by Sarah Hoyt
This brought his thoughts back to Wickham. What was he doing in the regiment and why had he turned up now, in Meryton? After what had taken place in Ramsgate he would not be surprised if that reprobate was planning to do him a mischief. While Wickham would not dare to denounce Darcy -- who would denounce Wickham in return -- Wickham was now a Were-Hunter. He would be armed with silver bullets as well as arcane magical weapons that could destroy weres. If he shot Darcy before Darcy could speak . . . Darcy closed his eyes. He would have to hope that Wickham's lousy marksmanship had not improved. However, he would bet that was what Wickham was hoping to do.
But even that was not the greatest of his worries. It was control. Bingley, spontaneous and easily swayed in his human form, had always had control issues. Luckily he had a loving father who had protected him well. Since the elder Bingley's passing, Darcy had taken that role upon himself. The idea of someone as amiable as Bingley ruthlessly slain was unthinkable. In his were form, Bingley was more harmless than a fly. A happy dog, ready to love the world. But the world was prejudiced against weres of any sort, and demonized them all.
What worried Darcy the most, however, was his own control. He had always prided himself on his ability to master the urge to transform, and only indulge when he was assured of the most complete safety, but since coming to Hertfordshire his resistance to those very primal urges was slipping.
A group of new arrivals caught his attention as he gazed abstractedly from the window. The boisterous, giggling of a passel of silly young girls. But . . . it was really only two of the girls and their mama who were calling all that attention to themselves in a manner he would never wish his sister exposed to. Of the other three, one was so commonplace as to be completely unremarkable, another was the beauty who had dazzled his friend Bingley, and the third . . . his heart began to beat a little faster.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet completely unsettled him. From that first night when he had flown past her window, and been drawn closer and closer until he had looked directly into the finest pair of eyes he had ever beheld. At the assembly, when they had first been introduced, he had feared that his eyes would give him away -- but thankfully she had not recognized him. He vowed not to put himself in such a position of danger again. He could not allow her to see him in dragon form, but neither could he stop himself from searching her out. Her window became his nightly haunt, though he was always careful to slip away quickly without being seen. He had managed to gaze more than once upon her sleeping face -- so sweet and innocent in slumber. But he had to cure himself of this fascination. Not only was she totally unsuitable and beneath him in every way, but he could not set his sights upon any lady who would discover his secret only to denounce him. He calmed his wildly pumping blood and looked away. He would not allow her to be his undoing. He could not!
Tonight he would need to keep his wits about him. Bingley's and his own safety depended upon it.
* * * *
Elizabeth looked around the ballroom, hoping to see Mr. Wickham, but though there were numerous coats of gold, not one of the officers of the RWH shone like a golden statue under the mass of twinkling candelabras. She supposed that he had not been invited. It could only be Mr. Darcy's doing. She felt her anger at him rise. There he was, standing against a far wall, looking all too handsome in his arrogance. His disturbing deep-green eyes rested upon her and she turned away. Why did he look at her? His expression was formidable. Did he hate all women or was there something about her he found particularly abhorrent? She did not care in the least for she believed whatever his feelings, they could not match the disgust she felt for him.
"Elizabeth!"
Elizabeth turned to see her friend Charlotte approaching.
"Will I finally have the pleasure to meet your illustrious cousin?" Charlotte asked.
"Trust me -- there is little pleasure to be got in his company."
"He looks quite tall and handsome."
"If you like red-headed buffoons," said Elizabeth. "I have to dance the first two with him and I am dreading the experience."
"Poor Elizabeth. Maybe I can relieve you of his company after that."
"Why subject yourself to such torture?"
"Elizabeth -- I am eight and twenty. I cannot have such romantic notions as you do. If I can find a man to take me I will be well pleased, even should he turn out to be ignorant as an ape."
"Charlotte, you cannot mean that."
"Why yes. I have not your charms Elizabeth. I do not attract the richest, most handsome gentleman in the room as you do."
"I?" asked Elizabeth. "If you mean Mr. Darcy, I assure you that you are way off the mark."
Charlotte just smirked and, as Mr. Collins had approached, Elizabeth performed the introduction that her friend desired.
The dances with Mr. Collins were as excruciating as Elizabeth had expected. Not only did he tread on her toes and move in the wrong direction a few times, but he actually managed to scrape his knuckles across the floor while performing the figures of the dance. To add to Elizabeth's discomfort, the rest of her family, with the exception of her father and Jane, seemed to have sworn a pact to make an embarrassing display of themselves. Lydia and Kitty were flirting flagrantly with the gold coated officers, Mary was reading in a very prominent and well lit spot, and Mrs. Bennet was tippling too much and waxing eloquent about all the jewels and pin money that Jane would have once she married Mr. Bingley.
Jane, bless her heart, was completely oblivious to all this. She danced with Mr. Bingley and went down to dinner with him. They both seemed lost in their conversation and in each other's eyes.
During dinner Elizabeth saw Mr. Collins approach Darcy and she wished she could sink into the very earth.
"I have just been informed," intoned Collins, "that you are the nephew of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
Darcy did little more than nod stiffly at this and turned back to his white soup.
"You will be pleased to know that she was quite well when I last saw her, shortly more than a week ago."
Darcy did not appear to be any more pleased than previously, but he did say "thank you," in the coldest of manners.
At this point, Mr. Collins' faculties for speech seemed to have left him, but he persevered with the one sided conversation nevertheless. From where Elizabeth sat, it sounded as if he said no more than the occasional, "Ook". Darcy turned his chair slightly to the left to avoid all eye contact. Across the table, Mr. Bennet looked to be vastly amused. He winked at Elizabeth and raised his glass to her. She forced a smile, but could not join him in his mirth.
After they dined, Elizabeth was again conversing with Charlotte when Mr. Darcy unexpectedly addressed her.
"Would you do me the honour of dancing the next?" he asked stiffly.
In her surprise she accepted, she was so completely flustered. Charlotte smirked and walked away, leaving her alone with Mr. Darcy. Luckily the music started up almost immediately. He took her hand and led her to the floor. She noticed little else but that his grip was very firm, she was so busy chastising herself for not having thought of an excuse for not dancing.
After a few turns upon the floor, Elizabeth decided that she must at least say something, any conversation being preferable to the deep silence that hung over them.
"The room is very large," she said.
"Not overly," was his response.
"Yes, but with so many couples the size is indeed fortunate."
He nodded.
"It is now your turn to say something."
Darcy looked at her in his inscrutable way. "Is this the local etiquette of dance conversation?"
"Do you not converse while dancing in London?" asked Elizabeth. She had meant the comment to be sarcastic, but it sounded pert instead.
"I rarely dance in London."
"Well, here in the country we both dance and talk."
"Talk then. I will not prevent what brings you pleasure."
Elizabeth was very irked by this response
and chose a topic she was quite sure Mr. Darcy would not like. "I made a new acquaintance the other day -- an old friend of yours -- Mr. Wickham, though I understand the two of you are not as close as you once were."
"You will find that gentleman has great facility making friends but difficulty keeping them."
"So, you lay the problem at his door? I had heard it was quite the reverse."
Mr. Darcy's countenance became more distant yet. "I have no wish to discuss my dealings with that fellow."
Elizabeth could understand this sentiment fully, and she smiled inwardly. She made no more attempts at conversation and the dance soon came to an end. Mr. Darcy bowed low over her hand and walked off, his back raMr.od straight. She was pleased that she had managed to put him out of sorts.
* * * *
Darcy looked about the ballroom in a panic. Bingley was nowhere to be seen. If only he had not given in to his desire to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had thought one dance could not hurt, especially if he kept his feelings in check, and he had managed quite admirably, even when she had begun to flirt so charmingly. But what she had said about Wickham had left him seething. He did not blame her -- she obviously had been importuned with a pack of lies. Wickham was the one at fault. But it had been enough to make him lose his concentration, and now Bingley was missing -- it could only mean one thing.
Darcy rushed out onto the terrace. He could feel the pull of the waxing moon, stronger and stronger as he jumped over the balustrade and strode into the shelter of the trees. There was nothing for it but to give in to his innate urges and let his animal instincts take over. He would find Bingley more quickly in dragon form than human. He pulled at his cravat frantically. His body was being overtaken more quickly than usual. His hands roughened, claws appeared, and as he ripped at his clothing his skin emerged, glistening gold and green, toughening to scales. He stretched his arms and wings furled open. His body arose in one sinuous motion and he spiraled up out of the trees into the cold night air. Dragon on the prowl.
* * * *
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy leave the ballroom through the curtains that led to the terrace, then she went in search of Jane. Her sister was sitting by a potted palm, a tremulous smile upon her face.
"Alone?" teased Elizabeth. "I thought I would find you with your Mr. Bingley."
"He is not my Mr. Bingley," said Jane.
Elizabeth could feel tension in her sister's voice. "What is it, my love? I ought not have left you alone tonight. Is the urge so very strong?" She inwardly cursed Mr. Darcy for asking her to dance and causing her to neglect her sister.
"Yes -- the tug of the moon is constant tonight, but do not worry, I will not succumb." A tear slipped slowly down her cheek. She reached up to wipe it away and sighed. "That is not what troubles me."
Elizabeth took her hands and gazed into her eyes. "Tell me."
"I have been foolish," said Jane. "I thought that I could apply the same strength I apply to my were urges to my heart. I thought I could shield it just as well, but I was wrong."
"You have fallen in love with Mr. Bingley?"
Jane nodded. "But it cannot be," she whispered. "He is too open hearted a gentleman to lead astray. I cannot give him my heart or my hand. This must end."
"But Jane," said Elizabeth. Her thoughts were running wild. No matter what Wickham had inferred about Mr. Darcy and his . . . unnatural preferences for his own sex, she had absolved Bingley of like predilections in her own mind. He exhibited an obvious interest in Jane that countered such indecent ideas. That Darcy was intent upon taking advantage of their friendship there could be no doubt. She was hopeful that he had not yet gone beyond the bounds of propriety. Because if there ever was a gentleman that Elizabeth believed could love and protect Jane as she deserved, Mr. Bingley was it. "Jane -- do not you think the decision is also his to make?"
"I could not wish this upon him!" Jane motioned with her hands towards her bosom, but Elizabeth knew what she was referring to. That thing inside her breast that distinguished her from the rest of her family and most of the world. That animal that lurked within. A sweet and gentle dog, as loving as Jane herself in her human form. Not another entity, but an extension of Jane. Something to be nourished and nurtured, not despised and hunted.
"If he loves you, he will love all of you," said Elizabeth, hoping that what she believed was indeed true.
"If he indeed loves me, then all the more reason to spare him. I have made up my mind."
And as Elizabeth sat there she could only marvel at her sister's strength, presence of mind, and good sense. It was up to Mr. Bingley to break through those barriers, and only time would prove whether he was the man to do it. She had to acknowledge that she wanted to believe in their love because she wanted Jane to live a normal, happy, fulfilled life, not one of sacrifice and sorrow.
"Elizabeth," said Jane. "You do not look well yourself."
"I have a headache," Elizabeth admitted. And upon saying so she realised that it was true. She'd had too much to think on and her head was pounding most furiously.
"And I have been selfishly piling my troubles upon you as usual."
"No Jane. Selfishness is not in your nature."
"Is there anything I can do for you, Elizabeth dearest?"
All Elizabeth could think was that she needed to be out of doors, under the stars, with fresh air caressing her face. "Will you sit with Charlotte while I take some air?"
"Would you like me to accompany you outside?"
Elizabeth smiled wanly. "I think I need solitude more than anything else."
* * * *
Elizabeth walked out onto the terrace. The moon was an oval, nearing fullness, casting silver light upon the manicured lawns of the garden. Beyond the flowerbeds and topiary was a stand of trees, barren branches raised up to the stars. Even further she could dimly make out the brick walls of the kitchen gardens and the conservatory where all the fresh fruits and vegetables were grown in the middle of winter. The glow of the braziers that warmed these glasshouses tempted Elizabeth to walk out to them. She had always wanted to explore such places but while she had been at Netherfield she had never the opportunity. Now was the time.
The smell of charcoal, moist earth, and growing things assailed Elizabeth's nostrils as she entered the first house of the conservatory. She could dimly make out a tangle of vegetable plants, peas and haricots she realised upon closer scrutiny. The next house was devoted to fruit trees -- peaches and apricots sweetened the night air.
Elizabeth's head was feeling much better now. There was nothing to bring one down to earth and away from the fantastical like beetroots and turnips, strawberries and raspberry canes. She entered the last house and stopped still just inside the doorway, a scream frozen in her throat.
Two strange shapes rose up from unearthly clumps of rhubarb. It took a moment before Elizabeth registered that what she was seeing for the first time in her life was the unclothed male body. Actually two unclothed male bodies, but the closer held her attention more so than the other. It was tall and lithe, muscles firm and accentuated, with none of the softness of the female body. A trick of the light cast by the brazier through the rhubarb leaves tinted the skin green and gold. Mercifully the rhubarb grew lush and tall and hid both bodies from the hips down. Her eyes traversed up the abdomen and chest, to the face.
"Mr. Darcy!" she cried in shock. And then the other body came into focus, as it crouched amid the leaves. "Mr. Bingley!"
Both men appeared dazed. "Miss Bennet," said Darcy, not moving a muscle. Mr. Bingley attempted to hide himself completely in the rhubarb plant.
From all the diverse thoughts that jumbled in Elizabeth's head she was able to grasp at only one thing. "It is just as Wickham said, you are . . . unnatural . . ."
Mr. Darcy paled. "Wickham told you? Miss Bennet, please, I pray, listen. This is not what . . . Please. We are no threat to anyone. What can you gain from making this known? I'm begging you to keep our secret."
Elizab
eth did not wait to hear more. She turned and ran through the conservatory, snagging her gown upon netting and poles, gasping for breath.
* * * *
The ball ended and all the guests went home, but Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley were too much concerned with what had passed in the conservatory to give it any notice. How she got home, Elizabeth never knew, but she sat in her window, staring out at the treacherous night, tears streaming down her face at the shattering of all her hopes and dreams for Jane and Mr. Bingley. She saw the dragon fly by, a lonely, haunting voyage through the sky as it danced sorrowfully among the stars and then did one swooping pass alongside her house, close to her window. The sadness in the dragon's eye was more than she could bear.
In the morning Bingley ordered that all their belongings be packed and the house closed as soon as they quitted it. Caroline was surprised at her brother's insistence, but glad to be leaving Hertfordshire just the same. She had worried that Charles would be entrapped by that upstart Miss Jane Bennet and her deceptively sweet smile. Besides, Caroline had her sights set on an estate in Derbyshire -- preferably Mr. Darcy's own.
As they rode alongside the carriage, Darcy turned to Bingley and said again, as if to reaffirm his decision. "We have no choice but to leave. She will be sure to report us to the Royal Were-Hunters."
Bingley was not as sure as his friend, but there was no sense in taking any chances. He knew that he could never again look Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the eyes anyway, not after she had seen him naked. And he knew that he had to leave Jane Bennet even though she was the sweetest, most angelic lady he had ever met. He had been foolish to entertain thoughts of love and marriage. Happiness was not for his kind.
Darcy sat upright upon his horse as they cantered towards London. There was only one thing about the entire episode that still confused him. Why had Mr. Wickham so forgotten himself as to denounce Darcy to a provincial girl? Was he seeking to get her to condemn Darcy for him? Sometimes Darcy thought it was he or Wickham. One of them would be the death of the other.