by Sarah Hoyt
But she did want to redeem herself in his eyes. She did want to show him that she did not hold him in distaste because he shifted form. That his secret was safe with her. And she desperately wanted him to know that her dislike of him had not been immoveable.
Finally, as dawn was breaking in the east, she fell into a light, restless sleep. Her dreams did her no more good that her nighttime deliberations had, and she awoke with a throbbing head and dark circles under her eyes. She dressed quickly, ate a light breakfast with Charlotte and Maria, and then excused herself to go for a walk in the park. The day was already becoming warm, but she knew where to find cool, shady groves that she hoped would soon help her clear her head.
* * * *
Darcy had fared no better than Elizabeth that night. He had barely kept himself in check, the urge to fly past her bedroom window had been so strong. But his hopes in her had been shattered by her adamant refusal. In all the times he had thought of her, conflicting emotions warring in his breast, he had never considered what her feelings for him might be. He had supposed she would be anticipating his proposal. What vanity!
After breakfast he had only two thoughts - to get out of the house and away from his aunt's penetrating eye, and to find Elizabeth and apprize her of Wickham's true character. Improving her opinion of his own character was a desired outcome as well, especially when it came to his amorous predilections, but this was not his admitted objective.
He walked towards the parsonage through the park, annoyed that his emotions were still in such turmoil. His determination to talk to Elizabeth was becoming undermined by his bitterness at her rejection of him and his despair in losing her. His love mingled with hurt and anger. And though it was not night and there was no moon to affect him, a familiar fire coursed through his body, singeing all his defenses and causing little plumes of smoke to furl every now and then from his flared nostrils.
He turned off the path into a stand of elms, intent on holding his feelings in check before having to face Elizabeth in the parsonage parlor again. He was brought to a standstill at the sight of Elizabeth standing in the half shadow of the feathered branches, leaves just beginning to unfurl on their tips. If she had not seen him he would have backed away immediately, but she was looking right at him, her eyes unreadable dark circles in a pale face.
"Excuse me, Miss Bennet. I had not supposed you to be . . . I do not mean to intrude. I shall leave directly."
"No, Mr. Darcy. Indeed, it is I who am in your way. This is your aunt's park, after all."
"And you are welcome to walk in it wherever you choose."
"Thank you," said Elizabeth softly. And then she raised her eyes, which she had lowered in the first few flustered moments, to his. "I am sure the park is big enough that we can both walk together for a few minutes."
This generous offer gave Darcy a moment of hope. He had expected to be the last person she would be willing to spend time with, considering her dislike of him and the embarrassing circumstances of their prior meeting.
"In truth, I came out in the hopes of speaking to you," he said.
She blushed slightly and he inwardly cursed himself for being a fool.
"Do not be afraid that I wish to repeat any of those sentiments that were so disgusting to you yesterday."
She nodded her head and stood, waiting for him to continue but giving him no encouragement at all. There was nothing for it but to blunder on.
"I wanted to assure you of my friendship with Mr. Bingley. That it is nothing more than just that. Friendship."
"I understand completely, Mr. Darcy."
"There are other . . . legitimate reasons for our . . . state of undress, which . . ."
"That is quite all right."
"In Bingley's case it is not my . . . secret to tell. But believe me when I say that it was a perfectly natural and harmless incident."
"I do know what a trial such . . . things can be, and how situations of . . . nudity can happen . . . unawares. I am sorry that I intruded upon your privacy."
"There is no need to apologize, Miss Bennet. It is I who must apologize for the state of undress . . . it was a great shock to you and there is no forgiving it."
"I forgive you, Mr. Darcy. I know it was beyond your control."
Darcy stared at Elizabeth. He had hardly expected more than forbearance on her part, but this . . . this was further proof of her kind and just nature. Her color heightened under his intense gaze and he was brought back to the present by the realization that he was discomposing her. Staring in such a manner right after referring to her seeing him naked. He could kick himself for behaving like such an insensitive buffoon! He decided it would be best not to refer to the incident again.
"Thank you. But this was not the topic I had wished to discuss with you. There is something of a much more imperative nature."
Was he wrong or did he notice tensing in her shoulders? A drawing back of warmth?
"It concerns Mr. Wickham."
"Mr. Wickham!"
"Yes. I know you take an . . . interest in the . . . gentleman. I have no wish to offend you, but -"
"I am not offended."
"He is not the man you think him to be."
"I think I now have a good idea of who he is."
He was surprised that her tone was apologetic rather than antagonistic. He had expected her to jump in defense of her favorite. Maybe he was not too late. Maybe Wickham had not yet captured her heart.
"The two of us have quite a past."
"I have been informed as such," she said, gently.
"Yes," he said, hoping that she would still listen with such complaisance once he got going, "but I have always thought it beneath my dignity to reveal to anyone just what sort of a man he is. I cannot have him deceive you any longer. I know I can never aspire to . . . but I will make no mention of my feelings in this case . . . Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted."
"I have had information from someone other than him."
Darcy continued on, disregarding her words in his haste to finally get out what had been bottled inside him for so long. "He plays fast and loose with ladies' hearts. He is involved in all manner of vice. I saw all this while we were in Cambridge together and I . . . I could not bear to have you taken in by him. There is more that I cannot bring myself to reveal. Suffice to say that he treated those nearest and dearest to me with the vilest form of treachery."
"Treachery!"
Darcy was again afraid she would come to Wickham's defense, but if he mentioned the part he knew Wickham to have played in Sevrin's capture, he might be driven to reveal all about Wickham. No matter that Wickham was a coward and a traitor and that he would stab Darcy in the back the first chance he got, they had made a pact. And as a man pf honor he could not break the pact. Wickham's secret was safe with him.
"Indeed. I hope you will give my words some credence."
"Have you no faith in my judgment?"
"I know you to have been severely imposed upon."
"Mr. Darcy, please. Since yesterday my thoughts . . . my thoughts -"
Darcy could well imagine what her thoughts had been. And here he was callously bringing up the previous day and reminding her of his most unacceptable offer and the ungracious way he had comported himself. He needed to show to her that he knew how to behave in a gentlemanlike manner. And the best way to do that now would be to depart and leave her alone to assimilate all that he had said. And hopefully then she would see his character in a better light, and Wickham's in the darkness it deserved.
"I am sorry to have imposed on you for so long. I will go now and give you the solitude you must be desiring." The look of confusion and regret evident upon her face touched him deeply, and in a soft adieu he said, "God bless you," then made his way out of the copse without a backward glance.
* * * *
That evening they were to go to Rosings, and Elizabeth struggled against an impulse to call it off, to say she had to rest, that her headache hadn't abated. But she could not. If
she avoided him now, she thought, he would think she still thought badly of him.
So she found herself sitting at Rosings, while Lady Catherine expounded on weres and their perverse debasement, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne De Bourgh disappeared -- who knew where? Her cough echoed from the ends of the garden, Elizabeth thought.
"I have a great desire for some music," Mr. Darcy said, after a long time of looking out the window.
"Well, I'm sure Miss Bennet will be glad to oblige you," Lady Catherine said. "Of course, she doesn't play as well as Anne would have, if she'd ever learned. But with a little practice she could be quite tolerable."
Smiling at the thought that at least one member of this family thought she would be tolerable -- she supposed -- Elizabeth got up and went to the piano forte, where she played, desultorily, through an easy selection.
She half-hoped and half-dreaded Mr. Darcy's getting up and joining her, turning the pages for her as she played. But he did, shortly after she started.
He turned the pages for a while, and silence lengthened between them, till he spoke, "My sister Georgiana loves music. I think she would love to make your acquaintance."
"I would be very pleased to make hers," Elizabeth said, trying only to sound pleasing and obliging after the horrible way she'd treated him.
"She needs taking care of. She's lately had a very great shock."
"Yes... Yes... your friend... Lord..."
"Oh, not..." Darcy lowered his voice. "Not what he was, you understand, Miss Bennet. Of that... she knew." He looked at her, as though daring her to say that they'd been in contravention of the law. Elizabeth had no intentions of saying any such thing. Instead, she nodded.
"But his death has left her... bereft."
"And unable to acknowledge her grief publicly," Elizabeth said, thinking that then neither could her brother.
"Yes. Yes..."
Silence fell again for a while, but when Elizabeth left to go to the parsonage, she had the impression that both had spoken whole speeches and understood each other much better.
And that night she woke, late in the deep dark, with a sense of being watched.
Turning in her bed she saw, outside her window... It was the dragon, sinuous and graceful and agile, his eyes filled with a sweet sorrow she only half understood. It was beating its wings just a little, to keep itself in place -- the wings shimmering like a fluttering of captive fire.
She should have been outraged but she was not. Instead, she felt an outpouring of sweetness. The poor thing -- she thought, quite forgetting the thing was a gentleman, and a proud and wealthy one at that -- the poor thing had been horribly mistreated. Getting up, she put her dressing gown on, and rushed to the window.
She threw it open, and had time to see the dragon startle and flinch, as if afraid she would give the alarm. But when she made no sound, it extended its muzzle, timidly.
Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She put her hand out and touched it to the green-gold skin, just beside the eyes. She expected cold, but it wasn't. It was warm as her own body, and velvet soft.
The huge eyes registered surprise -- no, shock -- followed by something she couldn't describe. The eyelids half closed and a sound emerged from the huge curved neck -- something between a sigh and a purr.
She didn't know how long she stayed that way, nor how or when he'd left. She woke the next morning in her bed, though, and felt as though she'd slept long and well.
* * * *
She'd touched him. Darcy woke with the certainty of it. Oh, he was very bad to have changed. And he was sure that his aunt would soon be talking of the positive infestation of dragons in the countryside. But Miss Bennet had touched him...
While his valet fussed over the selection of a morning coat, Mr. Darcy touched his hand to the place on his face where it seemed to him he still felt the warmth of her hand. She'd touched him. Oh, she'd touched him in dragon form. But that only made it more significant. She hadn't cried. She hadn't been scared. Was it possible she knew? Was that why she'd been so tender. But how could she know? And if she knew - what did her tenderness signify?
He was still lost in thought, pondering just what her touch might have meant, when he joined his cousins and aunt at the breakfast table.
"Darcy! Do not hover like that over the sideboard, choosing your dishes. Serve yourself some braised kidneys and come and sit down," ordered his aunt.
Darcy chose two pieces of toast and a spoonful of strawberry preserve and took a seat beside the colonel.
"Late night?"
Darcy shook his head and then nodded.
"Not safe, you know. And the moon's not all that full. What happened to your control-- must I take to sleeping with you?"
"It was worth it," whispered Darcy.
"Ahh - young love," said Quentin, and sighed in an exaggerated manner. Anne giggled.
"It was nothing like that!" Darcy blushed.
"I am happy that you have finally found a lady who cares for you," said Anne sweetly.
"What has Darcy found?" asked Lady Catherine. "Do not talk in such low voices - I must have my share of the conversation!"
"It is more what he has not found," said Quentin, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Not a kidney to be seen upon his plate."
"And I expressly recommended the kidneys! There are no better braised kidneys to be found in all of England than what come from my kitchens."
"Anne," said Darcy quietly, "Do not . . . I think you are . . . mistaken."
"That she cares for you though she knows of your . . . changeability?"
"She knows not."
"But, you said she did not report you when she had seen the change."
"I was mistaken . . . she thought . . . it is immaterial what she thought, but I could not bring myself to tell her because it involves Bingley as well."
Quentin looked over. "I don't see that as a problem."
"So, if your friend had a secret, you'd divulge it, Quentin?"
"Only if I thought by divulging the secret I could contribute materially to my friend's happiness."
Mr. Darcy's eyebrow rose. "Indeed?" he asked, as he helped himself to the ham. "And who is to be the judge of that happiness? Or the risk of revealing the secret?"
"Oh, come, Darcy, you can't think you..."
Mr. Darcy's eyebrow rose further.
Quentin Fitzwilliam was overcome by a sudden attack of coughing. "I mean... I'd only reveal it if I were absolutely sure there was no risk."
"You, Quentin, are terribly cavalier with other people's secrets."
"He's cavalier with his chewing too," Anne said. "Almost choked himself to death."
"I do not understand," said Lady Catherine. "What is all this talk of secrets and cavaliers not chewing their food properly?"
"It is a new play that is all the rage in London, Mama," said Anne sweetly.
"It sounds preposterous! Playwrights these days! William Shakespeare will be turning in his grave!"
"Tell me," said Darcy, behind the screen of his aunt and Anne's conversation, "have you been divulging secrets not your own to anyone lately?"
"I did not suppose it to be a secret, at least not from that lady," said Quentin. "And she was most interested and understanding of all I said."
"She was not . . . astonished? Disgusted?"
"Darcy, -- the lady is clearly infatuated with you. She saw you change and did not run away screaming. In fact, from what I can surmise, she had a good look at your . . ." He grinned and winked in an annoyingly lascivious way.
"Your mind is in the gutter," said Darcy, his eyebrows arrowing towards his nose. "What exactly did you say to her?"
"Say?" Quentin asked innocently. "Only that you were honorable and gentle in your dragon form, despite what appearances might have led her to believe."
"Blast you, Quentin! I do not want her pity! Could you not have left it to me?" Not that I did any better of a job, Darcy reflected, considering what a disaster my proposal was. His face darkened.
Lady Catherine turned away from her conversation with Anne suddenly, and interjected. "Very true. Darcy was always fanciful. Even as a child. I only hope Anne will steady him."
"I know no one steadier than, Anne, ma'am," Quentin said.
"It comes from her pure blood," Lady Catherine said, complacently. "No were blood at all."
"Ah yes, the bluer the blood, the better the stock!"
Darcy looked directly at his aunt. His mood had not lightened in the least. "Madam," he said stiffly. "I beg you will desist from your illusion that Anne and I will one day wed. You must know that it will never be." With that he rose from the table, shoving the plate with his uneaten breakfast aside. "Before long we will both choose for ourselves, and there is nothing you can do about it."
Lady Catherine stared at him in horror as he stalked out of the room. "Whatever did you say to put him in such a mood, Quentin?"
Darcy heard his aunt's last words as the door closed behind him. Did his cousin's indiscreet revelation really deserve such an angry reaction? He wasn't entirely sure. He felt cheated that his secret had been told to Elizabeth by someone other than himself. But, she had accepted the truth about him with equanimity. More - with interest. She had not decried him. And she had not feared his dragon form. The only thing that disturbed him was, had she touched him because she was beginning to care for him, or had she reacted out of compassion and pity?
Above everything he did not want her pity.
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth had stayed up quite late, hoping the dragon would come and pay a visit, though she hardly wanted to admit that, even to herself. She stood by the open window, leaning against the casement and looking out into the velvety night sky, breathing in the scents of flowers and trees and thinking that she was being a very great fool. A very great fool indeed.