to where she stood. He did not kiss her, as she had anticipated, but Lucy knew some men preferred not to kiss—too intimate. She found that amusing. Instead, Wickham caressed her jaw line and raised her chin to look into her eyes. He would do nothing else but rest his intense gaze upon her.
Lucy felt the heat all the way through her, although he barely touched her.With a slight tilt of his head,Wickham indicated the bed, and Lucy backed towards it. Besides the caress of her cheek, he had not touched her. She lay back, and he straddled her, taking
Now as caught up in the act as the woman,Wickham lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. She smelled of sweat and of tobacco and of cheap liquor, but Lucy also smelled of life and of iron-filled blood, and Wickham needed what she offered. He raised his head to stare at her with another spellbinding gaze.Then came the snap of her neck, a quick movement of his hands, placing the thumbs at the indentation before giving a lethal jerk. Lucy’s eyes rolled back in her head, the life leaving her immediately.
Slowly, finally enjoying himself, Wickham lowered his head again, drinking his fill of Lucy’s blood—feasting on her existence. The act of tasting her in the most personal of ways brought the erection the woman had thought to enjoy, and Wickham sated himself with a copulation with her lifeless, rapidly cooling body.
It was pure power—this lustful lapping of the woman’s life fluid. It was the taking of a human life; it was the build-up of emotions—the control—his control—and the submission—her submission. The exhilaration of the absolute power he held inflamed him more than did the sex act. Wickham lived for that one split second before they died—the moment his victims knew the folly of their decision.
Wickham considered the act very much like the Christian Eucharist—a sacrifice inasmuch as it is offered up and a sacrament inasmuch as it is received. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.
CHAPTER 20
After the storm, the days warmed quickly, unseasonably so for December.The weather allowed Darcy and Elizabeth to escape the house and resume the riding lessons. They had left Ceres in the London stables, so Darcy introduced Elizabeth to a new horse, the gelding Apollo he had considered for her back at Netherfield. Apollo was more spirited than Ceres and would challenge Elizabeth to use her natural skills.
“Straighten your back,” Darcy reminded her when she began to bounce in the seat.
“He is so powerful, Fitzwilliam!”
“No more so than Ceres; Apollo is just different—not as comfortable as your favorite, but he is a better horse for the rolling hills of Pemberley. Ceres is better for the city—not as skittish with the noise and the traffic.”
“You know so much about the nature of animals,” she observed, while automatically relaxing into the horse’s gait. Darcy’s words gave her the confidence to handle the reins admirably.
“I thought that we might call on a few of the tenants; and maybe the vicar if there is time.”
“I would take pleasure in that.” Elizabeth shot him a quick glance.“I was thinking.” Suddenly, she seemed tongue-tied.
“Dare I ask of what?” Darcy found her embarrassment endearing.
Elizabeth breathed deeply.Apollo tossed his mane and pranced. The deep breaths calmed her, and she carried on. “I considered where I might find my place as your wife—as the mistress of this estate. Back at Longbourn, I often handled the tenant affairs for my trivial confrontations, and my mother’s nerves make the confrontations too tedious. I flatter myself that I have a way with the workers—at least, I seemed to at Longbourn. Pemberley is much bigger, of course.”
Darcy pulled up on his horse, stopping at the crest of a hill. He gave her a level look.“What would you do at Longbourn? For the tenants?” he asked seriously.
Elizabeth sparkled with his interest. “Papa trusted me to settle the disputes and such matters. And at this time of year, I would arrange a basket for each family. It was not much; Papa is not wealthy, but everyone appreciated our acknowledgment.”
Intrigued, Darcy asked,“What kind of basket?”
“Simple gifts: cold meat, bread, a few potatoes, a candle, and a branch of consecrated mistletoe.” Her eyes searched Darcy’s for his thoughts.
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