Darkness Falls Upon Pemberley

by Adriani, Susan

  Darcy pursed his lips. “And you perceived such information to be of interest to me in what way, madam?”

  “Come, Mr. Darcy. All of Hertfordshire has surely noticed the blatant manner in which Miss Eliza has all but thrown herself in your way. It’s no wonder Mr. Bennet has forbidden her to appear before company of late. Her comportment is shameful, and rumor has it that until she is capable of conducting herself in a manner befitting a proper lady her father is to keep her locked away at home. Apparently,” she sniffed, “her continued absence from society speaks for itself.”

  The beginning of a headache was making his temples throb. Darcy took another sip of tea, growing impatient and annoyed. Blatantly throwing herself in my way, he growled inwardly. Not only was such an accusation untrue, but entirely laughable, especially considering the source. Miss Bingley had been trying to ingratiate herself with him for years with the hope of gaining his interest, and failing spectacularly with each attempt. Good Lord. How much longer must I endure Caroline Bingley’s cattiness? Darcy wondered exasperatedly. Would that I was above stairs in the comfort of my own apartment and free from such pettiness and vitriol—or, better yet, at Pemberley.

  When he failed to comment, Miss Bingley continued in the same vein. “What say you, Mr. Darcy? Surely, you must have an opinion on the subject. I daresay you wouldn’t approve of your sister behaving in such a manner as would require her to be confined to Pemberley House, hidden away like a pariah from visitors and acquaintances whenever they came to call.”

  Darcy’s annoyance turned to anger then as he thought of Georgiana, who was indeed at that moment in a very similar situation, residing alone in their ancestral home with no one but Colonel Fitzwilliam and the servants for company.

  “Certainly, not,” he replied curtly.

  “Poor Eliza Bennet,” Miss Bingley lamented. “But with such a mother, not to mention relations in Cheapside who no doubt live within sight of their warehouses, I can hardly say I’m surprised she turned out so headstrong and wild. I wonder if we shall ever see her again? Do you think, Louisa, she will be let out before Christmas? I daresay it will hardly matter at that point, as we will more than likely be safely removed to Grosvenor Street by then.”

  While both sisters cackled delightedly, Darcy stewed in silence until their unconscionable tittering became too much and he found he could no longer hold his temper in check.

  “I wouldn’t put much stock in second-hand gossip, madam, if I were you, for there is rarely much truth to be found in blind assumptions. Should you assume wrongly, your misfortunes would be heavy indeed.”

  A frown appeared on Miss Bingely’s face. “Oh? How so, sir?”

  With pursed lips, Darcy placed his cup and saucer on a nearby table with more force than he’d intended and rose from his chair, crossing the room in several long strides to stand before her. “To assume wrongly, Miss Bingley,” he said lowly, “you would succeed only in casting yourself in a most unpropitious and unflattering light, especially since all of Hertfordshire must certainly have noticed the fervency of my admiration of the very lady you are so intent on disparaging. In fact, it’s been many weeks now that I’ve considered Miss Elizabeth Bennet one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

  The lady’s eyes widened in shock, and for once she appeared to have nothing to say.

  Darcy’s satisfaction at having rendered her speechless was short-lived, however, as he recalled he was not only a guest in Bingley’s home, but in Miss Bingley’s as well, and a gentleman—not some indecorous churl. Clearly, the time had come for him to take his leave and withdraw above stairs for the rest of the night. “Pray excuse me,” he muttered as he offered both women a stiff, conciliatory bow. “I’m afraid I’m feeling unwell, and will retire to my apartment directly. Good evening to you.”

  Five

  Wide bands of sunlight shone through the bedchamber windows, eliciting a low groan from Darcy as he shielded his eyes with his hands. The stark brightness made the pounding in his head unbearable, and he cursed whatever servant was responsible for daring to draw the curtains that morning without first obtaining his consent. Throughout the night the master of Pemberley’s repose had been fitful at best, and now, in addition to a throbbing headache, he suffered a sore throat, chills, and a fever.

  Parched with thirst, Darcy licked his lips and squinted toward the bedside table, hoping to discover a pitcher of water. He struggled to sit upright and was nearly overcome by the effort it cost him. The encroaching blackness behind his eyes and ringing in his ears made his head spin, and for several excruciating moments he fought against the urge to retch.

  Swallowing thickly, he wiped beads of sweat from his brow with shaking fingers and willed the sensation to pass. He’d no recollection of ever feeling so weak and helpless, even as a young boy. As a grown man, enduring such a situation was nothing short of intolerable, yet here he was, powerless and without a remedy in sight.

  With a muttered exhalation he felt for the bell pull, yanked the cord, and collapsed onto his pillow, where he prayed that his man Jennings would soon appear with an elixir that would magically restore him to health. As unlikely as it was, at the moment it was all the hope Darcy had.

  †

  Darcy was having the strangest dream. Elizabeth Bennet was standing in his bedchamber wearing nothing but a dressing gown the color of fresh cream. A riotous mess of curls framed her face and tumbled down her back, giving her the appearance of a nighttime fey, untamed and otherworldly as she argued quietly with his valet from the foot of his bed.

  “I should not be here,” she insisted, her eyes darting to where Darcy lay, then away. “It was very wrong of me to come.”

  In her hand she held a taper made of beeswax. Its flame bathed her features in glowing warmth, rendering her so beautiful that Darcy suddenly found it difficult to breathe. How long had it been since he’d seen her? How long since he’d inhaled her sweet scent? At the moment he couldn’t recall. He knew only that he’d missed her beyond reason, that he craved her presence more than food or water, exercise and air.

  “You mustn’t speak so,” Jennings chided. “Not when you may be of help.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m not a doctor. Though I wish it with all my heart, I can do nothing for Mr. Darcy that would not result in more pain and a lifetime of regret, for both of us. You’d do far better to send for Mr. Jones.”

  Jennings scoffed. “Mr. Jones intends to bleed him unless he is better by morning. Cutting into his flesh will only rob my master of what little energy he has left. I cannot allow it, not when it is within your power to offer him far more than any local butcher-turned-apothecary. In fact, after seeing you standing here as you live and breathe, I’m willing to bet my life on it.”

  Elizabeth turned aside her head. “Then you are delusional. Human life is not something to be bartered, but revered; cherished and protected at all costs. Nothing should be allowed to taint or poison it.”

  “And so long as you are here, my dear lady, I have no doubt it shall be so, which is why I implore you—out of the goodness of your heart—to help my master. Indeed, you must.”

  “Indeed, I cannot. If it was within my power to do so, I swear to you I would, but I have no such ability. As I told you before, I am no surgeon. In fact, I am—in every way—exactly the opposite of what your master requires. It pains me to say it, but Mr. Darcy’s recovery must be left to Mr. Jones. I can only pray it will be enough.”

  Jennings, however, would hear none of it and, with a steely glint of determination, said forcefully, “It will certainly not be enough, Miss Bennet, not by any means!

  “I’ve known Mr. Darcy since he was a boy. My loyalty and affection for him—for the entire Darcy family—is deeply rooted, as was my father’s and his father’s before him. I cannot simply stand by and do nothing for my master when his life is at stake, not when I know of a way to help.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said earnestly, “the general concurrence is that Mr.
Darcy is highly unlikely to overcome this illness without intervention; therefore, certain concessions will have to be made immediately. I’m willing to accept full responsibility for any and all consequences incurred by those concessions, no matter their nature. When you save him—for there is no other option before us—I will continue to guard your secrets and those of your family as closely as I have my master’s. I swear it.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I have no secrets,” she began indignantly, but Jennings silenced her with one hard look.

  “Unlike your neighbours, I am neither ignorant, nor blind. I know what you are, just as I know precisely what is and is not within your power.”

  The silence that followed was neither easy, nor comfortable, but thick and suffocating; charged, as though the entire room and everything in it might implode at any moment. Darcy’s heavy-lidded gaze flickered between Jennings and Elizabeth with increasing unease, a growing sense of urgency mounting in his breast.

  Then, before his eyes, Elizabeth underwent a shocking metamorphosis that made his blood run cold. No longer was she the delightful, teasing young woman he admired so ardently, but a foreign, esoteric creature whose entire presence radiated acute and immediate danger.

  There was something disturbingly familiar about the dark glint in her eyes, though; the slow curl of her mouth; the way she moved—methodically, determinedly, with an ethereal grace that chilled him to the bone. Her slender body seemed to glide toward Jennings as her candle cast heavy, distorted shadows on the bedchamber walls and all that lay within.

  “You presume a great deal, then,” she hissed, her voice uncharacteristically menacing, “and it is because you presume a great deal that I must caution you to keep your presumptions to yourself from this moment forward, or you may find yourself in a dangerous predicament from which you will never recover!”

  Despite the sinister image Elizabeth presented, Jennings did not shrink from her, but stood his ground, meeting her baleful stare with every appearance of composure and no hint of fear. “In my opinion, madam, the only person in this room currently facing a dangerous predicament from which he may never recover is my poor master.

  “As for your other charges, I am Mr. Darcy’s valet. While it isn’t my place to presume anything about anyone, as his oldest and most trusted servant it is my duty to make observations, especially pertaining to my master and all that affects him.

  “For instance,” he continued lowly, “since you’ve come to Netherfield to attend your ailing sister, you’ve made countless inquiries about my master and his health. As your agitation and concern for him appeared sincere and heartfelt, I concluded that you must care for Mr. Darcy. The fact that you’re standing here now, in his private apartment in the middle of the night and at very great risk, not only to your own reputation, but to that of your family as well, confirms it.

  “You might also be interested to know, Miss Bennet, that you just so happen to share several…let us say…unique physical traits with a certain young lady of my master’s intimate acquaintance. Miss Darcy would be inconsolable if her beloved elder brother were to succumb to an ailment so trifling as a fever when she, or someone very much like her, could easily have prevented it.”

  Elizabeth, who only seconds before had been glaring so malevolently at Jennings, furrowed her brows in confusion at such a curious statement. A moment later, however, her hands all but flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp of horror. “No,” she said on a breath, her eyes wide with alarm, “that can’t be possible…”

  But Jennings neither confirmed, nor denied his implication. He simply continued to look Elizabeth steadily in the eye and said firmly, “We are wasting precious time, Miss Bennet. Nothing Mr. Jones administered thus far has yielded any improvement, nor is it likely that anything he attempts on the morrow will provide a satisfactory outcome. It is too late at this point to send to London for a physician. If Mr. Darcy’s fever doesn’t break soon your apothecary bleeding him will be the least of our worries. To put it bluntly, he will die.”

  Elizabeth swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. “And what is it you will have me do?” she whispered harshly. “My hands are tied just as tightly as yours! What can be done? I know very well there is nothing within reason—nothing within the laws of nature—that can be done!”

  “I’m afraid desperate times call for desperate measures. Fortunately, I happen to have knowledge of several unique options before us that could be most effective in restoring Mr. Darcy to health.”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes. Jennings removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her. She accepted it, averted her gaze, and dabbed at the moisture on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The valet merely inclined his head and indicated two comfortable looking chairs by the hearth. “Come, Miss Bennet, and I will tell you of my plan. For my master’s sake we cannot afford to tarry any longer. Of course, we must try the less drastic of the two measures first, before attempting the other, infinitely more…unalterable solution, but I have every confidence Mr. Darcy will soon be himself again, no matter what method we must employ.”

  Six

  When Darcy awakened it was nearly dawn. His body was no longer ravaged by fever, but soothed by slender fingers and a pliant form. Every touch bestowed upon him was gentle, lingering, and undeniably affectionate. Each caressing pass over his body radiated incomparable heat that seared his skin and warmed him from within, despite the surprisingly icy temperature of her flesh. Darcy drew a shuddering breath, inhaled her sweetness, and silently prayed the young woman draped across his chest was indeed real and not merely a figment of his over-active imagination. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he acted upon impulse and encircled her in his arms, holding her as he’d so often desired, but never truly believed to be possible.

  “Mr. Darcy?” she whispered, lifting her head from his shoulder with a start to look upon him, concern and relief apparent in her eyes.

  He sighed with contentment and wound his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head and easing her closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Elizabeth,” he rasped, his voice hoarse after heaven-knows how many days without use. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “Yes,” she murmured with feeling. “Thank God. Thank God you are out of danger.”

  Her breath was ambrosia against his lips, and Darcy desperately wanted to taste her; to capture her mouth with his in a tender, heartfelt kiss. “Elizabeth,” he repeated on a breath, his eyes intent upon her lips.

  He watched in fascination as the tip of her tongue appeared, moistening her bottom lip before disappearing once more. “I am here, dear sir.”

  Before Darcy could act, however, the sound of a throat being discreetly cleared was heard and Jennings emerged from the sitting room, a hint of amusement in his expression as he addressed his master warmly. “You certainly had us worried, sir. Did he not, Miss Bennet?”

  Elizabeth nodded once, a curt inclination of her head, before expelling a tremulous breath and slowly withdrawing from Darcy’s embrace.

  Already the master of Pemberley missed the comfort of her touch more than he could say—more than he could even fathom—and was on the verge of commanding her to return to him when the impropriety of their situation suddenly hit him with the force of a runaway carriage. Shocked, Darcy gaped at her, his words catching in his throat as he watched Elizabeth silently lift the counterpane and slip from his bed, hurriedly smoothing the creases in her dressing gown with unsteady fingers. To his dismay, he realized it was the same gown he’d envisioned her wearing in his dream the previous night.

  Good God, what a dream it was—so strange and disturbing. Darcy frowned. At least, it had certainly felt like a dream to him at the time…

  Darcy’s inhalation was swift and sharp, and brought on a coughing fit that wracked his body. Ever efficient, Jennings procured a glass of water and assisted his master to drink while Elizabeth hovered at his bedside, her expression deeply tro
ubled as Darcy’s coughing slowly abated. He dropped his head back onto the pillows and closed his eyes, his head spinning as the missing pieces settled into place.

  Last night had been no fever-induced dream! Elizabeth Bennet had indeed come to his bedchamber—at the behest of his valet, no less—and lain with him in his bed. At one point Jennings had argued with her and brashly accused her of being something unthinkable: he’d accused her of being like Georgiana.

  Impossible,” Darcy whispered raggedly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Impossible! There was no way Elizabeth, so perfect and pure of heart, could possibly be such an unspeakable creature anymore than his most trusted servant could have suggested such an abhorrent thing to her in the first place.

  But the image of his fifteen-year-old sister immediately came to mind and gave him reason to pause. It was true. Georgiana was indeed a vampyre, but she was still essentially the same sweet, kind-hearted, inherently good girl she had always been. She still loved music—Bach and Beethoven—and played her pianoforte as beautifully as she ever had. Of course, her more recent proclivities had presented a bit of a challenge initially, most of her focus being on her music master and the pulsing artery beneath his cravat than the new sheet music he’d brought with him from Vienna. Fortunately, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were able to usher her out of the music room before she could give herself away, or—God forbid—inflict any damage upon the poor, unsuspecting gentleman.

  Darcy shuddered at the remembrance and chanced a look at Elizabeth, who regarded him cautiously, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. His heart pounded against his ribs as he studied her beloved face—her dark eyes, her snow-white skin, her pale lips. All the signs were there, staring steadily back at him, leaving him in no doubt of the truth. He wondered why on earth he’d never made the connection before. Impulsively, he reached out and took her hand in his. It was as he’d suspected. Her fingers were freezing; colder than ice—nay, as cold as death itself.