by Sarah Hoyt
Unfortunately, he was more cursed than charmed. And the kiss would never happen.
* * * *
Georgiana Darcy walked down the long hallways of the Darcy townhouse, frowning. It could be supposed, she thought, that after the recent and horrible events taking place in London, she would dread the city and the very sight of the townhouse. But it wasn't that way. Instead, their town home held what was to her the precious memory of her lost fiance.
Here, she and Sevrin had sat. There, he had held her hand for the first time, shortly after speaking to her brother of their attachment. There, he'd asked her to be his wife.
She remembered all her dreams of a life with him. Such a gentle man, Sevrin was with a blond mane of hair which, in human form, recalled his gentle lionine self.
The memories were bitter, but sweeter than pretending that Sevrin had never existed and struggling not to think of him at all.
When she went to Pemberley, she fancied, the she wouldn't find thoughts of him in every corner, in every window seat, at every turn of a winding hallway. Sitting at the piano forte, playing, wouldn't conjure up images of Sevrin's long, sensitive fingers turning the page.
The memory would fade a little, she thought, and then when she returned to the townhouse once more, it would be faded like cloth left in the sun. And then she wouldn't be able to remember him when she wanted to. She would know him no more. It would count as a double loss to let his memories fade so.
Oh, she knew she couldn't hold on forever to those memories of Sevrin -- all she had left. But she also knew that if she left for Pemberley, or even for Ramsgate, a move her brother would not only consent to, but possibly heartily endorse, she would have to stop her great work here. And that she could not do.
She felt within the dainty reticule hanging from her wrist for the letter connected to the matter that was keeping her here. It was addressed to her, from Mr. E. O. Malven, the personal valet of Lord Wilding.
She knew that if it were found she was corresponding with a gentleman to whom she was not betrothed, she would have sunk herself beneath reproach. And yet, it would not worry her brother nearly as much as it would to discover the truth hiding behind that seemingly culpable correspondence. And poor Darcy was worried enough.
What was it about this lady with eyes like midnight sky? No other woman had ever made that much impression on her staid brother.
Chapter Seven
As the parsonage at Hunsford came into view, Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief. It was not that the journey had been too long and tiring, after all, what was fifty miles of good road? It was her company. Sir William was a kind neighbor, but he did ramble on. He had spent the previous evening with Colonel Forster of the Royal Were-Hunters, and his head was full of anecdotes the colonel had related to him, which he felt bound to relay to his traveling companions.
Maria Lucas listened, spellbound, to her father, her eyes growing huger and huger as he told of the many vicious weres that the colonel claimed to have captured single-handedly. Every so often she would give a little squeal, half fear, half pleasure, and exclaim, "What a very brave man the colonel is!" or, "Such terrible beasts!"
Elizabeth had to bite her tongue so as not to jump to the defense of werekind. She realized that showing too much partiality might make her suspect as well, but it was a great struggle. She did, however, say in a most restrained manner. "We must not forget that they are people too, and deserve our compassion."
Maria just stared at her, a shocked look upon her face.
"To be sure, to be sure," said Sir William. "'Tis very sad. Would that it was detectable at birth and then we could do away with them before they embarked upon such lives of misery. Like drowning unwanted kittens."
"Oh no! Drown kittens!" cried Maria Lucas.
Her father patted her hand for she looked as though she would burst out in tears.
Elizabeth stared out of the window, her lips pressed together so that she would not voice the thoughts that pounded at her head. The very idea of Jane, dearest sweetest Jane, being put into a sack as an infant and tossed into the river was too terrible to bear with equanimity.
It was then that the yellow stone walls of the parsonage came into view from behind a stand of elms, and Sir William's thoughts were diverted to his daughter Charlotte and her new husband.
"A fine looking home indeed!" he cried. "But of course it is, for Lady Catherine is a most generous landlady, I believe, and takes a prodigious interest in all things great and small, so my son Collins tells me."
Elizabeth could not get out of the carriage quickly enough, when it stopped at the parsonage gate. She threw herself into Charlotte's arms, realizing just how much she had missed her dear friend. Her cousin held his hand out to her and she allowed him to grasp hers in a brotherly manner, noting how well manicured his nails now were, and how the fine orange hairs upon the back of his hand had been closely trimmed. They were all ushered into the parlor while Collins pointed out all the most interesting aspects of the house.
"These rosebushes were planted just here, at Lady Catherine's suggestion, there being just the right amount of sun in this corner. And here, you see, our doorknocker has been raised a full three inches, for Lady Catherine noticed that it was much too low. This carpeting in the hallway was chosen because, as Lady Catherine most kindly pointed out, brown and green will not need to be cleaned as often as lighter colors."
He had much more to say even than that. Lady Catherine had advised them on everything from the distribution of the household furniture to the placing of shelves in the closets. Elizabeth knew she would find such involvement officious, but Charlotte seemed to accept it with complaisance. She also appeared to be content in her marriage, something Elizabeth would never have expected. But Elizabeth could see that it was all due to Charlotte's good management. She even had her husband looking more presentable than he ever had, heretofore.
Elizabeth pondered whether Charlotte had discovered that her husband shifted from human to orangutan at the drop of a hat. She could not imagine how such a phenomenon could slip her friend's notice, but she was afraid to ask.
The next day she had the dubious pleasure of meeting with Lady Catherine herself. They were invited to come to Rosings after dinner to spend the evening with the ladies. Lady Catherine was a little, bird-like woman, but she made up for her small stature with her overbearing presence.
Her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, was a sickly girl who sat wrapped in a shawl and spoke to no one but her attendant, Mrs. Jenkinson.
"My daughter should have been presented at St. James, were she not such a frail invalid," said Lady Catherine.
Mr. Collins spouted some fatuous nonsense, likening Miss Anne to the rarest of jewels, and Sir William mentioned, timidly, his having been knighted there.
"And you," said Lady Catherine to Elizabeth. "Have you had a London season?"
"No, ma'am. With five daughters my father could not go to the expense."
"You have four sisters? Are all of them out? And none married?"
"They are."
"Singular. I do not know what your mother is thinking allowing the youngest to be out before the eldest have married."
"I believe she is thinking to marry us all off as quickly as she might."
"And yet you are unmarried and you must be a full one and twenty!"
"I am not yet one and twenty," said Elizabeth.
"She seems to be very behind hand with the job."
Elizabeth only nodded, not seeing fit to respond to such incivility.
"I understand there is a problem in your neighborhood with a proliferation of lycanthropes. A terrible situation. I was telling Mrs. Collins she is well away from there. Here in Kent you will find we have dealt severely with such blasphemous creatures. We see to it that our peasants breed true."
"I thought that people in all walks of life suffer from the affliction. There are weres even in the peerage," said Elizabeth.
"Nonsense!" cried Lady Catherine. "I
t is all due to common blood! If any peers have been caught as weres, then they were born through some indiscretion between the lady of the house and a stable hand or gardener. Good breeding cannot be discounted. There is something very base about a person who changes into an animal."
Elizabeth watched as Mr. Collins nodded in agreement, while scratching himself behind his ear, and emitting one or two affirmative 'ooks'.
"You see, my parson agrees with me," said Lady Catherine. "I have ensured that he is well versed at how these hereditary traits manifest themselves in the lower classes amongst his flock. With my training he has become forever vigilant in winnowing the wheat from the chaff."
Elizabeth felt a chill go down her spine at the thought that some innocent peasant might be turned in to the RWH due to Lady Catherine's over-zealousness. "Are mistakes ever made?" she ventured to ask.
Lady Catherine looked down her nose at Elizabeth as if to say, 'I never make mistakes,' but she instead said, "You are very inquisitive for such a young person. You will find it easier to get along in society if you take your lead from your betters rather than attempting to form your own ill-informed opinions."
Done with Elizabeth, Lady Catherine turned to Charlotte and said, "My nephews will be coming to spend Easter at Rosings as usual. They are so attentive of me, and of Anne. Especially Mr. Darcy. You know that he and Anne are intended for each other. A perfect match -- two young people of the purest breeding and two grand estates."
Elizabeth's annoyance at being dismissed so insultingly by Lady Catherine was replaced by her shock in discovering that she would soon be in the company of Mr. Darcy. She wondered how she could ever face him after having seen him naked in the conservatory of Netherfield, in a very compromising situation with Mr. Bingley. She remembered his sleek body rising up from the rhubarb and blushed at the perverseness of her nature that such a vision should come to her when it was the last thing that she desired to remember.
* * * *
Mr. Collins ran into the back garden to collect Elizabeth and Charlotte who had been strolling about in the warm spring sunshine, picking daffodils and sprays of forsythia to arrange in the parlor.
"Ook, they are come. Ook, ook! Hurry, hurry," he cried.
"Who are come?" asked Charlotte, stroking his arm in a calming manner.
"Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam."
Charlotte looked over at Elizabeth. "This is due to you. Mr. Darcy would not visit so promptly just to see me."
"No," Elizabeth choked out. "You are wrong, Charlotte. I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy has any more desire to see me than I have to see him. Can I not go up to my room instead?"
Mr. Collins began hopping about in consternation, uttering a series of short shrieks.
"My husband insists you welcome our guests with me," said Charlotte with determination.
Elizabeth could see that if she followed her inclination and hid from Mr. Darcy in her bedchamber there was a good chance that her cousin would reveal his affliction to the world. With Lady Catherine's tendency to go on witch-hunts against weres, Elizabeth had no wish to put Mr. Collins' life in jeopardy. There was nothing for it but to meet Mr. Darcy.
* * * *
Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, walked along the path through Rosings' park towards the lych-gate that led to the parsonage.
"The parson ran ahead awfully quickly," noted the colonel.
"He wanted to prepare the ladies," said Darcy, his mind in contemplation of one of the ladies in particular.
"He has a most interesting gait."
"I am neither interested in the parson nor his gait," said Darcy impatiently.
"I could not help but notice, ever since our aunt mentioned the visitors at the parsonage, you have become very tense. Has this anything to do with a lady?"
Darcy sighed. He could keep no secrets from his cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam was one of the few people who knew of Darcy's affliction. In fact, the colonel had sworn to Mr. Darcy senior when he was on his deathbed that he would do his best to protect Darcy from the prejudiced world. That was why they traveled together to Rosings every Easter. Lady Catherine insisted on Darcy's visits, but she had such a hatred against all forms of lycanthropy that keeping his secret from her was paramount.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet knows about me."
The colonel stared at him in shock. "You told a woman? Are you out of your mind, man? I thought you had foresworn love -- don't you see the danger you have put yourself in?"
"I believe she can be trusted."
"Even so -- though I very much doubt any woman can be trusted -- you have put her in danger as much as yourself! Are you besotted?"
"Quentin, you are jumping to conclusions. This has nothing to do with love." Here Darcy colored. "It was a mistake. She came upon Bingley and me just as we changed forms."
"She saw you become a dragon and she did not run away in fear to the nearest magistrate to report you?"
"Yes. No. I mean, she did not see me become a dragon. Quite the reverse. But, yes, she did not run away to report me, or even Bingley for that matter. And there is a regiment of the RWH stationed not far from her home. We quit Netherfield the very next day for fear we would have to go into hiding, but there have been no repercussions. I am assured she has told no one."
Colonel Fitzwilliam eyed his cousin closely. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with love?"
Darcy thought it best to avoid that issue. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had caused him many a sleepless night and not solely because of his fear she would report him. Strangely, deep down he had known she would not. There had been something in her eyes that first night, when he had flown past her window. Something that told him she had sympathy for his kind. The fact that she hadn't reported him only confirmed it.
"It has everything to do with her goodness," Darcy said at last, and the look upon his face when he said it confirmed his cousin's fears. Darcy was a lost man.
"I cannot wait to meet this paragon," said the colonel as he opened the gate and they walked up the path to the parsonage door, and made their presence known. "Say, don't you think this knocker is a wee bit high?"
Darcy didn't even hear the remark. His thoughts were elsewhere. How would she look when she saw him? He could not forget the state of undress he was in when they had last met. Thank the Lord for rhubarb! But still she had seen more of him than any delicately brought up female ought. He was afraid that he would be put to the blush as much as she.
They were ushered down a hallway with a positively vile shade of carpeting to a sunny room made light and pleasing by the profusion of spring blossoms that filled a number of well-placed urns. Elizabeth was employed in arranging the last of the blooms in a crystal vase. The yellow flowers so close to her face cast a glow upon her cheeks that only served to enhance her attractions. He wished he could see her eyes, but they were downcast and remained so throughout their greetings and the introduction of the colonel.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked from one to the other with increasing interest. It was difficult to tell who was the most flustered.
"Miss Bennet, I have heard much about you," he said jovially.
She cast a quick look up at him and then over to Darcy. Her face reddened discernibly and then she averted her eyes once again. "I hope you do not believe all that you hear, but judge people on their own merit," she said, finally.
"You imagine that what I heard was not complimentary?" he quizzed. And then he smiled a full smile that crinkled up his eyes. "Quite the contrary, I assure you. You have been praised in the highest terms."
Her eyes flew towards Mr. Darcy again and he took the opportunity of speaking to her.
"Your family, Miss Bennet? They are all well?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied. "And your friends?"
"Mr. Bingley and his sisters were in good health when I last saw them."
The colonel raised an eyebrow. Of all the insipid conversations! Could they not do better than that? He decided that maybe it was his
presence that was hampering their conversational abilities, so he spent the next ten minutes entertaining his hostess and attempting to bring out her younger sister, while the parson looked on, adding an occasional grunt to the discourse. But his efforts were to no avail, so in the end he called upon Miss Bennet to support him in his contention that Byron was the master that all other poets should seek to emulate, and spent the rest of the visit well pleased by her open manners and teasing wit.
Darcy stood between the wall and the window and contented himself with simply observing Miss Bennet, a small smile playing across his face every now and then.
* * * *
Miss Darcy left her house in the dark of night, long after her companion, Miss Wimblon, had gone to bed. It grieved her and shamed her to be doing something that if found out would more than distress a brother she looked up to almost as a father.
On the other hand, she had to admit that Darcy's being away was the greatest convenience. No other person in the household could possibly have the slightest need of checking her room late at night to see if she was in. Which left her free to act as her conscience dictated, and not according to the dictates of society.
Right then her conscience demanded she follow the opulently carpeted hall where the family bedrooms were at the townhouse, and open a rarely-used door at the back -- a door that led to the servants' staircase. Here, she had to proceed more cautiously because there were people still up. It always amazed Georgiana that servants could be up so much later and so much earlier than their masters, going to bed long after the masters' had gone to sleep and rising very early to make sure everything was ready for their reveille.